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"Bring her out here! Leash the bitch!" - Orcish grunt shouted at the guards as he walked past the tent, where they held the captives. Forsaken, lead by Sylvanas Windrunner were ready for their attack upon Worgen city. Yet Genn Greymane was way too clever to let his people take the bait and fall into such an obvious ambush. United forces of the Horde needed a miracle really, to be able to breach the stalemate situation they have found themselves into, laying siege to the Greymane Wall, surrounding and protecting Gilneas and the Worgen behind it from all kinds of ground assaults. Only a very clever trick or critical error of the Greymane's forces could help them take the upper hand. Supplies were already spread very thin and the soldiers began questioning the success of the campaign.

Without much success, the Forsaken tested various methods of breaching the walls, but none promised a quick and effective solution. That was, until the regiment of Orcs from Warchief's hand-picked personal guard arrived. Current warchief - Garrosh Hellscream was growing weary of waiting and once his patience ran out, he decided to take matters into his hands. Or rather, leave the matters into the hands of his trusted general - Gragg.

"Go there and show those puny, incompetent undead freaks how to crush your enemies and win battles!" - these were the words, that Garrosh gave to his general as he sent him to the frontlines. He didn't give a shit about his general's methods nor how far he'll go with his inhumane methods to achieve his goal, to Gragg's glee and satisfaction. He craved for spectacular, quick victories.

Orcs brought something special with them. They didn't mean to waste any more of Warchief's time or patience by leading small guerilla-tactics raids or clashes. That's why, right behind the regiment of wolf-riding elite orc warriors, a huge, Kodo-pulled cargo wagon followed them into the Forsaken siege camp. On top of the wagon, there was a pile of heavy, iron-fitted boxes with nearly no openings other than a couple of venting holes. The boxes looked exactly like crates used for transporting dangerous beasts. For a good reason too, since the captives inside those were beast-folk after all.

The captives turned out to be a small force of Worgen-curse enhanced gilneans, or rather the remainder of said force. Garrosh's orcs took prisoners of war on very scarce occasions, unless they managed to capture some kind of enemy that shown value. Important military personnel or otherwise friends and family of those.

This strike force was led by Esher. A proud general of the Alliance and a cavalier of the paladins of Argent Dawn. Decorated knight of the Silver Hand order. Serving her people as a priest in her early years, this female worgen girl was noticed by the paladins of the Alliance. She showed great promise by her skills in handling holy magic and had the faith equal to one of a seasoned crusader. She rapidly advanced amongst the ranks of her order and the Alliance's army both. The day she was captured, she was already ranked a general and high vindicator or the crusade.

A turn of fate put her little strike force against an unexpected horde of enemies. An army so big that they won the battle by the colossal difference in numbers. She remained alive after that clash amongst one of the very few, yet she knew that sometimes capture was much worse than death when one dealt with Garrosh's horde. She was about to experience that first-hand very soon.

"Blood and thunder, undead wimps!" - the orc general roared from afar as soon as he saw the Forsaken commander - "Make room for real warriors and tell your useless banshee-queen that her Warchief will deal with her ass later for this failure of hers."

Orcs went to their quarters right up. Took the tents provided for them and unloaded the cages with worgen captives from the wagon. Esher bounced from the walls of her cage as they thrown her on the ground. The cages were made to withstand a lot of trashing anyway. The cage's door opened wide and for the first time since a month, Esher saw sunlight. Blinding her effectively, while she crawled outside, momentarily unable to stand up on her numb legs and adjusting to the chilly morning air of Silverpine forest.

"Move your arse!"

Esher heard the grunt barking commands at her while at the same time, someone yanked on the chain hanging off of her iron collar. Next she felt a sharp pain in her side, coming from a kick on her ribcage that pushed her onto the murky, wet ground. Her hands were tied behind her back, so she landed onto the wet mossy ground face-first. It did not worsen the way she looked too much either, since after a month inside the cage. They did change the hay from the bottom of her cage roughly each couple days, but otherwise the door was shut and she spent most of her time cramped up in a tight space, with her knees curled up and unable to straighten her back properly or stretch her limbs. She had a shallow bucket for refuse in her cage, although the rocky roads and obstacles effectively tripped the bucked more than once during the days-long trips across the Eastern Kingdoms. Sometimes she just woke up, laying in her own piss when the bucket spilled out.

Dirty, with her fur and hair reeking of filth, she still had hope in her. Hope for being rescued. Her long, raven-black hair were all bundled up into rigid, sticky dreadlocks, looking like thick, worn-out and messy canopy ropes. They stood in contrast to her still somewhat shiny armor that she was wearing during her capture. Bearing numerous dents and nicks, equally messed up and missing a couple parts, making it hold up only thanks to exquisite craftsmanship. She had no idea why would they take away her sword and put a heavy runic, magic-dampening collar, while leaving her armor and clothes underneath in place.

There was answer to that as well, as once day she overheard a chat of two orcs who lit a fireplace closest to the wagon with cages.

"Why did we not put 'er down back thar? Me be fed up with carrying the filthy mutts place to place. Maybe we kill her quietly. Accident or what. Ah?"

Esher remembered their talk very well, to the point she could quote it to the letter. Even the crude accents of the orcish speech that she learned during her service with some greenskin crusaders.

"Hold it! Gragg said not to put her out. Should be whole, till she's useful."

"What she useful for? To who? Just another bitch. And in armor! We only took sword from her. Why let her keep her rags and that shiny tin can?"

"No sword, so even you alone can handle her, stupid! Armor or not..."

"And magics? The Argents and other paladin know magics. Can summon a hammer out of nowhere, even when you take da real one. What with that?"

