Please leave a like on twt and tell him draw more of this guy.

Please leave a like on twt and tell him draw more of this guy.

Zika & Oki are escorting you to the next village. It seems you're getting to know them rather well and Zika's not entirely happy about. She's got an idea to reduce any potential friction within the group until your destination's reached.

- - - - -

Since I have more room here than on Twix/Bsky, I'd just like to thank you weirdos.. er.. I mean, everyone who's reading.. for their support so far. I post a lot of wip/sketch stuff to those two platforms and I know not everyone's on either of them (I also know you have your reasons as to why not and I'm gonna accept your decisions & not try to change your minds) ; so of you aren't, here's a few rough-drafts of potential future encounters and character sketches you might see depending on the choices the group makes that I can post without worry since this is a straight-up NSFW subreddit and I don't have to worry about ratings limiting my visibility.

Thanks again, eh.

Please leave a like on twt and tell him draw more of this guy.

The tutorial is over, the real game starts now: The heavily pregnant matron of the clan has to attend a council but can't go because.. well.. you got her heavily pregnant. That means you'll have to go in her place with a pair of her warriors to get you there. A pair of her rather attractive, busty, away-from-their-leader warriors... How will you proceed?

The rules are on the second page and it's up to the internet to decide what happens so try to not get into too much trouble.

(Sorry, not a lot of NSFW in this one but the audience has a chance to make me draw a lot of it in the next episode and I'll be giving you guys plenty of opportunities for more)

Your visit to the merchant was profitable for both parties involved! Now that you've finished the tutorial area its time to level up so you're prepared to see more of the world. Also, here's a lore dump.

Next post will be Friday, Oct 2nd; I have Orctober stuff to prepare for and I think I need to space things out a bit better anyway, both in terms of posts over time and how much information I try to cram onto one page.

After a quick side-trip, you make it to the merchant's wagon where Rupov has some deals for you that might involve vertical.. er.. "horizontal integration" into her "operations." (wink, nudge)

(I'm not discounting Reddit's contribution, it's just wildly out of scale compared to everywhere else as you can see)

(I'm also having an absolute day because I put the wrong inventory screen in and didn't notice until after posting it everywhere. Sorry aboot that, thanks for your patience)

Well, that was a productive trip... in more ways that one. Three, as a matter of fact.

You've now got enough "stuff" that you'll need a way to keep track of it all so here's your inventory screen.

Now it's off to the merchant to turn those fish into some cold, hard cash!

(I'm not yet sure how to work Reddit updoots into this, I'm used to maybe 25-30 likes across seven platforms and as much as I appreciate you guys, you'd really throw things off-kilter if there were suddenly +500 likes appearing lol.)

This started as a silly idea to bump up engagement on a few sites and I kinda hope the people helping make bad decisions on the various site I post to are having as much fun as I am drawing it.

The player wound up in a fantasy world where he accidentally killed two Orc scouts by causing them to fall off something (none of this is serious, don't put too much thought into it) and now he's stuck in a cliche isekai world and the viewers are guiding his moves.

artwork by paleboyalain

artwork by paleboyalain

Zephyr was falling. Crashing to the world below. It had been a sanctuary, a haven for Cevea. It had been her home.

For her and the rest of the Skyborne. The elves who escaped horror and fled to the sky. But now they needed aid. They needed to return to the ruins of below.

Cevea Somberstar would not fail her people. She would meet with this Horde below. She would learn from their shamans. She would learn the secrets needed to save her home.

No matter what it took. Unfortunately, that path led to the barrens.

“Blue fucking elves!”

Cevea was blue. A soft blue, graced with white hair. She was... slighter than many of the horde was used to. Prettier, and that was used as a slur. As an insult.

And after the first few hours in the barrens, after the first few days, those insults started to sting.

Yet Cevea was not about to stop. Not about to give up. She couldn't fail.

And... the barrens did have some appeal still. She was there.

Tall. Darkhaired. Broad shoulders. Green.

With an odd habit of collecting animal trophies. Cevea hadn't understood it at first. And yet....

“How goes your hunt, Cevea?” Segra treated her like any other. Like an orc. Like a troll. Like a tauren. Like a fellow shaman. A woman worthy of respect.

And sometimes, Cevea thought there was more than just respect there. Cevea told her story. Seeking claws this time. Cevea had gone out into the barrens, with hammer and flame, hunting down the great lions of the barrens.

The prowlers in the high grasses. And one by one they had fallen. The first two fights had been terror. The lions had hunted the Skyborn back.

The first two fights she had barely survived. But Cevea learned from the terror, from the challenge. And each fight after came easier. She learned what to watch for in the grass. She learned to block lion jaws with her shield.

By the time she was done, the lions no longer scared her.

