A crazed orc ran snarling through the bushes in the inky darkness of Tirisfal Glades. Dressed only in a pair of tattered pants, Gorth sped with all the strength in his stocky legs, still fleeing the guards who had long since stopped following. His entire body was covered in cuts, scrapes and bruises, both from before, during and after his escape from imprisonment.

Reaching the clearing of the glades, he stopped, panting and trying to maintain some control over his own mind’s chaos and form a coherent thought. Breathing heavily he looked down at his own bare chest, ravaged and beaten, and scratched, his eyes darting around his surroundings. The hunger was driving him mad. He hadn’t eaten since well before his escape and it was weakening him.

As he tried to sort through the insanity of his own mind to grapple with the necessity of the moment, he heard a voice nearby; far too soft to be that of any orc, or Horde member for that instance. Peering out he viewed the tiniest of girls; an elf, frail and delicate looking. For a brief moment, Gorth was captivated. The girl seemed to be humming or softly singing something to herself, and he was entranced.

In the blink of an eye he felt some deep seeded desire to protect such a tiny, vulnerable being, to guard her, garbled with the need to take her and rip her to shreds; with that he ran screaming, charging her down.

Dressed in her fine robes and jewelry, the elvish girl, Sin’Thol, was shocked and horrified by the raging beast heading for her. But before the starved and crazed orc could touch her a wall of light blocked his access. He clawed and tore at it with no effect while Sin’Thol chanted and focused her will. He quickly lost strength as her painful spell tore at his tattered body.

In the end he laid, passed-out, on the ground before her, while she stood in shock and confusion, staring down at what she could only assume was an orc. Her hands trembled as she reached out touched the beasts chest, testing it. His breast heaved slowly, he still breathed. She knelt down and observed him closely, trying to figure out why he would attack her and why he was in such a poor shape.

Around Gorth’s neck she noted a most large and thick iron collar. It looked painful on him and about it were four broken hooks seemingly used to attach chains and keep him down. He was an escaped prisoner of some sort, that much was obvious. Eying his overgrown and disheveled hair and beard, it was all the more evident.

As she studied him, she found her hand gently caressing the side of the brutish beast’s face. She pulled away immediately and rolled her eyes over him. There was something… Reaching into a pouch she kept on the belt of her robe, she fumbled about. Over the next hour she set about melding her talents in the dark arts with that of her fine crafting skills.

Finally awaking, Gorth opened his eyes and looked up. Sitting atop his chest was the little elf, grinning mischievously down at him. “Wake up beastly boy.” She mocked.

Snarling he replied “I’ll rip… you… to shreds!” But the rage in his face quickly disappeared. The orc was astonished. Gorth had never spoken his entire life, the chaos and insanity that reigned in his mind kept him from coherently formulating words. He stared up at the elf in utter awe.

Sin’Thol mused, “None of that now beast, you are to serve my will for as long as I have a use for you.” She laughed and patted Gorth’s large chest. In response he nodded eagerly, “Zug zug.” Her smug and devilish expression faded somewhat; her work should only have restrained his actions, not his words… oh my, she thought to herself, I am good.

Getting up off him Gorth rose to his feet, his stomach inwardly slanted more than it should be for such a bulky orc. Noting this she nodded, “Let us go, I have much work to do with you and you are in need of some nourishment.”

Gorth knelt down before her on both knees, looking to her and nodding, croaking out the words “Zug zug, as… you… wish.” The words were choked, forced and hard to get out, but he was speaking. His thoughts swam, he felt ready to burst with delight. He wanted to reach out and embrace his new elvish Mistress, crush her in his arms but found himself unable to do so. He was grateful.

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