Birthright (All Chapters)

 

I

                “S-Sire! You c-can’t be serious…!” A small, dirty elf pleaded before the feet of Lord Alwin Xilvyre, who poised in his chair as if it were a throne. “I-I only took a c-couple coppers off the girl, I s-swear!” Alwin glared down at the elf, remaining silent for several seconds that felt like ages to the beggar. Finally, he spoke in a cool, yet firm voice: “Thievery, assault, and an attempt to escape capture. All of these violations have consequences under this company’s roof. Unless you can cough up several dozen shillings, I’m afraid I have no choice but to force your hand into years of physical labor. Any attempt at resisting will grant you a swift execution.” “B-But sire,” the elf stammered, “we’re of the same blood. I’ve a family to return to. Please, s-spare me…!”

                Alwin stood up suddenly with furrowed eyebrows and one clenched fist. “Do not ever compare us, you pathetic forest urchin,” he spat. “Five years of labor in the murkiest, most putrid conditions imaginable. Take him away.” Alwin motioned to the burly men who had carried the dirty elf into Alwin’s office. Alwin walked to the window, looking down at the city of Prinath as he tried to clear his mind from the fading screams and accusations from the elf as he was carried down the hallway, never to bother him again.

                There were only two kinds of people in this world. The successful, and the unsuccessful. Whether you were human, elven, orcish, argonian, or even a mutant, it didn’t matter. You fell into one of these two categories. That is what Alwin had always believed. Being born into a family of high elves with some of the highest social statuses in Prinath, Alwin had fallen into the former section and had developed in thinking that success was simply his birthright. Same blood, don’t make me laugh, Alwin thought to himself. The shape of our ears means nothing when you live in a tree and I stand atop a utopia.

                Alwin returned to his mansion later that evening. Inherited from his late parents, he had more space to himself than anyone would’ve known what to do with. Although he was still a bachelor by choice, he was hoping to woo a certain lady within the coming months. Aah, Countess Iris Guttmacher, Alwin daydreamed, if we were to start a family on this estate, well…I’d be well on my way to achieving new levels of grandeur for the Xilvyre line!

                Countess Iris Guttmacher, unwinding in her own posh mansion, let out a sneeze and briefly trembled, getting an uneasy feeling that someone was thinking strange thoughts about her. Her smooth pale legs peaked through the gaps in her towel as she stood up to refill her water to accompany her reading. She unraveled the smaller towel on her head, unleashing a torrent of recently-washed raven-colored hair down her head and back, accenting the soft glow of her violet eyes. For the moment, she also lived alone, but not by choice – her former husband, the earl of a county within Prinath, had been assassinated some years ago, leaving all of his power and prestige to his countess. Iris had a cold, calculating, and realistic outlook on life. Those lucky enough to be within her presence could smell her favorite applied scent of lilac and gooseberries.

                Alwin awoke the next morning feeling groggy. It was only the second day of the work week and he was already exhausted at the thought of returning to his office after what had happened yesterday. Acting as both a general manager and a regional manager for the company he was to own one day, Terres, every day was filled to the brim with paperwork, questions from his inferiors, and thinking of how to please the few people he could call his superiors as to ascend to their positions one day. Alwin was also in charge of development and expansion within Prinath, buying land and creating new buildings to further expand his company’s reach. His latest goal was to find suitable land for a bathhouse to be built, although he had no ideas of where to begin searching. Prinath was highly developed compared to most cities, and buildings made of wood, brick, and concrete were already stacked tightly together.

                Alwin summoned a young boy to his office. He was a recently acquired contractor, human, and could not have been older than 16. “Boy,” Alwin began, not bothering to ask his name because he knew it wouldn’t be remembered, “I’m lending you a map of Prinath. Today, your duty is to scout around highly populated districts and mark potential locations for our new bathhouse. I’ve already marked a few potential candidates, too.” Alwin also gave him some schematics of the bathhouse’s dimensions, and the contractor nodded without a word before leaving Alwin in peace.

                Not an hour passed before one of Alwin’s coworkers burst into his office without warning. She was breathing a bit harder than normal, and her skin had the faintest tinge of red from a recent exercise. In other words, she had run up many flights of stairs to reach Alwin, and was thus inconsequential to him due to being so far beneath him on the corporate ladder. “Sir Alwin, Lord Alwin,” she began, noticeably trying to steady her breath, “have you seen Emil? I received word he was sent up here earlier today.” Alwin mentally rolled his eyes, but with him being so influential and important, he was always sure to put on a good role model front for the inferiors. “I’m sorry, I’m unclear of who you’re referring to. I don’t know any ‘Emils.’” Alwin had hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but when the woman described him, he knew that more of his time was about to be wasted.

                “Ah, yes,” Alwin began, “I sent him to comb through a few districts todays. I’m far too busy to find a suitable location for our new bathhouse myself at the moment. He should be back before evening.” “But sir,” the woman’s shoulders dropped, “he was to begin architectural design training today. With all due respect, he is not your errand boy.” Alwin shook his head, explaining his philosophy to the woman that he had explained countless times to other lesser employees: “Look, my dear. The boy is young and eager, but he comes from an unremarkable background. He was not born as a winner like me…or like you,” he added the last part in simply to be polite, then continued: “Either he will barely advance within Terres, or he will burn out trying. By interacting with me, I’ve given him the chance to earn my good graces.” Alwin paused before continuing, thinking about how to unravel this lie into a full story. “Anyone with my recommendation can soar to new heights… Even if he begins his career as a novice architect, he could be designing your next house within a few years under my wing!”

                Anticipating that she couldn’t win this argument, the woman sighed. She couldn’t have known the truth; that Alwin simply called the boy to him due to being a bottom-tier contractor that wouldn’t question anything he requested. Recomposing herself, she meekly stated, “I suppose I will move his training to tomorrow. Thank you, Lord Alwin sir,” then returned to her work.

                 The boy never returned throughout the day nor the evening. Come the next day, a missing warrant was issued, and after one more day had passed, Emil was found dead in a small pond, having been robbed of his clothing and other belongings. While the murderer was being tracked, a brief investigation linked the boy to Alwin’s rash decision to send him out alone. A prestigious name being connected to such a crime made its way all the way up to Countess Iris herself. Gritting her teeth, she decided to pay Alwin a visit at work that day.

Prior to this, Alwin had become increasingly annoyed at the people around him. Many of his coworkers had blamed him for the tragedy. Although he cared little for the boy, his mind was working on overtime thinking about how he could restore his image. As if the murder wasn’t bad enough, the confidential documents that Alwin had given him were also stolen, meaning someone out there had private information about Terres.

A knock rung from Alwin’s door. He knew the countess, the apple of his eye, was due to visit around this time. Clearing his throat, he was prepared to pull out all the stops in order to convince her that he had done no wrong. “Come in,” he said, standing up. The beautiful Iris, wearing a boa of black feathers around her neck with a matching dress, opened the door and graced the room with her powerful presence.

“Lord Alwin Xilvyre,” Iris began, “it has come to my attention that a young man has been murdered within our county here in Prinath. Records state that the boy should not have been given whatever task you had ordered, and had you not ordered such a chore, the death may have been avoided. Does this sound correct?” “Lady Iris,” Alwin began, “I assure you that this sequence of events was simply a terrible coincidence. I instructed the boy to scout, yes, but only the safest and most populated areas. Why, is it such a crime for a young man to walk about on his own? If not for him, someone else may have fallen victim to whatever the murderous fiend was planning.”

Iris thought for a moment before responding. “The boy had confidential documents on him, did he not? I assume I don’t need to assure you how much they may be worth. Alwin, you gave a young, inexperienced boy the equivalent of over a dozen shillings to wave about as he pleased.” Alwin clicked his tongue in thought, ashamed that she had seen this far into his blunder. Attempting to shift blame, he responded: “Lady Iris, I realize that I may have overestimated my employees, and for that, I am truly sorry. But I can promise you, I hadn’t the slightest bit of knowledge that the boy was due for training. I assure you, I only wanted the best for him. I wanted to give him an opportunity to shine.”

Iris’s brow furrowed. She had interacted with Alwin just a few times before today, so she knew how honeyed his words could be. Although she didn’t fully believe him, she knew that she had to find a way to protect him lest the commonfolk began to doubt and ultimately turn against the people in places of power. “Alwin,” she began, “I will do everything in my power to sever your name from this incident. But please, and I beg of you, please do not do anything to draw further suspicion or distrust to yourself. You need to instill faith into the people of Prinath and into the people of Terres. Today, I will leave you with immense disappointment. If this were to happen again, shame to your family name would be the least of your worries, to put it mildly. Have I made myself clear?”

Alwin nodded, taking a breath of relief knowing that the countess was on his side. “You needn’t worry about a thing, Lady Iris. Compensation has already been sent to the grieving family, and the compromised document situation is currently being handled.” Alwin wanted to end his train of thought by asking Iris if she would be interested in attending the theater with him during the weekend, but he refrained given the circumstances. “Good,” Iris said, turning around to leave. “Next time we meet, I hope it to be on better terms. Good day to you, Lord Alwin.”

