"None," said Nialle, her eyes shining. "I prefer it there."
"Good," said the recruitment officer, removing a sheaf of papers from a drawer in his desk. "Then that's where you'll go. That just leaves us with the paperwork..."
***
A week later, Nialle set her first foot into the main camp of the human forces on the front lines of what was being called the Orc War. She had dug out an old suit of her family's leather armor for the occasion, which consisted of a light breastplate, short faulds, and gloves and boots which ran to her elbows and knees, respectively. It was light and scarce by human standards, leaving her midriff, thighs, and upper arms exposed, but elven armor was designed for movement and agility, not bulk and coverage.
She wore it even during the long trek to the camp itself, nestled as it was deep in the forests at the foot of the orcs' mountain stronghold. At night she slept with it on, clutching her longbow in her hands and imagining the feel of it tensing and loosening again and again, sending arrow after arrow into the faces of the orc horde.
The weapon was the last item that she had by which to remember her sister, who had been unable to get to it before the orcs had come upon her.
Nialle remembered hearing her sister's agonized screams, remembered sprinting through the trees to reach the edge of the cliff. In the clearing below, the orc raiding party had come upon their camp while her sister slept and Nialle was away, and by the light of the fire she could see every detail as they held her down, their massive and rough hands crushing her naked torso to the dirt, and raped her mercilessly. Her bow lay beyond reach in the shadows of the camp, and Nialle had been carrying no weapon but a small dagger. She was helpless above the scene of the cruelty and could only watch in horror and anger as they passed her sister between them, each of them driving their thick, brutish cocks greedily into her even before the one before had finished. The scream which had alerted Nialle had been cut short as one of the monsters stuffed her mouth and began pounding away at it, but she could still hear her sister's muffled protests even up here.
Nialle had dared not call out for fear of alerting the orcs to her presence. They would either disappear back into the forests with her sister or, perhaps worse, send a pack of their raiders up to collect Nialle as well. Instead, the terrified elf had fled as quickly as she dared down the path leading back to camp, hoping to find a more suitable weapon and catch the brutes by surprise.
By the time that she reached their camp, however, her sister's muffled cries had ceased. She realized why once she reached the circle of firelight. The orc raiders had vanished before she approached, surprisingly swift and stealthy when they had need of it. Her sister was gone as well, carried away by her attackers, leaving only a few leftover splatters of spilled orc cum and the tattered remains of her underwear to show where she had been at all.
That was months ago. Since that time, Nialle had scoured the forests surrounding their home looking for traces of the orc raiders and her sister. Of orcs, she found plenty of evidence; as time went on, the bastards were becoming bolder and bolder in their activities, leaving traces of their presence all throughout the land. Other tales like Nialle's became commonplace, of people who had lost sisters, wives, mothers, and daughters to the lust of orc raiders, who came upon their travels or even their very homes when they were at their most unguarded. Those few who reported trying to fight back, and living to tell of it, bore the scars of their encounters. None were able to claim to have saved their loved ones from their fates.
Of her sister, however, Nialle found not a trace. It was as if, after her group ravaging, she simply vanished. This, she realized, likely meant that they had taken her sister back over the mountains, where their strongholds flourished.
The only way that she would see her sister, she realized, would be if she could reach the orc strongholds themselves. And the only way to do that, apart from becoming one of their victims, would be to drive the orcs out. When she heard that the humans were massing an army to take the fight to the orcs for a change, Nialle knew what she had to do, even if her own people thought it suicide and folly.
***
Upon arriving at the human camp on the front lines of the war, Nialle was greeted by one of the company lieutenants, a man of middling age who already bore the rugged wear of combat. He looked her over with incredulity and not a little bit of obvious desire before she handed him the sealed papers given to her by the army recruiter. After opening them and reading them right there, the man smiled warmly and led her into the camp proper, welcoming her to the war effort and introducing himself as Lieutenant Grange.
The looks that she received from the other soldiers that she passed were all the same, a mix of surprise at seeing her there and lust at seeing her more closely. Not one other person in the camp, she realized, was female. She was the only woman in a sea of men. They really had made an exception, then, when they allowed her to join their ranks. She had thought that the recruiter was simply being dismissive and prejudiced, but now she saw that he had actually been fairly open minded when he signed her up and handed her her papers.
Still, she couldn't help but wish that there were at least a few more female soldiers around. At least then the men around her would have more to look at than just her. While she understood the effect that she was probably having on them, their undisguised attention nevertheless put her off her ease.
Lieutenant Grange led her to an outdoor table where sat two other men in uniform, one closer to her age with greasy hair and a wiry build, the other a full head taller than her and rippling with muscles and a pepper-streaked beard. The lieutenant stopped before them and smartly saluted, and they returned the gesture. "This is Drill Sergeant Marik and Quartermaster Haim," he informed the elven girl. "They'll be in charge of your training and lodging, respectively. Soldiers, this is Nialle of the elf settlement to the west, sent over recently from the recruiter by the plains."
Nialle tried to replicate the salute that she'd seen the men use, not sure if she pulled it off properly. The two seated men smiled at her, their eyes predictably trailing over her body and outfit, as the lieutenant handed her papers to the massive drill sergeant. The bearded man looked over them quickly and grunted wordlessly in acknowledgement before handing them to the younger quartermaster to do the same. As the smaller man read them over, his grin grew wider and wider, and by the time he set them down, it looked to Nialle that he might jump out of his seat in excitement if the other two weren't there. Whatever commendations the recruiter had sent with her, she thought, they must be glowing indeed.
The gruff Sergeant Marik stood and gestured with a flick of his head to a nearby shack, a small and ramshackle building that looked to have been erected in a hurry. "This way, new meat," he rumbled. "Let's get you inducted into the army."
Nialle bristled slightly at the offensive name before reminding herself that these were combat-hardened men she was dealing with. All new recruits doubtless got the same treatment to toughen them up and get them ready for the necessary discipline. She had insisted in the recruiter's office that she could hold her own here; she didn't need to prove herself wrong by demanding special treatment or taking offense at something any other soldier worth his salt would shrug off.
Instead, she followed Sergeant Marik and Quartermaster Haim to the small cabin, with Lieutenant Grange bringing up the rear. The quartermaster unlocked the padlock on the front and only entryway with a heavy iron key on his belt and the four of them stepped inside.
Inside the shack there was only a small cot sporting a worn mattress with no pillow or blanket and, next to that, a low and simple rack made of three iron bars welded together. Besides that the room contained no other furniture, only a window on either side of the room looking out onto the camp. The strangest part of the whole scene, thought Nialle, was the length of chain attached on one end to the cot and ending on the other end in an open iron shackle.
From her position sandwiched closely between the three men, Nialle looked up at the rugged countenance of Drill Sergeant Marik. "What room is this?" she asked.
