Orcs vs Elves
Copyright© 2026 by Dragon Cobolt
Chapter 7
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 7 - In a world of magic and mysticism, elves have reigned in the north lands for uncounted aeons - immortal and changeless. But now, tales from the south, carried by refugee humans fleeing the devastation of their lands, speak of a teeming swarm of orcs rampaging across their lands. Now, elven steel and draconic might must be rallied...but is all as it seems?
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Blackmail Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged Hypnosis Mind Control NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Romantic Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual TransGender Fiction High Fantasy War Paranormal Furry Zombies Demons Cheating Cuckold Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching Wimp Husband DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Light Bond Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Pregnancy Squirting
Kelris Shadowsun knelt low before the Eternal Queen, the Everqueen, the Bright Flame of Eternity, the Spoke which never Turns, the most immortal of the immortals, and ducked his head low. The shimmering light cast off the highest elf, the many limbed spider, the brightest sun, the deepest ocean and the farthest moon was a multifaceted thing and it could sear even eyes such as his. And yet, despite the honor of it all, he felt nothing but the painful ache in his heart – the image of his knight-brother’s fiery immolation and the sickening, sudden death of the dragon Tendaramontous.
“And then I returned,” he said, his voice soft as he finished his recounting. It had taken so long that the skies overhead had darkened, and the moon now once more swept overhead. That moon was what the Eternal Queen was watching, her head tilted back – before she closed her eyes, lowered her head, and sighed, very softly – her voice and overlapping chorus of many voices, tinged with the simultaneous accents of each of the elf nations.
“The tidings you bring are terrible indeed, Kelris Shadowsun...” He felt a tingling touch – fingers sliding along his chin, fingers that glowed as brightly as they were shadowed and ebony dark. Those fingers tilted his head up and he beheld his Queen. Looking directly at her, with her permission, was merely painfully beautiful and not utterly destructive – her features were chimeric, with the spider-array of bright red eyes set on the sleek, purple cheeks of a moon elf, her hair flowing through each hue of color a sun, high and sea elf might spare. Her gills flickered just above the cut of her sheer, diaphanous dress, while her fingers were black gloves, like a calico cat. “Come, I wish you to walk with me.”
Kelris stumbled to his feet, woozy and stunned. “Y-Yes, my lady.”
He walked beside her as she turned and the throne room that she inhabited seemed to melt around them – light itself bent and twisted, bricks shifted as their very weight changed, so that up became down, or sideways, or inside out. Any elf could do any one part of the transformation, but only the Queen could combine each and with such exactitude that Kelris did not feel even a hint of heat or disturbance.
“What do you remember of flamepowder weapons, Kelris?”
Being called his first name by the queen was almost as startling as being brought with her deeper into her sanctum. “Very little, my queen. I know that our shores were enchanted to rob it of its potency – any flamepowder should simply ... fizzle. Not funciton.” He shrugged. “It didn’t seem to stop these orcs from using it.”
“And that is why I am so troubled ... for the reason why flamepowder weapons were banned is simple,” the High Queen turned to face him, her eyes bright and glittering. “They are the only thing that can kill immortals.”
Kelris’ eyes widened. “What?” he whispered.
“An immortal is merely a story that can walk,” the Queen said, her lips quirking with amusement. She had brought him to a garden within the heart of her castle – and unlike her throne room, which was a carefully and deliberately maintained collection of each of the nation’s particular aesthetics, this was pure spider elf, with mushrooms that glowed and throbbed, moss creeping along the walls, and crystals hanging from the ceiling to shimmer in colors that only those dark-born creatures could see properly. She sat upon one of the mushrooms, drawing her legs up and under her as if she were any other elf-maid in a garden with any other elf-man. The amount of multicolored thigh she exposed left Kelris’ head spinning, heart pounding. He averted his gaze as she sighed and reclined against another, slightly taller mushroom.
