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"Watch where you're going!" a rough voice nearly shouted, as Jerom bounced off a wall of solid muscle. The orc in question did his best not to fall over, doing a small balancing jig as the barrel he was carrying was gently lowered to the ground with as much haste as could be managed under the circumstances. Even so, a loud thud sounded as it touched the dirt path below. Grumbling, the orc eyed Jerom up and down, placing a hand on the barrel as he caught his breath. Jerom couldn't help but do the same; the orc was tall, but more than that he was stocky, his muscles glistening with sweat. As most other orcs in the encampment, he was dressed in nothing but a loincloth, though even that failed to hide the bulge completely. A treasure trail of light brown hair travelled up and over the orc's chest and neck, culminating in a rather impressive and braided beard on his chin, the length of it currently curled around his neck so it wouldn't catch on anything. Shorter hair graced his jawline, finally merging into a short but wild-looking hairstyle. Even though the orc was glaring at him with anger and irritation, Jerom couldn't help but be impressed with his eyes as their golden hue seemed to shine with a light of their own, despite the sunlight.

"I swear," the gruff voiced orc grumbled, "if there's even ONE thing out of place in here..."

Rummaging through the contents of the barrel, Jerom found himself rooted to the spot as he stood, his breath catching in his throat. It's not like anything was compelling him to stay, but he had bumped into the orc and felt rather awful about it. Despite this confrontation in the streets, the regular hustle along the path flowed around them as if they were simply another obstacle. Jerom couldn't help but be impressed with the work ethic, really.

"Is... it okay?" Jerom asked, quickly closing his mouth as those gold eyes glared at him once more. Sighing, the orc put the lid back on and secured it once more, nodding as he took a breath.

"Luckily for you, nothing seems to be broken or damaged," the orc said, his voice between calm and anger. "But you should REALLY watch where you're going, human. If you're going to be so stupid, maybe the chieftan and I ought to have words and-"

"That's quite enough, brother," a voice said from behind Jerom. Startled, he whipped around to find the orc again... but no, this wasn't the same orc. For one, the orc was still grumbling by the barrel. Two, this one's eyes were more of a silver color. Chuckling, this new orc went to stand by the first, patting the gold one on the back.

"Twins," the silver one said, smiling. "Well, for the most part. I'm sure you've noticed our eyes by now."

"EVERYONE notices the eyes, brother," the gold one grumbled, straightning his back as he stood shoulder to shoulder with the silver one. Despite the eyes and maybe some scars here and there, the two looked practically identical right down to their beards and hairstyles.

"Born on the eclipse?" Jerom asked, curious. He'd heard of Eclipse Twins before, but...

"Not many know that one," the silver one said, surprise on his face. The gruffness in his voice showed, though in a more... elegant tone? Jerom wasn't sure the two could mix that well, and yet here was an orc with just such a voice.

"Not many CARE to know," said the gold one, nodding. "But yeah. Eclipse. And before you ask, yes, we're very "magically gifted", as if that mattered much. Bah!"

"You'll have to forgive my brother Sol, here," said the silver twin, smiling. His tusks, like his brother's, poked up and out of his mouth, though they were a bit longer than Jerom was used to so far, nearly going past the nostrils. It didn't seem to hinder them in any way, however, as the smile was proving.

"Forgive ME?! He's the one who..." Pausing to take a breath, Sol took a few moments to breathe deeply, in and out, before speaking again. "My brother here's the cool-headed one, if you haven't noticed. Parents though it'd be funny to name us Sol and Badr."

"Still, rather creative of them, I must say. Given our lineage."

"You know I hate it when you talk like that," Sol said, ribbing his brother with his elbow. "Especially in front of humans."

"I'm Jerom," said the paladin, trying to make things less awkward. "Sorry for not paying attention and bumping into you. It was rude of me."

Sol eyed Jerom up and down one more time, before sighing, the tension leaving his body. Grinning, he walked up to Jerom until he was inches from him, looking down at him as he lifted his arms above his head.

"Oh? You're sorry, are you?" Sol asked, chuckling. "I wonder..."

