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Orc Roots

For TiranMaster

By Draconicon

Troy pulled up to the old house and left the engine idling for a few minutes before he finally turned it off. A part of him wished that he hadn't bowed to his parents' request to come out here, but at the same time, the orc knew that this was important to them. They hadn't forced it on him, but had made sure that he knew that it would mean a lot to them if he went with the little ritual.

Not sure why. The place looks trashed, he thought as he looked up at the ancestral home. Still can't believe that we came from here.

Stepping out of the car after locking it tight, the orc walked up the front steps. He felt completely out of place with his suit and tie, with his glistening cufflinks and well-polished shoes, now that he was here. Back in the city, he was fine. At the BAR association, he fit in easily, though with a few raised eyebrows for his tusks, which he filed as best he could. But here?

It was like he had stepped back in time, or that something else had leaped forward from the past. The rough wooden steps carried him up to a porch that was more a defensive wall than anything else, and the front door, though rough, had a sturdiness to it that he hadn't seen in any of the modern buildings he'd been around.

He pushed it open slowly, walking further into the family past as he passed by the hanging weapons on the walls, and the old portraits didn't do much to pull it forward again. Each one displayed a powerful orc with a weapon over his shoulder, sporting either a loincloth or an old style of leather armor. Few were shown as any sort of intellectual, and those that were tended to be dressed as shamans, as if their knowledge was something magical rather than something natural.

"Heh, and this is the stuff that the Purists want to drag us back to."

Troy shook his head as he thought about them. The Purists had come to his home and to his college dorm more than once, knocking the door in and telling him that he was spitting on his ancestry. Each and every time, the other greenskins had begged him to come to the old villages that they'd been putting together on the outskirts of society and live the ways that their ancestors had, and every single time, he'd turned them down.

After all, he'd earned his place as a lawyer, and this weekend, he would prove it. He wasn't going to throw away everything that he'd earned over the last few years, just because some old cult thought that orcs had no place in the modern age. He wasn't going to fall for that sort of bullshit, not when -

He could feel himself getting riled up, and the well-dressed tusker held up his hands, taking a deep breath before letting it out again.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Just a bunch of idiots that were getting to me more than they should."

Troy continued the tour, knowing that it was just the first part of the whole little ritual that his parents wanted him to complete. He was supposed to go through the house, pay respect to the older members of the line, and then sleep here overnight. Ostensibly, it was just to dream on the lives of the ancestors and then give respect to them in the modern day, but he felt that it was just a waste of time. More than likely, he'd end up sleeping and missing everything else.

But if that's what it takes to get them off of my back, then I'll do it.

And after he finished the BAR exam, and was certified, he could turn his back on the whole nonsense forever. Orcs had been clinging to the past for too long, seeing it as their only time of glory, but there was so much in the modern day that was good for them, as well. It didn't have to be all loincloths and war chants. They could be a powerful force today, too, without clinging to all...that.

He blushed as he passed by a rather large tapestry showing the 'prowess' of another one of his ancestors. Rather than wielding weapons of steel, that one wielded much greener, meatier weapons, one in each hand and one in his mouth...on his knees...covered in -

"Ugh, why are we proud of this sort of stuff?"

Troy shook his head as he hurried past the tapestry, climbing the stairs towards the bedroom as fast as his feet would carry him. He wasn't here for bullshit like that. He was here for one reason, and one reason only.

The sooner I go to bed, the sooner this is over with.

The bedroom was just off the top of the stairs, and he stepped inside and kicked off his shoes. He immediately smelled that he needed some more deodorant in the pads of his shoes, and resolved to get some at the drug store on the way to the exam. No need for someone to think that he was some sort of throwback to the old sort of orcs. He was the future. He was the first of many to embrace the modern age.

He didn't even bother taking off his suit. He had another set in the car, just in case, and he was too eager to just get this behind him. The orc flopped on his side, closed his eyes, and found himself sliding into sleep far easier than usual. So easy, in fact, that he didn't even notice the dark shapes coming up from the stairway.

#

When Troy awoke, things had changed, and not for the better. As the orc pulled at his arm, meaning to rub his eyes, he found it pinned, tied down with more force than he had expected, and no matter how he pulled at it, it refused to move. He opened his eyes, turning his head, and stared.

