The Emerald King

Rogg stood upon a mountain of corpses, the crisp ocean winds billowing heavily as he gazed upon the northern landscape. He brought his army across the Riverland’s edge, heading into the Zruhk plains. He managed to convince his savages to take the trail to the far east, avoiding all major cities and fortresses of the orcs that lived there. He knew they stood no chance against a mobilized force such as theirs, even with a surprise attack.

It was true that he had the power of boar at his disposal, but he knew very well that his “kin” could not wield it properly. They would storm in like a band of raging lunatics as their far more refined and coordinated foes would whittle them down to nothing. They had come across a few parties of the small mouse-like invaders and were able to dispatch them rather quickly. But Rogg knew better than to compare the other orc clans to such weak filth, regardless of their skin color.

Rogg hopped down from the festering pile of corpses and met Briga at its base. She wore a loincloth made from the skin of the warlords that Rogg had slain back in the arena. However, it was clear she had purposely made the outfit fit as tightly as possible, bulging her red breasts and contouring to her curves and buttocks. She had done this to tease him, and it worked.

Each night they fucked, his lust insatiable, even with heightened knowledge his basic instincts managed to best him at times. They mated so much in fact that they both began walking rather awkwardly. A partial limp in each step they took, a glance back and forth as their lust became something more. Perhaps this was love, but Rogg didn’t have the time to contemplate the feeling, he had a task to complete.

He had managed to gather roughly seven thousand savages to follow him on his conquest. In the end, it mattered not whether they all died or not, so long as he and Briga survived. Truly they were the only ones capable of working together, even if it meant allying with the other clans at some point. At least that was his hope.

Right now he knew that if anyone of the Riverlands, or the plains, or the mountains saw him they would attempt to kill him on sight. He needed a way to contact one of their leaders and right now his only real hope was the orc named Gulmar. Jorf had told him of the head chieftain of the Riverlands, his great-great-grandson.

Supposedly kind and honorable, yet stern and at times hot-headed. A perfect ally to have in a time of war. How to find him was an issue, however. Gulmar Gron was in the heart of the Riverlands and Rogg’s ragtag army would surely be spotted long before they reached it. This was also assuming he was even there when they arrived. With the mice crawling all over he was sure to have taken notice and be off dealing with the problem.

“Dammit all,” Rogg said in frustration. “I hate that old orc, but he could have stuck around a while longer to help out.”

“Jorf is very mysterious,” Briga chimed in, running her fingers gently along his back.

“What kind words from such a fiery red female,” a voice said suddenly from behind them both.

Rogg turned, drawing an axe, ready for a fight, but what he saw somehow didn’t surprise him.

“Jorf,” he said annoyed. “Where did you come from?”

The purple old orc stood leaning on a red maple tree, whittling on a piece of wood. What he was making Rogg couldn’t tell, but he also didn’t care. Jorf looked at him with his usual toothy smile that he wanted nothing more than to cut into with his axe.

“Oh, I been ’round, taking a walk and admiring the scenery. Just so happened to bump into you.”

“Without any of my band seeing you?”

“Well,” he said, ceasing his little project. “They ain’t the most observant lot are they?”

Rogg scowled, resisting every urge not to hit him. He knew it would accomplish nothing anyway, as the last time he tried to kill him the old orc just pranced around like it was some pup’s game.

“You have great timing, Jorf,” Briga said with a smile. “Rogg won’t admit it, but he missed you, and we just so happen to need your help.”

“That so?” Jorf said, still grinning.

“Of course,” she replied, her smile now equally as big as his.

“Well, what can I do ye for?”

Rogg felt Briga nudge him, elbowing him in the ribs hard enough to get his attention.

“I-” he stopped, fighting his stubbornness. “We need help finding this Gulmar you spoke of.”

“Hmm, I see. Well, you’re just plum out o’ luck. He left Gulmar Gron with his band and took some o’ them Zruhk females with him. Last I heard he was in the swamp.”

Rogg looked him over suspiciously. “Heard from who exactly?”

“The frogs told me,” Jorf said proudly.

“Frogs,” Rogg repeated blankly.

“Yes, frogs. They said he was in the swamp, met the elder, Kalig Kor. I hear they plan on going to meet our visitors from the west in battle soon. About two weeks from now.”

“Two weeks is very specific,” Briga said, intrigued.

“Ye, well, they’re waiting. To give a young Zruhk some time to heal. Hear she got a taste of necromancy, that old coot is teachin’ her his ways. But I tell ye both, do not enter his territory. You’ll die long before ye meet any of Kaleg’s kin.”

“Then how the fuck will we meet with him?” Rogg asked, greatly annoyed.

“We could just meet them before the battle starts,” Briga suggested.

“You know damn well these savages won’t want to wait. Even if they did, all they’ll want to do is kill everything in sight, be it mouse or orc.”

“Well, I have a bit o’ somethin else you pups might want to know,” Jorf said, his face now uncharacteristically serious.

The sight of this had surprised Rogg more than finding out Briga was also gifted knowledge. Not once had the old orc ever seemed serious. Yet here he stood as if he was about to lecture a child for playing too rough.

“There’s been a change in the air,” he said, voice blank, almost sounding possessed. “The spirits cry out in pain, the orcs of the plains fearful and changing. They have found themselves one whom they believe be a God. Wielding emeralds of power, gems that steal one’s very soul. They have a king.”

