An Uncivilized Display

Before she had been exiled for her heresy, this was where Gandraeka had belonged; in front of a roaring fire, others sitting attentively close by, watching intently as she wove a tale of her ancestors and the gods that they exalted. The smoke collected above them, flowing freely with no trees in the way, the tall grass that rimmed their trimmed clearing waving in the breeze same as the inky pillar stretching from the fire to the sky above. Faint beads of sweat collected on Gandraeka’s brow as she bellowed her chants to the heavens, rhythmically caressed the rims of her barely-clothed nipples, and seemingly did every activity possible to bring a red flush to her green skin.

She was tall, befitting an orc, rippling with musculature that was only matched by her curves; her hair was bound to form a high pony’s tail behind her, the pin holding it in place the bright white of bone from a creature long dead. The rest of the creature, a simple red fox that had given her a worthy hunt, was used to craft the rest of her wardrobe, to make her ‘presentable’ enough to linger near civilization. The heaving boulders of her breasts, which may have seemed less remarkable on a woman that wasn’t quite as scaled up as she was, were covered by faint scraps of fur that were wrapped around her chest in a red furred band that was as practical as it was lacking frills. It also served to squeeze her breasts together while lifting them up, causing her cleavage to practically leap out of both the top and bottom of the garment. Her lower region was similarly wrapped up in the creature’s furs, forming a simple sash with the creature’s tail hanging off to one side. The scant scraps that were left decorated her wrists and shins, her one concession to decoration, in line with the orcish creed to not waste any part of a treasure that one considered valuable.

Her sermon had been typical, and just as typically sparsely populated; between having to come out to the fringes of their various villages to even see it, and the lack of orcish blood in any she saw before her, there was little doubt that more than a few of them saw the experience as a curiosity, and little more. The thought spurred her to further action, to enunciating her message to the heavens above—and the stars cast across them.

“And Uloth, whose feminine trickery was no match for Milug’s masculine might, said that that their squabble had gone on long enough!" She said, giving both of her mighty breasts a firm squeeze. "And even though his sister has succumbed first, as was natural, he saw the wisdom in her words. So they took the blade, too powerful for either of them to use in their war on their own, and thrust it up where it would be out of their reaches for eternity—above your heads, even now!” This was the figurative and literal height of the sermon, where Gandraeka pressed her breasts together and hoisted them up, so that her barely-clothed nipples pointed up like twin probing fingers at the constellation so clear on this crisp clean night, the silhouette of the blade clearly visible among the glowing dots to any that would care to look. It was the sight of their elvish faces, as comprehension dawned, as they put a shape, a name, a face to a thing that had been there for so long but had never previously been noticed, that made even these paltry gatherings worth it. These elves would go home, they would tell her story, and little by little, the tale of the Twins would be kept alive even in this land so distant from their teachings.

Gandraeka’s sermon soon finished, her breasts falling to jiggle against one another and let off a spray of sweat from the night's activities. Her small congregation rose from their seats to loiter about, chatting to one another in their elvish tongue, trying to make sense of the words that had passed through their ears this night. Many noted, with trepidation tempered with excitement, her focus on the splendor and righteousness of a typical orc greeting; rather than the civilized coy rubbing through one’s clothes, it was only right and proper to handle a man’s cock exposed if you meant to greet them with any sort of respect.

She approached what she assumed were a young couple—Gandraeka honestly had such a hard time gauging the ages of these elves with their soft, womanly features, so far from the proper orc ruggedness demanded by Milug. She had to roll her eyes at their feeble attempt at replicating a respectful greeting, the girl squirming in place with excitement like a hooked fish as she just barely petted and caressed her lithe male partner's bare cock. “By Milug’s gaze,” Gandraeka sighed in exasperation, reaching down to collect the male elf’s wrist as he started before placing it over the woman’s, “have her grip your cock tightly, show her proper deference to you, and demand the respect that being a man of Milug guarantees! And you, elf woman, how do you think you are respecting your man with that touch as soft as your bosoms?!” She stood back as the male elf timidly stroked his partner’s hand over his shaft with **** at last—before letting out a womanly groan for his own part, causing Gandraeka to sag in irritation.

As she glanced to the rest, hoping to find some spark of promise in any of them, a few couples and others who may have just been curious acquaintances slid deeper in the shadows that her fire provided, where their silhouettes began pulling clothing to the side to explore her culture. She looked on with some small amount of satisfaction as at least one of the couples had the woman falling to her knees, while her man leveraged his cock and slid it to fit in the valley of her cleavage and enter the grasp of her modest breasts.

Her lips curled up properly to make a smile as the soft sounds of grunts emanating from the darkness around her bonfire picked up both number and speed, the ‘civilized’ elves discarding their prudishness to embrace the more honest traditions of her people. They would carry a little piece of Milug home with them that night, no matter where they went, which meant that as far as Gandraeka was concerned, her sermon had been a roaring success. "Practice now, and when next we meet you can properly paint me with your seed, as the will of Milug commands!"

There was one elf in particular, though, that she was anxious to find, who had taken to her ideals with a zeal she hadn’t anticipated. She found him, of course, with his own little elvish beauty who was lying back on her bunched cloak, the elvish man crouched over her with his hands on her shoulders while he gently ran his bare cock through the space where her thighs met. The woman’s face was flushed, through from the fire or embarrassment it was hard to tell at first; but once Gandraeka got closer, the real source was revealed all too clearly.

“…of all the routes you could have taken, I find it impossible to believe that a man of the sciences would follow the teachings of... of... brutes!” The elvish woman squeaked out, attempting and failing to look dignified as Kendrath took long, measured strokes through her thighs.

