The Missing Dragon

She suddenly changed her attitude to bathing when he lightly pinched her dark green nipples and leaned down to kiss her yet again. Once he had rubbed much of the grime away with the water from the stream he repeated the process over and over again. Each time the cold splashes were replaced with the pleasant heat of his hands roaming across her voluptuous tight frame. He washed her body and then her face before cleaning her feet and up along her legs with more handfuls from the stream. Just as he was about to reach her pussy he ordered her to turn over. Reluctantly she obeyed and he massaged water into her back and paid particular attention to perfectly formed curves of her ass. Then his fingers sank down and tickled over her bottom in a way that made her gasp with shock before she felt his touch between her legs. Algra's thighs parted accommodatingly and she grunted with approval as his fingers stroked over her silky pussy. Here he poured water from the stream down between the parting of her shapely rear and let it spill between her legs. The sensation was now drawing continuous moans from her which he happily savoured.

When his fingers finally sank inside the slippery velvet channel it wasn't long before he felt all of that sensitive flesh clamp around his probing digits. Algra lifted her ass up in the air, pushing back against his exquisite touch. The way her back arched was beautiful and he rewarded her for the gorgeous view by wiggling his fingers inside her. After thoroughly 'cleaning' her pussy through two more peaks of bliss he slipped his fingers out of her and licked away her juices.

She slumped down on the rocks and rolled onto her back to look up at him. Her smile told him clearly that she approved of his way of bathing.

"Wash your hair and rinse away anything I might have missed." He lowered himself to affectionately kiss her brow before he lifted himself to his feet and watched as she cheerfully went about doing as she was told.

Once finished, Algra donned her clothes once again and looked up to the sky. It would soon turn completely dark.

"Night falls. Orc camp near. We get to it before moonrise." She said.

"Alright." Gregory nodded. "Lets get moving then."

The words came easily enough but he felt a pit of worry begin to grow in his stomach. A camp full of orcs would make damn near anyone nervous.

Algra returned to the camp to grab her club and some of her furs which she stuffed into her pack. Then they set off together back toward the road.

"So what's an orc camp like?" Gregory asked.

Algra shrugged her shoulders.

"Home." She said simply. After a few moments and an occasional glance in Gregory's direction she noted his obvious dissatisfaction with this reply. "It is place of hunting and trading. In summer we live here to get food for winter. Warchief lives at camp to speak with others."

"You mean other orcs?"

Algra gave a short nod. "Orcs, yes. Also men. Sometimes elves."

"There are men at the camp?" This clearly surprised Gregory who had read many books that suggested men and orcs didn't exactly get along well under normal circumstances.

"Yes. We trade with humans. Sometimes we fight together. Human emissary will be at camp. Maybe traders."

This was a relief to Gregory who had been imagining walking into a horde of screaming maniacs that killed humans on sight.

"Is there anything you think I should know? I don't want to wave and accidentally offend everyone."

"In orc eyes you are equal. To be equal you must own a thing or be a thing that is owned. You own me. None will deny you." Algra asserted with an odd degree of pride.

"Oh...alright then."

They walked in silence for a while and found that it was a comfortable silence shared between friends. Gregory had more questions of course but the truth of the matter was that he had no idea what was and wasn't going to be important until he saw the camp. Algra didn't seem too concerned about it so he trusted her and followed her lead.

Soon enough the travellers came upon firelight in the distance. A tall palisade wall encircled the camp with the occasional tower rising up over the top to keep an eye on what went on beyond. Algra led him to a doorway in which two orc males, both towering behemoths carrying crudely shaped viciously edged metal swords, looked upon their approach.

The larger of the two guards looked at Algra and let out a large roar, opening out his arms and lifting his hands toward the ever darkening sky. The move startled Gregory but it didn't seem to be any kind of challenge or attack. He watched Algra lift her hand in some kind of salute before speaking in orcish. Their language was spoken in short starts and stops consisting of words mostly one or two syllables long. Despite its apparent simplicity he listened to find that it had a very direct sort of rhythm that was oddly satisfying to hear. It sounded like someone reciting a very angry abrupt poem in gibberish.

