Chapter 1- Dirty old woman
Twenty years had passed. Things had changed. The human Inquisition was carrying out cleansing operations across the lands. Outcasts who had provably or allegedly committed crimes were locked away, or worse. Outcasts: elves, dwarves, dark elves, and of course, orcs. The latter were by far the worst, with their poison-green skin and wild boar tusks.
Vahrah had let the scars on her body and soul heal. Her body, however, recovered better. Blackfort had long since ceased to exist; the bandit nest had been razed to the ground. Where Bazur and Riannon were, she did not know. Their trails had gone cold, and she was alone once more. Still the strapping warrior, even though her ash-gray, slightly matted hair fell long onto her broad shoulders like a burden.
She had tried to live peacefully. A plot of land, far from the nearest town. She kept livestock, grew fruit and vegetables. Exactly how long, she didn’t know. It could have gone on forever. Every morning, the smell of fresh dung and grass in her nose. She had been foolish to think it would last forever, that she would never need her sword again.
One day, she got involved with the curious son of a farmer who lived about a mile away. They did business, and of course, more than that. He wanted to feel the thrill of the forbidden. An older orc woman—something he rarely saw, something that haunted him in his darkest, wettest dreams. Night after night. Youthful recklessness paired with greed.
Only, what had her excuse been? Quite simply: loneliness. She had learned the value of companionship. The happiness that other people’s bodies could bring you. It was more than just warming her straw bed. It was his youthful ecstasy that robbed her of her sanity and reawakened the beast deep within her.
One day, they stood at her door with several sturdy men, accusing her of using the boy and defiling his soul. Oh, things had certainly gotten dirty. She hadn’t reached for her sword; she defended herself first with words, then with her fists. There were too many of them, but she wouldn’t just surrender to her fate without a fight.
Now she sat here on an uncomfortable, creaking wooden cot. The rusty iron hoop of the chain around her wrists and ankles was far too tight, cutting off almost all the blood circulation. Her aches throbbed, and the mash they put in front of her every day in a cracked wooden bowl wasn’t food she would have given to her pigs. But she was still alive, and as long as that was the case, she would fight.
Her cell smelled musty: of cold, damp stone, rotting straw, and rat droppings. But it was her kingdom. They hadn’t broken her—they could never break her! Vahrah, the orc warrior of Oakhaven, was a legend, after all. But legends grew older too, and at night she could feel the merciless cold in her bones creeping through the masonry.
She heard footsteps. There were several. They always switched shifts, and the current guard was dozing on his chair. He woke up, adjusted his helmet, and straightened up immediately as his relief arrived. He had a squat, older, sweating fellow with him who practically smelled like a village idiot. “Back there’s the beast," the guard muttered to the villager. “Like I said, you can do whatever you want with her, these orcs have no taboos, wild animals, you understand?" The man grinned broadly and shoved a bag of coins into the guard’s hand. “Understood..." He rubbed his hands together.
Slowly, the man walked over to the cell and stopped in front of the thick iron bars. His piggish eyes peered through the gap in her direction. “Looks a bit annoyed..." he chuckled, though his voice rose a pitch.
The guard put a hand on his shoulder. “They always look like that. I’ll open it for you." With that, he unlocked the cell door, which squeaked loudly. The man stayed in the doorway. The guard pushed him further inside. “Go on. We haven’t got all day!" The villager turned his head back. “I... I can’t do it if you’re watching..." The guard huffed. “Fine. I’ll play a round of cards against myself at the table over there. Have fun." And off he went.
Vahrah continued to sit silently on her cot like a statue, even though her muscles were already tensing and she felt the adrenaline pumping through her blood. It was clear that it had to come to this eventually. An animal, nothing more was she here. An attraction. For a brief moment, she played with the thought of just going along with it. It would be so easy. Just play along and endure it.
He closed the door behind him and stopped in front of her. A disgusting grin on his face as he brushed the hair from her forehead. “Damn... never thought I’d find a green pig-face attractive, but you’ve got something..." She looked at him piercingly, her lips forming something akin to a grin as her fists clenched and her knuckles cracked softly.
