Elven Prisoners of War Get Jerky

Smack! The sound of a whip striking flesh rang out.

"You elf women, get out here! The Great Chieftain has ordered that all elves must stay alive. If you keep refusing to eat, all you'll get is the whip!"

Ashenvale, an Orc prisoner-of-war camp.

After several battles, over a thousand Night Elves had been captured by the Orcs, including members of the Sentinel Corps and Druids. Thrall had long since ordered that Prisoners of War were not to be slaughtered. It was not because he cherished these beauties; in Orc eyes, elves with their long legs and slender waists were not beautiful at all, but weak and ugly.

Thrall knew these prisoners were bargaining chips for negotiations. If they could be exchanged for ownership of all Ashenvale, it would be an excellent deal. Even if negotiations failed, they would still be useful leverage against the elves.

But after being captured, many elves had been overcome by fear and humiliation and began resisting through hunger strikes. To make them eat, the Orcs had no choice but to give them a whipping first.

"Great Chieftain!" When the Orc guarding the prisoner-of-war camp saw Thrall arrive with several bodyguards to inspect the place, he immediately greeted him respectfully.

"How have the elves been lately?" Thrall swept his gaze over the elves as he questioned the guard.

"A good number of those elf women refuse to eat. They all need a whipping first. They're really disobedient—more troublesome than coaxing pups." The guard complained. They belonged to minor clans on the fringes, with little combat strength, and had been assigned to guard the Prisoners of War.

After thinking for a moment, Thrall asked, "What have you been feeding them?"

"It's all food delivered by logistics. The same things we eat. That doesn't count as mistreating