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The orcs each gave Stedon a swat to the ass when they woke in the morning. Grothor awoke hard for obvious reasons and Stedon was ordered to finish what he started. This he did gladly. Grothor's cock was the largest and most shapely of his band. Stedon bobbed his head hard and eager up and down the spit-slick shaft, hugging Grothor about the waist, moaning to show his eagerness to obey.

Stedon swallowed the last drop of Grothor's cum and Grothor whispered to him that he'd just had his breakfast. Rather than complain or look crestfallen, Stedon summoned up an impish smirk.

"Ah, but what if I get hungry again, my lord?"

Grothor belted out one of his mighty laughs. "Then I'll feed you again. And keep feeding you until you choke on it!"

Stedon stretched after crawling into the light of dawn. He didn't simply stretch. He went through a specific set of motions designed to limber up specific muscles in turn. Of course the orcs noticed and started to comment on it.

Stedon laughed along with them, and then eyed Kreg.

"My master Kreg, may I ask, does your back ever get sore?"

"Only when I fuck you, human," Kreg sneered.

More laughter. Stedon sauntered toward him. Rubbed his hands along the swells of that mighty back.

"What if I told you I knew a way to stretch only what was sore? So that you could focus your mind on but a single body part and ease the tension from it?"

"Sounds like magic," Kreg spat.

Majok looked intrigued, though. So Stedon demonstrated how he'd learned to grip a handy tree or post with both hands and stretch out his back. Majok copied Stedon's demonstration and gave a rumble of surprised pleasure.

Soon, all four of them were limbering themselves up according to Stedon's suggestions. Blackmane chuckled.

"Is this what you were trying to speak of last night?" he asked.

Stedon smiled back.

"Oh no, mighty Blackmane. This is only the beginning." He sat before the fire and gestured the orcs closer. "I have a gift for all of you. If Grothor permits me."

The four green skinned hunks were huddled around him, arms over each other's shoulders.

"What sort of gift, human?" Grothor asked.

"I want to be more than a mere toy or decoration," Stedon said. "I want to make the warband stronger."

There were grunts of approval. The orcs looked at Grothor for his reaction. Grothor gave Stedon a smile.

"You are just a human. I do not see what you could possibly offer to four seasoned orc warriors, but you are welcome to try."

"In that case, let me tell my masters a story," Stedon began.

He described his encounter with Bear in Kingstown and his subsequent transformation. Blackmane and Majok seemed excited at the idea of deliberately growing their muscles. Kreg looked skeptical.

"How do you know what you did made any difference?" Kreg challenged. "You are young, yet. Perhaps you simply had not fully grown."

"And you know more about humans than I, Kreg?" Stedon shot back.

"You dare challenge me!" Kreg bristled.

Stedon didn't back down. "I challenge all of you! If you are orc enough to try, I challenge any of you to outdo me in this form of training! There are simple enough exercises we might do right here, right now. Would any of you dare follow me through them?"

Kreg roughly shouldered his way out of the huddle and shoved Stedon to his back, one bare foot crushed to his chest, huge arms folded.

"Do not forget your place, weakling. Or I will remind you!"

Stedon switched tactics. He grinned at Kreg and caressed his huge foot, up to the bulging calf muscle. "I would enjoy seeing what your body is capable of, master. Please?"

"Go on, Kreg!" Grothor urged with a grin. "Beat the little human at his own challenge!"

The others chimed in. Kreg had no choice but to relent before the peer pressure.

"What do I do, then?" Kreg asked Stedon, sliding his foot away to allow Stedon to stand.

"First, we lie side by side on level ground on our bellies, with palms beneath our chests, like so," Stedon said.

The orcs began to snicker. Kreg growled savagely.

"This is folly!"

Stedon began to belt out a rapid set of push ups. The orcs watched in curiosity, their laughter dying.

"Come on, Kreg!" Stedon puffed. "I'm nearly to ten already! You have catching up to do!"

