Genesis of Orcs, Chapter 1: A Verboten Liaison by goblin_minstrel

Warning: This is an erotic horror story that depicts graphic evil like rape and torment. Victims suffer over the top misogynistic villainy. Please don’t read if fiction concerning atrocious topics disturb you.Care to be an editor for future chapters? Please email me if so.

By: Goblin Minstrel (goblin.minstrel@ g mail.com)

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Where did it all go wrong?

For nigh four millennia elvenkind has stewarded a golden age. Elves, alongside angels, dethroned the devil at the dawn of creation. Through their benevolent reign good has thrived ever since.

Born of the goddess Gaia herself elves border the divine. Every elf’s female, ageless, and unsurpassed at all things. Peerless in strength and skill, it’s ironic their fall came from the puniest pest.

Goblins are emaciated toddlers. Wolves, gnolls, and even frostbite are direr traveling risks. There’re only two traits that distinguish them.

Firstly as a demonic subspecies goblins delight in ghastly depravity. Bunnies and squires are all they usually catch. Flayed roadside crucifixions attest to their barbarism.

Secondly they’re prolific. Subterranean warrens spawn countless goblins daily. Gestating in a week with litters of a dozen, nothing save food scarcity keep their population in check. As carnivorous newborns, siblings are often their first meal.

So how did such vermin drive elves to the brink of extinction? It all began beneath an autumn hunter’s moon…

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Upon the Razek Mountainside (3862 DE)  * DE means ‘During Eden’

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Howls in pursuit I run for my life. Hemorrhaging from my limp sword arm I’m dizzy with bloodloss. Adrenaline alone keeps me awake.

How did I let this happen? How did I, Eve, chief ranger get ambushed by wargs? Above me looms the Razek mountain and on its other side the dwarven kingdom of Urren. I carry a vital peace offering for its regent, but near dead in these gloomy woods I’ll be lucky to survive the night.

Abruptly I halt. Snarls ahead, three pairs of glowing red eyes emerge from the darkness. My ambushers have encircled me. I draw my sword. Unlike most elves I’m not ambidextrous but I haven’t a choice. Drooling as they circle, these mammoth thousand pound wolves are hungry.

Together they pounce. I lethally slash the bowels of two but the third chomps my ankle with a bone pulverizing crack. Flailing its great maw he flings me like a rag doll hard against a tree.

Choking up blood, my whole world spins as those bloodred pupils barrel toward dinner. Dizzily I thrust. Mere luck guides my swordpoint into its forehead as the massive monster smashes me into the trunk and merciful oblivion.

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From the Provenantial Chronicles (407 BE)  * BE means ‘Before Eden’

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Foremothers of existence, the twin sisters Gaia and Rhea made every plant and animal followed by their magnum opus: elvenkind. Gaia, as nature’s creatrix, sculpted their flesh. Thereon Rhea, the goddess of fertility, breathed life nto their cocreations.

In the beginning there was no good nor evil, merely mortality. Timeless laws dictate that only the kindhearted can summon evil and the heartless good. Discontent with their ephemerality both ironically built the crossroads to Heaven and Hell.

Lucifer, in a seraphim’s guise, lavished agelessness and cures for every malady upon elves in exchange for a rift to Hell. Meanwhile God, disguised as the grim reaper, traded liches eternal undeath and necromancy to open the same for Heaven. Thus both those species attained immortality.

Betrayed by their erstwhile patrons, angels and demons overran then fortified their respective gateway into a stronghold. Missionaries crusaded thence to disseminate their ideology of puritanical good or malevolent evil. Both denounced nonconformity as a capital crime.

Of Earth’s myriad wonders its interlopers foremost envied motherhood. God and Satan handmade each vassal whereas terrestrials procreate. Every populace outnumbered the celestials and hellspawn save for one, whose genesis was incomplete.

Elves were germinated from dryads so all aboriginals were women. Leery of Lucifer’s sway over aggression, in lieu of elven men Gaia grew a league tall elm tree. Its pollination would emancipate their masterpiece from a need for males to conceive.

Unburdened by masculinity, societal crimes like assault and murder abate. Over the eras elvenkind’s matriarchy would flourish into a utopia… much to the chagrin of humanity’s kings and lords.

Emasculated by elves and deprived of tools like belligerence to corrupt them Satan struck first. Ambushed while exhausted by the apex of their enormous elm’s ensoulment, he bridenapped his gentler nemesis: Rhea.

Enraged by her sister’s abduction Gaia and God demanded Rhea’s return. Satan replied with her bloodstained gown to prove marital consummation. Drunk with triumph, its missive proclaimed Rhea’s dowry to be the damnation of Earth.