“We elves are reborn in the same way the gods of other races are,” she said. “We are less powerful, yes, but we are still merely stories. We’re just stories we tell ourselves. But flamepowder is ... a magic from another world. It...” She frowned, then clenched her hand. “It kills stories dead. A mighty knight, destined to die to his hubris, can be hit accidentally – a fluke shot fired by a conscript who only left his farm a week before.”
“Is ... isn’t that a story?” Kelris asked, hesitantly.
“Maybe ... but it is not his story,” the Queen fixed her blazing octuple eyes upon his, each shining as brightly as a star. “It is a story from whatever malign place birthed flamepowder. It is not a story of heroes and villains, of knights and warriors. It is a story of factories and hammers, and millions marching in cloth, and generations choking on their own bile, in the mud.” Her voice grew venomous with each word and the vision she conjured – of a battlefield more terrible than any hell imagined by mortals – left Kelris trembling.
“What ... what are you going to do about it?” he asked, before he realized he was questioning his Queen.
The Queen regarded him with a sad, sad expression.
“I am sorry, Kelris,” she said. “But I am going to promote you.”
Findaras Lavabright, the captain of the Scaled Fist and Kelris’ former commander, was waiting for him when he emerged from the court of the Eternal Queen. She opened her mouth to speak – then closed it, her eyes going quite wide. Kelris had entered the chambers adorned in the customary and chaste uniform of the Dragon Knights – a bright blue speedo that clung to his crotch as if it had been painted, knee high boots and a baldric to hold his sword. Now, he had been redressed to fit his new title.
“What ... are...” Findaras blushed and jerked her gaze away, her thong not quite up to the task of hiding the sudden glint of arousal. But could Kelris blame her – she probably had never seen a man outside of the priesthood of the Whore Goddess dressed like such a ... a...
“I feel ridiculous,” Kelris muttered, looking down at the black jacket over a white tunic, with a collar that concealed almost half his neck, the white gloves, the dark shoes, the leg concealing pants, the dark leather belt. He adjusted one glove with his finger, painfully aware of how he looked, and then lifted his gaze to Findaras, who was peeking glances at him – and with each glance, she had to be imagining taking all that clothes off – a far deeper invasion of privacy than simply seeing a nearly naked body. He squared his shoulders and tried to sound confident as he spoke up, louder. “Greetings, Captain. The High Queen has ... named me ... G-General.”
Findaras’ eyes went wide and, slutty uniform or no, she jerked her head around to look him head on.
“What?” she whispered. Then, louder. “What!?”
Kelris winced at the tone of voice. “I know, I-”
“You’re barely a century old in this turning,” she said, then, growing angrier. “There are half a dozen elves I can think of that are more expert at leading and command than you, and three dozen that are better warriors, and-”
“That’s precisely why, Fin!” Kelris grabbed her arm, yanking her close – their old connection of commander to subordinate flipped so swiftly that it was practically dissolved. His voice hissed in her ear. “The foes we face, the ... the Eternal Queen thinks the best response to a creature without tales is to subvert our own.”
He shoved Findaras away from the entrance to the court and into the swirling, glittering crowd of elf-maids and elf-sires who were waiting for their chance to see the queen, all of which started muttering and whispering to one another as they saw the two walking along.
“Brought a harlot to the court?” Kelris heard one ask.
“Well, you know dragon riders...”
He tried to ignore them as Findaras frowned, her brow furrowing, her chain-mail bikini clinking slightly as she allowed herself to be pushed along. “That’s some risky magic she’s trying,” she said, softly. “Stories are all well and good, but they still need to be acted. Remember the-”
“Yes, I was thinking of the exact same thing,” Kelris said as they emerged into the brilliant sunlight that shone down on Sunshadow, the capital city looking alien to his eyes. They had no idea that they had been thrown into war. “But the High Queen said she had someone in mind to assist me.”
Findaras shook her head again, her voice a quiet growl. “One better be me. You don’t think you can get out from under my thumb so easily, newbie, I-”
“Ahem.”