"She's collared, you blind? Pinkie elf gave us some. Block magic or somethin'. We don't care. Works is all that matters. In collar she's just a bitch. Puny. Small. Just some claws and fangs. Grab it by the neck and don't put fingers in the maw if you wanna keep them. And Gragg said Alliance pays good for the officers. We keep her whole and make sure it shows she's important one when her time comes. No need to keep her clean tho. Dead and minced to the point none can tell who she is, she is useless and no deal happens."

Words of the orcish thugs ringed in her head and etched into her memory. They carried a promise. A promise of perhaps a prisoner exchange or maybe trading her off for some supplies. Orcs were not THAT smart. A cart of smoked meats was much more enticing to them than carrying a cage on their shoulders for weeks to come. Her rank and blood relation to King Genn Greymane himself was enough of a guarantee that they will keep her alive until such exchange could happen. She just had to endure. She recalled those words now, as she was dragged by the leg on the wet grass. Brought to the front of Gilneas' border and Greymane Wall.

Forsaken army arranged a lot of space for orcs to go about their task. Tacticians marked a white line to display the range, at which gilnean firearms and ranged weapons could pose a big threat and was still somewhat accurate. Everything in front of that same line was considered quite safe to traverse without life-threatening injuries. On the other hand, it was close enough to let the worgens stationed upon the walls to closely observe enemy camp. Nearby the white line "deadzone" they could pretty much watch the siege without spy glasses. They could clearly recognize her face, her armor and even the insignia of Greymane bloodline that Esher had imprinted on her armor plates. They recognized the blood relative, a cousin in first generation to the king himself.

Gragg walked out in front of the colossal gates of the wall. The gate itself was more than just door. With numerous openings and lids from behind which the defenders could look out. The door of the gate had catwalks on the inner side, able to provide foothold for dozens of archers and gunners too. Like a siege engine on hinges. The bigger than average orc general dragged Esher behind him, holding her by the hair. He lifted her off her feet with ease, using a single hand and put the blade of his war axe onto her throat. Then he began to walk towards the wall, holding her like a meat shield, in front of her, while watching for the worgen rangers that instantly took aim towards him. They traced his every move with the nozzles of their guns and held their crossbows loaded with bolts aimed at the orc's head. Yet none of them shoot. Even as he crossed the white line of expected safe distance.

"Go on, cowards! You fleabags! Shoot as much as you want. What? Afraid to hurt your own kin? Weaklings! Cowards! Where's that ragged old king of yours? Have I got a gift for him down there! With best regards from Warchief Hellscream. Show yourself, dog..."

Gragg looked around, trying to spot Genn's muzzle on the wall or trough one of the many lids in the gates, but he did not get an answer from the King. He knew that it would be too easy. Seasoned tactician and ruler of the kingdom of Gilneas would not fall so easily for a mere threat. Since what kind of ruler would threaten his whole kingdom and nation, in return for just a single soul? Oh, he was there on the wall. But he did not wanted to look Esher in the eyes so he remained in the shade, behind one of the wall's teeth. Gragg assumed as much and also knew that to break the siege, he doesn't have to bend the will of the king, but break the spirit of his people. Infuriate them. Sway their minds towards retribution, revenge. Payback. He had to force them to start a reckless charge against the besieging force and leave the safety of the wall. The gates once opened, could not be quickly and tightly shut again right away. He knew what has to be done.

He threw Esher on his back like a sack of beans, letting her hang on his back by the collar on her neck. Choking her and making her struggle for breath as he leisurely walked back towards his men. He left the danger zone and dropped Esher on the ground finally, leaving her on the verge of passing out, while he handed out some orders to his orc underlings.

"Prepare the show, boyz. Bring the best magical healer you can find. Tell him that if any of the bitches dies before I say so, he's taking her place in shackles. And the worgen sluts... display them for the doggies to watch for a while."

Orcs rushed out to fulfill their orders. Cutting down nearby trees and hammering wooden beams into the ground just a couple steps away from the white-painted rope used to mark the danger area. They put up barrels, planks, iron rods and buckets of fittings in a big pile. They brought chains and various cuffs too, nailing those to the beams sticking out of the ground. At the very end, they brought out the female worgen captives, including Esher herself and began to lock them into the cuffs and connect their collars to the hanging chains.

Only Esher was still wearing her clothes and armor, despite how crappy it looked. Others were naked and injured all over their bodies. Most of them were missing some teeth or fangs, hand or feet claws. Others missed and ear, patches of fur on their breasts or bottoms. Almost all of them had numerous bruises and black eyes, so Esher could not tell for sure whether their eyes were intact. But she had reasons to think that at least two of her subordinates were missing one of their eyes too. A truly miserable state for her dead, befriended soldiers that she fought side by side during many battles.

She did not saw them for weeks at times. But over time the piling up marks left by repeated group rapes were showing up onto the worgen women. She watched with anger and fear in her eyes as the orcs hanged all of them from the top of the wooden beams by their hands, on short chains. Just enough to have their legs hang above ground. Esher could only watch as the orcs hammered a sharp wooden wedge beneath each and every of the girls and letting their body weight rest on the edge of the wedge. Bringing them pain as the hard, rough wood full of chippings still sticking out was digging into their pussies and asses during the so called "wooden horse" torture. None of them had the strength to support their weight on the arms alone for too long and to make it worse, they had their ankles pulled back behind the beam and tied there.

Esher heard their roars of pain and anguish, waiting her turn... but it never came. Why did they spare her alone from the torture? She did not know that. She began to realize just how much of the things her friends experienced were not used on her as well.

Everything was about to change, this very evening...