So, there are a few things that one should know before you show up in the middle of an orc warband while they are having a party. First, challenge the leader to a drinking contest and proceed to take shameless advantage of the fact that as a glorious scion of the abyss you might get a pleasant buzz, but can safely drink said leader to death before dealing with anyone else. A few shows of violence and you have minions! Well, it might not be quite that simple, Mrog has this little trick of sneaking past ones defences you see, though that could just be the blood.

In any case, there was little more to consider if you were glorious enough to inspire them to overrun and sack a city while drunk. Of course, I did have my mother in my lap, her tail snaking up so that my cock slipped right into her folds as she cuddled into me, nuzzling my neck. "My little baby is all grown up." There was a mothers pride in her tone, as she leaned back smiling widely, my hands on her hips. "Of course, don't make me a grandmother just yet dear, even if I am looking forward to a few cute tieflings grandbabies eventually."

With a quick lean forward, she nipped the end of my nose, all four of the chained women's eyes wide, even as they trembled. "I know mother." And I did really, even as I spotted her tail moving, sliding along the cheek of one of the women. "And mother, I am saving them as healers. No snacking on them." I loved my mother, but sometimes, a man just needed to be... well, she was pouting again. I really needed to be better about this, half formed plans for the healers still in my head. "Mother, you already know you are going to get them eventually."

All four of them look at me, fear and panic in their eyes, my hand moving to slap my mothers ass. "Look ladies, you are useful and you can be useful in keeping my minions alive but you are attractive noblewomen who joined a holy order of healers." At each word mothers smile grew wider, tail wagging even as her eyes gleamed. "Which means you make up some of my mothers favourite snacks. The only way it could be better is if you were elves." The four 'maidens' trembled as mother moaned.

"As it is, the only reason such prime sacrifices are being kept from the altar is because I want the horde to survive reaching the enclave. As it is, I'm going to have to make a big offering to my mother here, to make it up to her." You know, it was almost funny, the put upon sigh, as she shook her head, eyes mournful as she looked at me, and then over the girls. They shrank from them, because yes, she was looking at them like the tasty little meals they were.

Which is why when she leaned in, teeth biting down as she grumbled, I knew she wasn't too upset. "You are lucky I love you." She pulled on my, on my essence, on my soul as she said that, but not enough to actually drain or try. More like a little nibble or lick to the soul. "So lucky my big tasty boy."

Now, orcs are both used to demons (for a given value of used to) and their strongest relationship is with their mothers. That mine was willing to bless them, through me, to raid and potentially sack elven communities? They cheered, they made music with the skulls of those they killed, and they got roaring drunk. Oh, and they raped a good hundred slaves, but that was just part of the festivities! To be sure, it made me ponder the need to kick and thrash them into charging in the correct direction, but that was the main downside of dealing with orcs. Not much more that I can really do about it.

To be sure, the first dozen times that the brand exploded even after I told them that while it would make them stronger, that it would sear them with flame if they though insulting or betraying me was a good idea. And so, pop went the orc. Honestly, it WAS amusing, even if it would not be enough to kill some of the tougher ones, but the pain of applying the brand, the agony of the eruption and their rivals getting stronger from it should be enough to cow them for now. After all, as they chanted, as they cried for murder, for loot and rape...

The green flames in my heart roared in pride, as I mutilated bodies and souls, as I fashioned wretched manes from the burnt remains of the examples. Which of course had them bowing and scraping before me. After all, it was one thing to know that I could kill you, but to reduce your soul to this state? Why, that was to be feared, that was to be respected, that was for them to say that the warband had been chosen for greatness of a lord of darkness such as myself had noticed it! Such eager things really, simple in mind and in need of constant examples, but eager, as I whispered to them of just what could await them.

Oh, to be sure, most of it I could not provide for them, not yet, but as we moved out of the mountain valley and into forested lowlands, they did not exactly need to know that. All they had to be concerned about was preparing for the elves, zombies loaded with alchemists fire running wild in the forest and detonating, sparking flames that drew the eye... and of course, roused the forests defenders. Because the elves were strong so long as they could stay in hit and run tactics, in the cover the trees.

But, between the flames, the undead and the fact I sent the pack of six manes out to wreck mischief, replacing their numbers with the fallen as arrows and blades took them, they were being forced out, lured out. Oh, I will freely admit that I was sacrificing orcs for replacement manes... but I made sure that each of them was voted on by their fellows! Because so long as the mane made it into melee and died amid groups of elves? It was worth it for the acidic vapors to whittle down their numbers. And to purge the horde of those with a reputation for cunning and treachery.

Eventually though, enough elves were caught and persuaded to tell us what they knew by mothers gentle touch (by which I mean she cracked open their minds and looked through them), that all the preparations could be said to be complete. We had a location, morale was high as I tossed the elf scouts to the war band to be enjoyed, and all we needed to do was a quick night march to fall on them and have ourselves a good time. To be sure, it was not quite what I thought my first camapain was going to be like.

But I was having fun, and that's what mattered.