The two stopped in their walking, to see that a robed figure was emerging from the alleyway behind them. The robes were a strange thing, thick enough to conceal, yet showing no signs of any of the Whore Goddess or other enticing lures. It was something like what a human might wear, save that it had slits for the ears – and the only visible part of the mouth was a mocking, mirthful smile.
“That would be me, General Kelris,” the elf-male said, reaching up and tossing his hood back, revealing...
“Lord Sindrac!?” Findaras exclaimed, springing forward to stand between Kelris and him, her hand dipping to the hilt of her sword. Her fingers tightened and her eyes flashed, the blade waiting to be drawn in a single moment – but Kelris stepped forward, his hand on her shoulder, shaking his head.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice even. “What brought you back to the Court, Sindrac?”
“The plight of our people, of course,” the pale skinned, silver haired elf said, sneering magnificently as he walked past the two of them, his robes rustling around his body. The moonlight shone on his hair, making it appear akin to molten metal, rippling behind his head. “Being outcast for so long does give one a certain perspective.”
“So does being a kinslayer,” Findaras growled.
Sindrac pursed his lips, then turned to face the pair. “The Queen said that if this war was won, if the orcish threat was dispersed, that I would be allowed once more among the Many Hued Host. That is all I care about – not the ancient feud between I and and my brother, Sindroc.” His lips curled magnificently. “Where has he been, by the way? Do you two run in his circles?”
“He sleeps yet beneath the Worldtree,” Findaras said. “ ... last I heard.”
“Hm. Pity.” Sindrac turned away from them, regarding the silvery moonlight that cast itself across the city of Sunshade. His lips twisted into a sudden expression of wroth as his gloved fingers grabbed onto the edge of the stone balustrade that cut its way along the steps that led down from the high palace to the main street of the city. His teeth clenched as he snarled. “Kinslayer, they call me still. How many turnings of the Wheel has it been, dragon riders? How many stories have been told, and yet, how many still mutter about the tale of the brothers Sind?”
Findaras scowled and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Kelris lifted his hand.
“Mayhap too many, Sindrac,” he said, softly. “Your outcast wandering ... it may be just what the elf people need in this time of danger. You’ve ... seen the orcs, yes?”
“Oh aye. I’ve seen them,” Sindrac said, nodding as he did so. “I’ve traveled their lands. Both the lands they have despoiled and the lands of their origin. I have seen their... Garden.” His lips twisted.
“It’s real?” Kelris asked.
“What ... garden?” Findaras asked.
“They claim to come from an unspoiled Garden, cast out by some ancient sin,” Kelris said, quietly.
“Yes. The sin of having eaten the fruit of the knowledge of blood,” Sindrac said, turning to face them both, leaning against the balustrade. He cocked his head to the side. “That is where the source of their blood magic comes from. It is a dark evil of an ancient world, a primordial power meant to be sealed from the likes of us and mortals. It twists creatures, turns men into beasts.”
“That is the second of their weapons that seems to come entirely from another existence,” Kelris said, frowning as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Flamepowder weapons, now blood magic. And yet their bodies are mortal. That is our advantage – each elf is worth ten, twenty, of their soldiers.” He rubbed at his chin, thinking hard. “We need to strike when the advantage is ours.”
“And I know where to mount an attack,” Sindrac said, nodding.
“Come!”
Kelris started to walk down the stairs, taking them three at a time, his elaborate and slutty general’s uniform forgotten as plans began to unfold in his mind. He had never taken this role in a telling before, and the idea was growing increasingly exciting. He was tailed by Sindrac and Findaras as they reached the Order of the Scaled Fist. Several of their fellow ... his former ... dragon knights gave them curious looks, but Findaras waved them aside as Kelris entered the map chamber, taking down a goblin made map of the world and unrolling it. There was the continent of the Many Hued Nations, situated at the far north, right near the Worldtree that spread from the northern edge of the world. There was the human Southlands, with a few squiggly lines indicating the potential of other continents and islands. He weighted it down with a few stones, then thrust out his finger.