Rope?

He turned his head to the other side, and saw that his other hand was tied down in the same way, running back from his wrist to a stake dug into the ground. Lifting his head and looking down, he saw that his shoes had been ripped off and his feet had been tied down in the same fashion, a double knot around ankle and arch that kept him from squirming if he didn't want to cut into his feet with the ropes.

Worse, he was out in the open, laying in a muddy section of ground, and he could feel it sinking through his suit. The orc groaned.

"I know I brought a spare, but..."

"Ugh. Finally awake."

His attention was ripped from his suit to the speaker, and he turned his head to see what was a true throwback to the old orcs. Huge and brutish, the greenskinned male walked over to him with bare feet and nothing on but a loincloth. The mud squelched between the bigger orc's toes as he stomped along, and Troy forced himself to look anywhere but at the man coming his way. Mostly due to the loincloth barely being large enough to cover what it needed to cover if the orc was staying still, and now that he was walking -

Don't think about it. You're not part of this old way. That isn't what you're interested in, and you don't want them to think you are.

A quick look around him confirmed that he wasn't anywhere near the old house anymore. For that matter, the ancestral house and all of its grounds weren't anywhere to be seen, nor any of the landmarks that he had noticed on the way up. All he could see were the spread-out huts of other orcs, as well as grass that looked like it had been planted and forced to grow bigger and taller until it resembled something like a savannah. He shook his head at the primitive nature of it all, how rough and crude it looked.

Then again, orcs had always been like that before society reached out for them. These ones must have been part of the groups trying to go back to it.

He was brought back to the moment as the other orc stomped on his chest, almost knocking the wind out of him and leaving a muddy footprint on his suit. Troy glared down, and then up.

"Remove your foot."

"Ha. No."

"Remove it, or I will find a way to get all your land taken from you once I take the BAR exam..."

"Ha. You think you going? No chance, not happening."

"This is kidnapping!"

"No, just return to good ways. Old ways."

"I'm not one of you. Let me go!"

Troy wrenched at the ropes that held him down, but no matter how he pulled, there was no give, no wiggle room. The stakes were embedded too deeply for him to pull them out, and his arms were pulled out too tightly for him to get the leverage to pull in sharp yanks that would loosen them.

His struggles only earned him the laughter of the orc above him.

"Weakling. Real orcs'd be free already."

"I am a real orc, but a modern one. We don't need strength like that, these days."

"Orcs always need strength. Never be part of modern world. Only good in old ways."

"That's why we're never getting better!"

He pulled at the ropes again, but just as before, there was no effect. Blushing at the continued laughter over his head, Troy looked around. Other orcs were moving to and fro across the small village, almost all of them male. He thought he saw a couple of females, but they were in the shadows and bent over so far that he couldn't see anything to be sure of just what he was seeing. At one point, he could see some of the males fighting together, throwing themselves against each other with moves and ferociousness that would have been banned at any sane wrestling organization, but the orcs cheered at the sheer power of their fighters.

Giving up his attempts at escape, he turned his head back to the orc over him. He had to tilt his head back to not end up looking past the loincloth, and still couldn't quite miss the tip of the green shaft that was sticking out from under it, but he could at least keep from staring at the balls.

"What do you want?"

"Gonna make you like us, heh. Another real orc."

"That is never going to happen. I like my modern life!"

"You fooled. Fooled by everyone out there to think it's good. No good compared to this."

The tribal orc gestured all around him, encompassing the muddy ground and the rough huts and the near-naked males that were wrestling and fighting and eating and groping at each other all around him. The sensation of being sold something that was utter crap was clearer than ever, and Troy shook his head.

"I'm going to go back to my normal life, thank you very much. Untie me, and we'll never have to discuss this ever again."

"You not going anywhere. I want you to remember. Remember what old life of orcs was like."

Troy shook his head, but it went completely ignored. The loincloth-wearing tribal sat on his stomach, pinning him further into the mud, and shifted his loincloth off to the side. It left him with a perfect - and unavoidable - view of the other male's privates.

They were huge, of course. When it came to that, orcs were dwarfed by few species, and equaled by just as few. He could see the thick green cock, and the balls underneath it that were already swelling and throbbing with the amount of seed that the big guy likely wanted to let loose with. He shivered as he smelled the musk coming off of it, too, the scent getting stronger the longer that he stared at it. It seemed like an impossible maleness, something that should have been left in the caveman days.

