There was a full moon overhead, lighting up the gorge as Jurda slowly crept forward. Though it had been an hour or longer since the sun had set, the rock around her retained a part of the scorching heat that had baked the badlands. All day, the orc had waited out the oppressive heat and daylight, sleeping in a small crevice in the canyon wall. Now that it had passed, Jurda slipped through the night to hunt.
Held in her large, clawed hands was a long, heavy thrusting spear, as well as several lighter throwing spears. Hanging from the rough hide belt around her waist was an axe. The tips of the throwing spears were stone; obsidian shards she had chipped herself. The thrusting spear and axe head were bronze; one she’d bartered from a human merchant, trading several pelts for it. The other she’d taken off the corpse of an unwary traveler who had fallen prey to the dangers of the wastes.
Aside from the belt and a few talismans of stone, bone and feather around her person, Jurda wore no other clothes, no shoes. Her thick orc hide protected her from the thorns of the underbrush as she crept along. She took no notice of the sharp stones underfoot. Wild orcs thrived in these badlands, where softer people from the civilized races rarely ventured, and often never returned from.
Ahead of Jurda, a breeze picked up, sending several tiny dust elementals skittering up the canyon. The orc raised her head, her broad, flat nose sniffing at the air. Standing out amongst the other smells of the gorge was the unmistakable smell of blood, freshly spilled, ahead of her. She rose from her stealthy crawl into a quickened lope, following the scent of the fresh kill. It was much easier taking a kill from another then catching prey of her own. Wild dog, sabre cat, or two legged hunters…few predators in these lands would fight to keep a meal from a hungry badlands orc…
Up ahead, Jurda caught sight of the kill. In the center of a clearing, the body of a scrawny mountain goat, it’s throat slashed open, a pool of blood underneath it. The smell of blood was strong in the area, overpowering everything else. Strangely, there didn’t seem to be any predator around, whether busy devouring the meal or ready to fight to protect its catch.
“Perhaps it smelled me coming…” Jurda thought. The orc paused, thinking this over, but after a moment’s hesitation, hunger won out over caution. Keeping her spear ready in hand, Jurda slowly crept forward, towards the goat. She would carry it off, find a safe spot where she could gather wood and tinder to roast her prize…
A rustling in the underbrush was all the warning Jurda got of the trap. The orc turned, too slow to react as a heavy net was thrown over her. She stumbled over, dragged down by the weight. Jurda growled, fighting to free herself, but she only succeeded in tangling herself in it. Through the gaps in the thick cords of the net, she saw figures moving around. They were dressed in dark colored cloaks, their hands and faces darkened with earth. The smell of the goat’s blood hid the scent of men and dwarves, even as they circled around the orc trapped in their net.
“Watch her!” One of the men said in his race’s tongue. “See that she doesn’t slip free!” Some of the hunters, armed with long, hooked poles, took position around the net, dragging down on it and its struggling occupant.
Other hunters moved in closer, armed with sharp goads. They did little harm to the tough orc, but they kept her off balance, turning this way and that, roaring in defiance at the men and dwarves. She struggling at the net, a couple of times nearly succeeding in throwing it off, before the pole men managed to drag her back down to the ground. As the struggle dragged on, fresh hunters moved in to take the place of the worn out ones, as they slowly ground down the immense strength and stamina of their prey.
“That’s it…” the leader of the hunters said, directing his men with practiced ease. “Let her wear herself out.” Jurda’s struggled became less frequent, her roars ragged as she gasped for air. Pretty soon, the polemen had little trouble keeping her tangled and helpless in their net.
“Shackles!” The lead hunter now ordered. Cautiously, several of the men edges forward, metal chains rattling in their hands. The polemen kept a tight grip on the net. The goaders kept the orc distracted as the net was opened briefly, letting one of Jurda’s arms slip out. The hunters grabbed it and with a practiced, fluid motion, slipped one end of the manacles onto it, clamping the iron cuff shut around her wrist.