"Insolent little pink skin," Kreg snarled and made to ram his foot into Stedon's gut.

"Kreg!" Grothor growled. "You accepted his challenge. Do it or forfeit. That's an order!"

Kreg took out his spite by spitting into Stedon's face before he took up an identical position and began to work.

Stedon ignored the saliva dripping down the side of his face, mixing with his growing sweat. "Do not push up with your hands. Use the strength in your chest. Keep your back level and balance on your toes."

Kreg grated, struggling with the unfamiliar motions.

"Harder than it looks, Kreg?" Blackmane taunted.

"Grrrr....when I'm through with this idiocy, Blackmane, I'm going to ram that smirking face of yours into the fire!" Kreg promised.

"You waste energy, master," Stedon chimed up. "Channel your rage into the pushes! Focus your mind!"

Kreg seemed to have no difficulty in mental focus, at least. Probably a product of his battle training. In another few minutes, he was puffing out push ups beside Stedon. Stedon could smell him.

"I'm up to thirty!" Stedon bragged. But he was starting to slow and struggle.

"Bah!" Kreg barked. But he sped up. Majok took a reed switch from a nearby thorn bush and whipped it across Kreg's back when he saw Kreg's spine start to rise. Stedon expected Kreg to leap up and attack. Instead, Kreg corrected himself and kept going. He galloped through twenty push ups while Stedon forced himself to make forty before collapsing to the dirt, sweaty and panting.

"Is that all?" Kreg puffed beside him. "Forty? Pathetic!"

Kreg put actions to words. He passed forty before he broke a sweat, bashed through fifty, and kept going. The other orcs gathered closer. Kreg was finally starting to sweat. His eyes had a distant, fiery focus. He forced his body to obey him onwards through sixty, then seventy.

"Come on, Kreg," Grothor urged. "Go for a full hundred!"

"A hundred?" Kreg growled. "I will do TWO HUNDRED!"

But he was already struggling as he reached the hundred mark.

"Don't push yourself too hard, my lord," Stedon said. "You could injure -"

"Silence, human scum!"

Kreg's bulging arms were shaking as he made one hundred-twenty. The rest of his band crouched closer, urging him onward. The pain in Kreg's muscles seemed to fuel his rage and determination. Majok whipped Kreg's back again and again as Kreg's form began to falter.

Kreg let out a bellow of determination. His hands, once flat against the ground, were balled into trembling fists. He kept going to one hundred-fourty. Sweat streamed off his back, gleamed on his legs and arms. He was barely moving, now.

Grothor got down into his face. "Finish it, Kreg! Your warmaster commands it!"

"Yes...my greater!" Kreg struggled to say. He was huffing, straining to breathe. Every extra reptetition came in inches.

Blackmane cheered Kreg on. Majok cracked the air with his switch to count out the repetitions. Kreg looked like a mask of agony as he reached the one hundred-sixty mark.

"Come on, Kreg! I have seen you fight for two days straight with no food or water!" Grothor roared. "Will you let this puny humans' challenge defeat you?"

"NEVER!"

Kreg's hatred seemed to lend him strength. His motions actually grew more fluid once more as he hit a second wind. Stedon winced in sympathy. The orc's muscles were surely screaming at him.

Kreg was reduced to wordless bellows that mixed with the cheers of his brothers. His muscles locked at one hundred-seventy-five. Grothor slapped him hard in the face.

"MOVE YOUR BODY, ORC!"

"No! No more! I yield!" Kreg gasped.

"I FORBID YOU TO YIELD! NOW FINISH IT OR DIE!"

Blackmane straddled Kreg's back and grabbed him under his arms. Together, he and Kreg forced his body to finish all two hundred push ups while Kreg screamed out after each one. Stedon lay on his side where he'd stopped at his paltry fourty push ups, in awe of the strength and savagery before him.

Kreg bucked Blackmane off him for the final five reps and crashed to the ground. His warband chanted his name like a hero. Kreg struggled slowly to his feet, staggering. His entire bulging body was a mess of sweat. His smell filled the camp. The other orc's cocks responded to it.