That was exactly it, he realized. This was something that should have been evolved past, taken away as they got more and more civilized. Instead, these throwbacks looked like they were doing everything that they possibly could to hold onto the old things that the orcs had had. They got rid of the intelligence, and kept the sexuality, the masculinity, the roughness that had put them on top in the old times. This, though...

He wanted to say that it was all a disadvantage these days, but they had caught him, Troy realized. They had managed to capture him while he was sleeping, take him away from his car and his home, and they'd tied him down here without him ever realizing that things had changed. He stared up at that shaft, and then up at the other orc's face.

"Why?"

"Because orcs are forgetting. Orcs forgotten by rest of the world. Never remembering glory, always pushing it away. We strong, were strong, will be strong again. Not if forgetting, though."

He's insane, Troy realized. He thinks that we can roll back the clock and be strong again just by remembering our heritage? By being stupid? By...

He looked around. There were no women, he realized now. All the orcs here were men, all of them standing around and either fighting, fucking, or feeding themselves on big, meaty foods. There was nothing that showed this place as anything but a fighting camp, something like a military encampment where people had way too much down time.

They're not getting ready to just live peacefully. They want a fight, to show how strong orcs are in comparison to everyone else. They want to put orcs back on top, and then keep them there, just because they're bigger and stronger and fucking dumber than anyone else!

He shook his head. It wasn't going to work...

Then he thought about it more.

The orcs were looked down on, not taken seriously, and even pushed to the edge of awareness. He doubted that most non-orcs even knew where the camps of the throwbacks were, let alone what sort of people lived there. The more he saw, the more he realized that these old-style orcs could probably handle at least four different people at once in a fight, possibly as much as six in some cases. It wouldn't take much for a larger camp to overwhelm a town, particularly if the police were slow.

Then the orcs would start taking slaves again, and if they're thinking they can make me into one of them, considering the way that I've been acting...

The thought of an entire town converted to the old orc ways, from turning all the modern orcs into thuggish, horny fighters like these men to making the other species into slaves that would serve the bigger warriors and make sure that everyone in the orc army were happy, left him stomach churning, and not in a good way. His head spun at the implications, and he shook it rapidly.

"You can't do this! Our time has passed."

"No. Not until orcs say it passed."

The big green guy reached up to his neck, pulling at an amulet that Troy hadn't seen just yet. He clicked the front, and then pulled a crystal out from inside of it. The modern orc stared at it for a moment, looking at it, and then at the big guy again.

"What's that?"

"This is orc magic. You remember what you were. Remember what orc is. Then, you do what Brolin say."

"Who's Brolin?"

"I Brolin."

The orc chuckled a bit, and Troy's eyes went wider as he realized just how fucked he was. Pinned under one of the most muscular orcs that he had ever seen, tied down with his suit soaking up mud, a cock that was steadily growing along his belly as his captor held him down...

Shit, shit, shit.

He closed his eyes, but Brolin reached down and thumbed one of them open, holding it there. The bigger orc was too strong for him to get around, his body too weak compared to the bigger guy. He just laid there, staring straight up at the bigger orc as the crystal started to sway back and forth.

It was shiny, he realized, and not a quartz crystal like he had expected. Instead, it was almost emerald in color, except lighter and not so deep and dark. It sparkled, catching the light every time that it swayed from one side to the other, and he couldn't look away as Brolin forced his eye to stay open. The orc was muttering something, not words, but something like gibberish, getting quieter and quieter as the swaying went on.

No, this...there's something...something wrong.

Troy could feel something rising inside of him, some grunting and growling thing that had been buried for a long time. He remembered it, had felt it when he was a kid, and stronger when he was a teen before he learned how to deal with it. It was the primitive instincts of the orc. The urge to fight and bash, to beat and take without trying to debate or argue. He could feel it rising up, soft grunts in his throat rather than words escaping his lips.

No, no!

The orc pushed it back down again, as he had all his life, but every flash from the little green gem made it harder and harder to keep his focus on what he was supposed to be doing. Every little flash drew a little more of those instincts out, making him wonder what was happening, making it harder to think.

