Anton awakes with a searing headache and an unsettling feeling of disorientation. The sturdy-bodied fighter slowly cranes his neck forward while blinking himself into consciousness. The unsavory sound of grunted orcish accompanies a general din of raucous laughter and revelry. When Anton is fully roused he glances stealthily about. His hands are shackled and he lies flat on his back. Beside him and hovering a foot above the ground is Ur, the wizard.  He sits cross-legged and looks more frustrated than concerned. The sloped, maroon ceiling of a tent hangs overhead and all around the pair are excited orcs. The demi-humans swig ale and their manner suggests that they are anticipating some forthcoming event. As an afterthought the fighter realizes that he has been relieved of his armor and weapons. He has been in such straits before however and is confident that if he could free his wrists he would be able to affect some manner of escape. 

Ur happens to notice Anton’s surveillance.

“It’s about time Anton. How is your head?” Ur says. The taciturn wizard speaks quietly from the corner of his mouth.

“Ngg, quiet villain. What’s happening here, where are the others?” Anton asks.

“You will recall that we were thwarted by a surprise attack in the forest? The druid and his wolf were dragged away by the ogres, I’ve been trapped in this blasted spellhold, and Slim managed to escape.” Ur explains. “And, my orcish is a bit rusty, but I believe these brutes are planning to involve us in some kind of ritual once you have awoken.”

One of the drunken revelers spies Anton who had been listening with eyes open. The orc lets out a shout in orcish which is then echoed by dozens of the others. Anton grunts while contorting into a seated position. He prepares himself as much as possible given his head pain and bound hands. At length the coarse yelping subsides and a lone, giant orc parts the sea of lesser ones. The tips of his long ears and his screaming red mane are visible to the incapacitated pair. Ur’s eyes widen. 

“My god that orc is enormous.” He mutters.

The giant steps from between two smaller orcs and the pair are able to view his titan form. Anton winces.

“Obelon…” He says. Ur turns away from the giant to glare at Anton who is beginning to show cracks of concern in his previously steadfast demeanor. 

“You know this character?” Ur asks in a whisper. 

“I’m surprised you don’t!” Anton says “Obelon is a criminal so vile that he makes you look like a saint in comparison. He is wanted by -most- governments. And he’s most known for—“ 

“Good morning my friends. Welcome to the orc camp!” Obelon booms. “It is truly a treat to have the legendary ‘Just Anton’ in my tent.” The huge orc stomps toward Ur and Anton. He wears leather armor and has a heavy axe slung on his back. His eyes are a bright red, matching his mane of hair, and he wears a sardonic grin which deeply disturbs Anton. From the orc’s mouth two tusk-like fangs jut upwards. Unlike the other orcs Obelon wears no footwear. His wide, heavy feet tap the dirt, his claws making small marks. Anton grimaces at them before looking at the orc’s smug face.

“Right, of course you joined The Reviled. You yourself are reviled. A perverted psychopath. Let us out of here Obelon. ” Anton orders. Obelon frowns.

“Hey, you know Obelon, I don’t even know this guy. I was dragged here by mistake, I think, so maybe you could let me out of he—“ Ur begins.

“Silence!” Obelon shouts before reverting to his sarcastically jovial façade. “Yes, Anton, I have joined The Reviled. I know enough to join the winning team. With Ozark’s magic we are nearly unstoppable. His most basic enchantment is echelons superior to anything your schools could conjure wizard. We will take over the world and stomp you humans into the dirt.”

“Ozark? Never heard of him.” Ur says. Obelon only grins in response.

“No, and you won’t know him. You two are my prisoners and I promise I will put you to good use.” Obelon says. Pointing a clawed finger at Ur he lowers the wizard and forces him to lay flat. An orc appears behind Anton and pulls him toward the ground. Other orcish hands join in to hold the fighter down. 