Kreg opened his eyes, mere slits of raw brutality. His teeth and tusks were bared, dripping saliva. Grothor stood toe to toe with him. Kreg grabbed Grothor's head in his hands as if he would crush it.

"How do you feel, my lieutenant?" Grothor asked.

"I want to KILL," Kreg roared out. "Where are our enemies?"

Grothor's nostrils flared. He grabbed Kreg's head in the same crushing two-handed grip. "Let me be your enemy for now."

Stedon had never imagined such brutal fucking. Grothor and Kreg acted as if they were wrestling to the death. They rolled about the dirt, crashed through the fire. Biting. Clawing. Fighting for dominance. Balls and cocks slammed against muscle with such force they vibrated through the ground.

Majok started to pant, watching them. He yanked away his own breech cloth and started to stroke himself furiously. Blackmane crushed Majok to him from behind. Rammed his cock up the shaman's ass. Majok gave a silent yowl, which gave Blackmane an opening to shove their mouths together.

The air of the camp was a fog of sweat and sex stench. Grothor had Kreg pinned beneath him by his bulging naked thighs, his cock up Kreg's ass, and was bashing Kreg in the back with one of the lean-to's logs each time he pulled his cock out. Kreg demanded he go harder until the log shattered and both orcs came together.

Grothor smothered Kreg beneath him, slurping sweat off his back as they moaned and shuddered.

"My lord...my warmaster..." Kreg whispered.

"Brother," Grothor rumbled back, suckling the point of Kreg's right ear. "I would die for you."

Stedon sat trembling, not sure what he should do. It was clear the four were much used to pleasuring each other in all sorts of ways and moods. This was the most purely lustful he'd yet seen them. It made him feel unworthy to witness such masculinity.

"Slave," Grothor called.

Stedon's attention snapped back into focus. Both lovers sat with their arms about each other, dripping in sweat, blood, and spunk.

"Clean us," Grothor ordered.

Stedon crawled over on all fours. As was proper, he attended to Grothor first. The salt of Grothor's body mingled with the copper tang of his shallow flesh wounds and the slightly sweet taste of Kreg's cum that dripped down those mighty green muscles.

Kreg and Grothor made out while Stedon attended them. In the distance, Stedon could ear the sharp barks of Blackmane's last fucks as he ploughed Majok's rump.

Stedon hesitated as he crawled from Grothor's lap into Kreg's. He licked his cum-soaked lips and leaned toward the swampy pool of gleaming moisture that had settled about Kreg's crotch. Kreg yanked Stedon's head up by the chin.

"You will teach us EVERYTHING you know about these exercises of yours, slave. Do you understand?"

A bloodthirsty grin was plastered on Kreg's face. Stedon found himself grinning back. He kissed that sweaty palm.

"Yes, lord."

The orcs made love all morning, switching up partners from one orgasm to the next. They excluded Stedon from the sex but allowed him to have the leftovers coating their muscles once they'd finished.

"Still hungry, human?" Grothor asked when at last the orgy was over and Stedon lay on his back, panting, by the fire.

"No, master," Stedon said.

Grothor crouched over him. "My band has never felt more at one than today."

Stedon sat up, looking at him with uncertainty. Grothor seemed pleased, at least.

"We are a warband," Grothor explained. "A warband's strength lies in unity between its brothers. That is part of why a warband take each other as lovers. It builds trust. Respect. Passion for the fight."

"Then...I have made the band stronger?" Stedon asked.

Grothor put his hand on Stedon's shoulder. "You have fulfilled your promise to do so. To the band and to me. You have begun to think as an orc does....Stedon."

Stedon blushed.

"Thank you, my greater."

That was the day Stedon earned his name back. The other orcs all began to address him by it, even Kreg, though Kreg would still refer to him as 'puny human,' whenever he took Stedon up the ass.