“Now that’s not fair, Amaran’tha.” He said at the tail end of a grunt, revealing her name as he pulled back practically to standing. “The Twins are gods of battle. Battle, at its heart, is an intellectual exercise. Haverty offers many things, but the ways of a bow and a blade are typically beyond him.”

“That’s because, ooh,” Amaran’tha cooed, as Kendrath plunged in once more, “Haverty exemplifies strength through seduction, not the spilling of blood! Intimacy in closed quarters, ahh, leads to peace in open ones. Or did you forget that, once you left our—mmm!”

Gandraeka announced her presence with a high, barking laugh, catching the attention of both of the elves as they froze in place and looked back to her. “That woman of yours is starting to sound like a follower of Uloth, sapling.” Gandraeka said to Kendrath, lazily settling in beside her two while her shadow was thrown across them like a tilting willow tree. “Seduction, trickery, deceit—pah! Put a good weapon in my hand any day. Milug knows best, knows that battles are fought where you can look your opponent in the eye, not bent over a table! What point is victory when your enemies are unable to bow before you? And no, whelp, kneeling doesn’t count.” Gandraeka said, aiming a pointed glare down at the one called Amaran’tha. “Isn’t that right, sapling?”

Kendrath managed his own blush at Gandraeka’s name for him, before attempting to collect his dignity through clearing his throat. “Amaran’tha, this is Gandraeka. Gandraeka, Amaran’tha. Amaran’tha is a priestess of Haverty, and Gandraeka is a follower of gods known as the Twins—”

“Just Milug, sapling.” Gandraeka corrected, with a wide, toothy grin that sent the short tusks sprouting from her lower jaw spreading out menacingly. “The paragon of orcish masculinity, the true face of orcish might! And at some point in the next life, he will be my husband, and I one of his many wives, as I take my proper place among his harem after proving my worth in battle to him and all of orcish kind.”

“Quite the lofty goal.” The one called Amaran’tha said, with a tone so dry it was fit to make kindling, as she stared back up at Gandraeka venomously despite being on her back with her thighs wrapped around a cock. Reaching up to grip Kendrath’s shoulder, she jerked him down, plunging his shaft down once more to disappear in the fleshy prison of her legs. “I regret to tell you that you are a fair far ways from your home, follower of Milug. In addition, I can’t help but find it curious that a female orc such as you has devoted her faith to the male member of the Twins. Shouldn’t you be putting your faith in the twin of your own gender? Don’t orcs normally keep to their own… matters?” She said, the second meaning to her words concealed so poorly that she may as well have been flashing tusks of her own, while Kendrath resumed making shallow, slick thrusts against her.

“Uloth is the way of cowards and liars, no matter what others may tell you.” Gandraeka said confidently, before casually reaching down and grabbing Kendrath’s dick at the base while he reared back to thrust again, serving as a proper example to all of the imitators surrounding them who were even now beginning to take notice of the argument. Kendrath let out a slight gasp at the treatment, but held in place as Gandraeka began to roughly jerk him as was her custom, the man too busy gaping like a river fish to make any kind of coherent point. “My tribe, my sisters, they were all like you! They couldn’t see that what they were doing made a mockery of all the orcish values we hold dear. Milug is the one true way, male or female, and through the efforts of true warriors like me—and this sapling, I suppose, one day—he will once again claim victory over his sister, as he has done many times before!”

“I hear as well that the score is fairly even when it comes to the two of them, with their victories and defeats.” Amaran’tha replied levelly, bunching her knees under her and rolling to kneel on them, before reaching up and, with only slight hesitation considering its nakedness, beginning to aggressively caress the tip of Kendrath’s cock, aggressively smearing his own pre over the bulbous head as if to more definitively stake her claim. “Another battle, another win or loss one way or the other, won’t make enough of a difference for your god to notice you. You would be lucky to end up his mistress, much less his wife.”

“Big talk from a small woman,” Gandraeka practically growled, trying not to let her orcish blood catch fire as she focused those energies at furiously jacking off the rest of Kendrath’s cock that Amaran’tha wasn’t tending to, more than aware of how her own hand risked colliding with the priestess’s ministrations, “considering that from what this sapling says, your own god doesn’t even have the decency to show up to his followers. How does it feel, knowing that all that time you spent kneeling, was just in practice for submitting to a warrior like me~?”

Gandraeka saw the moment the flush on the elvish woman’s face turned to anger, and Gandraeka preened with satisfaction—and just as Amaran’tha opened her mouth to respond, Gandraeka adjusted her grip on Kendrath’s cock, angled it to line up with her open gullet, and held it steady just as a strand of pre shot out to land directly in it.

"There we go!" Gandraeka cackled, the tempo and intensity of her laughter suddenly matching the crackling of the blazing fire near the group. “Did you enjoy the first truly divine seed to ever grace your holy lips? Savor the taste of a warrior, of a servant of Milug, who will—”

Gandraeka felt the slap across her face before she saw it, not particularly sure when the elvish woman had climbed to her feet or silently placed her person before her. Gandraeka did, though, witness the slow climb of realization on Amaran’tha’s face, as she realized that she had just stepped in an arena where she could not possibly prevail.

“Take that back.” Amaran’tha said with a quaver in her voice, even Gandraeka watched her stretch her paltry posture in attempt to meet the orcish woman’s imposing might.

“I think I’d like to see you make me, whelp.” Gandraeka said, leaning in and facing the challenge, a pleasant burning coursing through her orcish blood as the crowd looked on, a sudden hush in the air. “Name a field of battle, and we shall spar on it. If you think your god so much better fit to lead this one than Milug, than prove it.”

“That sounds agreeable to me.” The elvish woman said, her tone levelling out. “After all, if there is one aspect our deities have in common, it is they are both beings of… action.” With one, last, undefinable glance in Kendrath’s direction, she named her challenge.