The reactions told him more than the words themselves as the guards arms lowered and a look of shock came across his face. The massive jaw of the larger one fell open rather dumbly as he listened to Algra's speech. Finally she turned around and pointed at Gregory before falling to one knee before him. The guards looked at this with disbelief before dumbly looking to each other and then slowly falling to one knee along with her. Gregory looked behind him for the royalty, fully prepared to play along with the kneeling before he realised that he was the focus of the show of respect.

Well he sure as hell didn't expect that.

After a few long moments the kneeling in silence was growing somewhat awkward.

"Um, you can get up?" He ventured.

Algra stood and the guards followed suit shortly after. They looked at him with intense interest before stepping aside and throwing the large wooden gates open. Gregory looked on to see the tents and a few small huts beyond the gateway. Fireplaces were lit and sending dark smoke into the sky as many orcs cooked their evening meals and talked in the avenues between the tents. The place bustled with life as the massive creatures lumbered about with their business. Gregory saw no humans however even as Algra led him through the gates. It took him all of thirty seconds before he saw a brawl break out over something between two enormous male orcs in the distance. The fight led to the destruction of a nearby tent before it was resolved with a familiar loud admission of defeat by the more battered participant.

Gregory was more concerned with the glances they were getting however. Many orcs cheered at their passing, some even stopped to look at him but most of the attention was upon Algra. It was becoming increasingly apparent that she had neglected to mention something very important to him. She took him along the pathways between the tents and huts toward a particularly large building that was unique in that it was made of stone. Everything in the camp seemed makeshift and temporary except this place. Gregory wasn't exactly reassured when he noticed a string of skulls of various shapes and sizes hanging from the walls on either side of the entrance.

The smell also took him off guard. It wasn't as bad as he should have expected but having lived in modern suburbia most of his life he wasn't used to the stench of orcs all living together without any kind of hygiene standards. He came to realise that Algra's one bath per week was likely considered downright overindulgent to most of her race.

For all that however it wasn't so bad, smells of cooking meat and fresh beer often stifled out the fouler underlying odours. When he stepped inside the stone building he found more pleasant smells wafting through the air from burners around the hall. For it was indeed a great hall of the kind he'd seen in old medieval movies. Two large tables dominated the room lined with orcs on each side eating and speaking of things in their odd language.

At the opposite end of the room was the table presumably belonging to the Warchief where indeed an orc was seated. He was muscular even by the standards of his people and though he was seated Gregory wouldn't have been surprised if he stood at well over nine feet in height. He was bald with pointed ears, one of which seemed to have been mauled in the past. A deep scar ran over his brow and down across his right eye. To Gregory's horror, it seemed that this was the one that Algra was making a beeline toward.

Unlike in the streets where they had gained glances and gawps from onlookers, here in the hall as Algra was spotted the orcs fell completely silent. All eyes in the room turned to them as Gregory followed her between the tables toward the great orc who awaited them. He'd noticed them, his blazing orange eyes focused on Algra and then shifted to Gregory.

"You return." The Warchief's voice sounded like low rumbling thunder in the silent room.

"I do." Algra nodded.

The sudden shift from orcish to a language he recognised startled Gregory for it was clear that the great orc was speaking it for his benefit.

"You have been long in your absence from this hall Algra Strongblood." Apparently the Warchief was more fluent in the language than Algra.

"I have." She said.

"Now as you return here with this slave you do not bow to me?"

"I am not yours to bow to, great Grolfir." Algra explained in a respectful tone.

These words brought gasps and roars from the surrounding tables. Grolfir, for that was apparently the name of the Warchief, turned his attention to Gregory with a sharp gaze that seemed to burn right into the boy.

"You claimed Algra?" The tone of utter disbelief was almost humorous coming from the massive creature.

"Well she tried to claim me and I won...so I guess..." Gregory started nervously.

"I do not believe it. Algra, you will speak with me." He turned and pointed at Gregory. "You shall be taken to the emissary until dawn."

"I am not yours Grolfir." Algra's tone had taken on a dangerous note of its own.

