(Caption) Halloween Nightmares VII

October Caption Challenge (31/31)

Success! This caption uses a photo from @bowserpig over on twitter, and seemed a good one for Halloween proper.

It didn’t seem fair. Bowser had been working on this costume since last year, ordering the bits and pieces from various folks in the community, and now that his orc costume was all set and ready to go…there was nowhere to go, thanks to the pandemic. He sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. He did look good, and at least he could always show off some photos on the internet. Besides, there was always next year, right?

Well, the dream imp thought it was a shame too. It was a nice attempt, really, but the orcs he was familiar with, from some of the deeper regions of the hellscape, were rather rougher. He wondered what they might think of the costume, in fact. The imps time on the surface was coming to an end, it only had energy left for one last dream–and so, when Bowser went to sleep on Halloween night, the imp pulled him into a dream, and down deep into its own realm, where he found himself standing in a rather alien environment.

There was no sun, but there was light. Nothing was growing that he could seen, just dessert and stone as far as he could make out. Looking down at himself, he was somewhat surprised to find himself in the same costume he’d had on earlier. The ground shook, just slightly, and some massive, green skinned figures came around a pile of boulders, led by a little imp floating in the air. 

“Look at this human I found, fellas–he thinks he’s an orc!” the imp said, and cackled.

Bowser took a couple of steps back, but came up against a sizable rock. The orcs he was staring at were…well, they weren’t unlike the images he’d seen in fairytales and stories, but they were decidedly more…intense. If they’d been standing upright, they’d have been close to nine feet tall, but they were hunched over, more like gorillas. Their skin was green, but a bit paler than he might have expected, and the teeth…massive tusks growing out and curling around. They came a bit closer, scowling at him and his mimicry, and he smelled them on the stale, quiet air. It was enough to make him gag, and go a bit weak at the knees.

“A human, dressed like an orc?” one of the beasts said, giving a snort.

“If he wants to be an orc so badly, we can help with that.”

“He’s all yours, if you want. All you have to do is take the deal I offered,” the imp said.

One of the orcs gave a derisive snort, but nodded. The imp gave a little aerial bow, and disappeared into the aether, leaving Bowser alone with the two orcs beneath the Earth. 

“Mmm…I haven’t tasted human in ages,” one of them said, came close, and licked the side of Bowser’s face, “Are you sure we can’t just eat him?”

“The slightly larger one gave a grunt. “What do you think, little human? Do you want us to eat you, or would you like us to make you a proper orc?”

Bowser swallowed hard. “Orc…please…”

“Then you’d best eat up,” the orc said, grabbed hold of Bowser’s head in one passive palm, and shoved him under his hairy green gut. The cock waiting for him was studded up and down with bone–Bowser didn’t know if it was decorative or not, but all of it went down his throat, scraping the sides of his mouth and tongue, and the beast started fucking him, barely giving him space to breathe. With a little repositioning, the other orc hauled up Bowser’s legs and drove his own cock into his ass–pumping load after load of orc cum into Bowser’s belly.

He lost himself in the pain, which soon became pleasure, and rapture. With each load, he felt his belly begin to swell, his muscles growing stronger and brawnier, new teeth and tusks pushing out the fake ones he’d gotten for his costume. Already his human life was beginning to fade away, his memories of the surface. Once he’d grown large enough, he shoved the orcs off of him, climbed on top of one of them, and drove his own cock into the hole, while the other kissed him, their tusks grating against each other as they did. He gave a roar, and spilled what little remained of his humanity deep in his orc brother’s guts, and the three of them collapsed into a sweaty heap among the rocks. 

Some nightmares, it seems, can become the wildest of dreams–depending on who dreams them.

Orcish Recon: 1.2.1.1 – An Inside Job

This is one ending of Avoy’s story! I hope you enjoyed the chapters. i’m still working on a little twine adventure based on this one, that I hope to release in a week or two, depending on how fast I can work, and how cooperative twine is. I wrote an alternate storyline as well for patrons, which I concluded yesterday–you can find that post here. I’ll see about getting another interactive started, or something else, next week!


It was the dagger. Avoy stared at it, lying there in the top of his pack, trying to recall how it had gotten in there. He couldn’t recall taking it–he’d…no, he had taken it, but then he’d gotten captured, and then…and then something else, something that was right on the tip of thought, about to crash over him–and he remembered the medallion.

That light, that sweet green light washing over him, over his mind, back when he’d been an orc–no, a half-orc…right? He…he hadn’t been an orc before, he’d been human.

No, this is a disguise–remember…

A disguise? He pulled out the mirror from his pack again and looked at himself. It wasn’t right. That wasn’t what he was supposed to look like, but what was he supposed to look like? Why had he lost his face?

Remember the sigils. They will give you back your true self. 

Symbols swam to the front of his mind. He wasn’t sure what they meant, at first, until he looked down and saw the dagger in his hand–but he wasn’t changing. He had changed before, hadn’t he? He’d changed because he wasn’t an orc, but if he wasn’t changing now, that meant…

You are an orc. Meant to be an orc. An orc in disguise. Reveal yourself, destroy them all, as you know you can.

Avoy tried to stop himself, but the dagger traced it’s way along his flesh, digging in, the magic pouring into him. He could feel it warping him, re…returning him to his true form, yes, his rightful form. A trick! He was no human at all, the clever shaman, he was an orc, had always been an orc. He carved faster, marking the sigils on his skin, the marks of a great warrior, and he could feel the magic coursing through him. He finished, and collapsed onto the floor, wounds scarring over already, his body twisting and changing, Avoy knotting up his mouth to keep from screaming and alerting everyone in the monastery. He had to change. Return to himself–then…then one last thing, and he could…begin.