Alwin thought long and hard to himself that evening. On one hand, he was thrilled that the incident staining his name was being taken care of. On the other, he knew he still had a lot of work to do, especially in getting back within the countess’s good graces.

I will not be coddled, Alwin thought to himself after waking up the next morning. I too can achieve great feats. As today was the fifth and final day of the working week, Alwin decided to push his current responsibilities to next week to spend the whole day scouting for a location to build his company’s bathhouse. The high elf traversed quickly throughout Prinath, marking many potential candidates on a map. However, all of them would require the demolishing of a currently-active building. Alwin also took notes on whatever business was running at the bathhouse’s potential areas, thinking about how cheaply he could buy them out.

Toward the end of the afternoon, Alwin found himself somewhere on the outskirts of his county. The general activity of the population was lower, but that only made Alwin realize that it would be easier to buy land off of a home or company here. A she-orc walking into a small building caught his attention – orcs were very rare in Prinath, and this was the first one he had seen all year. Orcs typically lived in the wilderness and – in Alwin’s opinion – were even stupider than forest elves. On the fat chance that an orc actually lived in Prinath, Alwin knew who his target had to be in order to score the cheapest deal.

Alwin walked into the building a few minutes after the she-orc. The atmosphere had changed completely. The small room was dark and filled with all kinds of exotic scents and artifacts. “Welcome,” the old she-orc behind the wooden counter greeted him. Despite being hunched over, the woman still towered over Alwin by at least half a foot. In this lighting, her pale green skin almost seemed to match the hue of her thin white hair. Alwin grimaced at seeing an orc as the receptionist, but he quickly regained his composure and walked forward. “Hello…” Alwin began, “is this place a…business? A home? I would like to speak with the owner, as I believe I can forward an offer suitable for the both of us.”

“I am a shaman, and this is my home and business,” the she-orc began. “People come here for medicine, rituals, healing… all sorts of things. Very popular with all races and all walks of life. Some fellow orcs even come from forests to visit.” The woman’s breath, being poured down on Alwin, reeked of meat and unclean water. Taking half a pace back, Alwin began his proposition. “Eh-hem, yes, how very lovely. Well, today is your lucky day, Miss-err…” “Tanze.” “Miss Tanze! The pleasure is all mine. I, Lord Alwin Xilvyre, am humbled to meet you,” Alwin said with a very practiced and artificial sincerity. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I would like to buy this plot of land from you so that Terres may develop a new bathhouse for the citizens of Prinath. It will be a brand-new form of healing and serenity to the people. And I’m positive you and your fellow o-orcs would love it as well!” Alwin said, almost stumbling on his final line.

Tanze didn’t reply, so Alwin continued: “Naturally, you would be heavily compensated…to the point where you could even retire! Living the rest of your days among your fellow orcs while indulging on the benefits of our new bathhouse – I know it simply seems too good to be true.” Alwin pulled out a case of several guineas to show to the orc – an amount that was trivial to him, but was more than several years’ worth of labor to the orc.

Tanze thanked him for his offer, but respectfully declined. Alwin inched up the ante a few times, but was met with the same result. “I-I don’t understand,” Alwin began, “why will you not accept my offer? By doing so, you will be helping the people in Prinath and yourself immeasurably!” “I like working,” Tanze replied simply. “I like healing people. I like seeing new people. I like my small place here in Prinath. Very few orcs can live in Prinath. To some orcs, I am a beacon, showing them that anything is possible. I worked hard to be where I am today, and that, to me, is invaluable.”

Alwin’s patience was running out. I need a location by the end of the day, he thought to himself. The sooner I plant the site for the bathhouse, the sooner the compromised documents lose their value. This is the cheapest spot…there’s no reason this damn orc should be refusing me! I’m giving this animal the deal of a lifetime!

“Very well,” Alwin said dully, maintaining his outward composure. “Thank you for your time, Miss Tanze.” Alwin left the area, feeling confused, angry, and defeated. An ugly emotion bubbled within him. A significant part of him wanted the bathhouse to replace the shaman’s home simply to spite her, and to get his self-justified revenge. He wanted Tanze driven back to the wilderness where she belonged. I, Lord Alwin Xilvyre, will not lose to a cursed, wretched, disgusting orc!!!

II

Alwin kept a low profile throughout the weekend, dabbling in his hobbies of reading and writing, but also plotting on how to present his location for the bathhouse and having the shaman’s hut demolished all without the process being traceable back to him from the outside. He drew up a plan to only disclose the information to his most trusted coworkers and would, to his annoyance, forfeit the credit of finding and setting up the location to a different employee to keep his name clean after the last scandal that had almost broken out.

On the other hand, Countess Iris Guttmacher worked to clear Alwin’s name for her own sake and the sake of the citizens’ trust, even though she would have preferred not to come off as rewarding his careless behavior. She sought news outlets like bulletin boards throughout different districts on horseback, signing her name with statements along the lines of saying that Alwin did not make the final judgment call to give the child documents of importance or to send him into the city alone, and that Alwin would instead be responsible for punishing the non-existent real offender.

Iris sighed, tacking another sheet of paper to a board as the sun was beginning to set. She had lost count of how many papers she went through. A beautiful day that would have been perfect to enjoy at the theater had gone to waste.

Come the first working day of the week, Alwin quickly and meticulously grinded away at the work he had put off last week before calling a few select people to his office. Two elite mages adept at pyromancy were summoned; their existence was not even known throughout a majority of Terres, let alone Prinath. Then, he summoned the supervisor that was closest to his own managerial ranking, spinning a fable of how the great Lord Alwin had the heart to bestow such a unique opportunity onto his underling by assigning him the task of making the final call to place Terres’s new bathhouse over the orc shaman’s hut, and that solving this dilemma so quickly would reflect better upon the supervisor than it would Alwin himself.

The supervisor asked questions, such as: “Has the agreement already been made? Is the building ready to be demolished immediately? Have we already provided payment to the land’s original owner?” Alwin assured him that everything had already been taken care of, and that, with this information, the supervisor could order a demolish permit to be written. During the day, as well as the following day, Alwin returned to the she-orc’s hut undetected, taking note that she seemed to leave the building during noon for lunch. Alwin forwarded this information to the supervisor with the added lie that the building’s owner would leave the place around noon expecting it to be destroyed upon her return.

Towards the end of the fourth working day of the week, Alwin looked down on the city of Prinath breathing a sigh of relief. Things were finally starting to return to normalcy. The case of Emil had been closed. The thieves of the stolen documents wouldn’t be able to make a meaningful profit. The beautiful Iris Guttmacher was working toward his benefit, and the construction of the bathhouse was being taken care of by a separate party.

During the next day at the allotted time, the supervisor Alwin had chosen, alongside the two pyromancers, had arrived at Tanze’s hut. As Alwin had said, the she-orc was out of the building with unknown whereabouts. Without even looking inside, the mages set the building ablaze. The supervisor, enjoying his moment in the spotlight of doing something important, barked commands to the mages to control the fire as if they didn’t already know how to do that. Within a half hour, the roaring flames had died as quickly as they had risen, and the shaman’s hut remained as little more than piles of wood and ash. The supervisor placed a sign firmly into the ground before leaving, claiming the plot of land under the Terres company name.

Tanze felt a twinge of fear at the sight of smoke on the horizon. She ran forward, unable to believe that the ashy, fallen building could be hers. “No, no, no,” she panted, her trot turning into a run. “No… No…!” The smell of the burnt wood and smoke overwhelmed her as she ran closer. “NO!!!” Tanze fell to her knees in front of her home, crying into her palms. A few townsfolk hovered around several paces away, unsure of what to do or say, as most of them thought this burning occurred under agreed business terms.

Rage bubbled within the normally calm and stoic Tanze, mixing with and eventually overpowering her sadness and despair. Noticing the foreign signpost, she ripped it out of the ground and smashed it to splinters with loud, guttural shouting. She picked up the paper, almost disintegrating it beyond all recognition until one word caught her eye. Terres.

Alwin’s scornful face reared its way back into Tanze’s mind. She took a deep breath. The body that was shaking uncontrollably from emotion found its way back to its usual stillness. After another deep breath, Tanze tossed the paper to the wind and walked over her hut, seeing if anything had remained intact. She collected a few trinkles and baubles with clenched teeth, trying to prevent her tears from welling up again. Memories of her starting her business in Prinath were coming back. Memories of her orcish friends visiting her from their village, congratulating her and throwing her a celebration party. Memories of making friends with other humans, elves, and even the occasional mutant. She had regarded the people of Prinath to the highest standard, the ultimate melting pot where every kind of person could get along with one another.

It took a few more hours before Tanze had fully collected herself mentally. Although the loss of her home and business spelled the end of her time in Prinath, she was thankful to be a member of a nearby orcish settlement, the Xoroku tribe, that she could return to. The journey back home led Tanze through a damp, thickly settled forest. She arrived just before sundown. The other orcs were overjoyed at the sight of her until she told them the reason for her return.