"You are not..." The bellowing voice of the orc began as his eyes blazed and his face contorted into a snarl. Gregory damn near soiled himself at the sudden outburst before Grolfir fell silent. "Human, will you allow me to speak with Algra alone?" His voice was calmer though his eyes still looked upon them like he wanted to strangle something.

"If...um, I guess that's alright if it's ok with her." Gregory spluttered before he looked to Algra for any sign of what he should say.

Apparently this was enough as Algra bowed her head and Grolfir shoved his table away from his seat sending a few metal plates clattering to the floor before he stood up and stormed out of the hall. Algra bowed her head and began to follow. Suddenly Gregory found himself in charge of his own senses once again and he rushed up to her, catching her hand in his own. She stopped and turned to look at him.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to." He re-affirmed. "I don't really want to have that guy mad at me but I'm not going to sell you out just to get out of his glare."

"I will be well master. Grolfir will not hurt me. Go to see the emissary. He may know of those you seek. I will return to you once my uncle and I have finished speaking." With that she turned and walked down the aisle between the massive tables and disappeared out the door leaving Gregory dumbstruck.

She was his niece!?

- - - - -

As it turned out, owning the niece of the clan's Warchief gave him quite a good deal of status in the orc camp. He tried to ask where he could find the emissary and was pointed to an orc with white hair and wrinkled skin who led him out of the great hall and through the camp. When he first spotted the humans and their circle of caravans it was a relief to see something in this world that was familiar. Though they dressed in mostly medieval clothes from linen tunics to the occasional chain mail shirt they were undoubtedly members of his species. It seemed that Algra had been right about the emissary and the traders as he was taken through to see the voice of the human kingdoms to the orcs.

The place seemed like a camp within a camp though it was certainly a comfortable part of the area. The orcs hadn't walled in the humans and Gregory saw one of his kin cheerfully sharing a tankard of what seemed to be beer with an orc twice his size. The relations between the races seemed as peaceable as Algra had said which might have come as more of a relief had he not just likely pissed of the damn leader of the entire camp.

The old orc that he followed took him to a large caravan and knocked on the door. A few moments passed before a sleepy eyed man with bloodshot eyes and pale features blearily stuck his head out of the door and looked them over.

"Yes? Can this wait a day?" The man asked as he pushed his long black hair back over his head and scratched his thin beard.

"Grolfir wants emissary to give audience to boy." The old orc gruffed before turning and shuffling on his way back to the hall.

Both Gregory and the emissary watched the grumpy creature take his leave before turning their attention to each other.

"Well, what have you done to ruin my perfectly good hangover?" Despite the beleaguered look on the emissary's face his tone was friendly enough and he opened his door wider to allow Gregory to step inside his caravan.

"I..." Gregory stalled, not quite knowing where to begin. "I was walking through the forest when an orc woman attacked me. I don't really know much about orcs but we got into a fight and I won. Now she says she's my slave and I just learned that she's also the Warchief's niece."

The man had taken a water skin from out of a cupboard and begun to pour it into his mouth as Gregory spoke. When the part came out about him taking the Warchief's niece for a slave however, the emissary coughed up a mouthful of water and spluttered it across the floor. Gregory winced at the reaction.

"You what!?" The man turned to look at Gregory with wide eyes.

"Look I didn't mean to, I offered to free her but she said if I did she'd try o capture me again and break one of my fingers if she did." He neglected to mention she'd also said she would fuck him senseless.

"You managed to get a challenge from Algra Strongblood and you won?" The man seemed to grow paler.

Gregory nodded.

"Well this is certainly unexpected. What's your name lad?" The emissary put down his water skin and shuffled around in an old chest before pulling out a large bottle of something that definitely wasn't water.

"Gregory Hopkins."

"Ha! Good to meet you Mister Hopkins. My name is Rudd Parkington, at your service." Two cups were produced as Rudd poured two drinks for them.

"Could you please tell me just what in the hell I've gotten myself into?" Gregory took a seat and claimed the offered cup after Rudd handed it over to him.

"Well you say you don't know much about orcs?" Rudd walked over to sit opposite from him and took a drink for himself.