Thus elves, alongside the armies of Heaven and Hell, marshaled for war.

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Upon the Razek Mountainside (3862 DE)

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Dreaming of my species’ tragic history I awake hours later to the rending sound of flesh. Beside me lays a slain warg with my hilt deep sword in its skull and just beyond it something… eating.

I’m shocked to be alive. My hale and hardy elvish constitution stabilized me but my mangled ankle won’t mend. Lame, my adventuring career’s over.

Surreptitiously I peek around the warg. Five goblins rabidly feast, shredding intestines with their needly teeth. Watching nauseate me. Vegan like all elves, it’s hard to accept that such horror’s also a part of nature.

Skittish of rain, I should’ve recognized their stench. Goblins wallow in piss and excrement. Wiping after defecation with their loincloth the crude rags they wear reek worst of all.

Hardly three feet tall, goblins are sadistic toddlers that crucify doves and flay living mice. Tyrannized by an alpha these cowardly vermin do everything in packs. Hunt, eat, mate.

I’m in trouble. Goblins are incredibly timid but I can scarcely stand to shoo them off. Sparing a glance at my sword it’s too wedged to retrieve. My only hope’s to hide. Thankfully I’m downwind or they’d already have found me.

Creeping away I put as little weight on my bad ankle as I can. I hobble one step, then two amid their steady chewing and pray their next meal won’t be me. Thirty cautious steps later I nearly reach safety when the breeze reverses direction and with it the course of history.

“Wot’z dat smell?” raucous snuffles tell me the jig’s up. Reflexively I bolt but instead snap my last unbroken anklebone and collapse. Raced upon by their puerile pitter-patter, I brace for my coup de grace.

“Luk! Diz yummy elf’z hurt,” childlike hands drag me kicking back to the gnawed warg husks that portend my fate. Corralling their supine quarry I hyperventilate. “Wi’z so lucky! Lemme eat da pointy ears? Purdy pleaze?”

“Please sirs. I mean you no harm,” although futile to a point of farce alotta lives hinge on my mission so I beseech anyway. “My liege will reward you with anything you desire so please let me deliver my message.”

“Let’z eat diz elf, Gadam?! Eat har!” nagging their alpha, Gadam lifts a big rock high overhead. By all accounts this should be my death: butchered for dessert. But tonight another primordial craving changes everything.

Resigned to this ignoble end I make peace with the inevitable. Eyes shut, I await the afterlife but… nothing.

“Please sir, have…” Gadam cruelly prolongs my mortal terror up until my next plea then smashes my good ankle to fully immobilize me. Pulverizing my joint I screech. “… merc-AIEEEE!”

“Tymber! Now yu’l krawl lyke a piggy,” goaded by anguish Gadam gleefully mashes my feet another dozen times to guarantee I never walk again. Standing’s impossible without weightbearing ankles. Hundreds of leagues from civilization escape becomes tantamount to suicide. “No running fer yu anymore. Wi’l take such nice kare’a everyding yu need.”

“Motherfucker!” negotiation over, I retaliate. Sucker punching under Gadam’s nasty rag I crush my crippler’s leathery testicles the best I can. Too injured to maim, none the less this gang’s writhing boss bawls like a newborn babe. Meanwhile his four flunkies bellow with laughter.

“BAD ELF HURTS! MAKE DIZ BADDDIE STOP!!” rescuing Gadam’s manhood takes the whole pack. A forty pound wuss wrestles each limb. Thrashing wildly, they barely manage to subdue me. Their rescuee’s stomp busts a rib to quell my rampage.

“Bad gurl! Yu’z myne,” goblins are extreme misogynists rumored to hump every cranny they find. Fresh cum leaks from a slain warg’s ear so maybe it’s true? Publicly emasculated by his impetuous new toy Gadam ruthlessly reasserts his dominance. “Masta’l fix so yu’l bi safe fer playmates.”

“Let me g-mmmm!” first Gadam muzzles any backtalk with his shitty loincloth. Stiff from a lifetime of defecation I retch upon dung that’d gag a maggot.

“Diz li’l piggy goez to da market. Diz li’l piggy…” reciting a nursery rhyme Gadam picks a thumb. “But cuz shi’z nauty diz li’l piggy’z never going home.”

SNAP! Having ‘abused’ the privilege of dexterous hands my aggrieved ‘victim’ fractures each finger one by one. Then surgically grinds the stone like a pestle to pulp my distal joints. Post-op I’ll retain some basic mobility to fondle with minus the finer articulation to punch or clench.