“This is a hate crime! To war with Prinath!” A large, hairy orc yelled in the tavern, slamming his massive fist against the counter. Tanze, taking a sip of her beverage, remained silent. “I agree,” said a she-orc, one of Tanze’s female friends. Tanze was touched by the emotions her people felt for her, but she had to speak up soon before the orcs led themselves to an unnecessary conflict. While Tanze had been walking home, she had glanced at one of the only papers she had found within the ashy remains, a page from an old tome that even she had long forgotten about. She had smiled as she read it, realizing that fate hadn’t been as cruel to her as she first thought.

“Brothers and sisters,” Tanze began, “there will be no need for war. No need for bloodshed over what has happened.” “Tanze, you are not serious!” the hairy orc exclaimed, spilling a few drops of ale as he moved his mug around. “Oh, but I am, dear Jogug,” Tanze replied, turning to look at her large friend in the eyes. “Everyone,” she continued, “I will ask your help on another matter. Bloodshed is not to occur, but we will see our pride tended to in another way. I will need your help in finding materials…an emerald or two, fungi that only grows many miles south, and the rib of a deceased brethren, among a few others.” Tanze explained the spell that she was planning to cast, although she remained vague, as she didn’t fully understand every detail herself. The burns and tears from the page she had found describing the spell rendered several aspects undecipherable.

As Tanze and the rest of the tribe toiled throughout the weekend, Alwin had finally found the time and peace of mind to enjoy a show at the theater. He invited Iris to continue courting her while passing the invitation off as a guise to thank her for all of her hard work, but he received a swift decline at her estate. Alone at the theater, Alwin was still able to enjoy the outdoor play centered around sword dancing. Various themes, such as animal sacrifice for fertility, battling evil spirits to protect the land, and combat miming were all expertly performed by the actors and actresses with an equally talented band heightening the performance with their music.

Although the play held deep thoughts, ideas, and traditions passed down throughout history, Alwin became inspired to see a play or hear a ballad about himself with Iris at his side, depicting the would-be lovers battling against the evil stigmas that had plagued him lately. He played the scenes out in his head throughout the night, seeing himself in regal elven gowns vanquishing shapeless foes that represented the thieves that had killed Emil; Emil himself, the wrinkly she-orc Tanze, and other various clumps of lesser humans, forest elves, and orcs. Iris assisted, but was mostly looking to Alwin with sheer admiration and lust – a scenario that Alwin would hope to see outside of his fantasies one day.

                The weekend had passed, and the first working day of the week was coming to an end. Tanze wiped sweat off her brow, hovering over a cauldron as she poured ingredients in. The room was dark, lit only by a few candles. Orcish runes and markings had been carefully painted on the floor, with the cauldron being in the center of the shapes that were contained within a large circle. Her brothers and sisters had been diligent in bringing what she had requested. “Jogug,” Tanze called to her friend standing outside of the circle, “do you have the blanket? The spell is almost complete. Do not be alarmed, but I will need assistance shortly.” Jogug nodded.

                Tanze pulled a tough dagger off of her hip. Holding her left arm above the cauldron, she sliced the outside of her arm using her right hand, unable to contain a shout of pain as her blood poured into the mixture. “Tanze!” Jogug called, stepping forward. “Do not step closer, not within the circle!” Tanze barked. She walked to the other side of the cauldron, pushing up and against it as if to tip it over. The fresh wound on her arm made it painful and difficult, but she didn’t suffer for too long before the contents of the cauldron were spilled onto the floor. There were many crevices within the floor that took the liquid like water to a river. The red, pungent potion soon filled the outline of the circle and began to overpower the light of the candles with its bright demonic glow.

“O spirits, O spirits,” Tanze whispered in an old orcish dialect, clasping her hands together. “Bringeth forth change for whom who takes, steals, rapes, and plunders us without remorse. Bringeth forth change to whom who is wont with prejudice and injustice. Bringeth forth change to Lord Alwin Xilvyre of Prinath…” she chanted with a clear image of Alwin in her mind. Jogug continued to call her name, as he wanted her bleeding wound to be treated, but Tanze remained chanting and praying for several long minutes before the glow of the potion finally died out. Only then did she look to her friend, step out of the circle, and allow her tribe to take care of her.

Jogug and several other orcs asked her about what she had done. Tanze simply replied that the tribe would have to have faith, as she never expected to see the result of the blood curse she had placed on Alwin. Fluttering her eyelids closed with her wound treated and wrapped, she slept well and made peace with the fact that she would spend the remainder of her days with her tribe.

Alwin woke up the next morning, finding that an odd grogginess stuck with him throughout the afternoon. The workday passed typically – paperwork, meetings, bossing around lessers – but the lethargic feeling continued to persist into the evening. He halfheartedly passed the time and told himself he deserved a moment of boredom after all he’d been through recently.

To Alwin’s annoyance, the sensation did not clear after a good night’s sleep. Light aches were felt around his bones, and work seemed to take more energy than usual. He couldn’t believe it was only the third day of the working week. Occasionally, he would feel a rumble beneath random areas in his body. Come the next day, Alwin’s pale skin had become just a touch darker, and his silvery white hair just a touch grayer. Alwin didn’t notice when looking at himself in his silver mirror, as he was more irritated by how he was feeling. After a grueling day of work, he made his way for the city’s best doctor.

The remainder of Alwin’s evening was spent applying and storing medically prescribed herbs, as well as bloodletting through a leech, as the doctor did not recognize Alwin’s condition and thought to try a bit of everything to start. Through the fourth and fifth working days, the herbs helped lessen the aching pains, but the apathy persisted. Alwin returned to the doctor on the evening of the fifth working day, demanding a more proper solution.

“Bring me your magician or your shaman, I know you have some. You know who I am, there should be no question of my eligibility to be treated by one,” Alwin crankily stated. Agreeing, the doctor called for his medical sorcerer. A tall elf entered the room, a high elf in similar stature to Alwin. Kneeling before Lord Alwin, he stated, “Arkil Aedael at your service.” “You may rise,” Alwin dully stated, in no mood for formalities. Arkil rose and hovered around the sitting Alwin, moving his hands and whispering spells to decipher what ailed his patient. Small multicolored clouds appeared around and above Alwin’s head as the spells were cast.

After several long minutes, Arkil mumbled, “A…blood curse. Milord, no common sickness ails you. I’m afraid it is something much more severe.” Alwin thought for a moment, having limited knowledge on curses. Alwin asked, “Who cast it? Who is it linked to?” “I’m afraid there is no link, no other end.” “What? Explain yourself.” Arkil cleared his throat, then began: “A blood curse is one of the most difficult curses to cast. Not only because the formulae are widely unknown, the magical prowess to cast one require expertise far beyond even myself. Moreover, as the name suggests, a blood curse requires a great deal of the caster’s blood. Throughout what little is known of history, curses of such magnitude have oft been used to sustain the life of another. For example, there is a record of a wizard casting blood curses on his henchmen in order steal their youth, not unsimilar to a vampire. There is also another record of a devious witch casting a blood curse on a man in order to control his mind and make him hers. As you can tell, the curser is actively benefiting from the victim. But, in milord’s case, there is no benefitting party. You have been stricken by a blood curse, and yet the curser is reaping no benefits.”

Alwin, unsure of what to think, simply asked, “So how do we remove it?” Arkil paused, knowing that Alwin would not like to hear the answer. “I-In the previous cases,” he began, “there were two ways to dispel such a curse. The curser had to remove the curse himself, or the curser had to die. The latter case worked since the caster was linked to the curse itself. For this situation, I do fear that only the former will work…”

“Nonsense!” Alwin stood up in a sudden fury, blowing away the colored clouds. “Are you to tell me that nothing can be done for me?! That not even a trained high elf brethren can break a curse?! Do you know how much we pay you for your services?!” Alwin paused for a moment, then continued. “A blood curse without a traceable curser, it is simply nonsense! Why would anyone go through the trouble of casting it? Why would they target me? I am Lord Alwin Xilvyre, damn it!”

“W-Well,” Arkil started after another moment of silence, “as I’m sure milord knows, curses are oft cast for revenge. Has milord made any recent enemies?” Alwin sat back down, feeling a pit widening in his stomach. His head slowly slipped down into his palms. “Arkil,” Alwin said, devoid of emotion, “are the dead able to cast such a curse?”

“Hmm, not likely,” Arkil replied. “Remember, a blood curse requires the caster’s blood. The dead have no such ability to both give blood and cast a curse. I’ve never heard of a blood curse being cast with another’s – especially a corpse’s – blood; it seems inconceivable.” “But what if it is similar to a blood curse? What if I’m not ailed by a blood curse, but something incredibly similar?” Alwin said, returning his head to face the sorcerer. Arkil did not have an answer for his patient, simply stating, “New discoveries are being made daily. I suppose it’s not outside the realm of possibilities…but I do insist that a genuine blood curse has been cast upon you. The only difference between your case and cases of the past is a traceable curser. Everything else is consistent.”