“I'm glad you learned from this prey Cevea. You'll need the strength and cunning of beasts like these to serve my beloved Horde.”

To serve. Beloved.

Those words stood out to Cerea. As she listened. As she learned from the more experienced shaman. As she longed to serve, to be very much part of that beloved.

To belong to Segra. At least in some form. At least for a moment.

Cerea let out a gasp, as the two spoke. Eager to prove herself again. Segra replied with little more than a smirk.

Cerea was ready to hunt Echeyakee. The White Mist. And she failed.

The lion too silent. Too swift. Cerea nearly met her end. She had to retreat. Bloodied. Sweat-soaked. With a broken shield. With bleeding wounds.

Limping back to the Crossroads. Letting the healers there finish what her spells had started. Mending bone and torn flesh. Restoring Cerea.

Yet not without cost. Not without mockery. The outsider had fallen to the lion. The outsider was no true shaman. The outsider did not belong on the ground.

Cerea hid in the back of the inn. Tucked into a stone alcove. Behind the beaded curtains. Trying not to cry.

She could walk, but she dared not return to Segra. Cerea could not face the orc's disappointment. Could not face the orc's expectation.

And so on the third day of recovery, Segra came to her. Cerea could hear the orc coming. The heavy trod of boot. The fullness of form. The strength of voice.

Asking for her by name. Cerea dreaded this. The confrontation. She hid away in her alcove. Wished the beaded curtain could hide her away entirely. But she could not hide from the huntleader.

And Segra found her. Peering into that dark alcove. Watching the elf within.

Cerea hoped that Segra couldn't see the puffiness around her eyes. Segra could.

“The great cat called to you, Cerea.” Segra reminded her. A sternness in her voice.

Cerea nodded. She shivered at the memory of violence. “He did.”

“And you failed that call.”

“I did.”

Segra reached down. Parting the curtain. Revealing more of the elf within. “And what does that make you Cerea?”

“A failure.”

Segra laughed, genuinely amused, not hurtful. Reaching her hand inside at last, running her thick calloused fingers through Cerea's hair. A gentle touch.

“Try again.”

“What do you mean? I failed. I'm a failure.”

Segra shook her head. Looking to the rocky alcove. “May I?” Asking to enter, asking to share the space. To share the bed. Such as it was.

Cerea couldn't refuse. She could barely nod in assent.

Segra entered the space. Crawling into that crevice carved into stone. A bit of bedding, large enough for a single orc. Now filled with orc and elf. Segra there at the opening, trapping Cerea inside.

Filling Cerea's vision. Letting Cerea smell every bit of Segra. The sweat. The dust. The blood. The smoke of flame. The want.

“You had fruit for breakfast. Does that make you a fruit?” Segra asked, and Cerea had trouble not watching that mouth, those lips, those tusks so close.

“No!” Cerea replied, shaking herself out of the orc's spell, even if only for a moment.

“We are made up of many experiences. Many acts. Successes and failures both. You failed to best the great lion, but you tried. More than many who now mock you even attempted.”

Cerea nodded slowly. Again watching the lips. A touch of callous across them. A tan, coming through across the face, even on that green skin. Long days working and fighting in the sun. Old scars from battle. In this continent and the world beyond.

But what the orc spoke made sense. A single loss couldn't define her. Not after everything Cerea had done before. Not everything she will do after.

“I will try again.” Cerea spoke, hoping to be as bold as the orc beside her.

“You will. And you might fail again.” Segra responded with a shrug. Stealing the wind from Cerea.

“But...”

“You will be worthy either way Cerea.”

Cerea warmed at this, a blush across her pale features. Segra had remembered her name before. But Cerea was not used to such praise.

“I will try again.” Cerea amended her words. “And if I fail again, so be it, that will not stop me.”

“Good.” Segra began. Before twisting her lip around her tusk, a very orcish smirk. “...girl.” The orc testing something.

Cerea reacted immediately, gasping, and looking around, trying to hide, while already stuck, cornered by the larger woman. “I.. uh... what?”

Segra reached out, those long fingers running across Cerea's unblemished face. Scars and callouses dragging across perfect skin. Touching something beautiful.

Something pretty. Something markable.

Cerea pressed herself against those fingers. Letting them run across her cheek. Across her temple. Through her hair. Cerea had her hair cut short, to stay out of the way when fighting. A cute cut she thought.

Airy. Segra found it just long enough to be grabbable. Cerea whined at the older woman's grab.

And yet... was Segra older? More accomplished, sure. More lines worn in the face. A veteran shaman of the horde. A powerful woman who made Cerea weak.

And yet... someone so mortal. Likely a fraction of Cerea's age. A few hundred years old at most.

But an orc to which Cerea would gladly submit.

Segra looked at Cerea, watching the elf's reactions. “You have wanted to submit for a while now.”

