Orcs vs Elves
Copyright© 2026 by Dragon Cobolt
Chapter 9
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 9 - 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
Waves beat against the hull of the trolloc pirate ship as Scimitar Darkblade, Jewel and Melindan Millwheel, and the talking bird Deathshade crept through her narrow corridors. Scimitar moved with hiss of clenched teeth and a gritted expression – he was in the worst of all straits for an elf to be. He could escape quite easily, at any time, if he did not mind slitting his own throat and reawakening to a new life back in the Many Hued Nation ... but doing so would leave Jewel and her mother to the deprivations of trolloc and orc pirates – and while there were many ebon skinned, ill tempered spider elves that would allow such a fate to befall a non-elf, Scimitar Darkblade was no such creature.
“W-What do we do if we get spotted?” Jewel whispered – but despite her fear, her mother showed some admirable courage, some of the spark returning to her eyes.
“Just watch,” she whispered back, and for a moment, Scimitar felt as if he was years younger, traveling with Melindan – back when she had been a merry rogue and not the mother of a child, widow to the best pech warrior that Scimitar had ever known. He repressed the pang of loss as he heard the soft conversation of two trolloc pirates ahead.
“We’re nearly at the Rock, eh?”
“I can already hear the sirens singing! Hah!”
Scimitar focused upon the magic flowing through his veins and brought forth his namesake – a blade of pure, concentrated deathlight, which crackled between his fingers. He sprang forward and swung in a single, elegant motion. The green skinned trolloc that he chose to die gaped from the floor, his head striking the deck near his feet moments before his body collapsed. His comrade drew a sharp breath to cry out, only for the blood to boil in his lungs as Scimitar plunged the tip of his deathlight blade between his ribs. He whipped the blade free moments later, not wanting to cause the trolloc’s entire body to explode like an overripe fruit. The smoking, hissing wound he left behind was the only noise that rang out in the deck – the sizzle of cooked flesh.
“O-Oh,” Jewel whispered.
“Here,” Scimtiar said as his deathlight blade flashed away. He snagged one of the strange weapons that the trollocs bore at their hips. “I think these are flamepower weapons.”
“But those are barred on elf lands,” Melindan whispered, taking the weapon in shaking hands.
“We’re not on elf lands right now,” Scimitar said, while Deathshade flapped down the corridor, before crawing out.
The way is clear, Scimitar! There’s a boat on deck – but keep your head down once you reach the outer hull!
Scimitar nodded and gestured the pech girls forward, only for the corridor to suddenly be barred, a door swinging wide as Captain Azghad Marrowcrack thrust her cabin door open and looked out. Her eyes narrowed – and she saw Scimitar standing before her. Melindan aimed and fired her flamepowder weapon, but the pirate trolloc reacted with remarkable alacrity, springing backwards as the door exploded with a spray of splinters. Scimitar shouted.
“Run!”
The entire ship burst into commotion – the captain shrieking.
“They’re getting away! Stop them!”
Scimiar reached the deck and saw that they were sailing across warm, tropical seas – the sky overhead was speckled with stars, but despite the evening, the breeze was thick and stultifying. Scimitar saw the life boat that Deathshade had called out and he decided to give these pirates something new to think of. “Run! Run!” He shouted, his deathlight blade crackling to life – and he plunged it into the deck. The furious heat of the deathlight flared and caught, wood blackening then bursting into flames. The trolloc captain cried out in horror and fear.
“Fire! Fire!”
Melindan and Jewel had reached the boat, springing within. Melindan, recalling her last time on a ship, was already throwing the lever that would lower the ship, but Scimitar had been half surrounded by furious trolloc with curved cutlasses and boarding axes. They hewed at him as he parried frantically, but the agony of his wound flared through his leg as he stumbled backwards, barely able to keep them at bay thanks to the killing, deadly light of his blade – he shore off weapons in sprays of sparks, caused fingers and hands to go flying. The captain, her eyes blazing with fury, had grabbed the longest, deadliest looking flamepowder weapon and aimed it at him.