It was the dead of night when he felt the magic ease away, and Avoy stood up–he was back, a true orcish warrior, as he ought to be. Now, the attack, yet…yet there was something else. He picked up the dagger in his hand, and slammed it into the stone floor. The glass blade shattered into shards of crystal all over the surface–Avoy picked one up, pressed it to the skin of his scrotum, and slit it open. He pushed the crystal shard inside, feeling the magic heat up his massive orc sack, an aching horniness overwhelming him, shimmering green precum leaking from the tip of his cock. He dug in the pack and found the medallion there as well–now, it was time.

He found the abbot first, sleeping in his bed. Avoy raped the old man–he was far too weak to put up much of a fight, though he tried to scream and bite through Avoy’s massive paw as he held it over his mouth. He didn’t have to for long–as Avoy’s enchanted cum made it’s way into the abbot’s guts, he began to change, skin turning green, tusks growing from his mouth, and Avoy began swinging the medallion in front of his face, telling the old pig about his new position in the clan as the collective fuck pig for all of the warriors to use whenever they desired. By the time he finished, there was no one left aside from a mindfucked, fat, cockhungry orc, and together they made their way to the other monk’s bedrooms, corrupting them as they went.

A few days later, travelers came to the monastery, but found it empty of life. There were signs of a struggle, but not a single body found anywhere inside the building. It was considered a mystery–at least until the orc horde stormed down from the mountains a few months later, raiding settlements, turning unsuspecting men into new grunts for the massive army, and Avoy was among them, humanity long forgotten, happily raping and pillaging for the rest of his days.

Interactive: Orcish Recon – Thievery (Part 2)

When you work as a rogue, you pick up an eye for treasure, and as soon as Avoy laid eyes on that dagger, even at that distance, he knew he was looking at something that would fetch him a hefty price with the right buyer. It wasn’t like anything he had seen or heard of before, and working in this area, you came to be familiar with the kinds of magic that were around here. Sure, a decent enchanter could do help you out with a blade, but the kind of stuff he was watching–it took real emotion and purpose to imbue an item with that sort of power, whatever it might be doing. Sacrifice, even. A little theft would probably throw a wrench into the clan’s attack plans as well, since it seemed like the dagger was a key part of what they were doing. Losing it would buy the monastery some time–that, or the clan would ravage them looking for it, but with a token like that as a prize, he might not even go back to the monastery at all and just let the two sides duke it out.

When the ritual was complete, he tracked the dagger as best he could. It stayed with the shaman, who went into a smaller tent–probably his living quarters–and when he came out, the sheathed knife was gone from his waist, and he headed towards a large tent where the chieftain had gone, probably to strategize. This was his chance–and he’d have to be quick.

He scampered down the side of the outcropping where he’d been perched, a bit too quickly to be quiet or careful, but he managed to survive with just a couple of scrapes. He hadn’t bothered to memorize the patrols, but orcs weren’t exactly known for their guard prowess–he slipped through without too much trouble, and headed for the tent where he figured the dagger had to be.

He found it, and thankfully it was both unguarded and empty. That alone had Avoy doubting himself–if the thing was as powerful as he thought it might be, then why would they risk leaving it unprotected like this? He pulled a ward stone from his back, but it remained dull when he held it around the small tent–there were no traps that he could see, magic or otherwise. Perhaps he was just lucky? Best to be careful in any case. He poked around, and it wasn’t long before he found the sheathed dagger resting on a weapon mount beside the bed, reeking of orcish sweat and musk–enough to turn his stomach a bit. He picked it up, carefully, and pulled the dagger from the sheath a couple of inches just to make sure he had what he thought he had–and the light–this close to it, it felt like it was scorching his eyes. He slammed the dagger back into the sheath, but it was too late–he could…feel something in his head, a voice almost. Something raging around. Was it a curse? He didn’t know, but he’d come too far to second guess his decision now. He put the dagger in his pack and bolted out the tent and escaped the camp as quickly as possible. He’d just passed the outer line of guards when the horn sounded–his thievery had been discovered, and he didn’t have quite the head start he would have liked.

But something was wrong with him, he could tell now. He felt clumsy, legs and feet louder and heavier than they should have been. His clothes were hot and tight. His teeth hurt, his muscles ached–whatever this curse was, it was acting fast. Perhaps he should head towards the monastery after all–they would be a good bet to figure out what had happened to him and fix him. He didn’t make it that far, however. 

He made it down the mountains and back into the thick forest between the camp and the monastery in the foothills, but the chills and aches were getting worse and worse. He slipped down a bank and tumbled down into a muddy rut, and he didn’t have the strength to climb back up–all he could do was huddle there, a voice still raging inside him, screaming really. It wasn’t his voice, it couldn’t be, but why did it seem familiar?


He awoke sometime the next morning–not too late that the morning chill had burnt off, but late enough that he could see well enough around him. It took him a moment to scrape the mud off and realize that something was wrong with his skin–it wasn’t the pale pink from before–instead, it was almost green-grey. He’d seen skin like that before in only one place–on the hides of half orcs. 