"I'm sure he's very sorry, brother," Jerom heard from behind him, as he quickly found himself sandwiched between the two orcs. When had Badr moved? Then again, he had heard strange tales of Eclipse Twins before. Either way, he was so close to either brother that he could smell the scent rippling off of them, sweat glistening of their muscles in the harsh sun. If Jerom so much as sneezed, he would bump into one of them again. He suddenly felt very hot in his clothes, his thoughts slowing down as he inhaled more and more, his arousal growing as...

"We should really get going," said Badr, chuckling as he pulled away from Jerom. "Come, brother. I'll help you with your load."

"I've got it! Keep your hands off!" Sol nearly shouted, turning from Jerom quickly and snatching the barrel himself. As the two twins walked down the street arguing, Jerom almost wanted to follow them, the scent lingering in his nostrils. Shaking his head, he took a moment to calm down, the tent in his trousers diminishing by the second. What had just happened? One minute he'd been afraid to piss Sol off even more, and then... that. Regardless, Jerom moved on, his head clearing up more as the distance between himself and those twins faded. Keeping an eye on the road this time, he kept an ear out until he could hear the distinct sounds of sparring in the area, as well as shouting.

"You call that a STRIKE?!" Jerom heard, the shouting growing louder as he made a beeline for what he assumed was a training yard of some kind. When he exited the river of green orc men, Jerom found himself smiling. In front of him was an oak gate of some kind, ramshackle though it was, and a fence of some kind circled the perimeter of the yard. The more he saw of this encampment, the more he was beginning to think it was a settlement instead of something temporary. If the humans knew... or maybe they had known. Maybe that's why they'd sent men to their deaths over and over. Lost in thought again, he felt himself held back by a meaty hand.

"What's your business?" said the guard, keeping his eye on Jerom. Despite having a sword, the guard never touched it once. He assumed it was because of the chain collar he wore, but was grateful all the same.

"I was hoping I could spar, if this is the place for it?" Jerom asked, standing as tall as he could. He wasn't going to intimidate anyone but he felt it couldn't hurt to do it anyway. To show he was serious about this. He had his doubts it'd work, though; every orc around him was pretty damn tall and muscular compared to him. He felt a twinge of envy at that thought.

"Go on through, then," the guard said, before opening one of the doors. Shocked, Jerom simply nodded his thanks before stepping through quickly. He had expected more resistance.

Looking around, he found a training yard not much different than one he was used to back in the barracks he'd called home, save for all the orcs practicing instead of knights and paladins. Jerom found that even the orcs here preferred a loincloth, with the only other 'clothing' being the occasional shield or quiver. Jerom found himself quickly intimidated at the sight of all that shirtless muscle. These orcs were definitely far stockier than some of the others. Guards and soldiers, maybe?

"YOU THERE! What are you doing here?!"

Jerom quickly realized a larger orc than the rest was quickly stomping toward him. He was wearing some kind of fist weapons on each hand, but otherwise was dressed as the others. The orc was definitely older with the white topknot and short beard that lined his jaw and chin, but you wouldn't think it to see his impressive stature. One orange eye glared down at him, the other glazed over and unseeing. Scars littered this orc's body, but the most prominent one was the one dragging across his glazed eye and all the way up past his hairline.

"I... I came to spar!" Jerom shouted back, quickly finding his voice. He was intimidated, sure, but he'd fought orcs before. Why feel so timid now? Why did he feel like kneeling and prostrating himself before this impressive orc? Jerom wondered if magic was at play as the commanding aura seemed to radiate off the man in front of him. Or maybe that was his imagination?

"Spar, eh?" The orc walked around Jerom, appraising him slowly. "You know how to fight, soldier?"

"Fought plenty. Both human and orc wars," Jerom said.

"And yet here you are, in this encampment. A prisoner," chuckled the orc, nudging the chain for good measure. "Though you must be the human with the compulsion curse, so I can't entirely blame you. Put enough rage into a man, and he's blind to everything else. What weapon do you use?"

"Battleaxe, sir," Jerom found himself saying, despite himself. "Two-handed."

"Very good, soldier," the orc said, stopping in front of Jerom. "At ease."

Jerom found himself falling into a more relaxed pose at those words automatically. But... when had he been at attention to begin with? It was like all his training had fallen into place, as if he were just a raw recruit once again. And it had felt good to do it, he soon realized.

