Maynier, fucked senseless and needing to sleep it off, wakes to Kara and Jaika in the chamber. She flushes at the sight of Jaika on her throne, but Kara’s hand stroking her hair silences any dissent.
“You recognise this one? Jaika. She is of your tribe.”
“I- I haven’t led them long,” the orc confesses, embarrassed to not know somebody that her new obsession does.
“She was my first disciple. I’ve taught her much in that time. As I will now teach you.” The hand turns from a gentle stroke to a rough grip, and Kara drags Maynier over to the throne, deposits her head between Jaika’s thighs.
“But I want you!” Maynier protests.
“Yes, I know. I want you too, my sweet little chieftain. But Sayla, she teaches that passion is to be shared. I want you to service her.”
“Service her?! She is, so small, so puny. And I am chief! It would-”
An insistent hand forces Maynier’s head down, her lips against Jaika so she can’t form words. “You are chief, yes,” for now, “but I am your prophet. My commands are your God’s. Do as I demand.”
Jaika stares at Kara with wide eyes. The orc’s right — she is so small, so puny. It would make sense the other way around, but… Still, there’s no arguing with Kara, and after a moment’s hesitation Maynier begins to lick.
Her cheeks burn at the humiliation, but as Kara begins whispering “good girl,” it all falls away, and she’s so happy, so pleased — practically overjoyed. She needs to be on her hands and knees to get the angle right, her body angled thanks to the raised dias, which also gives Kara the perfect angle to slip inside her and reward her obedience.
She buries herself deep into the pretty chieftain, reaching around to swirl circles on her oversensitive clit. Kara senses that Maynier is close after just a few strokes, and she leans forward and whispers in the orc’s ear.
“N-no- I can’t!” This earns Maynier a hard slap across the face before she’s forced back down into Jaika’s pussy. Kara whispers in her ear again, one hand gripping her dark blue hair, filled with knicknacs, as the other works steady circles. Maynier does not respond to the Prophet’s words.
“Nod,” instructs Kara, and Maynier nods desperately against the tiny goblin. Her overstimulation reaches its peak, and the pretty blue orc cums convulsively as she continues to clumsily eat out Jaika.
In the end Maynier’s soaked on both sets of lips, panting on the floor as Kara slips back into her breeches. She strokes both of her new disciples on the head as Jaika shivers and moans through her orgasm. Jaika’s cheeks burn, unable to believe what an incredible decision it was to convert.
“Those pretty baubles in your hair,” Kara says, nodding toward Maynier’s extravagant (if now thoroughly messed up) hair, bone ornaments and glittering jewellery braided through the dark blue tresses, “you do them yourself?”
Maynier flushes. “Well… yes.”
“They’re real pretty; could you do the same thing for our friend here?”
When the trio exits the chamber onto a raised stone podium, she finds that Lily — perhaps as valuable an asset as Jaika has proved to be — has already made friends. She is gathered toward the bottom of the ramshackle wooden stairs, helping a group of goblins scrape a sheep skin (once belonging to a sheep she raised, no doubt), and exchanging work songs.
Kara stands just an inch behind Maynier, grabs her ass subtly, whispers “go on.”
Maynier clears her throat before gathering herself up, doing her best to look confident and in-control with Kara’s hand resting on her ass behind their backs. “My goblins!” she says, “I have determined that these visitors have come to us as friends. They warn of a coming attack from the town of Meadowbrook! We must turn this to our benefit!” Kara rubs Maynier’s back, a wordless good girl, and it trips her up for a moment — the goblins take this as a signal to applaud, which they do, cheering for the few moments before she regains herself. “With their militia out searching for us, we will take the undefended town!”
Applause; Jaika joins in this time, politely beside the chieftain on the platform, looking like a totally different goblin with the huge fur resting over her shoulders and the bone-charms braided through her hair. The cheer dies down, and then starts up again when Maynier doesn’t speak. “Say it,” whispers Kara, squeezing, and Maynier closes her eyes.
“Also;” a hesitation- “This goblin… Jaika, has accessed the Secret Magiks and… defeated me in combat. As a selfless leader, I turn command of the tribe over to her superior strength.”
Confused applause. Jaika, who Kara opted not to warn about this development lest she protest, looks jacklighted. Maynier, cheeks flaming purple, says: “I will still serve you in the role of General! And I still get to have a grand chamber… In the new town that we will build!”
