It's Still Good to be the Warchief (Closed; Cherribo)

[Knightmare27]

To an orc, war is truly a joy on a level incomprehensible to others. It goes far beyond the excitement at elegant combat maneuvers felt by elves, or even the human love of heroic deeds. Orcs are warriors through and through, and they are happy only in a fight... well, almost only, anyway. What else they enjoy is so terrible that few elves or humans have ever returned to tell about it....

...and it looked like the petite, but surprisingly feisty elf woman who had just jumped out of the way of his war hammer would get to enjoy both. Before she could bring her rapier around to stab him in the thigh, a quick kick from him to her stomach stunned her, and he loomed over her, hammer raised overhead, to give her a chance to surrender. Surrendering was not something orcs did, but elves... she would make a fun toy if she did, so he eagerly awaited her response.

 

[Cherribo]

Tsarra leapt through the air, her rapier slicing down to finish off a near-dead Orc, having spotted him in his death throes. Pulling the blade from his torn flesh, she smirked in morbid satisfaction as the dark blood dripped down the steel, dripping to the ground slowly as she finally lowered the blade to hang by her side. Although to take pride in the kills was intoxicating, Tsarra struggled to keep focused on the battle raging around her. Orcs of all shapes and sizes stomped through the marshy ground to clash weapons with the lithe Elves of the West; grunting beasts that were as tall as they were wide, bulging muscles underneath tough, hardened skin. It was only through their agility and improved technology that the Elves were able to hold up any kind of defense against their brute strength, although over the last few weeks, the Orcs had steadily pushed ground, nearing to the fort where Tsarra had been stationed. It was one of the last three forts left to capture before the Orcs could possible raid their main capital, but Tsarra doubted they'd get that far.

Running forward, she did her best to join forces with other warriors to team up on a single Orc, aiming for the tender skin of their throats, or their inner thighs. As the battle wore on, Tsarra found more of her kin falling or retreating, and soon was forced to turn back herself and try and make her way to the fort to hold a last stand. But as she turned, a guttural roar sounded behind her, from the biggest Orc she'd seen yet. Yelping, Tsarra only just dodged the mighty warhammer that he swung at her, leaping forward to aim her rapier at his thigh. The Orc was fast though - faster than most - and kicked her hard to the ground, winding her. Gasping for breath, Tsarra gulped and wheezed, looking up hesitantly to see the Orc leaning over her vulnerable body, his hammer poised to smash her into the ground to join the layer of corpses mounting in the marshlands. Her dark red hair was tangled and matted with blood and mud, but remained in the long, tight braid she had tied it into that morning, only thin wisps escaping to frame her pale, high-cheekboned face. Dark grey eyes glared up at the Orc furiously as she spat at him, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the amount of dried blood that was slathered on his weapon, splattered on his clothes and skin. He had killed many in this battle, that was clear enough.

"Kill me, Orc scum." Tsarra finally growled, bearing her teeth at the Orc in a show of challenge. Her rapier had been knocked out of her hands when she'd been kicked, so instead she balled up her hands into fists, leaning up on her elbows to try and seem less helpless. The day she died cowering to an Orc would be the day she relinquished her honour - and Tsarra would never do that, not if she could help it.

 

[Knightmare27]

The little elf spitting at him and generally looking like a cute, but unruly dog amused Gorokh, and he had to fight hard not to pet the girl like some fluffy animal. But she had proven dangerous - lightning fast with quick attacks. She was not to be trifled with, and he knew it.

He did not understand what she was saying, but from the angry glare and the way she balled her little fists, it was obvious she was not surrendering. For a moment, he considered just smashing her head in, but then decided that he wanted her for himself.

He gave her another kick in the stomach, harder than the first. Hopefully, it would be enough to stun her for some time while he made off with his beautiful loot. The battle was as good as over anyway, and he could see some of his tribesmen already kneeling over their slain enemies, grabbing whatever arms and armour they fancied. Not their chief, though. He had always appreciated the finer things in life, and if this kick succeeded, he would have the finest loot of them all!

 

[Cherribo]

A loud grunt escaped her lips as the Orc kicked her again, knocking the air out of her heavily once more. Laying there gasping and writhing like a fish out of water, Tsarra opened her mouth wide, trying to take in as much oxygen as she could, eyes wide and betraying her anger - and her fear - to the enemy that loomed over her, his eyes flickering over her slender body with a greedy sheen to them. Her chest hurt and Tsarra wondered briefly if he had broken a rib or two - he hadn't been gentle, but his aiming had been careful at least. Besides, she hadn't heard a crack, but she was made helpless quite easily from his actions. He was acting almost like a cat did with a mouse, and Tsarra's mouth wrinkled into a sneer of disgust as he nudged her body with his foot, checking if she'd fight back. Winded as she was, Tsarra could only try to grasp her fallen weapon, unable to gather the energy needed to move and take it back up in her hands.

"Stop playing with fate!" she finally managed to wheeze. Through all her heavy breathing, Tsarra suddenly felt light-headed and her vision tilted, making her feel ill. Or was that because he'd kicked her? Tsarra whimpered and fell back as her head suddenly started to ache and spin, her fingers twitching as she struggled to focus.

 

[Knightmare27]

Gorokh smiled - quite a frightening sight in a being whose face has that many sharp teeth, plus two tusks - now she was his! It was obvious that her mind wanted to keep fighting, but her body was about to quit on her, and he was not going to waste that chance!

As soon as he noticed her starting to weaken, he bent down and took both her wrists in his right hand, pressing them together as hard as he could. He started half-pulling, half-dragging her back to his horse (orcs did not normally fight on horseback, but the chiefs used them to get to battle more comfortably).

What a prey he had taken there... it had been the right choice. Though smaller and punier than any orc, there was a lot of spirit in her, and he always liked the spirited ones more. The meek slaves did not normally stand his treatment for long and anyway were not much of a challenge. He was an orc chieftain - every muscle in his (quite impressive, quite big, quite green) body was about fighting, and so he loved it when a girl fought back.

Accordingly, his smile only broadened when he felt that the girl, half-conscious as she was, still fought back against his pull and tried to save herself. Quite uselessly, of course - he could still press her two wrists together using only one hand - but she would not be taken in without a fight. Truly a trophy fit for a chief.