"If you're going to spar with us, human," the orc continued, "then you need to dress like us. Wouldn't want to get your clothes all ripped up, nevermind the advantages you'd have against anyone you'd face. You do seem to have proper training, so I won't give you the normal orientation that other recruits receive. You will be granted a storage chest for your belongings, as we have a few spares for those who choose to improve their martial skills with us, though this is the first time I've had a human so eager to fight us I'll admit. You will strip down like us, and then we will assess your combat prowess. You have five minutes, now move!"

Jerom found himself instantly complying, scrambling to fulfill the orders. One of the soldiers showed him the chest, and he quickly stripped to his loincloth, shoving everything into the chest with haste. Before five minutes had elapsed, he fell in formation with the others, the one in charge having called everyone into formation. He still found it a bit odd, but it was a comfortable and familiar feeling. These men showed just as much order and discipline as his men at home. He decided from now on that everything he'd ever been told about orcs was a lie, choosing to just lose himself in the moment.

"Attention!" shouted the orc, and everyone stood straight, right hands over their hearts. Just like home. Despite everything, he missed it.

"Most of you, if not all of you, know my name by now," began the orc, "but since we have a new recruit here, and a human at that, I feel the need to introduce myself to you yet again!" Jerom could hear a few soft chuckles around him, though if the orc noticed he said nothing. "My name is Warmaster Karo Aegis, but you will address me as either Warmaster or sir! Do I make myself clear?!"

"Yessir, Warmaster sir!" the orcs shouted, their voices echoing through Jerom's mind and body. He hadn't known what to say and began panicking at not shouting like the others.

"I. SAID. Do I make myself CLEAAAR?!"

"Yessir, Warmaster sir!" shouted everyone again, this time Jerom shouting with them. He felt better now, though he found himself sweating profusely. It was like he was a recruit all over again. Well, he was, but he kept getting memories of his own days as a young recruit in the human military he'd been part of. He couldn't figure out why he felt so nervous all of a sudden.

"Much better!" said Karo, his eye settling on Jerom. It was as if that piercing gaze drove out all other thoughts beyond conforming and obeying. Whether that was because of his own training or because of magic, Jerom couldn't tell anymore. He just knew the chains would protect him in case something went wrong. He didn't even see when Karo had moved, he had been staring straight ahead, but he was now aware the warmaster was standing right in front of him, his arms crossed against his meaty chest.

"State your name and rank, soldier. You act like one of us, even though it's been only an hour. I would know who you are."

Despite the calm and gentle tone, the authority behind it caused Jerom to give something of a salute in response. A brief thought crossed his mind about what he'd said... an hour? But it was quickly pushed aside again as he was expected to give an answer.

"Sir, my name is Jerom, sir! I have no surname as I was once a paladin of the Church, sir!"

"Former? Excommunicated are we? Well, whatever your reasons, Jerom, in this yard I am the law. If I say salute, you salute. If I tell you to jump, 'how high' is what I expect to hear. Whatever I say is your new reality. If you are to spar with my men, you must become like one of my men. Not one is better than the other except through strength, or skill, or speed. Am I clear?"

"Yessir, Warmaster sir!"

Leaning in closer so only Jerom could hear, Karo whispered into his ear. "I'm sure you have noticed it by now, what my power is. So I'm going to give you a choice, right now; sparring with us means you will follow my every command, but that also means you will conform not only in how you act, but how you think. It may be some time before I decide to let you go free, and I know if I don't give you this choice those chains of yours will shock everyone here. A rather nasty artifact, that. If you understand, simply nod."

Jerom nodded, trying to process what was being said. It felt good to listen and do what he was told, but he was starting to understand what was happening. He'd fallen under some sort of spell or influence in this yard, most likely caused by this 'warmaster' before him. He found it alarming how quickly he'd taken to it, actually, though not once had he ever felt forced to do so.