Pale hands grabbed him – shoulder and forearm – and Melindan and Jewel yanked Scimiar backwards, tumbling him into the lifeboat.
The flamepowder longarm roared like a dragon.
The metal flange connecting lifeboat to ship exploded in splinters and they crashed into the waves below with an impact that nearly jarred Scimitar unconscious. As they landed, Melindan and Jewel shoved frantically with the oars. Scimitar threw himself half off the rowboat, slamming his deathlight blade into the hull of the pirate ship – spreading more flames until they wrenched away, and he nearly spilled into the brilliant blue water.
The pirate ship was wreathed in flames, the crew shouting and clamoring, while Captain Azghad glared daggers at the escaping fae folk. Her teal blue fingers had turned shocking white with fury as she clenched upon the railing of her ship.
This was the last thing Scimiar saw before Jewel, frantic to begin rowing, smacked him in the side of the head with an oar by accident.
The low roar of the waves.
The caw of beautiful birds.
The smell of jungle fruits and flowers.
The sounds of argument and discord.
Scimiar’s eyes opened and he found himself laying on a pile of scraps and cloth that had been salvaged from somewhere – it made the hard rock of the cave floor he was sprawled on feel more like a hearth and home than anything he had expected. Light reflected into the cave from a broad pool of water that was catching sunlight – the water was from the sea, and it was crystal clear, showing the coral and crabs and growing thing beneath its rippling surface. Beyond the pool, he could see a narrow hole that led into the cave proper, and the lifeboat that had been moored there by dint of jamming it up against the edge of the stone.
The argument was coming from behind him.
“I did what I had to do to survive.”
“It sure seemed different – what was that? Oh, you mighty trolloc, I love your majestic cock? Mother, father has been dead for, what, a day? Two?”
“I note that none of them touched you, almost as if-”
“Stop,” Scimitar croaked, his throat feeling sanded raw. He half rolled onto his side and craned his head around, to see the half-pech daughter had gotten nose to nose with her goblin mother. Melindan hurried to Scimitar’s side, while her daughter knelt to the other side, both taking his hands, squeezing.
“Scimitar, are you all right?” Jewel exclaimed.
“I ... feel like I got hit in the head,” Scimitar groaned. “Did Captain Azhgad fire at us again?”
“Yes, it was a glancing blow,” Melindan said, her voice tight and her eyes glinting. Her daughter flinched, opening her mouth, her long goblinoid ears twitching up, then sagging down.
“Are you okay?” Jewel asked, more subdued.
“I think so,” Scimitar said, smiling. “I’m in a cave – the natural resonances of this sped my healing significantly.” He said, slowly pushing himself to his feet. He tested his weight, nodded, then smiled. “I think I’m good.”
“Good,” Melindan said, her ears drooping. “Deathshade has scouted this place ... we’re ... on an island, but it’s not unpeopled.”
Welcome to Denergar Rock!
Deathshade flapped in through over the glittering waves, landing upon Scimitar’s shoulder.
“Denergar Rock?” Scimitar asked.
Aye. Deathshade said. I’ve been flying about, making friends with the gulls – batty brained they may be, but they’ve been here longer than any of us. Denergar Rock is a small collection of islands, linked by many bridges, which serves as a home away from home for many a corsair, pirate, and freebooter. It used to be mostly human – but then the Horde arrived, or so they say, and the trollocs, orcs, and ogrocs arrived.
“And they’re all independent,” Scimitar said, quietly.
But wait, there’s more. There are goblins, Deathshade cawed.
“What!?” Both Melindan and Jewel exclaimed at this intelligence, their eyes wide as saucers.
“But goblins are fae creatures, not of the Horde!” Jewel said, while Melindan nodded.
The goblins look a little different. Their ears are different shaped, but that takes a close eye to catch, Deathshade cawed. You may blend in, you two.
