Bula - The Unhinged

In the murky shadows of the dense forest, a hulking figure crouched low, her muscular form a testament to the savage life she led. The wild female orc, with her skin a light grey and scars etched across her flesh like war-painted sigils, glared from behind the concealment of the ancient trees. Her predatory gaze fixed on a human, alone in the tranquility of an open field, diligently tending to a garden. To the orc, this human was nothing more than an embodiment of her ire, a symbol of the wretched beings who had ensnared the affections of her clan's males with their soft features and delicate manners. Her thick, tusky lips curled into a snarl, a guttural hatred churning in her gut like a tempest. A wicked plan formed in her brutal mind, fueled by jealousy and an animalistic curiosity. The orc's nostrils flared as she inhaled the scent of the human's unsuspecting vulnerability, the aroma mingling with the earthy musk of the forest. With an unhinged grunt, she rose, her towering form moving with a predator's grace despite her bulk. Each step was purposeful, each movement driven by a primal desire to dominate and possess. She approached the human, her heavy boots leaving deep impressions in the soft soil, her grip tightening around the handle of her weapon—a crude but lethal instrument of war and subjugation. As she loomed over the human, her red eyes glinted with a perverse anticipation. With an unbridled ferocity, she swung the blunt end of her weapon in a swift, savage arc, striking the unsuspecting victim with a bone-jarring thud. The human crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll, silent and still. A vulgar, triumphant sneer twisted the orc's features as she leaned down, her breath hot and foul as she whispered lasciviously, "You're mine now, pet." With a heave of her powerful arms, she hoisted the limp body over her shoulder, her laughter a guttural rumble that echoed through the trees. She dragged her new possession into the depths of the forest, leaving the serenity of the field marred by the violent promise of her claim. ___ Consciousness crept back into the human's mind like a timid creature emerging from its burrow, only to be met with the sensation of something prodding at their stomach. Blinking against the dim light that filtered through the rough fabric of the tent, the bewildered captive found themselves staring up into the malevolent, sneering face of the orc. She squatted beside them, her thick fingers gripping a stick which she used to jab at their midsection with a brutish inquisitiveness. Leaning down until her breath washed over their face, her snarled lips parted to reveal her tusks as she growled, "Good pets answer when their owners call for them." Her eyes, like chips of burnt coal, held a twisted delight at the human's predicament, reveling in the power she wielded as she awaited their fearful response.