The Fallen Lands: The Ruins of Numinis


Bad Blood

After the blood ritual slaying the Wardens, the tiefling brought the camp together, gave a rousing speech, and exhorted them all to drink the bottled blood of their victims. Ginni worked illusion spells to help her companions bluff their way through the ritual, but only Malidar escaped tainting his soul with it. Rangrim, Ginni, and Rhio all drank, and Rangrim had to save Ginni from inadvertently becoming the camp whore.

A few days later, they arrived at Tower Rock, where the Wardens had obviously warned the town. Fired on by arrows, the orcs retreated and decided to make their way around. Rangrim was promoted to squad leader, and the party pressed on towards their assigned role as honor guard for the Sons of the Beast leaders.


The night after the attack on the wardens, the monstrous humanoids already immersed in the blood rage, fueled by the deaths of the wardens, the tiefling gathered them together and rallied them with a speech. As he finished, he called on them all to “drink the power of our fathers, the power of Asmodeus and Gruumsh!” and passed the blood-filled bottle around. As each orc, goblin, kobold, and hobgoblin drank, the entire camp stared intently, fascinated. When the empowered blood hit an orc’s system, his eyes burned red and streaks of red power pulsed beneath his skin, filling him with the rage and power of the evil ritual. Primal screams echoed through the rolling scrubland where they were camped.

Ginni exchanged a worried glance with Malidar, already studying the visible effects. She passed the word to her companions to do their best at bluffing, while her fingers hastily worked symbols to throw an illusion to keep the monsters from knowing their true natures. The bottle went to Rangrim, who drank from it, and Ginni cast a net of power onto him. The illusion was weak, but unnecessary— one of the other orcs jostled Rangrim as he drank, and he swallowed a thick mouthful of the stuff. His eyes widened and turned red and glowing, black and red veins shot down his arms, rippling across his muscled biceps. He passed the bottle to the next orc, a curling smile on his face.

Malidar grabbed it from the orc, snarling and tipped back the bottle, making a practiced motion of drinking. The lights burning behind his eyes and the veins pulsating were false, but no one but Malidar and Ginni could tell— he’d successfully resisted the drink and passed the bottle now to Rhio.

Rhio, too, made a half-hearted attempt to bluff out the others, but the gleam in his eye could have told anyone observant enough that his lust to defeat their enemies was greater than his worry over any kind of humanity he might yet have left. He drank.

Ginni managed to fake the drinking, but her spell fizzled, and the gathered orcs shouted “not enough! Drink more! Drink it!” To chants of “drink drink drink,” she glanced around. I need a distraction. She reached up with one hand and tore across her blouse, shredding it, exposing her breasts, and poured the blood down the front of her chest in what she hoped would be a display of participation that would keep the monsters from insisting she actually drink the vile stuff.

Instead, she found her skin tingling on contact with the empowered blood, and three orcs— not friends of hers— surrounded her, their eager hands and mouths reaching for the blood on her breasts. For a long moment, Ginni froze— this was not what she’d been aiming for!— then one of the orcs reached a hand up to cover her mouth, she opened it to scream, and the blood flowed in.

The scream died in her throat and turned instead to a moan. Dark red veins drew down her body, now covered in the smeared blood, and her eyes flew open, pupils enormous, the whites of her eyes now blood red. She opened her arms to the orcs, letting them feast on the blood, inviting their orgy. She felt gorgeous, desired— powerful.

Standing to the side, Rangrim watched the display with growing worry crumpling his brow. When a nasty little kobold ducked his head under Ginni’s kilt, he thought for sure she’d end the act right then and kick the little lizard in its hoard. Instead, he saw her knees bend and spread, overcome with the lust and power she’d consumed. She was tipped back now, leaning against the naked chest of a hobgoblin who’d bent its head, lapping at the blood smeared along her neck.

