A large ogre was making his way towards a massive cave decorated with giant tusks and weapons from many different races. His skin was orange-tan and his body was ripped with muscles and fat. His dark orange eyes were giving off a glare to anyone, whether another ogre or some other smaller creatures such as imps, causing them to quickly make way. In his right hand was a large dark steel cleaver and in his left arm being cradled was a small sack.

He was the captain of a large band of his manhunters. During his expedition, or really his return home from his expedition, he and his army stumbled across a band of human settlers. What they were doing inside ogre territory or how they haven't been made into meat yet was beyond the captain but he saw no reason not to kill them. So, with a mighty roar, he and his fellow ogres showed them that they were still on the food chain. These humans, only guarded by a rather elite and tough mercenary force, were no match for the returning manhunters. It was over before it began.

While the captain was looking over the looting process, one of his fellow ogres brought him something, something extremely rare. It was so rare that the ogres have never seen them before in over six hundred years!

Right away the captain knew what he was going to do with it. He shall give it to his Tyrant as a gift. He knows that, if there is one thing his Tyrant hasn't eaten, it would be this.

That is why he is making his way at a fast yet safe pace towards the feasting hall where his Tyrant is currently at, feasting with three other bands of manhunters.

Two ogres were waiting at the entrance to the feast hall, both of higher rank than the captain. Knowing this the captain slowed his pace and bowed his head.

"I have news to report to my Tyrant, and a gift as well," The captain spoke, his voice thick and deep yet raspy as well.

The two ogre guards looked him over before nodding at each other.

"You may pass," One of the guards spoke, his voice a higher pitch and not raspy. Most ogres don't have a raspy voice. The captain was an exception.

The captain nodded and raised his head, waiting for the two guards to pull open the large doors to the feasting hall. It took two seconds for the captain's eyes to adjust to the dim light of the feasting hall despite having been out in the sun for a year. Ogres, like trolls, adapt quickly.

The sounds of feasting, cooking, talking, and fighting ogres filled the captain's ears, causing a grin to appear on his face. How he missed this sound. Out on the field, the feasting just wasn't the same.

Resisting the urge to drool at the smell of cooking meat the captain walked through the feasting hall, walking past the hundreds of ogres down below eating on meat and drinking beer, and stopped in front of a throne made of jewels, bones, weapons, and all sort of exotic things. Sitting on the pelts on the throne was a mighty big ogre. His bulging belly was slightly pink in color and his skin was tan in color, like most ogres. On his head was a bright green and black crown, a white ponytail, and a long white beard. His yellow eyes lit up upon seeing the captain walk in front of him and he flashed a big smile, showing his sharp and crooked teeth. On his shoulders was thick dark brown dragon-scaled armor he wore large dark brown shorts. Other than that, the ogre was naked.

As the captain took a knee the ogre leaned forward, his right hand using his large bardiche as support. Jewels and coins shifted and fell as the massive ogre moved only to be picked back up and placed back on the throne by red imps skittering around the throne.

"Captain Skichmear! You're back," The ogre bellowed, his voice jolly, old, yet still retaining the deepness ogres have, "Tell me how your expedition went."

"It went well, my Tyrant," Skichmear responded, looking up to meet the Tyrant's eyes, "Plenty of meat has been secured and even some dwarven jewels and gold."

The Tyrant's eyes flashed and he let out a bellowing laugh, clapping his hands.

"SPLENDID!" The Tyrant praised, "I expected a little less from you but, once again you lived up to my expectations."

Originally, Skichmear was a faceless unknown cannon fodder to a Troll Lord. Yet, when the Tyrant of the Ogres, Narl, came and defeated the Troll Lord, he gave Skichmear the title of officer. Then, after two more mighty battles, Narl gave him the title of captain to see how he did in battle. After a crushing victory, Narl gave Skichmear a band of manhunters and told him to start training them. And that is exactly what he did. He has trained now sixteen bands of manhunters, and all of them were fine fighters that would make any ogre leader proud.

"That is not all, my Tyrant," Skichmear went on, eager to show his Tyrant what he found, "I have found something that I believe would interest you greatly."

"Ooh?" The Tyrant leaned back in his throne, clasping his hands together with interest, "Show me."

Skichmear wasted no time and put down his weapon and slowly unraveled the cloth in his left hand and held it out. Inside the cloth was a baby human, sleeping due to the small sleeping powder Skichmear gave it. Seeing the human baby the Tyrant's eyes widened.

"I know you haven't tried one yet so I brought it here right away upon its discovery," Skichmear explained, his eyes glued to the ground.

The Tyrant was silent for a while before he leaned forward and showed Skichmear his hands. Getting the message Skichmear placed the baby into his Tyrant's outstretched hands. With the baby in his hands, the Tyrant leaned back, bringing the baby closer to his face, studying it.

A long silence soon followed. Then, the Tyrant leaned forward and let out a small grunt, calling an imp to approach him. Without a word, the Tyrant gave the imp the baby and said words that shocked everyone that was listening.

"Ehh, too cute to eat," The Tyrant said in a dismissive tone.

"...B-but, my Tyrant, are you sure?" Skichmear asked, surprise written all over his face.

"Yes I am," The Tyrant responded before narrowing his eyes, glaring at every ogre in the room, "Are any of you going to question my order?"

The ogres instantly shook their heads. They knew better than to get on the bad side of their Tyrant.

"The same goes for you, Captain Skichmear," The Tyrant said, raising an eyebrow, "Don't question my order."

"Understood, my Tyrant," Skichmear responded, casting his eyes to the floor.

"Good, good...Then you are dismissed."

Skichmear stood up, grabbing his weapon as he did so, and started walking away to get his band of manhunters to bring them to the feast hall. While he may not understand his Tyrant, who is he to question him? Besides, he and his band were hungry. They didn't eat any of the humans they killed, waiting to eat at the feast hall.