Cerea nodded slowly. Wide eyed.

“Ever since the Zhevra at least.”

Cerea did not argue.

“You need a mentor. In the horde, and the ways of a shaman.”

This much was true, and yet...

“But you wish me to be more than that.”

Cerea squeaked. The elf had tried to hide it. That need that had been burning inside her. The images that had filled her nights behind beaded curtains.

The name repeatedly on her lips.

“I accept.” Segra said with a laugh, running her hand down to grip Cerea's jaw. “You will be mine, at least for a time. My loyal lionness. My student.”

And then whispered a forbidden word. “My thrall.”

Cerea could mumble out only affirmations.

“But first. I would see you properly.” Segra's hands went down to Cerea's top. To that crafted leather. Durable and covering. Peeled away in moments by skilled hands.

Reduced to the cloudsilk beneath. That bit of cloth that clung to Cerea's modest chest. That couldn't hide her nipples away.

Not from Segra's sight. Not from her grasp. A strong hand brushed across that nipple. Dragged around the palm at first, and then slipped between two fingers. Pinched through the thin fabric.

Tweaked. Twisted. Turned and handled to the moment Cerea was gasping. The moment didn't take long. Segra's thorns had touched other breasts. Other women before.

They knew what they did. Intention with every stroke. Every touch of pain. And then the tug. The pull. The unwrapping of silk.

Cerea's chest revealed to Segra. Those modest breasts. That pale sea flesh. The way those nipples hardened. Exposed for inspection.

And devoured. Segra's mouth descending immediately, drawing in breast. Taking in her mouth all the modest titflesh that Cerea could offer. Teeth grazing against the skin.

And starting to sink in. Marking Cerea for the first time. Drawing her blood.

A grip not unlike a lion's. But bringing with it pleasant promise. A grateful agony.

A tongue which traced across her nipple. Which ground across it like a glacier. That licked the life from it. That draw that had the Skyborne squirming.

Trying to pull away from the overwhelming sensation. But wanting it all the more. There was no room to escape. There was barely any room to twist.

Cerea's arms, tried to reach out, and brushed up against the roof of the sleeping alcove. Scraping across the stone there. Her other arm, pinned beneath so much orcish muscle. She did not mind that pin.

Nor what came after. Segra pushed forward, invading space. Pushing Cerea further back. Trapping the elf at the back of the alcove. Pinned against the stone wall.

To all outsiders now, she was hidden away. Her slight form hidden from sight entirely. Behind beaded curtain, and the fullness of orcish form.

Cerea couldn't move. She couldn't escape. She could barely squirm. And squirm she did.

Against those teeth. That tongue. That suction. The wet warmth of Segra's mouth. The pierce of those teeth. The way after lingering moments, Segra lapped up her blood.

And audibly swallowed it down.

“You remember the great hunt?” Segra finally asked. Looking up at Segra with bloody lips.

“Yes. The tauren beliefs where we take in a piece of the beasts we killed why you sent me all over the barrens to...”

“Yes. And what piece do I take from you?”

“What?”

“What do I take from my prey?”

Cerea blinked down at Segra, trying to think over the racing of her heart. What did Cerea have to offer this powerful woman? She wasn't stronger. She wasn't wiser. She wasn't bolder.

“I don't know.”

“You don't know your value?” Segra asked, leaving a series of kisses across Cerea's bare shoulders. Across her collar bones. Nibbling and nipping as she went.

Cerea wasn't ready for the mentor to return. Nor for the mentor to have such dangerous teeth.

“You were born in the sky. And you have come down to a Horde... a people who largely don't want you.”

“I...”

“And you adapt. You have done your best. To learn from others. Even those who ridicule. To learn from me. You are not stubborn and locked to stone. You are not the lion obsessed with the hunt.”

“You are the seedpod, drifting in the wind. Shifting. Moving. Riding the torrent. And despite all the words spoken at you, you continue to fly.”

“I'm... trying.”

“And from you, I take your adaptability.” And Segra brought her lips in. Brushing across Cerea's lips directly. Teeth drawn across Cerea's skin. A slow communion. A dance.

And then a demand. Segra's mouth opened, her tongue slipping into Cerea's own. Larger. With a thicker tongue. Something overwhelming. Something welcomed. Drawn against Cerea's own.

Pressed against Cerea's tongue. Drawn across. Twisted together. With that intake of need. Of want. Of demand. A demand Cerea eagerly surrendered to.

Stuck against that stone wall. Wrapped in orcish muscle. Held in place, as she was seized. As she explored. As Cerea melted to her touch.

Segra let her escape, for a moment. Only to claim the elf's neck. Holding it between her jaws. Dragging her teeth along that sensitive vulnerable flesh.

