Despite their reputation as invulnerable, lumbering behemoths, a surprising amount went through the mind of the Battlemasters. It would be impossible for any orc, much less the genetically gifted, to reach such a position within society without having brains and imagination. For those orcs who knew only the life of war against the Wildmen of the north, or the Ogres of the west however, expressing such brains or imagination were generally not common. A Battlemaster was called upon for their strength on the battlefield, and not their reasoning ability or creativity.

Such considerations were on the mind of the Battlemaster who found himself standing in the training yard of a human castle, within one of the northern provinces of the Seventh Kingdom: the home of the first orc prince, Prince Ragnor—who at that moment happened to be bound by the Battlemaster's gargantuan arms, his breathing restricted, his struggles fading, his willpower drained. The Prince's eyes were closed, his teeth bared as he resisted the crushing vise, his bare skin pressed against the leathery flesh and rippling muscles that Battlemasters bore; a sign of their rough life in harsh environments, and endless training and physical growth.

The sensation brought several mixed feelings to the mind of the Battlemaster. Like most sentient, sapient creatures upon the surface of the World, he had certain interests and desires. Like most, his arousal did not merely exist for the purposes of reproduction, and like most orcs and other civilized species, the barriers of race and gender did not prevent him from finding satisfaction. Within the tribal structure of his Highland Orcs kin, this Prince would have been a Warchief, or heir to such a claim. As a Battlemaster, it was his duty to serve the Warchief. Such was the reason he was here now: Prince Ragnor requested, and was granted, two Battlemasters to be a part of his personal guard, and at the Prince's personal request, the Battlemasters accepted the responsibility of training the young Prince in combat arts. Ragnor was a skilled Raider, and his ability to wield a blade was certainly worthy of renown; the experience of the Battlemasters were far beyond one mere discipline however, and in order to ensure Ragnor's scope was not limited to a single weapon, the Prince's trainers did not hold back.

Prince Ragnor had made a smart move, disarming the Battlemaster of his halberd, but he was deceived by the size of his opponent, and the Battlemaster closed in with deceptive speed. Soon the Prince had been disarmed in turn, and with no alternative, was forced to fight in unarmed combat. Some might have seen Ragnor's attempt at brawling with such a physically superior foe as brave. Others, foolish. Some, would probably have seen it as outright comedic. The Battlemaster saw it as all of these, in addition to finding it rather amusing. Ragnor struggled, a resurgence in his efforts driving him to free one of his arms—holding the orc aloft with a single massive limb, the Battlemaster grabbed the Prince's freed wrist, pulling it down, and pinning it in place by bringing both of his mighty arms around the smaller orc's torso. Fingers interlocked, the Battlemaster's muscles swelled, and Ragnor's solid form was paralyzed in the dominating hold. After a few moments, the Battlemaster sensed a second-wind from the Prince: skin against skin, muscle against muscle, the Battlemaster felt every subtle twitch of his lean opponent's physique, and his years of experience guided him in his aim to subdue his opponent. Pulling Ragnor closer against him, the Prince was once again defeated in his efforts to fight back, once again closing his eyes, baring his teeth, letting out a long groan of pain...

And pleasure? The Battlemaster's thoughts continued, the effort needed to restrain Ragnor almost secondary to all other processes within his mind. It was a matter of pride for a Battlemaster to maintain the dominant position at all times. Many among orcs and even the other races declared that passion shared between Battlemasters was like two storms converging upon the seas: equal forces of massive power and potential destruction, clashing and causing untold chaos. Would one storm be subdued by the other? Or would the two combine into a single massive complex of rage and passion? Due to their rarity, few had the opportunity to witness it for themselves.

Beyond the prince was the second Battlemaster involved in the training session. He had started unarmed, in an effort to gradually increase the challenge offered to the Prince. He had circled them, moving to kick the discarded halberd aside, and give them room to continue their brawl. The hooded Battlemaster gazed at his equal, and the Prince between them, studiously. Perhaps Prince Ragnor would be among the first few to discover what it would be like, to be in the midst of two Battlemasters, at the height of their strength, and desire for dominance...



Meanwhile, Prince Ragnor growled through his clenched teeth, his thoughts a blur as his weakened, oxygen deprived body struggled to resist the unbreakable bonds of muscle and flesh enveloping his torso. Every effort to attempt an escape was countered without difficulty by his superior opponent. While his intentions had originally been to receive training by these expert warriors, he had suspected that things would deviate elsewhere. The soft crunch of the sand and gravel behind him reminded the Prince of his second trainer, approaching from behind. There were no limits on the training session, and if both Battlemasters decided, they would easily demonstrate their abilities upon their hapless trainee...

However, as the powerful muscles rippled and swelled against him from all sides...Ragnor knew he wouldn't mind that at all.