He sat up, looked at the rest of himself, and in the course of the night, he had literally burst out of his clothes. He was close to six and a half feet tall, packed with muscle, small tusks threatening to push their way out of his mouth–whatever that dagger had done to him, it had turned him into a fucking half-orc! It wasn’t a simple polymorph either–those you could…feel your old body pushing back underneath it, looking for a weak point in the magic to break back out. This felt…normal. Like this is what his body had always been. 

He gathered up the stuff that had fallen from his pack, including the sheathed dagger, and sat for a moment on the slope above the mud, and tried to figure out what to do next. The monastery might help him…but the monks had strict laws about allowing anyone with orcish blood into the place, which made sense given the animosity. Perhaps heading back to the camp would give him an answer–but they wouldn’t be happy to see him, and he wasn’t changed enough to pass as one of them. The question was answered for him, when he heard a rustle and a shout–someone had spotted him from above, and had their bows trained on him–but who?


Here’s the next poll! Patrons of course have their own bonus entry to read, and their own poll that they can vote in, to see what happens along the alternate course of the story.

Interactive: Orcish Recon (Part 1)

Sorry it’s been a while since I did one of these, the last few months have been, well, a mess as you can all probably imagine. Writing has been a bit of struggle, but I’m doing my best to get done what I can, and have been focusing on commissions for the last while to keep my head above water. I thought I would try something new with this interactive, and maybe a few after it, so we’ll see how it goes. Welcome to the land of Horalon–a fantastical realm full of magical creatures of all sorts, where fantastic machines, strange spells, and disturbing urges collide on a regular basis. For the next couple of interactives, I think it might be fun to toy around with a fantasy setting, since I don’t write in that sort of genre very often. These are going to be more narrative adventures than anything else–and depending on time and energy I might flesh some out into small twine interactives. Anyway, without further ado, I present Tales of Horalon #1 – An Orcish Reconnaissance.


Avoy cursed as he slid back on the rocks a bit, and listened in the darkness for any sign that someone had heard him. If ever there was a time to have invested in some climbing gear, it would have been now, but why had the whores back in Hilveride had to be so beautiful and so expensive at the same time? He checked his footing, and kept climbing–not too much farther now, and he thought he had enough grip strength to get to the top of the ridge, which ought to give him a good vantage on the orc camp below.

Avoy had been hired by a monastery in the foothills of these mountains, which had always had an uneasy relationship with the orcish tribes that lived higher up. Generally, the two groups managed an uneasy peace, but depending on chieftains, and depending on which monastery guards had the ear of the head monk, various disputes flared up from time to time. It appeared that a new something was brewing in the region–there had been a succession dispute among the orcs, resulting in rather new blood taking leadership, with a need to prove strength. Lately, some knights on patrol had failed to return to the monastery, and a few days prior, right before Avoy arrived to accept the task, a monk had been swiped by a roving patrol of scouting orcs–as close to a declaration of war as there was likely to be. Yet kidnappings were new–usually, the orcs would slaughter knights and monks found on their patrols and leave their corpses where they would be found later, as warnings–the change in tactics had the whole monastery on edge. So the head monk had sent Avoy to do some reconnaissance–figure out what the orcs were planning, so the monks and their knights could be ready when the time came to battle.

He hauled himself up onto the ridge, found a mostly sturdy position, pulled out a spyglass and began getting his bearings of the camp below. A basic count put the number of orcs around 500–the monastery had a reserve of nearly a thousand knights–but even in small numbers, orcs were ferocious opponents. They seemed better organized than most orcish camps he had laid eyes on before–guards posted and mostly doing the work of guarding, instead of napping or eating or fucking, as was more common. This looked to be a temporary camp of some sort, because as far as he could see, there were no women–odd really, because orcs generally didn’t discriminate when it came to battle. As he was observing, a horn blew, and the orcs not on patrol or on guard duty headed towards the center of the compound–a large open arena-like space that Avoy had a decent enough sight line on–though he couldn’t hear anything over the wind.

But what he witnessed was enough to chill him to the bone. Drums pounded first, as was common during these sorts of ceremonies–loud enough that Avoy could hear them quite well. The warriors danced and wrestled as the drums grew louder and faster. Then the drums ceased a moment, and two warriors hauled the kidnapped monk forward into the center of the ring, while the orcs hollered and screeched around him–apparently, he had been taken as a sacrifice. A shaman stepped down from a raised dais, where the chieftain was also seated, and the warriors held the monk down on a slab of rock in the middle of the space. The shaman pulled forth a knife–even from high above, Avoy could see that the blade was glowing a steady green, not dissimilar from the skin of the orcs around it–and the shaman began to carve.

Silence, aside from the monk’s screams of pain then. The orcs were silent and still while the shaman cut long, shallow wounds all over the front of the monks body. The lines were jagged and sharp, running the length of the monk’s body, the slab soaked with blood–though not as much as he might have expected. Avoy anticipated the killing blow at any time, but much to his surprise, the shaman ceased his work, the orcs cheered and rioted around him, returning to their fighting (and even a few instances of fucking, that Avoy looked away from quickly) while the guards dragged the unconscious, but allegedly alive, monk away in the direction they had come, leaving Avoy to contemplate what he’d just witnessed.