"The other choice, of course, is that you may take your possessions and leave. I will not have you gawking at my soldiers, whatever your reasons may be. Now, what will you choose? Stay here with your brothers and conform, not knowing how long I'll keep you here, or leave these walls behind? Your will is your own in this choice, Jerom. I will not force you to stay, though you are welcome to as long as you are willing to endure the training the same as everyone else. You have one hour of free will to decide, but you will be expected to participate while you remain here. Am I understood, recruit?"

"Y-yessir, Warmaster sir!" Jerom said, realizing he felt no need to say the words. His thoughts flowed once more, but instead of being disgusted with what had happened, he realized with growing alarm that he'd actually enjoyed it. But wasn't it the same as that curse that had brought him to this encampment in the first place?

"You have a question, recruit. Ask," Karo demanded.

"This spell... it's like the compulsion that brought me here..."

"Ah. Is that why you're worried?" Karo asked, chuckling. "I admit, it's similar. But you're not actually compelled to do anything I ask. You simply find it easier to do what I tell you. It is an enchantment I use to make the soldiers easier to train, but they're not mindless. Each and every soul here wants to be here, and also to conform. They feel it makes them better soldiers for our army. And you respond naturally to that, so it's no wonder you fell into the same mindset so quickly. A more rebellious mind would have taken far longer to succumb to it. Are you feeling homesick, soldier? I find that's a common theme among recruits who have some sort of militia upbringing. They crave the order and discipline they once had. As do you, don't you?"

"Yessir, Warmaster sir!" Jerom replied. It was just easier, he found. This caused Karo to smile somewhat cruelly, though there was no malice in his eye. It seemed he was pleased, even.

"Seems the human has made up his mind. Good. But you can still leave if you change your mind, up until the allotted hour passes. After that point it is automatically understood you will conform to the regimen. But until then you'll simply be one of us. You'll even think of yourself as an orc, you'll find. Enough talk, however. Right now is the time for training."

Heading back to his place in front of the soldiers, he paused a moment as he surveyed each and every single one.

"Twenty laps along the perimeter! Now!"

"Yessir, Warmaster sir!" the group replied, and Jerom found himself falling into step with the rest. He was in shape, so the laps felt over far too soon, but as more and more exercises piled up, the more Jerom just lost himself in the bliss of obeying each and every order. A small part of him worried about that, but he soon found it fading as he and the rest followed the orders of the Warmaster, replaced with thoughts of loyalty, obedience, how good it felt to obey each order, etc. It became harder and harder to separate himself from the group mentality until it finally all snapped in place, as the hour passed. He was one of them now, an orc soldier like the rest. Not even the small part of his mind could remind him he was a human, and a prisoner at that. He felt simply like this was where he belonged. He was aware of doing such tasks as exercising, sparring, eating, sleeping... he couldn't even care about if time was passing, or how much of it.

"Wake, Javok," commanded a voice. Obeying instantly, he felt his awareness flooding back to him. More memories flooded back to Jerom, feeling disoriented as he realized he wasn't an orc soldier, he was a human. He'd always been human. As he allowed himself to focus on his surroundings, he realized he was sore all over. He also realized he was sitting down in a chair. Sitting across from him was Warmaster... no. Karo.

"You awake now, human?" asked Karo, smiling. "How do you feel?"

"...Sore. But good. Who's Javok?"

"You are. I gave you an orc name to help with conforming to your brothers. You took to it rather well. But did you really need to ask such an obvious question? Deep down you already knew the answer to that. But you're disoriented. Take a moment to adjust."

"I'm just confused, sir," Jerom said. "I thought I was in the yard?"

"You were. I brought you here when I decided you'd had enough. I wanted to talk to the human who dared walk into my training yard to 'spar' with us. It doesn't happen often, but it has happened. You're the first to make it for so long, though."

"How... how long was I here for?" Jerom asked. He didn't feel afraid, but he knew he'd been here a while.

"One week. But I think if I had let you keep going, you'd have stayed here for years. Yours is the sort of mind that craves order, discipline, honor. I think if you'd been born an orc, you'd have made an excellent soldier under my command. Such a pity, to waste someone like you on paladinhood for a greedy religion like the humans have. Though I think what's more pathetic is they decided to get rid of you for something so small."