“Thank you, Arkil,” Alwin said, standing. In his mind, Alwin had figured out the reason of his cursing. Any more discussion with Arkil would be going in circles. Alwin left the building as solemnly as he had entered. “O gods…” he mumbled as he trudged home. “I may not be worthy of your forgiveness yet. But if you could find it in your heart to forgive me and lift this curse, I would be forever in your debt, Emil.”

III

For the first time in his life, Lord Alwin Xilvyre felt remorse for another being not of his own race, and only because of the severe negative effects his wrongdoings had on him. He had covered his tracks with the help of Countess Iris Guttmacher, but deep down in his heart, he could not deny that his own insolence had irresponsibly sent the boy Emil off to his death. Throughout the weekend, Alwin prayed to the late Emil, and even went so far as to further compensate his family. But it didn’t feel like enough. Alwin was still aching, and his pale complexion had darkened yet further.

Alwin’s coworkers raised concerns about his noted pains and appearance at work, but Alwin reassured them that everything was going to work out. Throughout the working week, Alwin declared Terres’s new bathhouse to be named after Emil’s family name, and spread good word of him and his family throughout several districts by horseback. With the help of the herbs and the placebo effect, Alwin thought that the blood curse – or something similar – was beginning to lessen. After all of the great benefits and luxuries Alwin had provided to Emil’s family and to his honor, Alwin decided push his own theatrical desires aside to bestow the greatest honor a man could wish for upon Emil and commissioned a play in his name.

“The play is to be about the young warrior, Emil,” Alwin explained to the playwriters. The story would take place in the vast jungles outside of Prinath, with Emil slaying monsters and bringing home resources for all of Prinath. Emil would fall in love with a lady high above his social status and would eventually be able to court her through his sheer strength and goodwill being recognized. As Alwin didn’t want the play to depict Emil’s literal death, the play would end with Emil sacrificing himself to a mighty dragon in order to protect the people of Prinath.

Alwin was feeling better come the weekend, knowing that Emil’s spirit and family would surely be pleased. He examined his fingernails, noting a few black specks within them. “Gods…I cannot ask for that play to be performed soon enough,” he said to himself, thinking that it would be the true turning point. He was able to enjoy reading and writing throughout the weekend, for the first time in what felt like ages. He also enjoyed an impromptu trip to the barber, as his hair had grown a bit faster than he thought it would.

Throughout the next work week, Alwin found himself battling the usual dribble and incompetence from his inferiors in addition to questions about his health and his own insecurities. He kept denying the effects of the curse to his peers despite his skin continuing to oh-so slightly darken. He observed a few little patches of green on his flesh, thankfully in areas that were covered by clothing. Alwin’s bones and muscles would also ache at random intervals. Some of his proportions began to shift, but were still to the point where the changes were too light for Alwin to want to acknowledge.

“Gods,” Alwin groaned on the morning of the third working day. To his dismay, the green, orcish skin tone had taken over most of his stomach all of a sudden. He rolled his shoulders, noticing that they’d become slimmer, yet still with the same amount of muscle. Scratching at the green parts of his flesh with nails that had further darkened, he was relieved that his face was still as perfect as ever. “Emil, please…please make this stop. I’ve given your family all they could ever ask for. You’ll be remembered as a hero!” Alwin pleaded under his breath. Later that day, Alwin received word that his commissioned play would be ready for public viewing on the weekend.

The news triggered immense joy to Alwin. Not only was he sure that it would please Emil, but he realized that it would make for the perfect date with Iris. Alwin went to visit her after work. Iris opened the door with a smile on her face. “Lord Alwin, so nice of you to visit. Have you gotten taller?” “Countess Iris, the pleasure is all mine,” Alwin replied with a light bow. “What brings you here today, Alwin?” “Well, I was hoping that milady would accompany me to the theater this weekend. There will be a play depicting the great and powerful Emil growing, falling in love, and protecting the people of Prinath.” “Ah, so you do have a conscience,” Iris smirked in a friendly way, then continued: “I’ve heard about your latest feats. The words, the bathhouse, the compensations out of your own pocket…I must admit, it’s all rather admirable. I didn’t realize Lord Alwin had such a side to him.” “I’m full of good faith and surprises, milady,” Alwin replied with a half-smile, immediately wishing he had come up with a better reply.

Iris invited Alwin inside for a quick drink and chat. Noticing Alwin’s fingernails, Iris inquired about what had happened. Alwin had no choice but to tell her about the curse, but omitted that it was cast by Emil and stated that he would be cured soon. Iris bit her lip, feeling as if something wasn’t adding up, but decided to drop the subject as soon as Alwin did. After some more conversation, Iris agreed to accompany Alwin on a date to the theater. Once Alwin had left the estate, Iris found herself pacing around her house. “Who in Prinath could have cast a blood curse…?”

Alwin’s condition had notably worsened over the next two days, but his ecstasy about seeing Iris and the play being shown were more than enough to keep him optimistic. His pants had become harder to wear, as his hips had broadened over two nights – thankfully coverable by many of his regal robes. The cursed green skin tone had begun to take over most of his legs and chest, and his nipples were constantly tense – he figured it must be unconscious anxiety. His genitals had shrunken slightly, and his nails had fully blackened into what looked like a poorly executed fashion statement.

“I’m going to be perfectly okay after tomorrow,” Alwin convinced himself in the mirror after having dressed. Outside of his nails, no one could tell he was cursed when fully clothed. He tried not to let the way his hips swayed get to him while walking, directing his focus to how incredible life would be after wooing Iris at the play.

The weekend had finally come, and Alwin spared no expense at showing off his most regal appearance. After slipping into a pair of white pants that he now realized may have been a little too short, he donned himself in a robe with green and gold elven banners hanging over the shoulders to represent the pride and importance of his heritage. As Iris already knew about his hands, he didn’t feel the need to hide them. He slicked back his short white-gray hair, which was still somehow a little longer than he’d have liked, but it looked good. Although dressing royally wasn’t a rare occasion for Alwin, his exuberant attitude and dedication to being the star of today’s audience showed with how many more heads he was turning on the streets.

Alwin’s stomach churned as he approached the countess, who was wearing an elegant black dress with lacy arm-length gloves to contrast her bare shoulders. “You are looking lovely today, milady,” Alwin said with a head bow, then continued by holding his elbow out for Iris’s arm to intertwine. “Shall we?” Iris smiled and locked arms with Alwin. “We shall.” Alwin and Iris claimed the highest, most luxurious spots in the audience, sitting on a balcony that was largely disconnected from the masses and which provided the best view of the play.

The play was made hastily by Alwin’s request; however, with the vast amount of resources provided, the performance exceeded many others. Several actors depicted Emil at various stages of his life, all capturing the heroic and noble personality Alwin wanted Prinath to see. Thankfully, the discomfort his stomach and lower body were giving him remained unnoticeable to Iris. The play evoked genuine tears, laughter, and awe from Iris as she watched Emil grow, fall in love, and ultimately defend the city from a mythical beast. Alwin was also impressed and inspired from the performance; however, thoughts about his discomfort and his excitement for the curse’s end held higher positions in his mind.

The epilogue had both the actors and the audience mourning Emil’s heroic death, which led to the reveal of a small statue built in his honor. The statue, while a part of the play, was revealed to also have a permanent place in Prinath afterwards to keep the memories alive for generations to come.

“Oh, that is simply lovely,” Iris said through a small tear while standing and applauding with everyone below. Alwin also stood and applauded with a grin on his face, eager to reap the rewards from Iris and the late Emil for funding and creating such a spectacular performance. Once most of the applause had died down and the actors were taking their final bows, Alwin turned to Iris and held her hands. “If I may,” he whispered seductively, then leaned in for a kiss. Iris smiled with a hesitant grin, then slowly closed her eyes. I never thought this would come to pass, she thought. Maybe he’s not actually so awful…

Alwin and Iris closed their gap slowly. Alwin’s hands began to tremble – must be the nerves, he thought. He had endured a rumbling, twisting ache within his lower body throughout the entirety of the play, but all of that was about to fade. His lips just needed to lock with Iris’s. When he could feel the heat of her lips against his, his eyes shot open as he found himself plummeting to his knees.

Alwin clutched his stomach in a silent, yet severe wheeze with his eyes and mouth wide open. Iris stepped back, startled by the sudden action. “…A-Aarghh…!” Alwin couldn’t hold his pain in for any longer. Something inside of him had broken, and the innards within his lower body were twisting together, causing cramps more painful than he could have imagined. He felt his manhood press against his body before fully inverting, although he was in too much pain to comprehend it. “Alwin! Alwin!” Iris was shouting to no avail. Failing to get him to stand, she made frantic calls for help. Her and a few commoners struggled in carrying the writhing Alwin to the hospital. His contained shouts of pain turned into unbridled screaming on the way.