Nnngh. Not...not a stupid orc. I can think. I am going to be lawyer. Just have to resist it, and...and...

He tried to shake his head, but Brolin kept him pinned, the bigger orc muttering still. Some sort of spell, he realized belatedly. The worst of the throwbacks had gone to shamanism, going back to the roots of the orcish society, to the point where they almost seemed mystical. It had to be rubbish, but at the way that his orcish side was rising so fast, pushing itself to the surface and getting so strong...

Please...just let me go...I don't want to be like you...I don't want to be stupid and dumb and...

He groaned, feeling his head hurting, like it was getting heavier and thicker. His thoughts were slowing down with each little flash that burst from the crystal as it swayed from side to side over his head. It was so hard to think, like he was pushing through cotton and concrete and a thick wall that laid right in front of him. Nothing could be thought, nothing could be conceived through that thing. All he could do was lean against it, begging for it to stop.

Yet, it never did. Flash, flash, flash, and with each flash he sank deeper into that horrible mess of quiet and no-thought. The orc that was Troy was slowly drowning in that stillness, that stifling stupidity that was rising around him. His head was filled with bestial grunts rather than educated thought. His attempts to reach back to find those memorized law tomes were rebuffed, replaced by instincts of fighting and punching and grabbing and -

No, not that!

Even fucking. He could see in his head memories of bending over, of his muscular ass - he had never been that muscular in his life - getting pounded and fucked and used hard. He could see other green cocks forcing their way between his ass cheeks, opening him up and making him take their dicks, making him bend over and just accept all that they had to offer. He could see their balls smacking off of his, his dumb, tusked face turned up in a grin of bliss as he was used over and over and over again.

He whimpered, but there was something else, now. Brolin's muttering was making sense. He wasn't speaking English, though. He was speaking old Orcish.

"Remember the glories, remember the power, remember the submission. The power of the orcs was in how they built each other up. Strength earned pleasure. Weakness was turned to strength by giving it. Say it."

"Strength earned pleasure...weakness turned to strength by giving pleasure..."

And so was he. He was speaking old Orcish, even though he'd never learned the language. It felt like he was spitting up something every time that he opened his mouth, but he couldn't stop. It was coming out easier than English ever had, and he didn't want to stop. Things were so hard, he needed something easy.

Brolin grinned at him, and he slowly realized that the other orc's cock was now rock hard. It was throbbing, bigger than anything that he'd seen in porn, standing at least a foot long and thicker than his fist. He could imagine that it would take forever to get that thing into him, but the part that had woken up - the weaker orc that had been held down for so long - wanted it.

Troy protested in the back of his mind, but the green flood of power that had been unleashed was finally stronger than him. He was pushed down, shoved to the back of his own mind as the other side took control. The other orc growled, and Brolin chuckled.

"Hehehe, that's it, brother. Wake up, wake up and take your place. It's been too long since you knew what you could do, too long since you were suppressed and made weak. You'll be strong again. You'll have that power that belongs to all orcs. You will be good, and be the big, bad greenskin that you were always meant to be."

Brolin stood up, finally, and to Troy's surprise, he felt...stronger. Or at least, his body did. He wasn't in charge, though. The old orc in him was, the instincts that had been buried for so long. His arms pulled, and he felt the stakes come free. He kicked, and the stakes and ropes snapped from his legs. Dragging himself upright, 'Troy' started to turn. He wanted to get away...didn't he?

No, no, Brolin was there. Brolin was making him better. The real Troy knew there was something wrong with that, but the orc side of him that had been buried for so long, the old orc instincts that knew strength, was in charge. It respected Brolin's power, and needed to give that respect. The 'modern' orc turned, and he felt something...different. As his head turned down, he stared.

His suit had been ripped, stretched, pushed to expand in several areas as he had grown under the power of the hypnotic effects of that crystal. His body was bigger than it had ever been, with his pecs standing out through the suit jacket like some sort of shelf. He couldn't take his eyes off of that, but his arms we removing, and he could see that they had grown, too. The shoulders of his suit had been ripped, hard, and his sleeves were on the verge of falling down his arms. It was intense, amazing, and so, so wrong. All he could see was just how bestial he was, how much he'd changed from the civilized orc that was supposed to be getting certified at his BAR exam...