“Hmm,” Scimitar said. “And me?”
Deathshade ruffled his feathers. Do I look like a soothsayer?
“We’ll have to try,” Scimitar said. “If they’re independent, then they won’t be at war with us elves. And I can keep you two safe.” He smiled at the two girls – and both blushed. Melindan regarded him hesitantly, then glanced away, her finger twirling through her dark hair – and not for the first time Scimitar felt the rousing of a forbidden passion within himself. It was not as if he and Melindan hadn’t ever had feelings for one another – it was hard to adventure with another for years and not have a flare of passion. But she had married Fronden...
Who was now dead...
Scimitar shook his head – his passions doused quite thoroughly. “Come. Lets get out there and see what this Rock has to offer us.”
The three emerged into the sunlight, and Scimitar had to take a few moments to adjust, his light-sensitive eyes smarting as he blinked away tears of pain. Once he could see again, he regarded the crystal clear water, the bright green fronds of tropical trees, the shrubs around pale white boulders. There was an ancient statue constructed at the edge of the treeline, weathered and worn. It looked like a hoofed figure, like a satyr, holding aloft a sword, while ancient runes were carved at the base of the stone. Scimitar knelt by it, frowning, while Melindan paused to splash water into her face and shake her head.
“Can you read those runes?” Jewel asked, her hand on Scimitar’s shoulder.
“They remind me of some of the runes we saw in our ‘venturing days,” Scimitar said. “There are many civilizations older than even the elves – but they are all forgotten. Such is the way of mortals.” He stood, shaking his head.
“How old is the world?” Jewel asked as they crunched down the sandy beach. Scimitar, his ears perked for any danger, frowned as he considered.
“Well, as elves recon things, it is countless eons old – old for even immortals. We know the eldest race are the dragons, but their history is not well recorded, and they claim to have several sibling races, some who yet sleep beneath the waves. Human folk and the smaller fae are more recent arrivals. And these orcs are more recent still.” He shook his head. “Such mysteries are a bit beyond my ken – you’d be better to ask a moon elf scholar, or a librarian in the great Sunshadow Archives.”
Ahead, the faint clamor and clangor of a city – and an unruly city to boot – started to ring out. Scimitar held aloft his hand to ward the two small women. He stepped into the shadowed glen of a tropical copse of trees and peered beyond them, to see a cove sweeping out before him. The beach here was littered with detritus and scrap rather than the clean beaches they had been walking along till now – and the reason was clear: Dozens of piers jutted from the island side, while heaped buildings rose up and up on tiers of wooden struts and stone pillars, lashed together by rope and vines. Half a dozen tall ships were berthed, with dozens more smaller ones rowing out to fish and dip their nets into the shallow waters beyond the cove. The city itself was emblazoned in countless black flags, fluttering and showing the unmistakable skull and crossed bones that was the mark of the pirate – the so called Jolly Rodger that had bedeviled every sea in the world for centuries. The crack and pop of the occasional flamepowder weapon rang out, while the bawdy sounds of shanties and ethereal songs of sirens wailed their haunting tunes across the waves.
There was no sign of Captain Azghad’s ship.
“We’re good,” Scimitar said, gesturing Melindan and Jewel forward. The two girls oohed at the sight of the city.
“It’s bigger than I expected,” Jewel whispered.
Melindan chuckled. “Quite so,” she said, clasping her hand on Jewel’s shoulder.
The three walked towards the city outskirts – and Scimitar hesitated, half expecting to be accosted. But instead of a guard or watch, there was only a drunken ... well...
He was part man. And he was part bull. And as a bull was larger than a man, so too was this man larger than he had any right to be, rippling with muscle and broad as a barn, his nearly naked body glittering brightly in the tropical sun as he loudly relieved himself against the wall of a nearly abandoned shanty. The size continued apace, and the noise was more akin to a waterfall than the tinkle of, say, an elf in the washroom. Scimitar, Jewel and Melindan stood in quiet shock, and the waterfall continued.