He’d certainly never seen a ritual like it before. He’d also never seen anything like that dagger wielded by the shaman. He put his spyglass away, and pondered his next move. Night would fall soon–he’d learned some, but everything he’d seen raised more questions than answers. He would have to go down, into the camp, and see what he could find out there. But what should he target? Rescuing the monk would certainly be a victory, though very risky, especially as wounded as he was now. He could investigate the shaman’s quarters, and see if he could get his hands on that knife. There was something special about it–but he wouldn’t know what until the monks at the monastery could examine it. Lastly, he could try spying on the chieftain. Orcs weren’t known to keep great written records of their plans, but Avoy knew enough of the tongue that he could catch the important bits, if he overheard them. That might be enough to give the monks an advantage.

So, what does our rogue decide to do?


Here’s the poll! Patrons have their own bonus poll as well, like usual. However! There’s a new twist to this–since I’m thinking about fleshing these out anyway, I’m going to be posting exclusive, alternate entries over on my Patreon, depending on what they want to see most–so if you’re a patron, you’ll get other branches that you won’t find here. These alternate chunks will be available to anyone supporting me with at least $1. You can find the bonus poll over here. The public poll is below:

Idolized (Part 5)

Toby licked his lips, eyeing the drooling green cock a couple of feet from his face, smelling the musk rolling over him. He looked over at the Professor Jeral, likely lost before he could get here, and wondered what he should be feeling. He was…brilliant, and yet watching him slobber all over the chief’s skin, seeing him lose himself in the pleasure of the tribe…Toby found himself longing for it. “No–No, I…but I–” he stammered, but he found himself losing the words even as he spoke them. Kal’Ragek didn’t need words, the lord demanded action. He knelt lower, kissing the chief’s feet, licking the dust from them, tasting them, and worked his way higher until the chief–his chief–allowed him to suck at his cock, and taste him again. Kal’Ragek could forgive, and Toby–he desired forgiveness more than anything else.

An hour later, the three of them returned to the tribe, and were welcomed back into the fold. Professor Jeral was presented to Kal’Ragek, and he immediately fell to his knees, ass high, ready to be brought into the tribe. Other men were there as well–more men than Toby recalled there being when he’d left earlier. They were…being drawn here. Kal’ragek was powerful enough now to pull them in, to begin rebuilding what he had lost.

“Go, brother. Bring him in. Give yourself to our Lord and prove you are not an enemy, accept your name, and your place at my side.”

Toby stepped forward, running his hands over his professor’s ass, feeling how smooth his skin was–remembering how smooth his own skin had been, the old man flinching for a moment, and then relaxing. Toby stroked his cock until it was fully erect, nearly ten inches with a thick foreskin even larger than the chiefs, his balls aching below. Kal’Ragek was present–around him, and within him, as he slid his cock in his professor’s hole, listening to him groan with pleasure, Toby’s eyes locked on the glowing idol before him. Why had he been so afraid, before? There was no room for fear here–this was only room for power.

He felt his body swelling, the clothes he’d thown on tearing to bits within seconds, as his bones shifted and cracked. He’d grown substantially before this, but he recalled how Darren had exploded in size when he’d taken his new name–was he ready for this? Was he ready to give up everything he’d been? He gripped Jeral’s hips tight and thrust harder, both of them panting and groaning in unison, the tribe around them staring in rapture. He had to keep shifting position as he grew taller and broader, his face aching–his new face. His brow was thickening, his nose wider, the thick beard he’d sprouted over the past days growing longer until it hung below his chest, the hair on his head lengthening as well and turning a deep, oily black and lastly his teeth. He gritted them, feeling them sharpen, cutting into his gums, his incisors growing faster as his jaw widened, pressing out from his his mouth into tusks, wet with slobber and blood.

Kal’Ragek was there, inside him, and nothing else was anymore. The fear was gone, the knowledge of that old world fading faster, and he allowed it to go. They would create a new world now, like he had been created anew. His name was To’Rak, of the highest clan, second to the chief. He would never fear again, so long as the light of Kal’Ragek shone within him–may it never be doused for a thousand years.


A week after Darren first discovered the idol of Kal’Ragek, the campsite near the excavation site was empty. A crew of workers arrived to deliver a load of food and supplies, only to discover every tent was empty–it was like everyone had simply disappeared overnight. The excavation site was another mystery. It too was abandoned, but it looked like it had been ransacked at some point. Items had been taken seemingly at random, both from the storage and preservation areas, and also from within the ground. New holes had been dug, seemingly at random, and several objects of great size had been hauled from the ground and dragged away–but the trail ended at the edge of some woods.

The country buried the event, but the various explanations offered–everything from an attack by wild animals to mysterious kidnapping by a rogue terrorist organization–failed to satisfy the families of the men who had disappeared. The few women who had been at the dig site, however, appeared a couple of weeks later, unharmed, but with no memories at all of what had happened at the site, aside from a few wild tales of sex, and an eerie green light. In time, people stopped paying attention, as they do, and the mysterious disappearance was forgotten. The excavation site became the property of the military, but nothing of any worth was found, because the tribe had already reclaimed everything that mattered.

Kal’Ragek did not desire the world–a few scores of men worshipping him was more than enough to keep him satisfied. The tribe lived in the wilderness, and within six months they had all been granted new names, and with them, had lost all memory of the worlds they had come from. Darr’Rak, with To’Rak at his side, were capable leaders. The tribe prospered and flourished as it had all those centuries ago. It was the twelfth such tribe that had existed–but Kal’Ragek believed this one would last a long time.

