Orc Troubles

Chieftain Gorlash Ironfist paced back and forth within the crude wooden structure that served as his command tent. His dark eyes, filled with simmering rage, scanned the room, settling on each of his warriors in turn. Duluk and Bruluk had not returned from their patrol, and the gnawing hunger in his gut only amplified his frustration. Their stockpiles were dangerously low, and the once boisterous orc camp now echoed with the grumbling of empty stomachs.

"Where are those useless pigs?" Gorlash bellowed, his voice echoing off the rough-hewn walls. "Duluk and Bruluk still haven't returned. We're running low on food, and you lot can't even find us a decent meal!"

The warriors shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, their eyes averted. The memory of their hounds, slaughtered in desperation, lingered bitterly in their minds. Gorlash knew it had been a poor decision, but at the time, it seemed like the only way to stave off immediate starvation. The hounds had been skilled at hunting and scouting, and without them, their chances of finding food had dwindled significantly.

"And where are the women?" Gorlash continued, his tone growing even more venomous. "You can't even bring back a single hot-blooded wench. Every time we get close, those damn wood elves drive us off with ease! What use are you if you can't even secure a prisoner or two?"

He slammed his fist against a wooden post, causing the entire tent to shake. The warriors flinched, their fear evident. Gorlash's temper was legendary, and none of them wished to incur his wrath any further.

"We've eaten our own dogs," he spat, "and now we're paying the price. You're all useless wastrels! If you don't bring back food soon, you won't be getting fed at all. Get out there and prove your worth, or I'll find another use for your bones!"

The warriors scattered, eager to escape his fury and driven by the primal need to survive. Gorlash watched them go, a sneer curling his lips. He knew the situation was dire, but he also knew that fear was a powerful motivator. His clan had faced hardship before, and they had always emerged stronger. This time would be no different, he vowed silently, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white.

But deep down, a seed of doubt had been planted. Without food, without resources, and with the constant threat of the wood elves looming over them, how much longer could they hold out? Gorlash pushed the thought away, refusing to entertain weakness. He was the chieftain, and he would find a way to lead his people through this crisis, or die trying.

Gorlash's mind drifted back to the days when his clan had thrived in their original hideout, a place abundant with resources and far from the desperate situation they now faced. The memory of that accursed adventurer party invading their sanctuary brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

The leader of the adventurers had been a self-proclaimed hero, a fool who had deemed Gorlash's clan as evil beings in need of purging. Gorlash had barely escaped with a fragment of his clan in tow, the rest cut down by the so-called hero's sword and his companions' magic. There was something positive about this though; he went from being a decently strong warrior to chieftain in a single day. That brought him a lot of happy feelings. Now he could decide who gets the tastiest food and the prettiest women. Naturally, that would be him.

He could still see one of the adventurer's faces vividly in his mind: the healer's with her red hair and soft, curvaceous body, which were accentuated with her red scales, horn and tail. Someone with a dragon ancestor, a real unique delicacy. Her proper robes clinging to her indecent form as she cast her spells gave off a unique charm. There were three other males too, but their faces were blurry at best, or rather completely blank in his memory, including their leader. Well, to be fair, one of the three was a woman but she was manlier than the other two combined, so she didn't earn his fancy. That three were completely and utterly irrelevant in his brain.

His mouth watered at the memory, the sight of the woman igniting a primal desire within him. The thought of capturing her, of making her his, had been a tantalizing fantasy. Instead, he now had to endure the company of the orc women of his clan, with their thick, muscled bodies and coarse features. The contrast made him want to retch.

He spat on the ground, the image of the orc women filling him with disgust. They were strong and loyal, yes, but their appearance did nothing to soothe his frustrations. He longed for the softness, the beauty, the allure of those human women. The priestess and the rogue, their faces haunted his dreams, turning his thoughts darker and more dangerous.

His mind snapped back to the present. The memory of their curvaceous bodies and the pleasure they might bring was a far-off fantasy. Right now, he had to focus on survival, on leading his clan through this dark time. But the anger remained, simmering just below the surface, fueling his determination.

One day, he promised himself, he would have his revenge on that adventurer party. He would find them, and he would take what he desired. For now, though, he needed to ensure his clan survived. He needed to find food, to restore their strength, and to reclaim their former glory.

It had only been a minute since he sent his warriors away, but one of them rushed back into his tent. Barging in on the leader in such a manner was punishable by death, and just as Gorlash grunted and stood to get his two-headed giant war axe, the panting orc opened his mouth.

"Boss! They are back! The adventurers found us! They will be here in a minute!" He cried with clear fear in his voice.

Gorlash shuddered. "Are you certain it's them?"

"Yes boss! I can never forget the healer's curves for the rest of my life!" He replied with a lecherous smile and a bulge in his pants. It only took him a single moment to forget about their life-or-death situation.

"Agh! Fuck!" He shouted and then walked outside his bone tent and reached the middle of their makeshift settlement. "Everyone! Get your armor and weapons right now! Our enemy might be strong but this time we are prepared! We made lots of traps and we are not sleeping now! We have forty warriors against four enemies. Gang up on them and the victory is ours!" He gave his chief's speech which seemed to have some effect as the previous nervousness lessened on his warriors' gazes.