It took Jurda a few seconds to figure out what they were doing. By that time, the other manacle was locked onto her other hand, trapping her arms behind her back. She shook, growling as she strained against the iron chains, but found it impossible to break free. By now, the orc was too tired to put up more than a feeble resistance as more chains were brought up. Iron fetters were locked onto her feet. A thick chain went around Jurda’s waist, replacing her hide belt which was torn away. Two more lengths of chains connected the manacles on her hands and feet to rings attached to this metal belt.
One of the hunters stepped forward, a thick leather bit in his hands. “Watch she doesn’t bite!” Their leader warned. The dwarf waited until Jurda opened her mouth to growl defiantly at him. As she did, he jammed the thick bit between her teeth. Two thick leather straps circled the orc’s head, holding the gag in. Another strap ran underneath her jaw, holding it closed tight around the bit.
Jurda gnashed her teeth against the gag. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the gag. It refused to budge. She struggled against her iron shackles, but they remained too strong for her to break and kept her limbs restrained. The orc growled loudly with frustrated anger. Finding herself reduced to such a helpless state was something new for Jurda and she found she didn’t like it.
It was doubly galling, to have been brought to this by a mob of weak, puny humans and dwarves. Emboldened by her helplessness, a couple of the goaders stepped forward and pricked at her with their sharp stakes. The orc thrashed about on the ground, trying her best to roar angrily at the men with the leather muzzle hindering her. To her shock, rather than being frightened, her roars only brought jeering laughter from the hunters. They circled around, grinning at their success in capturing her.
The leader of the hunters now stepped forward, something held in his hands. Jurda’s eyes widened in horror as she saw it. It was a thick iron collar! The orc knew, from brief trips to human settlements to trade, that the ones who wore such collars were slaves, the lowest of the low, nothing more than property to the one who had collared them. She shook her head, her expression a mixture of angry defiance and mounting fear. She did not want to be a slave! She was an orc, a hunter, not someone’s property! Certainly not weak humans! She struggled, thrashing about, so that several of the hunters had to leap onto her, holding the tired orc down while their leader bent over her. He opened the collar up and slipped it around her thick neck. It closed, the heavy lock snapping shut. Jurda sank to the ground, giving an unhappy groan. The hunters slid off her, with weary sighs of their own.
“Come on, get moving!” The head of the slavers growled at his men. “Let’s get this one back to camp before sunup!” His men obeyed, wearily. A long chain was locked to the front of the orc’s collar and Jurda was dragged to her feet. They pulled sharply on the chain, trying to drag her forward. Jurda fought defiantly to remain where she was. She stumbled, but didn’t move. Despite the fight only a few minutes before, her orcish stamina had returned quickly enough, while the slavers remained weary from the struggle. Not that it did her any good. Despite her recovery, she remained a chained captive. Though she fought the pull of her leash, that was all she could do.
Several more slavers joined in tugging on the chain. Others circled around the orc, armed with goads and short, leather whips. They did little more than sting Jurda, but it was enough to convince her to move. She shuffled forward, taking the short, awkward steps which were all she could manage with the short chain joining her feet together. She kept her head held high, trying to remain defiant, despite her captivity as she trudged along at the end of the chain.
“Where do you think this one will go?” One of the slavers asked a companion. “The mines? She’s certainly strong enough.” He said, rubbing a bruised arm.
“No. I think she’ll be sold as a breeder.” The other man replied. “Look at those hips, those thighs…Perfect for squatting out half-breeds.” He reached forward with one hand between the orc’s legs. Junda felt his fingers briefly fondle the naked lips of her sex. The orc jumped, grunting with rage through the bit. She rattled in chains in helpless fury, but could do little else. “And she’s a randy bitch, ain’t she?” The man said with a lusty laugh and his hand went to her sex again.
The sun was a warning glow on the horizon as the hunting party made it back to their camp, the captive orc in tow. Ahead, perched on a high, rugged bluff overlooking a river, the slavers had built a fortified encampment. Sharpened stakes ringed the steep incline, below a short palisade fence, both made of roughly hewn logs cut from the scraggly mountain trees. Perched on a raised platform, a watchman spotted the party slowly climbing the narrow switchback up the bluff and shouted a word to men within the compound.