I'm gone...he's getting rid of me...and making me into something else.

He looked up again, and Brolin pointed to the ground. His body moved without his consent, going to its knees and looking up at the bigger orc. Brolin chuckled.

"That's it. That's where you belong. Until you get strong enough to stand, you are going to stay on your knees as my little cock sucker."

The crystal came down again, swaying back and forth over the other orc's cock. The musky scent of it, and the sheer size, was calling to the orc in him, making him want to do more. He tried to push it down, tried to ignore it, but the call was there. He was leaning forward before he could stop himself, and Troy felt the slippery tip of the other orc's cock sliding past his lips, pushing between his tusks and over his tongue.

"Heh, you know what you need. Good. You know what strength deserves. Even better. Just fall into that, orc brother. Fall into those old ways. I'll feed you the strength you need to grow. My words, my body, my seed will be all you need."

Troy fought the rising green tide, and lost. There was no way for him to hold back any longer, no way for him to keep it from sweeping him away. The intellectual fell into the tide of green...and was transformed.

In his head, he felt all the old knowledge rushing in. The green in his head slammed against manners, and replaced them with a hierarchy. One was not polite to all, nor was one 'one.' One was 'ORC!' Orc was stronger than non-orc, and orc took what orc wanted.

He growled in his head, feeling the green suffuse him, taking him in and changing him with each passing second. That hierarchy kept growing. Brolin was over him, bigger, stronger. The other fighters, too, probably. Bigger, stronger than him for now, but he could get bigger, stronger, take it from them.

As the hierarchy overwhelmed manners, so did the green overwhelm everything else. It carried the old orc knowledge into his head, and he gave in, submitting to it.

Skills with weapons overwhelmed skills with words. After all, what was an argument to an orc? If someone fought, an orc just bashed their heads in and took the stuff that they wanted, leaving the others behind to squabble over right and wrong.

The ability to drive was taken away, replaced with skills with horses. Technology didn't matter to orcs, after all, and they were looking for better things than cars. Why bother to get a license, anyway, when orc feet were powerful enough to carry orc anywhere he wanted to go?

More and more disappeared, replaced with the ways of the greenskins, the power of the orc. And all the while, 'Troy' kept sucking on that thick, green shaft in front of him, pulling it into his throat and swallowing around it before pulling back and slobbering around the head. It was thick and juicy, and he loved it. He panted and sucked, gobbled and groaned, and with each swallow, his mental transformation continued, guided by Brolin's chuckled words.

"All the way, brother. Take it all the way. Nothing from the modern world. Just the old orc memories. Bring it all in. Be orc. Be orc. Be ORC!"

The bigger orc was slamming in hard and fast, and he was finding himself loving it. The feeling of the thick, meaty club down his throat was making him grin, his own cock throbbing hard in the pants of his suit. He reached down, fondling it, but he didn't have a chance to do it for long. Brolin pushed his hand away.

"No orc touches through suit. Get naked, stupid. Get naked!"

He was happy to do that. Grunting, he stood up. He fumbled with the buttons of the shirt for a moment, realized that he couldn't undo it anymore. His fingers were...bigger, somehow, but he was stupid. He didn't know how to work buttons.

Frustrated, Troy reached up and grabbed his shirt by the center, and yanked hard. It came apart with a single tug, the jacket and the shirt beneath ripping down along the center. The shreds fell from his fingers in a rain of silk, and he grunted as he felt better. Not all the way better, but better.

As he was stripped down from his clothes, he felt the rest of the growth starting. The more he flexed, the more he grew, and the more he grew, the better he felt. Troy was falling away, the name disappearing as the old clothes fell from his frame. When his waist grew, supporting a bigger ass and bigger frame, his pants ripped at the waist, falling down in shreds. The muddy clothes were soon useless, nothing but shreds.

All that was left for the orc were his briefs, and they were on the verge of breaking. His erection pushed down over his balls, bigger and heavier than he'd ever felt it, and he groaned as he reached down, stroking and fondling it. Brolin growled, and the crystal flashed.

No orc leaves it covered.

The thought hit him, hard, and his cock throbbed upwards with the force of a rising warrior. It ripped through his briefs, the thick, green shaft standing at attention and dripping copiously. He growled, flexing, throbbing, growing, pulsing with muscle as it kept popping in and getting bigger by the second.

