The Chronicles of Gruda the Trampler, Chapter 4: The Trample Raid.

You can read Chapter 3 here:  Phillip asks Gruda the Trampler to step on him


Gruda, the formidable war chieftain of the orc tribe, sat brooding in her cavernous chamber, her mind replaying the recent encounter with the peculiar human, Phillip. The human's strange request to be stepped on had ignited a spark within her, a desire to showcase the raw, untamed power of the orcs.

As the flames danced in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls, Gruda's thoughts turned to the upcoming trample raid. The raid, a demonstration of orcish dominance, had been planned long before, but Gruda now saw it as an opportunity to unleash the full extent of her power, to crush the humans beneath her mighty foot, just as Phillip had desired.

She recalled the human's defiant gaze, the spark of curiosity in his eyes, and a predatory grin spread across her face. Phillip's request had awakened a primal instinct within her, a desire to assert her dominance, to make the humans tremble in fear before her immense strength.

With renewed determination, Gruda summoned her fellow orc warriors, their towering forms filling the cavern. Her voice echoed through the chamber, resonating with power and authority, as she outlined her vision for the trample raid.

"My sisters," she declared, her eyes burning with a fierce intensity, "let us show the humans the true power of the orcs. Let us crush them beneath our feet, let us make them fear the very ground we tread upon."

The orcs, their spirits ignited by Gruda's words, roared their approval. They were ready to unleash their fury upon the humans, to demonstrate their dominance through the sheer force of their weight.

The towering female orc warriors, their bodies rippling with immense strength, gathered in the heart of their stronghold, their voices echoing through the cavernous halls as they planned their next expedition – a trample raid. This raid, a testament to their raw power and dominance, would see them descending upon a unsuspecting human village, utilizing their immense weight to crush their enemies beneath their mighty feet.

As the orcs huddled around a crackling fire, their eyes gleaming with anticipation, the formidable Gruda, their war chieftain, addressed her warriors. "My sisters," her voice boomed, resonating with authority, "the time has come to unleash our fury upon the humans. Let us demonstrate the true power that lies within our limbs, the power that will crush their puny bodies and leave them trembling in fear."

A chorus of cheers erupted from the orcs, their voices echoing through the cavern, their spirits ignited by the prospect of battle. Gruda continued, her voice laced with a predatory edge, "We shall descend upon their village, our bare feet pounding against the earth, our weight crushing all in our path. Their homes will crumble beneath our tread, their bodies will be reduced to dust beneath our mighty soles."

The orcs envisioned the scene, their minds filled with images of humans cowering in fear, their bones snapping like twigs beneath the relentless pressure of their feet. They could almost feel the raw power coursing through their veins, the thrill of dominating their inferior foes.

"Let us show them the wrath of the orcs," Gruda declared, her voice rising to a crescendo. "Let us show them the power that lies within our feet!"

The orcs roared their assent, their voices shaking the very foundations of their stronghold. They were ready for the trample raid, ready to unleash their fury upon the humans, ready to demonstrate their dominance through the sheer force of their weight.

As the colossal female orcs descended upon the human village, their thunderous footsteps shook the very foundations of the earth. Their immense forms, towering over the humble dwellings like mountains, cast long, menacing shadows that danced across the thatched roofs.

With a primal fury, the orcs unleashed their might upon the unsuspecting humans, their feet becoming instruments of destruction. Their immense weight, comparable to that of a falling boulder, crushed everything in their path. Bones shattered like twigs, flesh tore apart like paper, and life ebbing away like a deflating balloon beneath the relentless pressure of their soles.

The orcs reveled in the power they wielded, their eyes gleaming with a predatory satisfaction as they felt the life force seeping from beneath their feet. Each agonizing cry, each bone-crunching impact, each lifeless body slumped beneath their weight was a testament to their dominance, a macabre symphony played out on the canvas of the human village.

Among the orcs stood Gruda, the war chieftain, her imposing form radiating an aura of untamed power. Her feet, like battering rams, pulverized everything in their path, leaving behind a trail of carnage and despair. With each step, she felt a surge of exhilaration, a primal connection to the power that coursed through her veins. She was the embodiment of orcish might, a force of nature that could crush any who dared to stand against her.

As the trample raid reached its crescendo, the human village lay in ruins, its inhabitants reduced to a lifeless mass beneath the orcs' feet. The air was thick with the stench of blood and fear, a silent testament to the orcs' overwhelming dominance. Gruda surveyed the scene, a predatory grin spreading across her face. She had demonstrated the true power of the orcs, their ability to crush any who dared to oppose them. The humans would never forget the day the orcs descended upon their village, the day their feet became instruments of destruction and their fear became the orcs' symphony of triumph.

In the wake of the orcish raid, Gruda's gaze fell upon a scene that stirred a surge of determination within her. Her heaviest female orc, a towering brute named Malkora, was poised to deliver a crushing blow to the last remaining human survivor, a young man who could only watch in horror as his life hung by a thread.

Gruda knew that this was a pivotal moment, an opportunity to send a message to the humans. With a swift and decisive movement, Gruda intercepted Malkora's descending foot, her massive form halting her momentum. The impact sent shockwaves through the gathered orcs, but Gruda stood firm, her eyes locked with Malkora's in a silent plea.

Malkora, taken aback by Gruda's intervention, hesitated, her eyes darting between the defiant human and the unwavering orc leader. Gruda's gaze held her captive, silently communicating her order: maim him, but do not kill him.

Malkora, despite her imposing stature and fearsome reputation, could not resist Gruda's unspoken command. She slowly retracted her foot, her anger subsiding, replaced by a grudging respect for Gruda's authority.