As they reached the top, they heard a whip crack and the heavy gates of the fence swung outward to admit the party. Jurda stared, eyes wide with shock. On the other side of the gate was another female orc. Like Jurda, she was naked, apart from the heavy iron shackles around her hands and feet and the thick iron collar locked around her throat. However, unlike Jurda, this orc had had her head shaved, with only a few days of stubble grown back. Her large, flat nose had been pierced and fitted with a brass ring. Further down, her nipples and even the lips of her sex, had been similarly ringed. The orc slave’s head was bowed as she waited by the door for her next command. She regarded the new captive with only a dull, vacant look.
As Jurda stared in shock at the other orc, the hunting party had begun to move into the compound. They dragged on the chain leash, jerking Jurda forward. The captive fought the tug at her throat, growling through her gag as she was dragged through the gate. Behind her, the gate orc regarded the newcomer with a look that almost showed pity. As the last of the returning slavers came through, one of the handlers cracked his whip. The gate orc gave a weary groan, biting down on her bit. Reaching forward with her chained hands, the orc grabbed the handle of the gate and applied her strength. Slowly the heavy wooden door swung back into place. As it was barred shut, the gate orc sank to her knees, dully awaiting the next time she would be ordered to perform her simple task.
Inside, Jurda was led along a row of large, canvas tents. Some appeared to be sleeping quarters for the slavers, others were stores filled with crates and barrels of provisions. From one large tent, a plume of smoke rose, along with the scent of cooking breakfast. Past the tents, in the center of the walled compound, was another walled area. Thick, sturdy timbers had been joined together, with an outer perimeter wall. More timbers crisscrossed the interior, subdividing it into a number of smaller cells. In the front of each cell was a large, sturdy cage door, barred with a thick iron bar and locked with heavy dwarven padlocks to keep the cages’ occupants trapped inside.
Through the gaps in the timbers, Jurda could see the cage occupants; more female orcs. Like the slave at the gate, the captives were bound with heavy chains and gagged with thick, leather bits. Their heads were shaved and they had been pierced and ringed. Altogether, Jurda guessed there might have been a hundred orcs, divided among the cages. They sat, or lay, on the packed earth floors of their cells, beaten down into inactivity by their captivity. A handful raised their heads to watch as the newest slave was dragged past them. The rest kept their heads bowed. They’d already seen plenty of freshly caught slaves arrive to join them in bondage.
In the open yard, in front of the cages, the hunters were met by an elderly dwarf. In contrast to the rough men and dwarves of the hunting party, this greybeard wore the colorful, embroidered outfit of a prosperous merchant and his fingers and neatly braided beard were heavy with golden rings. Trotting a few paces behind him was another dwarf, carrying a wax tablet; a scribe.
“Well, Brutus!” The slaver merchant said, speaking to the leader of the hunting party. “Successful hunt! And a fine specimen you’ve brought back.” He stepped forward to inspect Jurda. The orc growled angrily, chewing on her bit. The slavers held a tight grip on her chain, keeping her in place.
“We lured her into a clearing in the south range.” The man replied. “Netted her, waited for her to tired out then got the chains on her. No dead or injured apart from some bruises.”
“Good…good.” The trader replied. “That’s proving to be the best hunting grounds this season. Yesterday, Kurgen and his boys bagged a big bitch and her three cubs, choice goods all of them. We’ll have a profitable haul at the auction at Three Crowns. After your men have had some food, I want you back out watching your traps. But first, get this one over to Dunran to be ringed and caged up.”
Jurda gave another growl, shaking her head, but she was slowly dragged away, fighting every step. She didn’t want to end up like those other orcs; shaved, ringed, numbly awaiting their fate. She was a proud orc huntress, not a lowly slave…
Around the other side of the cages, in the far corner of the compound, the slavers had set up an open air smithy. A dark haired dwarf, wearing a leather apron and breeches, was bent over an anvil, forging or repairing an iron collar. He lifted the metal ring and stuck it back into the roaring mouth of the furnace to heat again. Setting the tongs aside, the dwarf turned to the party.