“Where, on this map, is the Hoard’s extent?” he asked, lifting his gaze to Sindrac, who waved his hand. A tiny burn appeared on the map, searing a brownish line that arced across territory, forming an area precisely as large as Kelris had expected – several human kingdoms that the goblins had discovered and charted were now orc territory. He tapped down at the map, drawing the interlocking circles of the two sides of the Great Northern Sea. “Their strength will be focused here, at the former port city that was the human’s capital-”
“Khazgad,” Sindrac said, pronouncing the human name with remarkable ease.
“Just so,” Kelris said. “Now, if they wish to make war on us, they will need to choose a landing site. My guess is that we will face the greatest risks here.” He drew his finger along the northernmost area. “This is where the moon elves and stag elves live – the Everwhite Forest. It’s thinly populated, and if the orcs have scouted us at all, they’ll know that is the place to go.”
“We can’t get forces there swiftly,” Findaras said, her hands on her hips. “The Everwhite is a ... prickly place.” She pursed her lips.
“Quite so. But the only route down from the Everwhite is these passes. We can position forces there to hold their front there, while patrolling the coast. That means that we can keep them bottled up, if we act quickly ... while we take advantage of this island.” He tapped an island to the south. “Denergar Rock.”
“Ah. Ah. Ah.” Sindrac’s voice was as dry as the desert. “And now you see why the ever wise and ever perfect Queen of ours sought my advice.” His gloved finger placed itself on the back of Kelris’ knuckles and his eyes met Kelris’, dancing and insolent. Kelris scowled at him and studiously withdrew his hand – but this simply allowed Sindrac’s fingerpoint to press to the map. “Denergar Rock is now home to a band of independent trolloc, orc, and minorc mercenaries, brigands, cut throats and blackguards.”
“They’re ... not of the Horde?” Findaras asked.
“That is what independent means, yes,” Sindrac said.
“She means why are they not in the Horde?” Kelris asked, crossing his arms over his chest, frowning intently. Sindrac lifted his arms, spreading them, palms up as his robes shifted apart – revealing that he was wearing the sluttiest outfit that Kelris had ever seen since ... well, since before he had been forced into a general’s uniform. Leather belts crisscrossed Sindrac’s slender body, practically begging you to imagine peeling them off. From Findaras’ flush and glance away, she was already thinking of it. The robes slid back shut again as Sindrac lowered his arms.
“For an answer to that, you must ask the trollocs themselves,” he said. “Maybe they got sick of dying for whatever mad crusade the orcs think they’re on. I was not quite able to talk while I was there.”
“What were you doing there?” Findaras asked.
“Oh, seeing the sights,” Sindrac said, his voice light and airy, his hand flicking as he made to toss the issue away – but Kelris saw a momentary flash of anger and rage in his eyes.
Findaras bit her lower lip. “If they’re not supported by the Horde...” she started.
“Maybe,” Kelris said, nodding. “We need to determine precisely what their status is. If we can use them as a staging point, we can land in the former human heartland – thinly citied, richly fertile, lots of small villages.” He tapped the tiny indicators some industrious goblin had scribbled onto the map to indicate farms and villages and thorpes. Precisely the territory an army can march quickly through, the narrative is perfect.”
Sindrac snorted.
“What’s so funny?” Findaras asked.
“Oh ... I’ve been away from elves for so long, I nearly forgot,” Sindrac said, his teeth flashing in a most wicked smile. “Were a human general to plan such a march, it would be inked on a map in the blood of farmers and the withered bellies of starving children.”
“That’s ... horrible,” Kelris said, blinking. He had had no idea how mortals marched their armies – and yet, for some reason, part of him had just assumed that it was fairly similar to an elf host on the march. But ... no. Mortals needed to eat, they could not simply draw sustenance from the stories that they were a part of. Where did that food come from?
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.