The band journeyed away from the mountains for two weeks, through thick dark coniferous forest that echoed with the songs of wolves. Stedon shared everything Bear had taught him about muscle building, and a few of his own conclusions as well.

From their first awkward stumbles, the orcs took to the exercises as naturally as they did their drills with weapons. Often, they performed weapons training as a warm up to the real work. And invariably, each muscle training session ended in a tangle of rutting sweaty muscular bodies.

Stedon tried to leap into one of these celebratory ruttings only once, and ended up being flung into a tree trunk and knocked unconscious with one shoulder dislocated. It left him sullen and ashamed for days, even after Majok called on healing magic to restore Stedon to health, accepting the dislocated joint in his place and relying on his orcish healing factor to recover.

Grothor took note of Stedon's melancholy. One night, camped beside a shallow river that flowed between two jagged red boulders, Grothor bid Stedon join him for a round of bloodbeer.

"Your devotion has soured, Stedon," Grothor said. "Do you wish now that you had stayed with your own kind?"

Stedon spat to the side - an orcish gesture of emphatic denial. "I would do it all again if I had to. I belong with you, Grothor. TO you!"

"Then explain this dark cloud that clings to you. Look at us, Stedon. Your efforts are transforming us from strong warriors into the stuff of legend!"

Grothor swung his massive arms upward in a flex. The once-mighty biceps had exploded in size over the last score of days so that now they were twice the size of Grothor's own head, great mountains of living power laced with veins that didn't end until they reached his huge pectorals.

Stedon gazed at them in longing. Grothor relaxed his arms, then wrapped Stedon in an affectionate head lock, flexing Stedon's face between his bicep and his chest. Stedon cooed and slurped at his master's flesh.

"Talk to me, slave."

"I wish..." Stedon breathed.

"Yes, slave?"

Stedon moaned and French kissed at Grothor's jutting nipple. "I wish I were an orc like you, lord."

"So. It is not enough for you to serve us any longer."

Stedon blushed and disengaged from his worship, hung his head. "I suppose not, lord."

Grothor gathered Stedon's face into his rough green palms. Kissed him. "I love you, Stedon. Were you an orc, I would call you brother and gladly have you within my warband."

"But I'm not. And I never will be."

Stedon couldn't help the tears that streaked his face. Grothor left him to his weeping. That only made Stedon feel worse. He put his head in his hands in despair.

A pair of soothing hands stroked slowly over Stedon's back. Stedon recognized Majok's smooth, gentle touch. He looked up at the shaman through his tears.

Majok gently sat beside him on one side, with Grothor on the other. Majok nuzzled foreheads with Stedon. Their breathing mingled. Stedon felt himself calming. He wiped the last of his tears from his cheeks. Majok gave an approving nod. He snapped a twig and smoothed out a patch of clay beside the river. Then he began to write.

The same magic that allowed Stedon to speak Orkish did not translate to the written words. To Stedon, they were meaningless slashes, cuts, and dots. Grothor began to translate.

"He says if you truly feel such things, then it is a sign. Your spirit has left your people. It is becoming the spirit of an orc. Your pain is the pain of a soul trapped in the wrong body."

"What do I do, Majok?" Stedon asked.

Majok wrote. "There is a ritual. An ancient one, from the Days of Demons, when spirit magic trapped the souls of true orcs within enchanted weapons or the bodies of war beasts. This ritual would restore the orc's body to match his soul, making him whole again."

Grothor looked up at Majok. "You believe this ritual would help Stedon?"

Majok smoothed the clay over again and wrote. "He must dedicate himself utterly to the orc way. He must think as an orc. Feel as an orc feels. Purge himself of his human frailties as best he can. If he does, then perhaps the magic will follow."

Grothor looked at Majok in astonishment, as did Stedon.

"Majok," Stedon said. "Are you saying it's possible I might....BECOME an orc?"

Majok gave him a slow smile and nodded. Grothor was more cautions.

"But what price would such magic demand in return?" he asked.