The legend of the disappearance would lead the occasional group to go out and search for evidence of what had happened to the men working on the excavation. Generally, these attempts were short lived. The military would generally see them coming, and detain the searchers for a few days, long enough to discourage them from continuing their pursuit, but on occasion, some particularly dedicated parties would delve deeper–through the thick woods where the drag marks had stopped, to the mountainous foothills beyond. It was an inhospitable place, generally, but it took hard times to make the greatest tribes.

The search parties might catch the occasional scent on the wind. Something none of them had ever smelled before. At night, there would be the occasional green glow behind the lower foothills, and the men would find themselves drawn deeper into the mountains, while the women, unnerved, would flee. By the time they found the tribe, Kal’Ragek would have been in their minds for days, softening and preparing them. Below, in the middle of the tribal camp, would be the idols, and the orcs would gather to accept the newest members of the tribe as they came down into the valley and bowed to their new lord, presenting their holes for their new brothers.

Of course, a few dodged that fate and managed to make it back to their civilizations. No one believed them, of course. Their dreams were haunted all the same–filled with the green of the idol, that distant voice they could barely hear, and a deep, bone shaking sense of regret. They all returned, eventually, and were taken in as equals. Kal’Ragek always forgives, after all, unless you are an enemy, but why be an enemy when you can join the tribe?

Idolized (Part 4)

He’d forgotten that the sun shone too.

How long had he been in that tent, with Darr’Rak? No–with Darren–his name was Darren! He couldn’t remember exactly–two days? Three? The sun was setting now, behind the mountain rage to the northwest, and staring at the glow, he found himself thinking of the light of Kal’Ragek. The voice was in him, distant but there, telling him that if he returned now, there would be no punishment, that Kal’Ragek could forgive a minor crisis of faith. Instead, Toby ran further away from Darren’s tent, away from that cursed idol, until he couldn’t hear the voice anymore, until he could be sure that what he was hearing was him, and him alone.

The last few days felt like a dream to him, an intense, incredibly pleasurable dream, and one he still longed to return to, even though he knew it was wrong. He and Darren had fucked constantly that first evening and night, he could remember that, paying tribute to their new lord, filling one another with their seed, using it to polish their idol to an even more intense shine. Then, Darren left, and he returned with a third young man, and together…together they brought him into the fold as well, then a fourth had joined soon after. The night before, they had been forced to move to a larger space, and they commandeered a supply tent that was barely used. There, around dawn, Darren had become…Darr’Rak. It was an image seared into his brain, the sight of their god giving the First the true gift, removing the last of his humanity, marking him as the chieftain of their reborn tribe. The sight of him, the smell of him…it was intoxicating. Toby had crawled over, shoving his face into Darr’Rak’s reeking pits, tasting the hair there, along with the others–they had served him for hours in the light of their lord, Toby was priviliged to be the first to fuck himself on the chief’s foot long cock. Looking up at him, he realized that this is what he would become as well, soon enough, but he wouldn’t allow that to happen to him. He refused to give in and become…whatever it was Darren was now. While the rest of the tribe had returned to worship, and while Kal’Ragek’s eyes were away from him, he’d found some clothes stashed in a crate, thrown them on, and slipped away–but now what?

He looked down at himself, at his mostly green arms and feet, his hulking frame, the thick hands, the hair covering his arms, chest and shoulders…he was a monster. A beast. A servant of his lord in his image. He shook his head, but the voice was still there–perhaps it would never be gone. This had to end, in any case–Darr’Rak had to be stopped before things could spread any further…but how?

He could hear men at the mess tent eating dinner, but he froze. If they saw him, what would they think? Away from the tribe, without the voice of his lord…he felt so empty. He hadn’t realized how hard it had become to think, since Darren had infected him, but his mind couldn’t formulate any ideas–there were just emotions and simple urges, and any attempt to build past that, towards a plan, felt impossible. He needed someone smart, and someone he could trust. Someone who would know him, hopefully. He had to get to Professor Jeral, but he had to get him alone first.

He waited until night fell, and then found his way to the professor’s tent, avoiding being seen by anyone else in the meantime. The longer he was away from the tribe, the clearer his head became, which was a relief. He’d nearly…lost himself, or allowed Kal’Ragek to devour him, which is what it had felt like was happening. It was like everything about him was being sucked away, and replaced by some monster, and he’d…wanted it. Still, how would his teacher react to the sight of him? He hesitated outside for a few minutes, but he had no choice. The tribe must have realized he’d gone missing by now–if he didn’t alert everyone soon…well, he knew what Kal’Ragek wanted. It wanted its tribe back, and wanted every man it could find to join it.

“P-Professor?” His voice was so deep, it barely even sounded like him.

No one responded immediately, and he wondered if, perhaps, he wasn’t in the tent and had gone to the bathroom, but after a moment there was a low moan–a sound both of terror and arousal he was intimately familiar with. His heart froze, and Toby smelled it wafting out from within the tent, the heady musk. He needed to run, but his head was growing thick again and his cock was hardening, and when Darr’Rak’s hand reached out from the tent and grabbed him by the upper arm, he allowed the huge beast to pull him inside as well.

The professor was there, naked, soaked in sweat, eyes glazed over. He was a sizable man and still in good shape from his excursions around the world to various dig sites, but beside Darr’Rak he looked puny, almost childlike. The professor pushed his way under the chief’s arm, fighting to get closer to the chief’s sweaty pits. Darr’Rak sat down heavily on the cot, the metal frame groaning under his size, but it only bent slightly.