And continued.
And continued.
“Goodness,” Melindan said.
The massive bull man swung around, and fortunately, his bladder at that moment quit the field, so the effect was merely intensely startling and not alarming. He blinked down at the trio, then hiked up his raggedy pants, harrumphed, and said. “May I help you?”
“Who are you?” Scimitar asked.
“What are you?” Jewel added.
“I am Pyre the Minorc,” he said, with great gravitas and rumbling seriousness. “Exiled to Denegar Rock for my crimes.”
“Oh,” Jewel said, sounding taken aback.
“Oyyy, Pyre!”
The jeering sound of a goblin’s voice caused Melindan’s eyes to widen – as a quartet of goblins came stomping down the street, cutlasses in hand, eyes alight with malicious greed.
“Pyre!” their leader shouted. “We needs ya at the millwheel!”
“I do not wish to work the millwheel today, Tevin,” Pyre said, his voice quite serious, his tail swishing from side to side.
“Did we looks like we was asking?” Tevin said, sneering as he walked forward. One of the goblins grabbed onto Pyre’s wrist and started to yank him forward – and Scimitar stepped forward.
“Wait, are you going to fight them?” he asked.
“I do not kill,” Pyre said. “And to fight these little ones is to-”
“Let him go,” Scimitar growled.
The goblins sneered. “What’s this? Some ... burned up, cinder of a human?”
A deathlight blade appeared, hummed, and crackled right below Tevin’s chin – not quite touching his skin. Tevin’s eyes went very wide, and his hands lifted, then spread.
“H-he ... hey ... we’re not ... not getting any trouble here, right?” he asked.
“Right,” one of the goblins added.
“Right,” Scimitar growled.
The goblins backed up. Then turned and ran, sprinting away from Scimitar opened his palm and let his deathlight blade vanish – and Pyre chuckled, his rumbling voice deep enough to quiver Scimitar’s bones.
“Well, that works,” he said.
“Why didn’t you scare them off, gentle minorc?” Scimitar asked.
“We minorcs are crafted by the Horde,” Pyre said, his voice full of a deep and abiding tone of pride. “They chose our fathers – and sometimes, orcs and trollocs are drawn to being a minorc, deep in their bodies. We are stronger and tougher, and on our backs, the whole of the Horde lives – we build the fortifications, we dredge the ditches, we work the bellows and we hammer the steel. We carve what we need from mines, and we tend the cattlebeasts. We are the sinews of the greatest civilization in the whole of the world.” His hand clenched and covered his heart. “But we do not fight. We do not kill.”
“N-Not even in self defense?” Jewel asked.
“Nay...” Pyre said, shaking his massive head. “If a minorc slays another, even by accident, they are called Red Horn, and are never trusted again by the herd.”
“Did...” Melindan said, slowly, her eyes wide.
Pyre breathed in, then breathed out a long, slow sigh. “I stained my honor once, by taking the life of another. But I swore then, that I would never spill the red blood of the innocent or guilty again. I took exile here, so that I might find my death – and yet, my mighty thews find only more labor, not my final repentance. It is quite annoying, if I must say so myself.”
Scimitar placed his hand comfortingly upon Pyre’s shoulder. Due to the massive bull man’s stature, he could only manage to squeeze his bicep – which itself was iron hard.
“I know a thing or two about crime and repentance,” he said. “There is yet a way for you to restore your honor, Pyre. I know it.”
Pyre chuckled. “You do well, to try and cheer me up, human.”
“I’m not human,” Scimitar said, shaking his head. “I’m an elf – a spider elf, to be specific, born of the deep caves and the shadows beneath them.” His lips quirked in a wry smile. “If you ever wanted to meet someone who might have an honor that comes stained in advanced, then that would be I.”
Pyre blinked slowly. His tail swished, back and forth, back and forth.
“What is an elf?” he asked.
Scimitar blinked.
“News must come here slowly,” Melindan said.