Through a combination of pain and oxygen deficiency, Alwin fell unconscious soon after arriving to the doctor. The commoners left while Iris remained by his side, who had noticed his unmistakably green ankles while carrying him. Traces of the green hue were also beginning to show at the bottom of his neck. Iris explained what had happened. It wasn’t long before the high elf and magician Arkil Aedael was called upon again. After the preliminary herbs and light spells were applied, Arkil suggested undressing Alwin after hearing Iris’s description of events.

Neither Iris, Arkil, nor the doctor were prepared to witness what they saw. In between Alwin’s tall, strong, green legs rested swollen female genitalia. The boys stammered, while Iris moved in for a closer look. She manipulated, felt, and probed Alwin’s new anatomy, confirming that it was indeed real. She glided her hands around Alwin’s hips and thighs, also confirming that he had developed a broad enough figure to birth a child similar to any other typical woman.

“I-I-It’s unheard of,” Arkil stated after regaining his composure. “A-A man transforming into a w-woman. Perhaps the undead really can cast blood c-curses…?” “Hmm?” Iris looked at Arkil, asking him to elaborate. Arkil recited what had occurred during Alwin’s last visit, telling her about Alwin’s theory. Iris’s brow furrowed as she digested the situation, coming to realize that Alwin must have thought he had been cursed by Emil. So that’s why he went to such lengths…the worm!

“Dammit Alwin, dammit,” Iris muttered under her breath while Arkil continued to cast spells in hopes of finding more information. The doctor was also looking through other medical records. “I suppose you’ve already noticed,” Iris began, “but Alwin’s body looks orcish. Not only is most of it green, but there are subtle muscle tones in his limbs that are typical of a she-orc.” Arkil nodded. “Yes, that is correct. But orcs are rare in Prinath and are unlikely to know magic. I can’t tell if an orc cast this curse, or if an orc’s blood was simply used.”

Arkil continued to talk to Iris about his previous findings of the blood curse and that he didn’t have any current leads on it. So, he lied about that too…oh Alwin. “Transmogrification,” the doctor spoke up to Iris’s and Arkil’s surprise, “it is among the rarest afflictions recorded, and I have personally never seen it myself. It appears that most were temporary, so perhaps…” Arkil shook his head and interrupted. “Are any of those cases blood curses, doctor? I apologize, but this isn’t going to simply dissolve like a child’s first spell. The high elf before us is going to completely and permanently transform into an orcish woman if no action is taken. And without a link to the curser, the only action we can take is to get the curser to reverse the spell.”

Arkil and the doctor argued for a few minutes while Iris turned back to examining Alwin’s body, lightly shaking her head in disappointment and pity. “You poor bastard,” she mumbled to herself, “I can’t say you don’t deserve this, much as it pains me.” Once it was established that neither the doctor nor Arkil had any further actions to take, Iris volunteered to take Alwin back to her estate, and would discuss further actions with him once he awoke.

Even in the presence of Iris, Alwin was unable to contain his anger and fear later that evening in Iris’s estate. “By the gods, this simply cannot be…!” he would continuously spout disbelief every few seconds with a slightly higher voice. Iris held his head against her shoulder like a mother would to a child. Although she wanted answers, she knew she could only attempt to soothe him for now. “Emasculated in front of the countess, by the gods…!” When Iris was not in the room with him, she could hear Alwin groan and complain, revealing pieces of the story she hoped to learn.

“Either Emil or that damned she-orc must have…and it could have only been the orc!” “Cursed, wretched creatures, I will burn them all slowly and painfully…” “No one can curse Lord Alwin Xilvyre and get away with it…I will wage a damned war…!” “Gods damn all orcs to the far reaches of the world…” “Emil, please, if you’re out there…please help.”

Retracing her memory of current events, and the words Alwin was spouting throughout the night, Iris formulated a hypothesis. To her surprise, the mentally and emotionally-compromised Alwin admitted everything when confronted. “Yes, gods dammit, it was probably that damned orc woman,” Alwin said to Iris, hoping that she would help him again. “It was me; it was all me… The bathhouse, I passed it off as someone else’s work, but it was me. I ordered the place to be burned to make way for our building. That stupid filthy she-orc must have figured out a way to do this as revenge…”

After a long gaze of sadness and pity, Iris merely stated, “Alwin, I don’t know where to begin.” “I wanted to be recognized!” Alwin mourned loudly. “I wanted to be at the top! And…I wanted you by my side.” Another long moment of silence passed. Seeing that Alwin wouldn’t continue, Iris dejectedly pressed on. “Well, you know what you have to do, right? You have to find the she-orc that did this to undo the curse. I’m willing to provide you shelter from the public for no more than a few days, although waiting may not be your best option.”

Alwin agreed to stay with Iris for one night and to leave in the morning, knowing that she was right. Before falling asleep in one of Iris’s many guest rooms, Alwin poked and prodded the new asset between his smooth green thighs. He hated how humiliating and weak it felt to be stripped of his manhood, only finally coming to terms with how severe the situation was after his head had cooled down. That damned she-orc, whatever her name was, she will pay…

As Alwin slept, the green orcish hue finally enveloped his entire body, and his tainted white hair had turned toward a distinctly dark shade of gray. He tossed and turned in his sleep, aching with another minor growth spurt which further changed his male elven proportions. His forearms and thighs, while slightly more muscular, had an undeniably feminine roundness to them which carried down into the rest of his arms and calves.

The next morning, Alwin dismissed any potential comments from Iris before they could be made after seeing his reflection, as he didn’t want the thought of being an orc to enter further into his head. Instead, Iris and Alwin – the latter of which was using a large hood to conceal his face – rode into town for details about the she-orc that had used to live at the current construction site. “Tanze!” Alwin snapped, remembering the name once it was mentioned to him. With that information, Iris accessed confidential files that even Alwin wouldn’t have access to, to determine that Tanze originally hailed from the Xoroku tribe. Showing Alwin the details, she said, “The tribe is several miles west, fairly close to Prinath in comparison to other orcish settlements. It’s likely she returned here if not living in our streets. I can provide you a horse to take. However, I will not be joining you.” Iris said coldly, her dissatisfaction with having to continually interact with Alwin after learning his secrets was beginning to break through her pretty face.

“I understand. Thank you, Countess Iris Guttmacher,” Alwin said with a half-bow, half-curtsey. After obtaining a horse from Iris with some food and water, he briefly returned home to put on new clothes. Clothes which were now horribly too small. Even through his largest clothes, half of his green arms and calves were laid bare, which led him to realize that all of his black, hardened finger and toenails had further elongated and sharpened into what could look like claws.

“My hands,” Alwin sighed, lightly touched his palms and fingers. They were completely unrecognizable, looking both dainty and strong at the same time. He traced a circle around his wrists with a long nail, noting at how they had also slightly fattened with soft feminine tissue. “Disgusting. Utterly repulsive…”

The horseback ride to the Xoroku tribe was uncomfortable at best. Alwin’s tall legs made riding a horse feel completely different, and his chest wouldn’t cease its very slight, irritating wobble with every trot. He kept checking the pouch on the back of his tight belt to make sure that the beautifully jeweled dagger he was going to kill Tanze with remained hidden, and that it hadn’t fallen off. After sweating through the forest, Alwin had arrived at huts and signs of the Xoroku tribe. “This is where I, Lord Alwin Xilvyre, will make an example out of those who dare cross me. Plays will be written about this day, about how the noble high elf cuts down the orcish fiends lurking outside of Prinath. Yes, stay focused Alwin. I must be calm.” Alwin took deep breaths in between mumbling encouragement to himself. “I will have it all!”

 

IV

A large, hairy orc stopped Lord Alwin Xilvyre soon after he arrived at the Xoroku tribe. “Who are you?” The orc asked. Alwin cleared his throat. “I am Lord Alwin Xilvyre, a name you won’t soon forget, orc. I am seeking an audience with one Miss Tanze.” The orc looked Alwin up and down. Although he couldn’t see his face too well, Alwin’s green, orcish arms and legs were apparent. “Are you an orc? You do not sound like an orc.” “I am not. Precisely the reason I’m here today is to undo this appearance which you’ve so aptly noted.” The orc thought to himself for a moment, then said “Wait here,” before walking off to find Tanze.

Tanze, who was relaxing on her porch with a small drink, was shocked to hear about the description of the visitor. When her friend Jogug, the orc that had met with Alwin, told her his name, Tanze looked shaken. I suppose I should have expected this, she thought to herself. With a deep breath, Tanze told Jogug that Alwin was responsible for burning her building in Prinath to the ground. Before Jogug could go rampant with rage, Tanze reassured him that, if Alwin was green and orcish as he described, the blood curse was working, and that their full revenge had been carried out. As much as Jogug insisted on killing Alwin right then and there, Tanze made him promise not to harm a hair on his head – and also asked for assistance in hiding her own presence.