“I…thought you might come here, when I saw you gone,” Darr’Rak said. His voice was deep and gutteral, the words twisted by the two tusks which had pushed their way from his bottom jaw and over his upper lips. “Very bad, leaving–Kal’Ragek is very angry. The lord wonders if I chose wrong, in you.”

Their lord’s name…it was the first time Toby had heard it said properly. If fell from the chief’s mouth so naturally, the way his thick tongue could press against his tusks, the sharp click of teeth at the end of the name. He tried to keep his head clear, tried to keep what little clarity had returned to him in his hours away from the tribe, but the musk, the sound of his Lord’s name–he’d been wrong, wrong to try and run. What had he been thinking? He pushed forward, eager to smell his chief’s musk, eager to worship him like the older professor was, but when he tried, Darr’Rak tugged down hard on his arm, forcing Toby onto his knees.

“Kal’Ragek understands fear,” the chief said, looking down at Toby, “But fear is for enemies of his tribe–a true disciple has no fear.” He paused, and looked over Toby below him, pleased by how far he had come very far in the last few days, since joining him in the tribe. He was close now, to accepting Kal’Ragek, to being truly named, as he now was. “Are you an enemy of the tribe?”

Idolized (Part 3)

Toby resisted for a moment, but when Darren put a green hand on his shoulder and applied a bit of pressure, his knees buckled and he knelt down, inching up to the idol in front of him. It…really was beautiful, now that he was closer. He tried to focus on looking at the material, but found his eyes taking in the figure itself–the massive musculature, the thick cock hanging between the wide thighs, gut and hair and beastly face. It seemed…terrifying, the closer he got, but he couldn’t pull himself away from it. If he left, then it would be angry with him, and he didn’t want it to be angry. He bowed down, prostrating himself in front of the idol, and when he looked up at the statue now, it seemed…happier. Was it…glowing? Even in the daylight, it seemed to have its own green aura surrounding it.

“I…Darren, what did you find?”

“I found God, Toby, and I’m going to help you find him too.”

“No–I don’t…we need to quarantine this, or…contain it. I should–”

Before he could continue, Darren planted one sizable foot on Toby’s back and shoved hard, forcing Toby to bow deeper, Darren pressing down and holding him there. Toby tried to look up, but all he could see was the idol over him, that glow. It was so beautiful–glorious, really. He could…hear something, or someone, in his mind–just a whisper, but if he was good, if he was obedient, he’d be able to hear it better. He listened, hard, and followed the ritual, and soon, Darren didn’t need to hold him down at all, and he watched Toby worship their new god for a moment, before tugging at his clothes.

“Kal’Ragek wants to see you as you are.”

Toby struggled, but whether he was trying to help get the clothes off or resist him, it didn’t matter much to Darren, who simply ripped them apart at the seams. When had he gotten so strong? He didn’t seem that much larger, and yet…had he just forgotten what he’d looked like before all of this? He flexed his thighs, and watched the ight pants he was wearing split at the seams as well. In a flurry, he tore at them, feeling better once they were both naked, as they should be, before god. What had he been thinking about again? He’d noticed that his mind had grown a bit muddled, lately. Kal’Ragek was all that mattered, and so everything else was simply draining away. Still, his god desired a new kind of worship, and Darren desired it too–he got down behind the now naked Toby, spread his ass cheeks apart with both hands, pushed his face in and probed his ass with his tongue, giving a deep, guttural moan as he did.

“D-Darren. I…stop…” Toby muttered, but in all honesty, he didn’t want Darren to stop, and the voice in his head didn’t want him to stop either. Instead, he found himself pressing his head to the ground and raising his ass into the air, giving Darren a better angle to work from. His tongue slid into his hole, probing deep, and Toby groaned louder, his cock hard as a rock. Neither of them had ever had sex with a man before, or ever considered it…but this didn’t feel like sex. This was worship. This was for Kal’Ragek.

Darren pulled away, a string of drool connecting his chops to Toby’s crack for a moment, and he licked his lips. “Are you prepared to accept the blessing of Kal’Ragek? Are you prepared to join me in his eternal tribe? To be remade in his image?”

Toby nodded, eyes wide and unfocused, consumed by the light before him. Darren drooled down onto his cock, his much longer and thicker cock, and then pressed the head to Toby’s hole, sliding it inside. He was excited, and Toby nearly screamed from the size of the invasion–Darren reached down and clamped a hand over Toby’s mouth to keep him quiet. After a moment, the pain had disappeared, replaced by deep grunts and moans. The idol was glowing more powerfully now, filling his entire frame of vision. He reached out with one hand and touched it, surprised to find the stone cool to the touch, but a power passed into him as Darren slammed in deep, filling his ass with a massive load of cum from his balls.

“All praise Kal’Ragek.”

“All praise our lord.”

Toby saw that the hand he’d used to touch the idol had turned green, the nails black and much thicker than they had been before. The muscles had grown as well–he looked at his two arms together–one human, and the other…not–and the forearm of the second was nearly twice as large. Short hairs were pushing their way out of his skin, he could feel them, the same bristly fur coating most of Darren’s body now. The green reached up to his elbow and stopped there, but it would spread further, he could…feel it. “Darren…Darren, we…we need to tell someone.”

“They’ll all know, in time, but first…first, more.” Over his shoulder, Toby saw that the Darren’s changes had progressed as well. The green skin covered nearly three quarters of his body now, including most of his face. One eye was human, and the other was a deep yellow, and it looked like his…bones were shifting. “Me now–I praise the lord, and you fuck.”