Jerom was about to say something when Karo held up an arm to silence him. "Do not act so surprised. You told me quite a few things under my command, though nothing too secret of course. Your previous oaths keep those secrets bound inside of you, impossible to break. And while I did try, can you blame me? I'd give my other eye for those secrets if it gave us an edge against your 'holy ones'. But such secrets would have to be given willingly, anyway. Tell me the truth, Jerom. What do you want?"

"I want to go free, obviously," Jerom began answering, before sighing.

"Do you really? Or are you saying that?"

"I.. y... no. I don't know. My whole life was the church and being a paladin," Jerom replied. "I feel... lost, if I'm being completely honest."

"Like you've lost an entire piece of who you were?" asked Karo. "I know the feeling. I was once like that."

"No... offense, sir. But what could you know of that?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet. But I will say this," Karo said, leaning in closer. "Whatever losses I may have suffered, the chief has suffered far more. When you are summoned to meet him one day, you would do well to remember that."

"I'll be summoned by him? Oh. Right. Garen said that before... sir."

"You don't need to keep calling me that unless you want to lose another week," chuckled Karo. "Though I admit I love dominating a new mind and body. If it were up to me I would have left you one of my soldiers for years and years, or however long you would have wanted to stay. But it's not up to me, and I can't hog you all to myself. I've kept you long enough as it is. And you've enjoyed every second of submission to me, I might add."

Jerom was confused at first, until he realized he was rock hard. He remembered being that hard for a long while, actually, without any hope of release. It felt amazing but also made him realize how pent up he truly was. Yet he found no desire to relieve it.

"When you are free and given the choice, if you choose to stay I would be more than happy to add you to our ranks," Karo continued. "That's right. As I gave you a choice to stay or leave this yard, you will be given a choice by our chieftain. Stay in our encampment, as an equal, or leave to pursue your own destiny outside these walls. That is how we treat all our prisoners. But I'm saying too much, now. Do you have any questions for me?"

"I don't believe so, sir," Jerom said, hesitating. He could remember everything now, but he still felt like he wanted to stay here. "I suppose I can't stay longer?"

"Even if I weren't being told to move you along, those chains won't allow me to keep you for much longer. A week is all anyone is allowed, and only if you are willing. It's to encourage you to see more of the encampment, and also to discourage any of us from taking full advantage of you. While a willingness to stay is required, you'll find there are loopholes to that. Such as my dominating aura. You'd be surprised how many enemy soldiers kneel before me without realizing it. An exploitation you would do well to remember, by the way."

"I... see..." Jerom said, slightly disturbed. It made sense, but he had hoped it wasn't true. It seemed the chains wouldn't protect him from everything, unless he was careful.

"You should get going. You have an hour to leave, after which I'll have you thrown out. I don't feel like being shocked today," Karo ordered. "But, it was an honor to have a paladin, former or otherwise, training with my men. I don't see many of your kind here."

"It was an honor to serve under you, if only for a time," Jerom found himself saying. He meant every word of it, too.

"Dismissed, paladin."

Jerom felt conflicted, but he knew he had to leave. He decided that when he was free he'd at least come to visit, if possible. Did he want to go free? Thoughts raced through his mind for the first time in a week as he found his storage chest. Everyone seemed to have snapped out of the mentality, as many orcs came up to him telling him goodbye, using his orc name Javok. He felt like he knew each and every one of them too, and the sense of belonging made it even harder to tear himself away from the yard as he packed everything. As if to keep himself tethered to that place more, he decided to keep his clothes in the pack, just in case he had to be more well-dressed for something. But some part of him still felt like one of them.

"Goodbye, brothers!" he shouted, standing at the gate.

"Goodbye, Javok!" the orcs said, sending him off with waves and hollers. He forced himself to smile before leaving, the gates shutting behind him.

"I hope you're happy, Baal-gron," muttered Karo, still sitting in his office. "He'd have made a fine soldier."

"Yes, I know, Karo," replied the chieftan, entering from an adjoining room. "But you know the rules as well as anyone, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Karo said, smiling in adoration as the chief cupped his chin in one hand. "But does he know you have that? He might get angry."

"What, this?" replied Baal-gron, briefly touching the amulet-encrusted shield around his neck, causing it to warm slightly before going cold again. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Yet."