Those tusks prominent enough that Cerea was stuck, paralyzed in fear. Held there on that razor edge. Afraid to speak. Afraid to breathe. Pinned in place as the orc licked the sweat off of her.

Held. And not wanting to escape.

Segra opened her jaws at last. Leaving a kiss behind on that blue skin. Leaving Cerea alive.

“A good start.”

Cerea nodded between gasps. Struggling to catch her breath again. To regain some sort of composure.

Composure crumbled against Segra's hand. The orc reached between Cerea's legs. A heavy hand pressing against thick leather. Prodding against. Enough of a push that Cerea could feel it even now.

Enough for Cerea to grind against. To move as best as she could in her bier.

“Good girl.” Segra said once again. Cerea squeezed her thighs around that hand. Wanting to never let go of this moment. of this praise.

“Just wait thrall.” Segra commanded, her voice a booming whisper. One that Cerea feared the rest of the inn could hear.

Well, she would have feared, were it not the promise it brought. When those fingers traveled up. When they unbuckled the elf's belt.

“Please.” Cerea begged. Already trying to shimmy out of her pants. Even as trapped as she was. Until there was enough slack. Until those pants were tugged down Cerea's thighs.

Until that bit of cloudsilk was exposed. Segra reached down, slipping those thick fingers underneath. Knuckles dragged across her flesh. Contact, even when incidental, was overwhelming.

The first touch of an orc against Cerea's sex. The first touch of a woman. And there was more pleasure there, in the incidental, than all the deliberate touches that came before.

Before Segra grabbed hold, gathering that silk up in her hand. And then ripped it away. A token for later. A sign of the hunt.

The beast's hide pulled away. Leaving it vulnerable. The weak spot exposed. And so Segra continued her hunt. Bringing her fingers in between.

Clawed and unclawed. More gentle fingers pressing against Cerea's folds. Dragging a fingertip across the inner labia. Tugging it back, dragging across that little bud. Peeking to the surface, and immediately touched.

Pressed against. So much direct contact. More than Cerea could remember with other elves. With less attentive hunters. The touch left her gasping. Left her humping against that fingertip.

Segra kept up that contact, one finger fucking those inner petals sloppy, the other running across that clit, easing it out, spiraling around it. Touching the flesh on all sides.

Pushing against the spongy flesh around it. Putting pressure against the root of the flesh. And then drawing back down. That first finger finally pushing deeper. Slipping through the inner labia. Finally pushing inside.

That single finger, fucking Cerea directly. Leaving Cerea moaning out. Leaving her crying. Shuddering and gasping at that simple contact. At that barest intrusion. At being wanted by the woman she admired.

“Segra, please.”

“Yes.” Segra responded. Another thrust, another twist. And finally a curl, her finger dragging inside of Cerea. Running across the elf's flesh, touching that sacred spot, hidden away.

Cerea thought she had seen stars before. She thought she had felt pleasure. But this was something new. Something beyond.

Shyness and decorum died to screams. They died in desperate pants. To drooling. To shaking and thrashing.

Cerea's head only protected by Segra's other hand. Cradling her from the stone. Holding the elf close. Holding her in place. As Segra tamed the beast.

Tamed the bird. As she taught the Skyborne so many tricks. So many twists. So many gestures.

She taught Cerea pleasure anew. And then again. And again.

And at last, she brought a second finger. Stretching Cerea's entrance further. Wide around those two thick fingers. Those careful fingers. Nails well trimmed.

Made for this. For teaching girls to whimper. To beg.

To welcome the elves to the Horde.

also some Gobbo Girls

https://bsky.app/profile/orcbarbies.bsky.social/post/3mucujscsu22w

http://patreon.com/orcbarbies

There was a video/gif I came across a long time ago of orcs raiding a village, and pillaging and taking all the human women in it. It was panning across all these different scenes/rooms of orc men having their way with these women in all these different positions. I have been trying to find this graphic for probably a year now. Can anyone link me or help me find it?? Pleaseeeee🙏🏾🫦

https://bsky.app/profile/orcbarbies.bsky.social/post/3mobaoz2hlc2u

http://patreon.com/orcbarbies

Elves pretend at perfection. To be perfect is to lack the imagination to improve. To transform. To submit.

The orc does not lack that imagination.
He will teach you dreams.
He will make you bend.
And you will love every moment of it.

That Unforgettable Orc is a Romantic Forcefem Narrative game focused on transformation, flirting and getting roughly fucked by an orc.

Hello Orc34!
I just made an oral focused update to That Unforgettable Orc. This is the second Major Transformation added to the game, and one of the largest chapters.

This update adds:

• Fingers in mouth
• Blowjob
• Deepthroating
• Oral sensitivity
• Optional deep throating
• Optional cumflation
• Oral abuse

Let me know what you think!