He pushed Toby to the side, and he knelt down and presented his ass. Toby knew he should run, he should at least tell someone what was happening, but the voice…it was louder now. Instead, he got behind Darren and began licking his green hole, smelling him, savoring him, and he could feel how happy their lord was, at their worship. He required more, still, but the two of them would suffice for now. Toby hesitated, with his cock at the entrance to Darren’s ass, wondering if there was still a chance he might save himself.

“Fuck me, fuck me!” Darren grunted, pushing back so the head of Toby’s cock popped into him, and his thought of escape slipped away. This was the escape he craved, anyway–Kal’Ragek would free them from this tiresome world, and give them a new one. A better one. A twelfth tribe–one that would last longer than all the rest.

Idolized (Part 2)

“Jesus, what the fuck is happening to you?” Toby said, looking at the skin of Darren’s chest and arm. “Is…is this, contagious? What even is this? I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

It had been a few days since Darren had dragged the idol back to camp, since he’d first worshiped at the altar of Kal’Ragek. That was the closest he could come to pronouncing it, the name in his head–the consonants didn’t quite fit right in his mouth, and saying it made his tongue itch and burn like someone had struck a match and laid it across the surface. The next day, he’d left the idol at camp, and gone back to the excavation, but he hadn’t been able to focus at all, and he felt physically ill. He barely managed to make the trek back to camp that evening, and he told everyone that he was just feeling exhausted and a bit sick. He’d need a few days of rest, he thought, and he’d be back to normal, or perhaps, better than normal. He’d confined himself to his tent, and everyone had largely forgotten about him–they had made a great discovery back at the site–a third dwelling–and everyone was busy working around it, cataloging finds, and so Darren managed to catch a few days without being disturbed–just him, the idol, some food snuck from the mess, and the god slowly revealing himself to Darren’s mind.

The changes had only continued, and while Darren was concerned, his god assured him that this was the way things ought to be–that in order to serve him and worship him properly, Darren would need to become…something else. He had laid awake for hours on end, sweating and shaking with fever, scratching at his skin, feeling the patch of green spread further and further over his body. Now, it was nearly impossible to hide. His entire right arm was covered with the new skin, as was most of his chest, stomach, and back. Even his cock had turned color, grown an extra four inches of length, with a thick foreskin extending over the previously circumcised head. The cum from his balls had turned sour and yellow, but delicious–he found himself compelled to eat every load he shot during his periods of worship–gifts from his god–but what they might be doing to his insides, he was too terrified to try and imagine it, but from the cramps and muscle aches, it was clear that the transformation was more than superficial. He was getting bigger, for one thing–both taller and more muscular, with patches of dark hair sprouting on his green skin. His hair and beard had grown out as well. The hair he could at least keep knotted behind him, where it fell past his shoulders, but his beard was wild and tangled, nearly an inch long and impossible to tame.  

Toby was staring at him, disgusted by him, but Darren steeled himself, and refused to be humiliated, standing straight and tall, looming over him. He’d hidden for long enough, now. It had become clear to him that hiding in his tent and hoarding Kal’Ragek to himself–it wasn’t right. His god, it was pleased to be worshiped again, and very pleased with Darren’s devotion, but it had been…a very long time since the last tribe had dispersed, since Kal’Ragek had been forgotten, and he was starved for praise and devotion. Toby and Darren had been close, as close as two academic rivals could be, he supposed. They had been the two students selected to go on this dig by their mutual professor, Dr. Edwin Jeral. He had seen Toby crossing camp, and called out to him, knowing Toby would want to drag him away from his god, but that was only because he didn’t yet understand. Everyone had forgotten the tribe, like each time before, but they could learn again. They would learn, and Darren would teach them with the light of Kal’Ragek.

“I’m not sick,” Darren said to Toby. He’d put on a pair of tight fitting pants, knowing that if he’d been completely naked his friend would have likely bolted, but the feel of the fabric against his skin felt…wrong. Leather or hide or nothing at all would be better, but this would have to do. He had to be careful when moving not too flex too much–he’d ripped apart nearly all of his other clothes by accident, as he’d grown. “I know how this looks, but I feel great. I…I just wanted to show you something, I want your opinion on it.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Darren? We need to get you to a hospital! Your…skin, I mean, and…how could you not tell any of us about this? It looks like gangrene or something.”

“It’s not something I can explain, it’s something I need you to see, or taste, or smell…” Darren said, and pulled the oil cloth from over the idol. He had constructed a rudimentary altar–it was wrong for Kal’Ragek to rest on the ground–and the hours he had spent polishing the smooth green stone with his own spit showed–the green was luminescent, and nearly shown of its own accord in the dim daylight filtering in through the flaps of the tent.

“Is…Is that from the dig? Did you fucking smuggle that thing down here? Are you insane?” Toby said, and stepped closer, “What…even is it? I’ve never seen stone like that before. Is it jade?”

“I don’t know–you were always better at stone materials than me. That’s why I wanted you to look at it, Toby. Go on, look close, kneel down in front of it, and tell me what you think.”