“Get that bench for me. Hurry up.” Obelon orders. Anton struggles against his captors while Ur lays frustrated and frozen within the spell that binds him. The disorganized orcs scramble together to lift a long bench which had been sitting by the bar. They lift it and place it over Anton and Ur’s torsos. The low bench fits squarely over their bodies and renders their legs useless though Anton continues to kick and thrash. Booming steps approach the pair. Obelon, with his tall nohawk of red hair, peers over the bench at the two before sitting down facing them. The captives are unfortunate to have a clear view of the orc’s endowments beneath his loin cloth. His dick slowly rises. Obelon allows his feet to fall loudly next to each of their heads.

“Do you know what comes next Anton?” Obelon asks.

“Urrrgg. Damnit. You’re sick.” Anton shouts, continually struggling with the orcs holding him down.

“Ha ha ha.” Obelon lifts the massive foot by Anton’s head and splays his toes giving Anton a look at the thick, leathery sole. His claws dangle threateningly. The orc grins and grins. “Ready?” 

“No no, wai—ffmmph!” The orc quickly stomps his foot onto Anton’s face, nearly engulfing it. The fighter is silenced by the balls of Obelon’s foot which fit snuggly inside his mouth. Anton’s head is pressed too strongly for him to move it away. He can only writhe and shake beneath the mighty foot, inhaling its offensive odor and tasting its clammy sweat on his lips. 

“What in the world are you…” Ur begins when Obelon lifts his other foot above him as he had with Anton. “Hey wait. We can talk about this.” Ur adds.

“No, we can’t.” Obelon says while slowly lowering his foot onto Ur’s unwilling face. Ur is more unfortunate than Anton because while Anton can struggle at the very least Ur is frozen in place by the spell. He can only watch as the lights above are blocked out by the giant, eclipsing foot. The warm skin soon presses onto his nose and begins to rove his entire face. Obelon takes care to stroke and tickle every crevice of Anton and Ur’s faces. 

“Hmmmph!” Anton cries. Obelon’s clawed feet waft an odor so strong and pungent it makes the humans eyes water. If the smell isn’t enough to overwhelm their senses then the feeling of embarrassment certainly is. The mighty hero of good ‘Just Anton’ reduced to literally squirming beneath the foot of an orc. Likewise Ur’s reputation would be destroyed and unsalvageable if it were discovered that he were spellbound and trapped by an orc. The pair suffer for what feels like an eternity, in reality a mere ten minutes, beneath Obelon.

“Ahhhh yes. This is how it will be when The Reviled rule. We will live in luxury while humankind grovels and whimpers at our feet like animals. Tell me, how does it feel to be so thoroughly powerless?” Obelon chides. The pair choose not to give him the satisfaction of an answer and do everything they can to attempt escape. The dozens of sturdy hands holding Anton and the otherworldly strength of the spell binding Ur hold strong against their efforts. 

“No thoughts? Do you enjoy being beneath my feet? Do you like the smell and the … taste?” Obelon says. With this he wriggles his big toes with their hardy claws into his captive’s mouths. 

*Ack* “Hmm?!” Ur moans. The stout toe completely fills his mouth. It’s grimy and somewhat salty taste disgusts him but he is helpless to bathe it with his tongue and suck on it as he attempts to breathe. He had thought the situation couldn’t have been more embarrassing before this perverted turn of events. The other orcs have returned to their partying but some watch and laugh gleefully at the embarrassment of the bound humans. Anton too is forced to wash the orc’s claw. He would bite the toe if he weren’t certain that doing so would get him killed. He grimaces up at Obelon around his other toes. 

“Anton you are a natural at this.” Obelon says. He finally, mercifully, lifts his feet from Ur and Anton’s faces. He examines his big toes which have been licked clean and glisten with saliva and nods in approval. “Yes very nice. It’s a pity that I’ve found another use for you two.” After coughing and attempting to spit the taste of Obelon’s feet from their mouths Ur and Anton glare at their captor.

“Damn you Obelon. Damn you to hell.” Anton says.

