Chapter Text
Djen's lip curls up over her tusks as she looks around, taking everything in. It all seems to be in order. Not that she would know. Still, the basic structure looks solid enough.
As if. She snorts as she continues to survey her surroundings, trying to ignore the growing unease. It's not as if she's been dreading this all her life. On the other hand, it's not something she's been looking forward to. If anything, she's done her best not to think about it.
Truth be told, she's nothing special. Marked and Blooded before her sixteenth year, made youngest of the Nine before her twentieth. Trusted in council despite her tender years. But at some point, sooner or later it's every orc woman's duty to lose her cherry. To make man child.
It's not her job to like it. Generally, her people live separate lives. They've done so ever since long before her time; ever since the curse that nearly wiped them out, the miracle that brought them back from near extinction. Only on these rare occasions do men and women of the orc race come together, and only for this singular purpose. Even if it seems one-sided, it's up to both parties to make the best of it.
She wanders through the rooms, noting the privy out back, the dedicated rooms for cooking and for eating. And mating.
Her stomach curls in a sour twinge as she stares at the bed, the decadent softness of its sheets and pillows. Her people generally don't bother with custom dwellings of their own. In this case, their recent expansion east has brought them to the foot of the drow mountains. The usual strategy is to burn any human buildings to the ground, but the few cabins they've found this close to the mountains are all made of stone. It's nothing fancy like in the city, but impressive nonetheless to someone who's spent her life sleeping in caves and trees.
Her assigned stud should be here soon. As youngest of the tribe's warriors, Djen's always known she would have no choice of partner. Except Toru - her mentor and leader of the Nine - always had a soft spot for her younger broodmate. It had been the only thing that saved Djen from being torn to pieces before she was old enough to leave the communal creche.
But Toru knew better than to lay any claim. Not before Djen had done her duty to her people. So the older orc had swallowed her pride, offering all of her wisdom and advice as the day of reckoning loomed closer. She'd sent Djen to the city to pick up a suit of armor, resulting in the younger orc receiving her first blowjob from an eager goblin apprentice. And she had begun to include Djen in their predations on any stray human that wandered too close to orc territory. Like that peasant girl.
And there was the nun.
Djen shifts uncomfortably, resisting the urge to reach down and adjust herself. The best she can hope for - all she can hope for - is that her position, however minor, will garner some measure of respect. Not to mention a decent slave.
Don't get too comfortable. Toru had warned her of the dangers, stressing the importance of maintaining absolute mastery. To never show weakness - to a man or a human. And anyway, slaves were strictly temporary. No more than a brief distraction to sweeten the bitterness of having to submit to a man. Growing gravid and useless for months before squeezing out his spawn and returning to battle.
One of the small side rooms has a round copper tub full of steaming water, as long across as Djen is tall, in height halfway up her thighs. She's baffled by the the thin pipes that run through the wall until she steps out back and sees the fire-box at the end of the line. Stoke a flame inside that metal, and the pipes move that heat into the tub like magic. If she didn't know better, she'd think it was for making an army's worth of soup. As it is, she's seen such luxuries in both human homes and dwarven tunnels. It actually looks kind of inviting. Enough to provoke a flicker of guilt deep in her guts.
More than anything, what she's unaccustomed to is being alone. At least she won't be expected to lose her maidenhead in front of the whole tribe. Like some common sow -
Her ears prick up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Heavy, making no effort to be quiet. She can hear the tread just outside the door as she turns to see it swing open.
"You Djen?" The stud doesn't bother waiting for a reply as he hunches over, squeezing his bulk through the doorway. The figure draped over his shoulder is barely recognizable as a small human woman wrapped in a dirt-stained trail blanket, held in place by one of his massive hands.
Djen watches in silence, taking in the sight. The stud has less than a handspan over her in terms of height, the thick muscle of his body showing only a handful of scars. His black hair is longer than she's used to seeing, tied back in a single braid that reaches down between his shoulders. Judging by the Marks on his skin, he's definitely proven himself in combat.
"For you." The stud punctuates this grunt by shrugging, lifting the squirming body before casually tossing it on the ground at Djen's feet. "Clean up."
Djen stares down at the figure, watching it heave with short and panicked breaths. Slowly she bends down, finding the edge of the blanket, peeling it back.
"We still clearing out drow." The stud sounds supremely bored. "I be back in three days. Make man child."
Djen barely hears his words. She's too busy staring at her prize. It's a woman, all right: A decidedly plump, definitely middle-aged human female; completely naked, awkwardly bound with rope at the wrists and ankles behind her back. Her belly and hips are more generously proportioned than her breasts, her chest heaving, her nipples looking painfully stiff. At first glance she looks as small as a goblin, but she's more between Djen and a goblin - short even for a human, making her generous body appear even more ample. Her tangled hair reaches down to her shoulder, a mix of brown and red with a few streaks of silver to match the crow's feet around her eyes. Those hazel eyes are wide and panicky, staring up at Djen over a bit of black cloth stuffed into her mouth.
Djen can feel her own eyes growing wider as she takes in the full sight. A clean and recent brand is burnt into the woman's left hip, the circle and double cross of Clan Filo. And as she reaches out and roughly grabs the human's shoulder, rolling her onto her side, Djen can see fresh whip marks across the pale skin of her back. A lash that hit hard enough not just to draw blood, but to leave bruises.
"What in the -" Djen's mouth works silently for a moment as her outraged brain tries to process. "What in the fuck is this!?"
An annoyed frown ripples across the stud's craggy features.
"What?" His annoyance is only matched by his confusion. "What you problem?"
"I'm supposed to - get a fucking maiden!" Djen's heart is pounding fit to leap from her chest. The worst part is, it feels like as much fear as it does anger. "Look at her! She's probably had a whole fucking - litter of whelps -"
"Whatever." The stud's grunt brings Djen's diatribe to a halt. He doesn't even sound mad. "She free. You lucky - get one at all."
So much for rank having privilege. Djen is seething inside as she continues to stare at her matronly captive.
"Train her good - have you fun. I come back - we have more fun. Make man child." The stud chuckles, reaching down with one massive paw to give his balls a casual scratch. "I take you - we take her. Together."
An image flashes through Djen's mind, a combination of her own imagining and the one tribal orgy she'd managed to spy on. A tantalizing one, to be sure. But hardly enough to counter her righteous fury at being reminded of her low status as youngest of the Nine.
"Three days." The stud frowns absently, raising his fingers to his twitching nose for a curious sniff. He's not looking at Djen as he turns and squeezes back out the door, not even bothering to shut it in his wake.
Djen stares at his dwindling figure as it blends into the trees. Then he becomes one with the growing shadows, disappearing from view.
Her gaze falls slowly to the floor. Looking silently down from her full and commanding height at the trembling figure, lying at her feet.
Staring into terrified human eyes.