Turning her attention to the human, Gruda's expression hardened. "You will live," she declared, her voice resonating with power. "You will carry the tale of our strength, our resilience. But you will bear the scars of our might, a reminder of the price of defying us."

Malkora placed her massive foot on the human's hand, her heel pressing down with a sickening crunch. The human's eyes widened in terror as he felt the bones in his hand shattering beneath her weight. A scream of agony tore from his throat as his fingers twisted and deformed, his knuckles popping like firecrackers.

Malkora relished the sound of his suffering, her lips curling into a cruel grin. She slowly shifted her weight, grinding her heel into the human's hand, savoring the feeling of his bones grinding against each other. The human's screams turned into whimpers, his body convulsing with pain.

Gruda watched with a detached air, her eyes cold and calculating. The message had been sent. The human would live to tell the tale, but he would never forget the power of the orcs, the price of their wrath.

As Malkora finally lifted her foot, the human lay on the ground, his hand a mangled mess of broken bones and twisted flesh. He whimpered in pain, his eyes filled with terror and defeat.

As the orcs retreated from the ravaged village, leaving behind the maimed survivor, they carried with them the memory of Gruda's actions. Her decision to spare the human's life, albeit with a cruel twist, was not a sign of weakness, but a demonstration of strength, a testament to her leadership and her unwavering belief in the potential for unity amidst the chaos of their world.

News of the trample raid reached Phillip with a morbid curiosity. The idea of a village reduced to rubble, the lives of its inhabitants snuffed out under the orcs' monstrous feet, sent a shiver down his spine. Yet, amidst the horror, a strange excitement flickered within him, a perverse fascination with the raw power that had wreaked such devastation.

Phillip's mind wandered back to his encounter with Gruda, the towering orc chieftainess whose sheer size had captivated him. He could still feel the phantom pressure of her foot against his chest, the way her weight had pressed him into the ground, making him feel small and insignificant. The memory ignited a yearning within him, a desire to experience that sensation once more, to feel the full force of her power crushing him beneath her.

With a sense of morbid purpose, Phillip decided to embark on a journey to the ravaged village. He yearned to witness the aftermath of the raid, to immerse himself in the atmosphere of destruction, and to hear the survivor's account of Gruda's wrath. He believed that his story, his firsthand experience of her power, would fuel his fantasy, making it all the more vivid and intense.

As Phillip approached the village, the sight that greeted him was one of utter devastation. The once-thriving community was now a scene of utter ruin, its buildings reduced to rubble, its streets littered with debris. The air was thick with the smell of death and decay, a stark reminder of the orcs' brutality.

Phillip was consumed by a desire to hear this survivor's firsthand account, to gain a deeper understanding of the events that had transpired. He believed that this survivor's story would provide him with the raw material to fuel his increasingly intense fantasy of being crushed by Gruda.

As he sifted through the debris of the village, Phillip stumbled upon a figure huddled in the shadows. It was the survivor, the man whose hand had been crushed by Malkora. His face was etched with grief and pain, his body trembling with the weight of the trauma he had endured.

Phillip approached the survivor cautiously, his voice gentle and empathetic. He listened intently as the survivor recounted his harrowing experience, the orcs' sudden attack, their relentless onslaught, and the devastating loss of his hand.

As the survivor spoke, Phillip's morbid fascination grew. He found himself embellishing the tale in his mind, adding details that made the orcs' brutality even more terrifying, Gruda's power even more imposing. He imagined himself being crushed beneath Gruda's foot, the bones in his body shattering beneath her immense weight, the sensation of utter helplessness and submission.

When the survivor finally finished his tale, Phillip felt a surge of exhilaration. The survivor's story had ignited his deepest desires, fueling his fantasy to an almost unbearable level. He knew that he had to find a way to experience Gruda's power firsthand, to feel the full force of her weight crushing him beneath her.

With renewed determination, Phillip bid farewell to the survivor, his mind already formulating a plan. He would find a way to cross paths with Gruda, to present himself to her as a willing sacrifice, a human who craved the ultimate submission to her immense power. He knew that it was a risky endeavor, but he was willing to risk it all for the sake of his perverse desire.

Amidst the flickering flames of the orcish campfire, a lively competition unfolded, fueled by the shared camaraderie and the lingering thrill of their recent trample raid. The female orcs, their voices echoing through the night, recounted their experiences, each one vying for the title of the heaviest and most fearsome stomper of humans.

Matriarch Grunt, a seasoned warrior with an imposing physique, kicked up a cloud of dust as she declared, "I weigh over 10 horses, and I can feel the ground tremble beneath me with every step I take. Humans are like mere ants beneath my mighty feet!"

Her fellow orcs roared their approval, their voices joining in a chorus of bravado. Malkora, one of the camp's heaviest orc, her biceps bulging with power, chimed in, "My feet are like hammers, crushing human bones with every stomp. I've seen their faces contort in agony as I reduce them to pulp beneath my weight."

"I once stomped on a human so hard that his skull cracked open like an eggshell," boasted one orc, her eyes glinting with bloodlust. "The sound of his skull shattering was like music to my ears."

Another orc recalled the time she had crushed a human's chest beneath her foot, the sound of his ribs breaking like twigs filling the air. "I could feel his life force draining away with every step," she said, a satisfied smirk curving her lips.

The other female orcs followed suit, their voices filled with pride and bloodlust as they recounted their own tales of human subjugation. They spoke of the crunch of bones beneath their feet, the terrified screams of their victims, and the overwhelming sense of power that surged through their veins as they asserted their dominance over the weaker race.