Jorf’s words were haunting as they echoed through the very trees that surrounded them. Rogg could see that even Briga was unsettled now, perhaps even afraid. In this moment Rogg felt something come over him, as he stood beside her and put his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. To his relief, this seemed to comfort her, even if only a little.

“Tell me where to meet Gulmar, Jorf. I’ll be there.”

The old orc seemed to snap to attention as if waking abruptly from a nightmare. Rogg never understood the way he acted sometimes. In fact, he couldn’t understand him most of the time he saw him.

“They will meet on the southeastern border of the Zruhk plains,” Jorf said. “Relatively close to the marsh that Gulmar is staying. There’s a fortress there, the invaders have settled a large portion of their forces inside it. I warn ye though, that fortress wasn’t there until recently. It seemingly popped up overnight.”

Rogg looked over the orc, processing the information given to him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

Rogg turned to look out towards his army of savages, wondering what to do with them. He couldn’t take them along for fear of them messing everything up, he needed them to stay put, somewhere.

“Will you be there for the battle?” Rogg asked, somewhat hopeful.

There was silence.

“You hear me?” Rogg turned back around to see that Jorf was gone. Briga was clearly just as surprised as he was. The old orc seemed to like appearing and disappearing with no warning.

“Looks like we’re on our own,” Briga said, sounding somewhat worried.

“That’s nothing new, we need to make sure this lot is occupied while I go and meet with Gulmar.”

Briga looked at him disapprovingly, “while you meet with Gulmar?”

Rogg gave her a stern look in return while making sure to choose his words carefully.

“Yes,” he said. “I will meet with Gulmar. They’ll be readying for battle, if not already in the midst of it when I arrive. I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” she said, now matching his sternness.

“It would just be best if you stayed back, don’t need the only one I know who isn’t a savage getting killed.”

Briga stared into his eyes, if they were daggers they would pierce straight through his skull. But as quickly as her gaze sharpened it had gone soft again, showing clear understanding and resignation. For a moment Rogg thought he saw her lips form a smile, but he wasn’t sure.

“Alright,” she said, at last, walking toward him. “but you better come back alive.”

She gave a quick wink and pecked him on the cheek before walking back to camp, swaying her hips purposefully, teasing him as she always did.

Always so playful, Rogg thought, amused.

He made his way back to camp, ready for a hot meal and some rest. Knowing Briga, he was in for even more than that.

A week more had passed since they had spoken to Jorf, his conquest leading his band to the border of the Zruhk plains. They met with very little resistance, the only mice being in small scouting parties that were quickly dispatched. It was clear that the savages were becoming more restless with each passing day. He needed a way to get them through one more week without them going berserk, yet he still wasn’t sure of how he would get them to stay put on the day he would meet with Gulmar.

As they walked he felt Briga nudging him in the ribs with her elbow.

“What is it?” he whispered, glancing in her direction.

“I think I know how to keep the savages busy,” she whispered back, clearly excited in the fact that she had an idea.

“Let me hear it.”

“Well,” she said, thinking on her words as she twirled a piece of her thick black hair between her fingers. “Why not have a feast?”

“A feast?” Rogg asked curiously.

“The only other thing these savages enjoy besides killing is eating and fucking. Let them settle down for a day or two, they can hunt, feast and fuck all they want in that time. I’ll keep an eye on them while you go and meet with Gulmar.”

The idea was rather simple, so simple in fact that Rogg hadn’t thought it an option. In his mind, he felt like such a thing wouldn’t work, and the savages would just get fed up and revolt. They wanted blood, or so he assumed. He had been so worried about feeding their bloodlust that he had forgotten that his people did other things than just kill. It had been so long since he had shared their simple mindset that he’d forgotten the other desires he had besides killing.

“There’s one thing I don’t like about it,” he said, fuming slightly. “what about you?”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“How do I know those brutes won’t try to fuck you while I’m away?”

Briga smirked at him, clearly understanding his worry, perhaps even amused by it. Yet her voice was soothing and calm in her response.

“Don’t forget, before you came along I was a warlord. These pigs couldn’t take me if they tried.”

“Those pigs outnumber you by the thousands.”

She nudged him with her elbow again, this time with more force, causing him to wince briefly from the pain.

“You’ll just have to trust that I can handle myself. Just like I’m trusting you to speak to Gulmar and come out of it alive.”

Rogg couldn’t think of any argument to her words. She was right, he couldn’t treat her like a child, she was strong and especially smart. The brutes would be no trouble for her. He had also realized as time went on how much he cared for Briga. For Rogg, it was a strange feeling. In the past, a simpler time, a time where his thoughts weren’t racing, he cared only for himself. Even for a time after Jorf had cursed him, his own wellbeing was all that mattered.

“Alright,” he said, leaving the conversation at that.

Near the end of the second week, they had stopped near the edge of the marsh, setting up camp for the next two days Rogg had announced to his savages that they were to feast and relax. A reward for battles hard-fought and a great distance traveled. The savages cheered and roared with excitement upon hearing this, sparing no moment to start fires to cook up the bits of the invaders’ corpses to feast on. They were all over each other, some sparring, some eating, and many of them fucking like rabid boars in heat.

That night he prepared for his departure, packing enough food for a single meal to hold him over for the journey ahead. His boar resting nearby after having its own feast of bones and leftovers. The beast would need the rest, for it wouldn’t have another moment for the next two days. Aside from that Rogg rested and mated with Briga as he had so many times before. He felt closer to her now than he had with anyone in the past. Having spent most of his life on his own, the feeling was alien to him. Was this perhaps what love and attachment felt like?