Idolized (Part 1)

Five miles in, and five miles out, every day. The history was worth it, of course, but that didn’t exactly make it easier for Darren. After all, as a PhD candidate in cultural anthropology, he spent most of his time with his nose stuck in a book, or looking at centuries old artifacts in secure laboratories and museums–five mile hikes were not part of his usual activities. He wasn’t exactly out of shape–but at five foot seven and skinny as a rail, he had a hard time keeping up with some of the more sizable men working on the excavation. It was the hike back that was always the hardest. After ten hours focused on meter by meter sized squares of dirt: digging, brushing, cataloging, and measuring–all under the hot sun–hiking back at dusk to base camp was a trial, when all he and everyone else wanted was a meal, and to collapse for another night.

But field work was where you made a name for yourself. You could spend a career analyzing the discoveries of other researchers, sure, but if you wanted to be on the cover of magazines, you needed to be out there, and this dig…nothing had ever really been found quite like it, ever before. A dwelling had been revealed by a muddy rockslide, and spotted by some shepherds, miles from the nearest city…and no one knew what culture it belonged to, and as they’d been digging, things had only made less and less sense. But Darren…he’d found something today, something he was somehow certain was a key to all of this mystery. An idol, carved from some stone–he’d thought it was jade at first, but a far deeper green than he’d ever seen before. He’d touched it, and he’d…felt something, a power inside of it, a logic…but more than anything else, he’d felt…possessive. He’d found it, so it was his, right?

In fact, it belonged to countless other governments and bureaucracies…but before anyone else spotted him, he took the idol, surprised by how heavy it was, wrapped it in some oilcloth and shoved it into his bag. Now, hiking back, feeling the heavy stone knock against his pelvis with each step, he wondered what in the hell he thought he was doing. Not only was this completely unethical, it was criminal! If anyone caught him with this thing, he’d be thrown in prison–and not a relatively nice American prison. The prisons here–well, his advisor travelling with him and another student on the excavation had warned them both, and he knew better, but he’d done it anyway. Still, when he’d felt it…he’d been so sure, somehow. He’d just have to take it back with him the next day, and pretend he’d found it in another square.

The crew arrived back at the base camp, where they all ditched their packs by their tents and then went to the mess hall to eat–everyone except Darren, who pulled his pack into his tent with him, dug around inside and hauled out the wrapped idol. He needed to see it again. He needed to touch it, to know that what he’d…felt earlier hadn’t been some strange folly of his own imagination. He unrolled the cloth, and there it was–he turned on his flashlight in the dusk light and examined the statue a bit closer.

It was obviously masculine in appearance, though done in slight caricature–that is, unless people in this society regularly had penises that hung to their knees. The figure was corded with muscle, and a bit squat–arms a bit longer than normal, but not quite ape like either. The surface of the stone was smooth, but the pattern of the green material almost gave an impression of hair all over the surface of the idol’s body. It was the face that fascinated him the most–rough, beastial, with short tusks emerging from the mouth, surrounded by a thick beard hanging to the idol’s belly. It had to be a god of some sort, and yet it was no god he was familiar with, especially not in this region of the world.

He stood the idol upright on the ground by his cot–it didn’t seem right to leave it lying down on it’s side. Touching it again…it felt good. Cool against his sweaty hand, but with some kind of deeper warmth. It was difficult for him to recall what, exactly, happened next. The idol needed him, it needed his praise and his worship, and in return, there was a promise–but what that promise was, he couldn’t tell. It came to him in feelings and scents, more than words and images, but he found himself prostrated in front of idol, watching it glow with a soft light, the light spreading to him as well, infusing him, and as terrified as he was, his cock was so hard it was nearly ready to burst without him so much as touching it.

Half an hour later, the idol was stashed back in the oil cloth and tucked under his cot bundled with some spare clothing. He’d had to change clothes, because he’d shot a massive load of cum right into the front of his pants, the largest load he’d ever seen, and his cock and balls were still throbbing. He went to the mess hall and piled his plate high with food, more food than he ever would have eaten normally, and stuffed himself, trying to forget what had happened–what he’d allowed to happen, and what he…knew he would let happen again. He did his best to pay no mind to the extra inch his cock had grown, or that…strange patch of green skin that had appeared on his torso, stretching from under his chest around his side and to his back, or to the fact that his clothes didn’t seem to fit quite right, suddenly. When he got back to the tent and prostrated himself before the idol to worship again, he was surprised by the sound of cloth tearing, as a burst of growth across his back and shoulder muscle tore the yoke of his shirt apart. He tugged it away from him, hand shaking, and chucked the tattered shirt towards the wall of the tent. It would all be alright, he told himself, worship the idol, and everything would be as it should be, once again.

When Nathan had said he wanted to take Michael to a gaming convention, Michael hadn’t been too excited. He had been even less excited when he heard about Nathan’s plan to cosplay as a couple of orcs–but Nathan eventually convinced him to try the costume on. If Michael didn’t enjoy it, then he wouldn’t have to do it.

He had been expecting cardboard costumes and face paint–not the strange neon green solution Nathan had presented, but he drank it down with his boyfriend–and immediately felt sick to his stomach. His skin–it was turning green, and he was growing shorter and broader, his body filling in with pounds of muscle. Looking over at Nathan–he too was changing, but growing taller, and even more muscular than Michael. Becoming far more powerful…and Michael felt his now feeble mind overcome with the need to serve his warlord.
As Michael sucked down Nathan’s ten inch cock, Nathan told him that the convention wasn’t entirely about gaming. There was also a heavy undercurrent of sex play involved. They would be a shoe-in for first place in the costume contest, as the orc warlord and his sex slave peon.