Roaring applause; cheers; the thunder of the war drums. Kara whispers a few words to Jaika, who, with sudden determination and tenacity, thrusts up a small arm and cries; “The time has come to prepare for battle! Don your armour! Sharpen your blades! We march out at sunsheight!”
The crowd explodes in cheers, frenzied. And like that, the legend of Chieftain Jaika of the Rockdwellers is seeded.
Jaika takes more naturally to being a chieftain than Kara ever could have anticipated. Predictably, her natural modesty gets in the way some — but in a way it all works out in Kara’s favour, since, when goblins who have known Jaika since she was a squalling infant breaking her teeth on bones rush over to her to ask: Gods, Jaika, what happened? How did you do it? Jaika tells them Kara made me strong; Kara and her Goddess, Sayla; my Goddess, now. And so, while Kara herself isn’t Chieftain of the goblins, she is rapidly becoming a mythic, messiah-like figure — and if the goblins are not yet converted, at least word of Sayla is spreading. The Goddess must surely be as pleased as Kara herself is.
There isn’t time to sit around and bask in the feeling, though — it’s time to get down to business. It would cost them the element of surprise to log near the town, but its palisade is more than sufficient to repel the goblins, so there’s no getting around the need for siege weapons. Kara could easily slip in and open the gate for them, but she paid for the fucking perk, and she’s going to use it.
She settles for deploying the fierce goblin scouts in a loose perimeter around their cave, and setting the others to building ladders with her instructions. Anything else would be too cumbersome, but it’ll be trivial for the goblins to carry the ladders along the game trails and beaten tracks.
It’s clear that, while Jaika thought she was telling the truth, there are hundreds of goblins — not thousands. Still, if they time it right, that’ll be more than enough.
Maynier, Jaika, and Kara formalise their battle plan: the goblins will storm the town from all four sides, force what few defenders remain to spread out. Kara, quick on her feet and more than a match for a handful of shitty peasants, will lead the vanguard over the wall closest to the town’s wooden gate — they’ll get it open for the rest to rush through. Simple. If need be, Kara will throw a firebolt or two, just to scare people. Not like she could manage more than that, having neglected all the Arcane Perks.
With the sun beating down, the war machine marches. Columns of goblins snake through the forest, long scaling ladders hooked over their shoulders, the outriders ensuring no militia learn of their coming. Once they arrive, Kara orders the goblins to disperse amongst the tall grass, concealing their number.
She marches to the front gate, alone. With her hands on her hips and the sun glinting in her orange eyes she stands, calls out, “People of Meadowbrook! Where is your leader? I am here to make my demands.”
The two guardsmen on the gate look to each other, confused, before one — a scraggly faced, scaggly bearded man calls back, “What is your business here, Beastkin?”
“To make my demands.”
“You’re in no position to-”
She rolls her eyes and thrusts her palm out. The firebolt streaks up and takes him square in the chest, knocking him from the wall with a scream. “Bring forth your leader!”
The other scampers off the wall. He might think to delay, to dally, but his fate is already sealed: even now the goblins are creeping through the grass, getting closer and closer to the walls unseen.
She wonders, if it came down to it, if she could take Meadowbrook by herself? The palisade is just sharpened stakes with a small walkway on the other side. It has no murderholes, no towers. The gate’s basically two big wooden rectangles on a hinge. Nothing impressive. And since she doesn’t hear a mob coming to meet her, it seems the militia really have gone searching for her. Almost too easy.
A new face appears on the wall, a gorgeous one. It’s hard to make most of her features out, covered as they are by her white wimple, but Kara can make out her shapely breasts, scarcely hidden by her equally white robe. “I am Lady Elsa, of the Church of Our Holy Mother of Temperance, Thala. I have been elected to speak with you. Know I do not fear death, and cannot be threatened.”
“Don’t worry. I could never hurt a lady as pretty as you. I have other plans.”
Elsa is unmoved. “Make your demands.”
“Open the gate, and nobody has to die. You can run, or you can stay and work — you’ll be well compensated, I assure you, but Meadowbrook is mine.”
“You stand alone against our walls. And Blessed Mother Thala watches over us. We have no reason to fear you, demon though you may be.”
“So, you have heard of me.”
“This town will never surrender to you.”
Kara shrugs. “So be it. Do me a favour, though, Priestess? Try not to get yourself killed in the battle. Not until I get to see what’s under that robe.” The priestess withdraws, eyes full of scorn. Kara raises her arm and flicks her hand down — a warhorn rises from the forest, and all about Meadowbrook, the goblins spring from the grass, sprinting for the walls.