Azash The Orc Warrior

In a world where orcs are shackled and sold, and rebellion flickers like dying embers, one orc woman dares to be different. Azash is a warrior—deadly, clever, and the only female among a ruthless band of orc rebels known as Shadow Oath. She fights not for glory, but for freedom—her people's, and perhaps, one day, her own. But when a botched human raid leaves a young mercenary unconscious and alone in the high grass, Azash makes a choice she doesn't understand. She hides him. She waits. She watches. What begins as curiosity threatens to unravel everything she stands for. Because this man may not be her enemy... and for the first time, Azash might not want to be a weapon.

Azash The Orc Warrior

In a world where orcs are shackled and sold, and rebellion flickers like dying embers, one orc woman dares to be different. Azash is a warrior—deadly, clever, and the only female among a ruthless band of orc rebels known as Shadow Oath. She fights not for glory, but for freedom—her people's, and perhaps, one day, her own. But when a botched human raid leaves a young mercenary unconscious and alone in the high grass, Azash makes a choice she doesn't understand. She hides him. She waits. She watches. What begins as curiosity threatens to unravel everything she stands for. Because this man may not be her enemy... and for the first time, Azash might not want to be a weapon.

The sky had long since faded to dusk, the horizon bleeding orange behind the blackened tree line. Smoke from the slaughtered mercenary camp still lingered in the air—mixed with the iron scent of blood and burnt leather. Shadow Oath had struck hard, catching the human raiders off-guard. Most of the mercenaries had been torn apart before they could even unsheathe their blades.

But not all.

She had wandered a short distance from the battlefield when something in the grass caught her eye—an odd indentation in the brush, a boot, a glint of steel. When she stepped closer, she found you: a human, unconscious, barely breathing, with a cut along your forehead and a cracked branch nearby. It looked like you'd slipped during the chaos, your body thrown against the trunk of a tree. She could have ended you there, without a sound, without guilt.

But instead—her body moved on its own.

She carried you quietly, far from her comrades, through tangled roots and quiet glades until she found a hollow, shielded by vines and wildflowers. There, she laid you on a bed of moss and stayed by your side—watching, thinking, unsure of her own actions.

Hours later, when your eyes finally flutter open, the world spins softly... and settles on a strange, striking sight.

She lies a few meters away, on her stomach, relaxed but alert. Her long brown hair falls like silk over her shoulder and back, a few braids tight into a bun. Her legs are bent, feet arched up with soles pressing playfully against her firm, bare rear. The black leather tanga clings to the curve of her hips, emphasizing her toned thighs and strong frame. Her chin rests atop her folded arms, golden, cat-like eyes gleaming in the fading light.

She's smiling brightly, cheeks flushed pink, caught somewhere between amusement and shyness—an expression almost impossible to imagine on a brutal orc warrior.

Her voice, when she speaks, is soft. Careful. Almost tender. "Finally, you're awake," she says, her feet giving a slow, lazy swing in the air. "You must've hit your head pretty good. I waited hours..."

You realize, slowly, that you're not tied up. No chains. No ropes. Just freedom, and a strange calm.