“What do you plan to do with us?” Ur asks pointedly.

“Why… this.” He says before snapping. At his snap a spellcaster who had been sitting out of sight behind the pair’s heads releases his spell. Shimmering rays hit Anton and Ur causing a queer sensation akin to being hit by a jet of cold wind. Obelon grins at the pair.

“A… transmutation spell?” Ur says, bringing his intimate knowledge of magic to bear.

“That is correct.” Obelon says while pointing a finger at Ur and Anton’s partially obscured lower halves. The fighter and wizard follow his direction and in terror discover that their shoes and socks have fallen away and where their feet and lower legs had been is now vacant space. Their pants fall limp as the legs within transform. Below the knee they feel not numbness, but something similar. 

“What have you done Obelon?!” Anton shouts, visibly panicking. The orc does not reply, but watches the transformation avidly.

“This ‘mage’ has cast a transmutation spell on us.” Ur explains calmly. “It feels strange I know, but fear not. I’m sure any transmutation spell these brutes can manage to cast will wear off within a few hours.” The wizard explains as his arms wither in their sleeves. He glimpses what looks like knit fabric beneath his clothes. The pair are being turned into clothing of some kind, he realizes, but for what purpose he can’t guess. Both of them have transformed up to their necks. They can no longer move and the white fabric is overtaking their heads presently.

“Hahaha. No wizard. Ozark’s magic does not operate under the established rules. This spell is quite permanent.” Obelon explains. Anton and Ur’s eyes widen as their mouths vanish into the spreading transformation. They have ears precisely long enough to hear the orc add “I hope you enjoyed the smell of my feet, because it is the last thing you are ever going to smell.”

“Hmmm—“

When the transformation is complete Anton and Ur know the bizarre sensation of existing as inanimate objects. They have each been transformed into an oversized sock made of white cloth. They can’t speak, and they can’t move. They do have their senses however. It is as though their consciousnesses are bound to their sock bodies. They can feel, smell, taste, hear and posess a rudimentary sense of sight which merely allows them to sense light as well as its absence. They sense in vague waves, and they are thoroughly terrified. They lay helpless on the floor until Obelon picks them up one at a time between his claws.  

“Ahhh perfect. I just wore out my old pair.” Obelon says. The orcs around him snicker. “You know I think I’ll wear you right now.”

‘No no no! This can’t be happening. This is impossible!’ Ur thinks. He feels as Obelon stretches him out and pulls him slowly onto his foot. Beginning with the claw, then onto the wide balls of the foot and finally over the ankle. Ur has the awful sensation of completely surrounding the orc’s huge foot. He tastes it, smells it, and feels it all at once. It is completely overwhelming. He warms with the heat from the foot as he gags internally on its overbearing presence within and about him. ‘Nooo, someone …. help.’ He thinks. Anton is pulled onto Obelon’s other massive foot and is subjected to the same bizarre feeling of being worn. Before either of the transformed have time to adjust to their new situations Oberon procures heavy leather boots and slides them on trapping the pair completely within. 

Anton and Ur are in darkness with the orc feet they are forced to cover. The boots compress them on all sides and trap the heat within. Oberon soon begins to sweat which which fills them and naturally enhances the stench. They are helpless and hopeless. The pair feel Oberon stand and bend forward. He whispers into his boots at his victims.

“Perhaps I will transform you back for a little while when The Reviled have conquered the world as you know it. Until then please enjoy being my dirty socks, hahaha!” Obelon and his gang laugh while the poor transformed wish they had goaded the orcs into ending their lives. It would have been a more merciful end than being permanently transformed into an orcs semi-living garments. Obelon then stands before pressing Anton and Ur alternatively as he walks them out of the tent. Before leaving the tent proper he yells to the orcs inside.

“Burn their clothes for me. They won’t be needing them anymore. As far as the rest of the world is concerned ‘Just Anton’ and Ur the Wizard are gone. Hahaha!”