At that, Majok grew grim. He wrote nothing. He didn't have to.

"His life," Stedon whispered. "The caster of the ritual would have to sacrifice his life for mine."

***

Kreg was against it.

"The human should know his place," he said. "If he has such foolish dreams, it is because you have not instructed him well enough as a slave, Grothor."

Grothor slammed his fist so hard into Kreg's face that blood flew from Kreg's broken nose. His sword flashed into his hand. He put a knee in Kreg's powerful chest and pressed the point to Kreg's throat.

"If you EVER challenge me like that again, you will wear this steel in your guts!"

Kreg relented, and Grothor extended a hand to help him up. Orcs were like that. One second, it seemed they would kill each other, the next they were brothers in arms once more. Like wolves, Stedon thought. They constantly tested each other's resolve and worth.

Blackmane voiced dissent for the idea as well, much to Stedon's surprise. Blackmane shrugged. "I like fucking a human."

That got a chuckle from the others, and Stedon couldn't help a pleased blush. Grothor faced his band.

"This human is more than a slave," Grothor declared. "He has given strength to our band. He has saved my life. And he wishes to join us, to forsake his own kinsman. Even if his quest fails, and he remains forever human, we will teach him our ways."

Grothor put both hands on Stedon's shoulders, almost like a proud father displaying his son. "We will purge the human weaknesses from our slave and make him as worthy of the ritual as we can. He will be an orc in all but flesh by the time we are done. This is our new task."

Grothor extended his arm. Kreg wrapped his fingers around Grothor's wrist, locked hands with him. The others followed in a chain.

"Victory and glory!" said the orc band together.

They shaved Stedon's hair down to a strip running up the center of his skull. This they sliced short. The style was traditional Orkish, Blackmane explained. Stedon was essentially an untested grunt, fresh to manhood, with only one kill to his name. As he earned deeds for his band, Stedon could earn new hairstyles, piercings, and tattoos to proclaim his victories.

To help Stedon start to think of himself as an orc, Grothor ordered that his new name be Grunt, as if Stedon really were a juvenile orc.

Stedon's tasks now included menial chores for the band as they traveled - building the fires, cooking the meals, cleaning the band's gear and the kills the others brought in for food. He dug latrine holes, fetched water and bloodbeer, and was forced to obey every order given, no matter how humiliating.

"Grunt, act like a slutty serving wench!"

"Grunt, see if this herb is edible!"

"Grunt, sing us a song while we eat!"

In the midst of all of this, Stedon showed the orcs more of his exercise techniques. A week after Grothor's proclamation, the orcs came upon a field of boulders. Stedon pointed to them and barked excitedly. He was wearing a collar fashioned for his neck as a joke, and had been ordered to act like a dog.

"What is it, Grunt?" Blackmane said.

Stedon ran over and grabbed a rock he could lift with both hands. He showed it off with a grin, as though it were a prize. Blackmane came over, snatched the rock away from Stedon with one hand, hefted it in his palm as though it were a mere ball.

"So it's a stone. It's heavy. We've lifted heavier," Blackmane said.

Stedon growled in frustration.

"Aw, let him speak, Grothor," Blackmane complained.

"Majok gets along just fine without a voice," Kreg pointed out in mirth.

"Majok knows how to write," Grothor countered. "Go on, Grunt. Speak."

"Stones are the best weights you could hope for!" Stedon burst out. "Humans measure all weights in terms of stone! Don't you see? We can control the progress of our gains this way, instead of just lifting something heavy as many times as we can!"

Stedon could see the orcs didn't grasp his meaning. Stedon snatched the rock back from Blackmane.

"This one is probably about five stone. Too light for you boys," he said.

The orcs chuckled. They enjoyed having their prowess praised. Stedon had them gather as many rocks of varying weights as they could, and they were sorted out from lightest to heaviest.

"What now, Grunt?" Grothor asked.

Stedon rubbed his hands together. "Now we train!"