"Yes...bigger...better...stronger..."

"Yes, be orc. Be ORC!"

The rapidly dumbing orc nodded, growling through his growing tusks and flexing powerfully before Brolin. He turned at the other orc's gesture, spinning in place, showing off his body from every possible angle. He made sure that everything was visible, everything was on display for his converter. His bigger friend. His...

Mate.

Yes, mate. Mate was what Brolin was to him. The bigger orc had showed him the truth. Bigger orc had made him better. Bigger orc had made him orc again, not the pathetic little thing that he had been pretending to be. He grinned, even as he felt a hand on his ass and spreading the cheeks. He turned his head, grinning around his tusks, and Brolin grinned back.

"My orc slut."

"Your orc slut."

"Name?"

"Uh...can't remember."

"Heh, fine."

Brolin spread his ass cheeks further, and he groaned at the feeling of cool air on his butt. It spread from his back to his ass hole, though that started getting hotter as Brolin rubbed it with a finger, almost shoving it inside.

"You need an orc name."

"Yeah. I'm real orc. Need a real orc name."

"Troggle."

"Oooh, I like it."

"Yeah, you do."

He grunted as he was suddenly spitted on the other orc's finger, rising onto his beefy, thick toes as he was impaled by rough, thick digits. Troggle growled, his muscles flexing and spasming as he tried to get comfortable on the fingers inside of him.

Brolin didn't give him a chance. Those fingers, two now, were pounding his muscular ass, making it clap and smack every time that they bottomed out in him. He grunted and gasped now and then, his cock slapping up against his belly in response to the pleasurable intrusion.

The other orcs of the tribe were gathering around, some of them grinning and elbowing one another, some of the other slutty ones that had been bent over in the shadows when he woke up eyeing his cock. They were all looking at him with a grin, though, as if they were welcoming him in while he was getting finger-fucked.

Troggle liked that. Troggle knew others would disapprove of him, would hate him for turning his back on the rest of the world, but Troggle knew the truth now. Orcs were going to win. Orcs were the best, and there was no standing against that.

Gonna be on the right side.

He grunted again as a third finger was forced up his ass, his cock throbbing and drooling as Brolin finger-fucked him hard. The other orc's big green hand reached around, the meaty digits wrapping around his shaft and pumping it hard. He groaned, thrusting forward and then shoving back.

"Hehehe, you my good orc boy, Troggle?"

"Yeah, your good boy. Your good orc."

"Gonna learn good?"

"Gonna learn real good."

"Hehehe, gonna be a good fighter?"

"Hell yes! Best fighter."

"Gonna be a good eater?"

"Eat all the meat!"

"Gonna be a good fucker?"

"Best...fucker!"

Troggle moaned as he was filled again and again by those fingers, almost on the edge of orgasm as he felt the pleasure rising higher and faster. He humped his hips back, grinding them against the fingers inside of him, only to thrust forward and fuck the space between the fingers gripping his shaft. Back and forth, back and forth.

He was right on the edge when Brolin pulled him back. He groaned, but the other orc only chuckled, pulling out a cell phone from the ruins of his clothes. Troggle barely remembered how it worked, but Brolin threw it to him.

"Gonna be late for that meeting of yours. Better show them why."

#

The BAR association was surprised to see that Troy never showed up. They'd expected him to be one of the first to arrive for the final exam, considering his eagerness for making a better image for orcs in the world. They'd even delayed it for him for a half hour before finally giving it the go-ahead, allowing the others waiting to test.

They were about to start an investigation when a mass email came in. As soon as it was seen, there was a near-unanimous decision to delete the email and never speak of it again. Near-unanimous, unfortunately, wasn't good enough.

The next day, the series of images of Troy, naked and burly, getting fucked by dozens of greenskins in one of the throwback communities was all over the internet. Orcs were, once more, shown to be nothing but loincloth-wearing, ass-humping, muscle-bound brutes, and the world saw it. Those orcs pushing to be better had another new obstacle in front of them, a fresh reminder of what some of their kind were like.

And in the tribal villages, the shamans knew that more would turn to the old ways, either in desperation or anger. Their time was coming, slowly but surely, to return to the top.

The End