Jogug returned to Alwin, looking down on his hooded face with an angry sneer. “There is no Tanze here,” he said. “Turn around and go back to where you came from.” Alwin complied, at least until he was out of Jogug’s sight. With the information he had from Iris, and from the orc’s demeanor, it was easy to see through his lie. “If I can’t be led to her, I’ll have to find her myself,” Alwin said to himself, clearing his throat again. The pitch of his voice felt like it had heightened again.

Alwin snuck around the outskirts of the primitive village, far back enough into the trees to avoid being seen. Once he found an area without orcs walking around, he seamlessly walked into the village. With a mostly covered head and tall, orcish proportions, he was able to fit right in.

As Alwin was strolling, looking into huts and tents for any sign of Tanze, two hands were suddenly clasped onto his hips. A tall male orc pulled Alwin’s ass closer to him for a grind, although Alwin reacted immediately by screaming and spinning around. “What in the bloody hells do you think you’re doing?!” he shouted, brandishing his dagger up at the orc’s neck. The orc looked surprised and scared. “I-I thought you were a she-orc… You have the ass and legs of a she-orc…” he stammered, realizing his mistake upon seeing part of Alwin’s face and hearing his prepubescent voice. “Do you just go around raping whomever you please? I’ll have your head! I’ll have all these damned orcs’ heads!” The orc shrugged and replied, “The she-orcs usually like me.”

Despite his rage, Alwin refrained from slicing the orc’s neck open. However, the commotion they caused attracted onlookers. Several strong orcs and she-orcs ran at Alwin to detain the knife-wielding intruder. Alwin’s hood flew off, revealing his green elven and orcish face to the public. Through his squirming and protesting, the native orcs were able to take Alwin’s dagger and shackle him to a wall in a prison cell. “We will see what to do about you tomorrow,” one of the orcs said. Soon, Alwin was completely alone.

It wasn’t long before shouting and yelling into the nothingness tired Alwin, alongside being yelled at neighboring prisoners in return to shut up. Throughout the long day, Alwin’s face became more tense. He could feel something developing in his mouth, which greatly annoyed his tongue. Whatever sharp, masculine features he still had on his elven face had softened and rounded as he slept that night. His short eyelashes flourished as two of his bottom teeth had grown long enough to poke out from in between his lips, giving him a similar underbite look that most orcs typically had. With fuller lips, a flatter nose, and with his hair now fully black and rolling down his head, Alwin was no longer recognizable as the high elf he once was.

The guards were surprised at Alwin’s appearance when they came to collect him the next day, not remembering how beautiful he had looked. Alwin, while disgusted at his long hair and two bottom teeth, was too drained and demoralized to shout demands at the guards anymore. With his new, fully developed orcish underbite, it took him great effort to even form words properly.

“Just let me see Tanze,” Alwin said slowly, now with a distinctly husky feminine voice. “You can do what-ev-er you want with me after,” he continued. The guards, unaware of Tanze’s desires to remain hidden, complied with Alwin and took him to her hut.

When presented with the prisoner, Tanze didn’t know who she was looking at. Alwin cleared his throat, preparing for the many long, difficult sentences ahead of him. “Tanze, it’s me, Alwin. High elf of Prinath.” Tanze’s eyes widened at the sound of his name, and her lips couldn’t help but lift into a little smile. “To what pleasure do I owe to the great Lord Alwin Xilvyre,” she said with a sarcastic half-curtsey, feeling safe with the prison guards standing behind Alwin. “Tanze, please…” Small tears welled up in Alwin’s eyes. “I’m at the end of my rope here. You cursed me. I de-ser-ved it. I get it. I was mad, I was stupid. Please, I beg of you. Please end this curse and I will grant what-ev-er wish you des-i…want.”

Tanze looked at Alwin for a long moment. He was difficult to look at without feeling immense pity. Finally, she spoke. “Alwin, when I was in Prinath, I had an inkling of who you were. None of the rumors about you were particularly good. You come to me one day about my property, and then I see it burned to the ground a few days later with your company’s signature on it. Was it truly you who destroyed the life I had worked so hard to build in the city?”

Alwin, who was desperate and too emotionally unstable to concoct his usual honeyed words, simply replied, “Yes! I am so sorry! Fuck the baff-fouse, I will rebuild you a brand-new building in Prinaff. Stories tall! Memor-able for gen-er-a-tions! What-ev-er you want! Just re-verse the curse!” Another long moment of silence passed before Tanze replied. “Alwin, let us say I accept your offer. I will be reinstated within Prinath, and you will go back to living your life. A life of looking down on and taking advantage of those you believe to be your inferiors. No, I am sorry. As much as I would like to live in Prinath again, it will not be at the cost of reinstating you to your former self, elven or orcish otherwise.”

Alwin released a primal scream, lunging at Tanze and scratching her cheek with his long, sharp orcish nails. The guard orcs held him back before any more damage could be done. “You will die, Tanze! I will kill you!” Alwin kicked and screamed as the guards took him back to prison. The hot-headedness went as quickly as it came, as Alwin slumped back against the cold stone wall in his shackles without an ounce of energy. His only interaction with others throughout the next several days were being fed slop by the guards. As days passed, something else was becoming apparent. One day, Alwin’s chest felt heavy and uncomfortable, something he only previously felt while riding on horseback. The next, he could feel it lift and sink with every breath. It was tormenting to feel such sensitive nipples constantly brush and scrape against his shirt without being able to do anything about it with shackled hands.

Every following morning, Alwin’s bust was met with a significant growth spurt, which was also when his nipples were at their hardest. It wasn’t long before they had grown large enough to threaten the fabric of his tiny, tight elven clothes. The weight shifted with every miniscule movement. Occasionally he would try to bounce and shake the discomfort away, but it always felt worse. Alwin’s daily bathroom breaks – the one time his hands were unshackled – became the best part of the prison days, as he chose to take his shirt off when in the stall to adjust his breasts and relieve the tits of the horrid fabric for but only a moment. He would also often grasp his crotch and curse under his breath about how shameful it felt to embody womanhood. Before the end of that week, Alwin’s hefty D-Cup breasts had finally stopped growing, completing his full transformation into a she-orc.

When given the option for manual labor, Alwin spit in the face of the guard orc. When offered a second time a few days later, Alwin begrudgingly complied, realizing that anything was better than wasting away in a cell. She was forced to dig deeper into mines while shackled to a ball and chain alongside other prisoners. Disgusting humiliation was all that she could think to herself, although finally being able to move and walk felt undeniably liberating. Alwin’s orcish muscles developed quickly, making labor much easier than it would have been otherwise.

While Alwin toiled away in prison for weeks, Countess Iris Guttmacher’s hands were forced in filling his power gap back in Prinath. Once Alwin was officially pronounced dead, Iris helped the company Terres appoint someone to Alwin’s position despite not working for the company herself. Due to her proclaimed connection to Alwin and her naturally high social standing, she was able to manipulate the company’s heads and earn a significant amount of compensation. In time, she would seek to claim the entire company under her name. Sitting on her mansion’s patio, sipping from a glass of wine and crossing her long, platinum legs, she released a long, satisfied sigh. “Cheers, Lord Alwin Xilvyre.”

“I have told you to stop touching me!” Alwin snapped, slapping away the hand of her fellow prisoner. With the freedom to walk and shovel, she was inevitably met with the touches of curious orcs who were used to receiving mutual interest. And as Alwin was the only she-orc in her prison, the spotlight always shone on her. “One day you will lighten up,” an orc said to her, “and let us show you how good we can make a she-orc feel.” Alwin spat on the ground in response before turning back to work.

The next day, the guards delivered a letter to Alwin. “From Countess Iris…oh by the gods, I’m saved!” Alwin said to herself. Opening the letter, she read it out loud.

Dearest Lord Alwin Xilvyre,

I’m writing to inform you that you have been pronounced dead in Prinath, as it has been a month since you departed to the Xoroku tribe. If you are somehow reading this, somehow still alive and living within the Xoroku tribe or elsewhere, I advise you to not return to Prinath unless you have reversed your orcish curse. Any orc or she-orc claiming to be Lord Alwin who is unrecognizable as Lord Alwin will not be permitted within the city in order to prevent potential cases of identity theft. Thank you for understanding.

                Countess Iris Guttmacher

Alwin dropped the letter to the ground. Numbness spread through her body. She had been enduring hell for so long that the thought of not returning to her former glory as fate’s reward hadn’t even crossed her mind. She re-read the words in her head, wanting to scream and punch the prison walls. She simply slumped to the floor in defeat, unable to get her thoughts together.

The guards, sensitive to a distressed she-orc, brought Alwin a large steak – a standard orcish meal, but luxurious by prison standards. Alwin chomped into it. It was messy and barbaric, the dripping grease and flavor ruined what was left of the tight, filthy elven clothing. But it was also delicious and a joy to chew with her large teeth. “Disgraceful,” she muttered to the guards, shooing them away despite being in an obviously better mood than before. While she was asleep, the guards slipped some new orcish clothing into her cell – clothing that she had always refused to wear in the past. It was a simple gown, but the size and fit of it were more accustomed to her body than any elven clothes would ever be.