“Another wild one for me?” Dunran, the forge dwarf asked. “Well, strap her down.” He nodded his head towards one side of the smithy. There was a contraption there, a study piece of furniture. Four short wooden legs held up a long central beam. One end of the beam angled up. It made of thick wooden planks and iron bands, riveting the whole thing together. Jurda was dragged over to the chair and forced to sit down, straddling the central beam, the chains of her fetters underneath. She was leaned back, so her back pressed against the curved back of the chair-like contraption. Thick leather straps, running the whole length of the device, quickly secured the orc, from her ankles to a strap across her forehead, until she could only wiggle her clawed toes and growl in helpless rage.
The forge dwarf now approached, a pair of iron shears held in his hand. Ignoring the orcs muffled protests, he seized a handful of her long, black mane. The shears snipped and the hair fell to the dirt. Jurda chewed on her bit as her hair was slowly shorn away. When he finished with the shears, Dunran took up a straight razor and quickly dry-shaved her scalp smooth, leaving only a few small nicks in the orc’s tough hide. Next, the razor was employed on the hair between Jurda’s legs, until she was smooth down there to.
“Now the rings.” The dwarf said. He stepped back, hanging the razor and shears back in place on his wall of tools. Jurda growled and squirmed and shook within the tight leather straps, but though she shook the sturdy wooden frame, the orc remained where she was and completely helpless. The dwarf turned back, opening a wooden box. Inside were a number of long, sharp needles, of varying thickness. Jurda’s eyes widened in fright, what was intended to be a defiant roar come out as a soft whimper as he selected one. She was going to be pierced as a slave and there was nothing she could do to prevent this!
The dwarf passed his selected needle through the plume of flames coming from his forge, heating it up, before he turned to the orc. Jurda squirmed in her restraints, unable to even turn her head away as the dwarf grabbed her jaw with his free hand, lining up the needle with her nose. Jurda closed her eyes. She felt a sharp, red hot pain on her face. The orc bit down on the leather bit between her teeth, roaring in anger. There was a tugging against her nose, eliciting another sharp pain.
The pain soon faded, as did most pain for a hardy badlands orc. As it did, Jurda could feel a new, odd pressure hanging from her nose. When she went crossed eyed, the orc could see a thick brass ring now dangling from her nose. The dwarf, meanwhile, selected another needle. He reached down and grabbed Jurda’s left breast. Very quickly, her nipples were pierced and fitted with smaller rings. Then, he reached between her legs…
After the final ring was permanently closed up, Dunran turned back and began hammering at the new collar again. “Let her anger run its course before you put her in the cage…she’ll tired out soon enough.” He told the slavers.” Jurda thrashed about in the frame, driven to a red rage by a pain and the absolute degradation of what had just been done to her. The frame creaked and groaned, shifting with her movements, but it was designed with a raging orc in mind and held her down until her anger was run its course.
When the slavers were confident the orc’s rage had passed, they cautiously unbuckled Jurda from the frame. The chain at her collar was removed. It was replaced by a thinner lead, but this one was clipped, instead of to her collar, to the ring in Jurda’s nose. As Jurda rose to her feet, one of the slavers tugged lightly on it. The orc stayed put, giving a low grunt of discontent. The slaver tugged harder now. Jurda cried out, in surprise and pain, as the ring in her nose was yanked on. Almost involuntarily, she stumbled forward towards her captor. He tugged again, lighter once more, but Jurda knew he could easily pull much harder and inflict the pain on her again at will. The orc moaned into her gag, knowing she was helpless. Meekly, the orc shuffled after him, her head bowed in glum submission.
The now-chastened orc slave was led back across the compound to the holding cells. Selecting one of the less crowded ones, the slaver called out. A few of his comrades ran over. Two of them held spears at the ready while a third pulled out the key for the heavy iron lock, ready in case any of the orcs should try and escape. Despite their precautions, there was little real risk of that. Jurda could see the captives inside the cage were broken to their chains and their captivity. They barely reacted as the cage door was swung open.
“Are they even still orcs?” Jurda thought, silently. Her leash was unclipped. The slaver gestured for her to walk into the cage. Head bowed, the captive shuffled through the door, which was slammed shut behind her. “Am I?”