"I know they're green."

"Right, well yes they are of course. What you've gotten yourself into goes a bit deeper than that however." Rudd smirked at Gregory over the top of his wine cup. "You see orc slavery isn't like what you might imagine. Strength is what they respect most and they follow a strict hierarchy based on challenges between each other. Grolfir is the leader of the tribe because everyone who wanted to be the leader challenged him and he beat them all in combat. In every challenge the winner claims that which the challenge was called for. So if Grolfir is challenged for leadership and he wins then the challenger must agree that he is the leader thereafter. They see this as a form of slavery for after this Grolfir is entitled to command the defeated to do whatever he pleases. In this way the strong rise to the top and the weak fall to the bottom. It's all very brutal. Slave challenges are issued all the time when two orcs come into conflict. It's how they decide who gets their way. Most orcs out there are slaves to another, though after the challenge is completed and the issue is resolved many slaves are left to go about their lives though they must do as their master says for five winters until they can challenge again.

"You, by sheer dumb luck or a skill in combat that frankly unnerves me, have won in a challenge over Algra. Algra, as well as being the chief's niece is one of the greatest warriors this tribe has ever known. She is the former mate of Rowun Strongblood, an orc considered a hero by most of his people. Rowun won a challenge over Algra years ago and when he died in battle she was given the choice of following all Rowun's possessions into the hands of her uncle or taking her freedom. She chose freedom, which you might be surprised to know isn't the usual option amongst orcs. You see to have any status amongst orcs you must have earned something of value. A slave, a good sword or even a decent garment will do. When a slave is freed however, their possessions pass on to whoever owned their former master. They have nothing and are not considered a true orc until they earn something once again."

"Algra has lived alone and free out in the Embervine Forest for months now. I've heard of at least twenty orcs who went out there to challenge her and came back with nothing but bumps and bruises having been soundly beaten and then gifted back to their former masters by her. She didn't seem to want to return until you brought her back here."

Rudd chuckled and finished the cup he'd been sipping at throughout his explanation before pouring himself another.

"So why did she choose me then?" Gregory found it hard to believe that Algra had willingly sent many of her own people packing but had voluntarily tried to take him on the road.

"I suspect she was in heat and required some relief." Rudd chuckled as Gregory felt heat suddenly rush to his cheeks. "Orc women do that. They're always a rather, ahem, vigorous people but an orc female in heat can be very...demanding. She was probably wanting to use you and then free you." Rudd lifted his feet to rest on a small stool nearby.

"Oh. I see." That explained a great deal. "So I've managed to get myself a highly prestigious slave and piss off Grolfir at the same time." He leaned forwards, drained a good deal of his cup in a few deep gulps and rested his head against his hand shortly after.

"There now old boy, you'll be fine. Grolfir's been known to lose his temper from time to time but he's an awfully decent sort once you get to know him. Algra's refusal to be taken beneath his wing is a bit of a mystery to us all actually. If I might ask, why did you come here?" Rudd's voice turned from amused to sympathetic.

"I came here with two people. I think some orc traders might have taken them. They have something I really need." Gregory lifted his head to look over at Rudd who was studying him curiously.

"I see. Well in orc lands we must obey orc rules of course. Except for me and my friends out there. Diplomatic immunity is rather wonderful you know." He grinned and poured himself another cup. The man certainly put that stuff away quickly. "Though I suppose if you asked you could be taken to see the human slaves. They're usually treated decently unless they're disrespectful. In fact I'm not too proud to say that a few peasants have escaped from our kingdom looking to be taken into work by the orcs. Bloody short crop this year and all."

"Well won't I get challenged if I go out there?" Gregory asked whilst running his fingers through his messy black locks.

"I doubt it. You own Algra and if she's brought you here I daresay she'd step in to fight for you. That's allowed. You might get a challenge from some hot head of course but I doubt any of them would want to step up against Algra Strongblood. She has quite the reputation for brutality." Rudd stood up and moved to the door to his caravan. "Come on, I'll take you myself if you like. I find it hard to resist being part of a scandal."