An Orc Warrior.

Omen's eyes widened as he moved his head and looked in the direction that the sound had come from. Stepping between the trees, sniffing the air, was a massive figure with green skin, long and black hair, patchwork armor, and white tusks. They looked down from that great height to gaze on Omen, their yellow eyes with dark scleras locking with his. A fearsome grin spread across their face, revealing that the tusks on their face were even larger than initially assumed.

Omen quailed internally. An orc! Green, tall, and with a gaze like a wild beast, he'd heard stories enough about them to make his blood run cold. He trembled in fear as the orc stepped closer, the sound of footfalls thunderous and just out of sight.

The orc crouched down and sniffed Omen more deeply, their voice rumbling with a pleased sound. Omen was bound with his hands in front of him and his ankles lashed together, with a strand of rope connecting the two. A scrap of cloth filled his mouth, similarly lashed in place with rope. They all seemed to have once held up his tent. The orc grasped the rope connecting his bound wrists and bound ankles, and lifted him, standing. Omen let out a muffled yelp as he was pulled into the air like a handbag.

The orc lumbered off, swinging Omen gently as their large strides ate up the distance. Undergrowth flashed by under his head as he squirmed and writhed, desperately trying to free himself. He managed to move his ankles in the bindings slightly, rotating them inward. That, unfortunately, was the extent of his movements towards freedom before the orc carrying him exited the trees and entered what looked like a clearing.

In the clearing were various piles of charred wood. Maybe ruined huts? They were completely overshadowed in Omen's attention by dozens of figures milling about. Tall figures, with green skin, tusks, yellow eyes, and varying states of dress.

Orcs.

The orc carrying Omen approached a loose gathering of other orcs who were in the middle of deep conversation. Omen was lightly tossed in the middle of the loose ring, causing him a bit of pain and causing everyone else to fall silent. The orc who had found him spoke up, and Omen was startled to realize that he understood them! They weren't speaking the common tongue, but though the sounds and shapes formed by the mouth of the orc made bo sense to him, he instantly grasped their meaning.

"I found this one tied up by the human road. It smells male."

Omen belatedly realized that the orc who had carried him here was female, or at least seemed so. From the angle he had after having landed on his side, he got a generous view of the way her breasts were shaping the leather armor she wore. He glanced around and puzzled quietly, realizing that every orc surrounding him was also female, or at least had breasts and hips as wide as their shoulders. Were orcs matriarchal? That didn't seem to match his admittedly shallow understanding of orcs.

One of the other orcs answered the one who had just spoken. "Graja, it's a human. Humans killed our men, chased us out, and burned our huts. Why did you bring it to us alive?"

Graja crossed her arms. "We need to make more man-children. We don't have any more who are more than whelps. I have heard that humans-"

Graja was interrupted by another orc. "I would rather die than see a human lead our tribe!"

Murmurs of assent and anger followed that statement. Yet another orc spoke, placing a massive foot on Omen's side. "I say we crush this small, soft human, and mount its head on a pike outside our village as a warning!"

Graja stepped forward and shoved the orc who had just placed a foot on Omen. "Get off him, Horka! He's mine!"

The assembled orcs fell silent abruptly. One orc stepped forward. This one was dressed in less rugged clothing, not even armor. It looked almost like a robe. "Peace, sisters. We have just lost the last of our mates, and many of our sons. They died that we might flee. We cannot stay here, for the humans will be back. Graja, if you want a human pet, then it will be your job to keep it from biting. If you want half human man-children, then you will have to learn how to raise them. And if any of us decide we also want half-human man-children-"

Graja growled at that. "Quarsta!"

Quarsta continued, her voice calming. "If we decide we want to play with your pet, you will share. Just as we have all shared mates when their numbers grew scarce."

Graja grumbled, but relented. She picked up Omen sullenly. "Fine. But do not break him. That is for me to do."

Omen squirmed in her grasp, but Graja just flicked his forehead. "Stop wriggling, stupid human. You're too tied up to go anywhere."

Another orc leaned forward, looking at Omen. "Graja, are you sure it's male? It smells male, but it looks a lot like the human females my Vorsh used to bring home to play with sometimes."

Omen stiffened as many eyes turned his way, measuring him. From what he'd gathered, most of the orc males were dead, killed by the slodiers. Only baby orc males and small children were left. And this... Graja... wanted to use him to fix that. He shivered, fear crawling down his spine.

In answer to the other orc's question, Graja grunted and started clawing at Omen's robes. He suddenly panicked, muffled protests leaking out from behind his gag. He recieved another flick on the forehead for his trouble. Graja tore a hole over Omen's crotch, revealing a surprisingly already-erect member, though it seemed small compared to the orcs. Nonetheless, there was a wave of approval and satisfied sounds. Graja displayed Omen's partial nudity proudly. "See! Male!"

Quarsta leaned in, her animalistic eyes wide with approval as Omen's face deepened in blush. "Huh. It's actually... kind of cute? Is it blushing? It's hard to tell when its skin is pink."

Graja looked closer at Omen, then grinned. "I think he is! And he's hard, too! He seems to be enjoying the attention of orc women, but embarrassed about it!"

Many of the assembled orcs laughed. Not all, though. Horka grunted and spoke up. "Enough! We need to decide who will lead us, and where they will lead us to. I vote for Quarsta. She keeps us from fighting even now."

Quarsta's green skin darkened with blooms of forest green across the cheeks. "I... I am honored, Horka."

A few more voices of assent sounded out, and if anyone had objections, they didn't voice them. Graja grinned ans shouted. "Quarsta is the new chief! It's a shame we can't hold a proper feast."

Quarsta, for her part, looked abashed and a bit put-upon. Omen had never seen an orc before today, but if he had to guess, she looked... softer than most of the other orcs. "Well. Thank you all. For firsts, let us finish gathering what we can from the ashes. Before sun-high, we must depart to the south, avoiding human roads. We have a long journey before us. Without our men, we cannot hope to fight all the humans. We must sneak and creep, like we are stalking prey, until we find a land without humans or elves or dwarves, that we can make our own and our children's. Anything else can be decided tonight, when we are far away from here."

The orcs looked disgruntled at her words, but none disagreed. Grumbling, they dispersed, heading to different piles of ashes. Graja slung the rope she held Omen by over her shoulder, moving him to be tucked under her arm. He squirmed, but was ignored. He hung by her side, about level with her waist, as she picked her way through a pile of ashes herself.