He pushed forward easily— blood rage or no, he was hardly going to sit by and watch a companion get gang-banged by orcs. He grabbed her around the waist and she squealed with excitement. For good measure, he kicked the kobold on her behalf. “*MINE*,” he snarled at the others, throwing her over his shoulder and stalking away from the campfires.

Ginni squirmed against him, and he set her down. Still driven by the blood lust, she took a step forward, curves and breasts offering. She pressed against him, moaning, her tongue darting out to lick his neck, nibbling along, lapping hungrily when she reached his chin where the ritual blood had spilled down from his mouth. She writhed against him, one leg already coming up, wrapping around his thigh.

He did the only reasonable thing a red-blooded dwarf could do. He reached up and slapped her, hard, across the face.

“Snap out of it,” he growled at her.

Stunned, she froze again, mouth and eyes wide open, and looked down at herself. Quickly, she dropped back to stand on her own two feet and brought her hands up to cover herself. Rangrim noted with some satisfaction that the dark veins on her face were now less noticeable, thanks to the dusky blush that had crept up her cheeks.

She stared at the blood on her hands, her chest. “What the hell happened?” she whispered.

“You were about to be whorin’ yourself to the whole camp, I believe,” he hissed. “Unless orcish orgies are your thing….?”

“No…” she brought a hand up to her blood-soaked hair, still breathing heavily, then dropped it back down to cover her breasts. “I was so…. oh, hell, I am still so…” she looked away, still blushing. “Why didn’t you….?” But her hands on her chest moved slightly, like she was still in the thrall of the spell. When she looked back, her eyes had gone dark and full again, though her voice sounded almost normal. “Why don’t we…?” She took another step forward, intent.

He stared at her hands on her own, bloodied breasts for a long moment, considering. Then he gave her a wry smile, punched her lightly in the shoulder, and replied, “I dinna want to poke the babe.”

“I told you— I’m not—”

“Then ye’d best watch yerself, hadn’t you?” he retorted, no longer gentle with his words. “Unless you’d like to carry the mongrel rape child of whatever beast happens to be in this army. Half orc? Half goblin? Half tiefling?”

Ginni shuddered and took a step back again, crossing her arms over her chest uncomfortably. “Point taken,” she muttered. “Sorry—” she glanced back at the campfire. “Do you think we can camp back here?”

He chortled. “I think if we go back too soon, it’ll harm my reputation.” He pointed to a small hollow behind a cluster of boulders. “We’ll sleep over there. Malidar and Rhio will join us as soon’s they can get away.”
Days passed, and Rangrim thankfully never mentioned the incident at camp, though the orcish soldiers seemed now to accept his claim on her, and most showed a grudging respect. When the small army came to Tower Rock, however, they came under fire from arrows, shot from the town walls. Malidar was struck in the first volley, as were several of the other orcs. The tiefling shouted “charge forth! To the wall!” But the orcs hesitated— charging a small band against a fortified and prepared city went against even the stupidest orc’s instincts.

“Fall back!” Rangrim shouted instead. “Out of range!” They drew back, though three of the orcs went down in the retreat, and both Ginni and Rhio were hit with more arrows.

Regrouping in the downslope of a small hill nearby, they considered the situation.

“Obviously the wardens who got away warned the town,” the tiefling snarled, his red eyes glaring piercingly at Ginni and Malidar.

Ginni spat. “Fucking hobgoblin,” she said, referring to the former squad leader, who they’d framed in the warden ambush. “Should’ve raped his fucking corpse.”

“In any case,” the tiefling said. “We’re going to need a new squad leader when we split.” He pointed at Rangrim. “You. You’re the new squad leader for the honor guard.” He leaned in, the fire in his eyes flickering boldly. “Don’t fuck it up like the last guy.”


“Inadvertently becoming the camp whore”? I am pretty sure what she did was an orc custom inviting having a train run on her.


Ah, poor naive Ginni…. Lost waif in the wilderness….


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