A few more days of monotonous work and labor passed. Alwin, who was used to vigorously shouting and pushing male hands away, remained mostly silent and gently declined the sexual advances instead of making a scene. Before the end of the week, she was surprised to hear that she was free to go.

“I’m free?” Alwin said in disbelief, although without excitement. “Yes ma’am, your time is up. I will warn you though that a second sentence will be much longer, so do not cause any more problems.” “Well, where am I to go? I do not have a home…I have been exiled from Prinath. I hate orcs and I hate the Xoroku tribe. You would be better off just killing me before I kill one of your own.” Alwin, who used to have been known for a silver tongue, had no idea where she was going with this spiel and was talking as if on autopilot.

The guard orc laughed. “If an orc does not have a home, then we will make a home. Especially for a she-orc.” “Stop calling me a damned she-orc,” Alwin said, still devoid of emotion. “I am a damned high elf who was cursed by a damned orcish bitch and I have no reason to remain alive if I cannot return to how I once was.” “Well, whatever you want to call yourself, she-orcs keep our population healthy and growing. Whether you want to contribute to that is up to you. But we will still make you a home.”

Alwin was taken outside and watched several large orcs already at work in setting up a large tent-like shelter for her. That evening, the guard who remained by her side for monitoring invited her to a campfire gathering where orcs and she-orcs were laughing and pigging out on delicious meats and berries. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of another large steak once put in front of her. With only a moment of hesitation, she thoroughly enjoyed ripping the meat off the bone and chewing and swallowing the delectable meal. Other orcs and she-orcs tried making merry conversations with her, although she didn’t know how to react or respond. Alwin didn’t know how to process the sensation of people wanting to interact with her for reasons unrelated to a high social standing.

Before going to sleep in her newly made hut, Alwin sought out Tanze, still being monitored by the prison guard. Tanze’s eyes widened again. “Is this…?” she asked. “Yes, it is me. Alwin,” Alwin replied. “Tanze, please… I-I have been like this for a month now, or maybe more. I truly am sorry; I have learned my lesson. I am a different man now. If you reverse this curse, I swear to you on my life that I will never discriminate others again. Please…” Alwin said, unsure if she was actually telling the truth herself. Tanze looked at the she-orc with a sad smile. “Alwin, dear. I know I refused your request earlier. Although you have wronged me and my people greatly, I do not wish to see you suffer until the end of your days. However, the truth is that I do not know how to reverse this curse. In fact, I did not even know it would turn you fully into a she-orc upon casting it. The spell was written centuries ago, and most of its details were lost in the fire you set to my building. I can only ask that you find a way to make peace with yourself as you are now, as I have.”

A long silence passed, although it wasn’t tense. Alwin wasn’t angry, simply because she had no more anger left to muster. “Very well,” Alwin said, “if that is the case, I request a swift execution.” Tanze’s eyes widened further. “Oh Alwin, please do not be hasty. The Xoroku tribe may not be up to your Prinath city standards, but life is wonderful here. As much as I loved the city, the sense of community and friendships here in the Xoroku tribe are unmatched. And the food is much better, too.” The silent prison guard interjected: “Oh yeah, she really loved the steaks we gave her!” Tanze smiled and continued: “Plus, your speech has gotten much better. And dare I say you set quite the bar for orcish beauty. You can have so much to live for, Alwin. You simply have to find it. Myself and the other orcs are more than happy to help you along the way.”

Another long silence passed. “Solidarity among the peasants, is it?” Alwin began. “Is that why you are all so accommodating? No sense of power or ranking within the lot? It is disgusting, it is the life of a dog. I do not care what you hounds do under the trees, but I want no part of it.” Alwin then went on to explain the letter from Iris and how he had been barred from Prinath. “Alwin,” Tanze spoke with a little more firmness, “do you not see? Power, social status, the like… it is all utter nonsense. A game used by the people at the very top to control society. I know you were quite high up there once, and you did the same. But there are bigger fish than you. And this Iris you mentioned, it seems like you were finally eaten as part of the food chain.” Tanze paused before continuing: “Think, Alwin. Orcs are not forbidden from entering Prinath. This Iris person had instead forbid orcs claiming to be Alwin… due to your absence, she was able to take Lord Alwin Xilvyre out of the picture. What do you think she can gain from that?”

Alwin sighed. “A lot. But you do not know her as I do! We…we were going to be together! By the gods, we were about to kiss!” A few tears welled in Alwin’s eyes. Tanze shook her head. “I cannot claim to know this Iris as well as you do, but that was then and this is now. It is clear from the letter that Iris, whether she knows you are still alive or not, wants Lord Alwin out of Prinath’s future.” Alwin and Tanze continued to talk in circles, as Alwin realized Tanze may have been correct, but was desperate to find another alternative. Another possibility, another meaning to Iris’s words. Deep in her heart, as she left Tanze’s hut and slept under her own tent, she knew Tanze had spoken and revealed the complete and ugly truth that Alwin had wanted to deny so badly.

Alwin awoke the next morning feeling refreshed, but was unsure of how to go about doing anything. Although she didn’t enjoy the sight of the orcish village, the murderous, angry racism she once felt seemed to evaporate. Word about Alwin and her origins spread to a select few orcs with Tanze’s help. As a result, several of those orcs and she-orcs approached her with the pure intention of getting her acclimated to orcish life. Alwin was treated to feasts, games, and working opportunities, enjoying the day while meekly digesting the environment and information.

Once alone in her tent again, Alwin undressed and lay herself down on her back, looking at her green body with focus. Despite over a month passing, Alwin tended to avoid looking at herself as much as possible, but things had changed after coming to terms with the fact that she was going to be a she-orc for the rest of her life. Her biceps and thighs were muscular from all the labor she had done in prison, complemented by the orcs’ naturally strong genes. She winced, pinching a dark green nipple in between her fingers – fingers that were larger than her usual elven fingers, yet still more feminine. She flipped her black hair back as her hand traveled down, caressing her body as it found its way downstairs.

Alwin’s lower body felt incredibly sensitive to the touch, making her shift her long legs in response. The smooth skin of her thighs brushing one another was alarming now that she was paying attention to it. Her hand found itself becoming wetter as she continued to explore, and her other hand moved to grope the breasts that were sagging down her sides. “By the gods, I am truly a disgrace,” she muttered, concealing a moan after pinpointing her hidden, yet erect clit.

Once the next morning began, with Alwin feeling even more refreshed than yesterday, Alwin found herself feeling just a slight bit more open to seeing what opportunities the Xoroku tribe had to offer, a sensation which continued to expand as the days passed. She no longer felt shameful about devouring large chunks of steak and meat, and found herself engaging in some conversations when people approached her. Talking to other she-orcs was especially enjoyable, as she didn’t feel as vulnerable around them compared to the larger, more eager males. Although she found herself feeling uncomfortable when the she-orcs talked and bragged about their roaring sex life and how good it always felt.

Savages, simple whores, Alwin thought to herself despite continuing to listen. Whenever the thought about what an orcish cock even looked like, she scrambled her mind to think about anything else. Other conversations helped Alwin understand how a typical she-orc lived, and she was surprised to learn that there were little differences between the lifestyles of males and females. Both could become hunters or gatherers, both were usually strong enough for manual labor, and both were deemed intelligent enough to lead and teach others. “I do not know how it was with the elves,” a she-orc said to Alwin, “but we are all orcs. Orc, she-orc, nobody cares unless you are in bed. If you can do something or want to do something, then you should do it.”

Alwin partook in some manual labor with other orcs throughout the next few days, simply to try new activities. She raised a few tents much like the one she lived in, helped build foundations for other sturdier buildings, and mined for ore. It should have felt like grunt work, work that was never fit for a person like her. In actuality, it felt satisfying. Alwin wondered if her superior Prinathian intellect could assist her in becoming the leader of the Xoroku tribe, a place of power where she would feel most natural. But, as she continued to work, socialize, and feast, the drive to lead lessened.

One day, Alwin talked herself into hunting solo without telling anyone, convincing herself that it was worth a shot to see if she could become an orcish leader through mastery of skills that they valued. Armed with a large stony club and smaller, sharper stone dagger, she set out into the forest to hunt a griffin, a large ferocious monster with the body of a lion and the head, wings, and talons of an eagle. She walked for nearly an hour before finding one in a grassy open field outside the thick forest trees.

Alwin approached slowly, both weapons in her hands. The griffin noticed her and could have easily flown away, but it sensed her fear and inexperience. Alwin looked like a large chunk of free meat to the monster. The griffin flew into the air, screeched, and lunged at Alwin with a curved body, its back talons aiming directly at the she-orc. Alwin swatted at it with the large club, preventing the griffin from grasping her, but redirecting its talons to cut through her shoulder and the bottom of her neck. The griffin flew up and circled back around as Alwin recovered, quickly but clumsily bandaging her wounds. She shakily held her weapons up again, prepared for the second dive. This time, the griffin flew down toward Alwin like a bullet with its large beak wide open.

Before Alwin had the chance to deflect the monster, something slammed into her side, pushing her roughly to the ground and making the griffin miss entirely. She looked toward the source of the force in anger to realize that a large, hairy orc had pushed her out of the way and was quickly getting off of her. They exchanged eye contact, but had no time for words. The griffin, now on its feet, ran towards the orcs with surprising speed. Jogug raised his fist and struck the griffin down on the head with perfect timing and accuracy before its beak could impale him. Once the griffin was dazed, Jogug wasted no time in darting around the beast’s head to leap onto its back and slice the back of its neck with a small dagger. The griffin, now paralyzed, could only await its death as it bled out from the fatal wound.

Alwin, still on the ground, looked up at the orc with an outstretched hand, helping her to her feet. “What the hell are you doing hunting my prey?” Jogug asked sternly. “And why the hell are you hunting a griffin with such a large and unwieldy club?” Alwin, eyes wide, blinked in surprise. She had no idea how to respond. “And your bandages…” Jogug continued, ripping them off to apply his own, “Terrible. You are far too inexperienced to hunt, let alone hunt a griffin. You are lucky I was here; it would have killed you otherwise.”

Alwin’s heart was racing, her breaths coming out hard and heavy as Jogug fixed her up. She recognized the orc as the one she had first seen at the Xoroku tribe, but somehow, he looked completely different to her now. Once her wounds were completely and properly wrapped up, Jogug took her hand. “Let us get you home. What is your name and tribe, she-orc? I do not think we have met.” Alwin’s eyes darted at the question. She didn’t want to say Alwin, as she knew the orc would recognize the name. Trees, dirt, leaves… she thought, looking at her surroundings and trying to formulate a name. “T-Tree…d-dir…dre…d-duree… D-Durz… My name is Durz, from the Xoroku tribe…” she replied with trembling lips. Jogug smiled, “Wow! I am Xoroku as well, my name is Jogug. I am surprised we have not met before.” Alwin nervously chuckled, brushing her hair out of her face. The orcs conversed and even laughed as they walked back to the village, with part of the dead griffin’s body being hoisted over Jogug’s shoulder.

Later that evening, Alwin had a glass of hard ale, now sober to the fact that she couldn’t do anything that other orcs could do simply because she viewed herself as more intelligent. Jogug, a frequent tavern customer, found her and started another conversation. Butterflies were forming in her stomach again. It was incredible to think that she owed her life to an orc, and even more incredible that she felt relieved to have kept it despite wanting nothing more than death several days prior. When Jogug was distracted, she found herself eyeing Jogug up and down. He truly was massive even when compared to other orcs, and the loincloth that most orcs chose to wear didn’t do a wonderful job of concealing his manhood when viewed from the side while sitting.

Before Alwin could dwell on the thought, she abruptly left the counter. Noticing this, Jogug followed her. “Durz!” he continued to call, but Alwin’s fast walk turned into a run. Eventually, Jogug caught up to Alwin at her tent. “Durz, what has gotten into you?” Jogug asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Alwin spun around intending to look angry, but anger was the last emotion anyone could have seen. Her eyes were pleading, her lips were pouted and moist, and her body radiated a pleasant warmth. Before she could find words, Jogug moved closer, seeing what any male orc would have seen – a she-orc in heat.

Alwin placed her hands against Jogug’s pecs, intending to push him away but with no strength coming forth. She looked into his eyes with a distorted expression, feeling a mix of cloth and flesh rub against her legs. “Durz,” Jogug whispered seductively, “it is okay.” He had either taken or ripped off the little clothing that they were wearing before Alwin had realized it. Alwin wanted to shout and protest, but her body told an entirely different story. Her legs were spread and her body was melting like butter to Jogug’s touch. Jogug used his saliva to moisten his cock, whereas Alwin’s cunt needed no help.

Now pinned onto her back, Alwin simply waited, perhaps even yearned, for the inevitable, yet could not have imagined how overwhelming it was about to feel. “A-A-Ooh! OOH! OH BY-A-AH…!” Alwin’s eyes and mouth were stuck wide open as Jogug lovingly penetrated her virgin pussy. “Fuck! Oh FUCK!” Alwin was screeching while Jogug’s quiet groaning went unnoticed. Alwin’s legs wrapped around Jogug’s body like two pythons, instinctively desperate to not let herself be split into halves. Jogug placed a hand on her bouncing breasts as he leaned in for a kiss, all while fucking Alwin silly. His spit dripped into Alwin’s mouth before their tongues met, then eventually their lips. Alwin gripped Jogug’s short, untamed hair like her life depended on it.

Squeaky little noises, moans, and pants escaped Alwin’s lips as she climaxed multiple times, one of which happened shortly after Jogug erupted inside of her. The orcs only stopped once physical exhaustion had taken over, and Alwin passed out into a deep sleep almost immediately. Jogug, satisfied with his new friend, decided to sleep through the night by her side.

Alwin’s body ached immensely the next morning, and her mind felt empty. However, intense euphoria enveloped her at the same time, even more so when she realized Jogug had remained with her that night. Once her head had been screwed back on, she wanted to scold the male orc. Wanted to demand what had happened, and what was going to happen. She did none of that, and instead returned the kiss and other affections Jogug gave her upon waking. Once the pair split later that afternoon, Alwin found herself pining for she-orc company to figure things out.

The she-orc friends Alwin had made – some of the only orcs that knew her elven origins – were so thrilled and excited for her. Alwin was pelted with eager questions, and to her surprise, she was willing to answer. Then, she learned about how orcish relationships worked. Most she-orcs accepted sexual invitations from most male orcs, but once a she-orc became noticeably pregnant, the she-orc would settle down with one mate, typically the father of the first child. After learning that Jogug, notorious for his masculinity and chivalrousness, had dumped his seed into Alwin, the other girls squealed in excitement. “Jogug is single! He has chosen you, girl! Woof I am so jealous!” A sense of pride bubbled within Alwin, a feeling unlike anything she had felt before, even higher than standing atop Prinath. “Thank you, ladies. And please, you can call me Durz.”

Although the newly named and rejuvenated Durz felt like she was on top of the world, she still needed to talk to Jogug about serious matters. “Why me?” she asked. “What happened last night?” Jogug chuckled. “Durz, you were in distress, so I simply helped you. I would do the same for any she-orc. At least, until…” he trailed off, pausing before continuing, “Well, how do I explain it? I have never so readily emptied myself into a she-orc yet, usually preferring to mask their faces and bodies instead.” Durz grimaced at that line. “But with you, I felt something…I do not know how to explain it. I felt like you may have needed it. Needed me. And I was willing to offer.”

Do not talk down to me, you filthy orc. Durz could hear her former self echoing in the back of her mind, things she would have instinctively said at one point. I will have your head for this, no one impregnates Lord Alwin Xilvyre and gets away with it! Durz chuckled a little, looking down at herself again. “You may be right,” she finally spoke. “Jogug, I have a…complicated history. One I am not willing to divulge. But if, despite that, you are willing to stay by my side…well, I…” Durz began to sniffle and cry. Jogug held her close. She liked this feeling. A lot.

“I do not care about your past,” Jogug whispered in her ear. “We are orcs. We have no need for useless things. If your past is not going to affect you forward, then stop worrying about it and live for today. We are all here for you. And I am here for you.”

The couple embraced with another passionate kiss. Durz felt like she was living in a completely different world, separate from Prinath, nobility, and status. Jogug looked like the most handsome man alive, and she relished in being the center of his world, as well as in the orcish femininity she had once been longing to lose. Durz was eager to make a difference in her community, and loved chatting with her friends to learn all she could about the culture. It wasn’t long before she became adept in the native orcish language, rivaling her skill in the general Common tongue.

While days felt incredible, the nights are what Durz always looked forward to. Jogug never ceased to pleasure her with his presence, and especially with his body. Once she found herself brave enough to return the favor with her mouth, she developed a loving addiction to her partner’s smelly orcish cock, often choking and gagging on it to push her limits. The couple occasionally took part in threesomes, although Durz only agreed if she was the only woman, selfishly wanting Jogug to herself while also selfishly enjoying the feeling of having swollen dicks relentlessly fuck both of her ends.

Before Durz became noticeably pregnant, the couple turned their tent into a small, sturdy house fit for raising a child. After developing a bit of a stomach, Jogug treated her like a baby in need of constant attention, which she either loved or hated depending on her mood.

One day, as Durz was sitting on porch alone, waiting for Jogug to return from a hunt, she looked down and patted her pregnant belly. She thought about the world that her child was going to grow up in. The Xoroku tribe to begin, naturally, but what if they had ambitions to leave one day? Would they face discrimination simply for being an orc – an incredibly empathetic and intelligent being who would be misunderstood due to their lack of need for useless aspects? Whatever the case was, she found herself eager for motherhood with every passing day. Smiling and rubbing her belly, she repeated the words that had stuck with her for months from a friend. “If you can do something or want to do something, then you should do it.”