Part 1 – The Half-Troll

SCHUNK…

The sound echoed down the tunnel, fading away until in mingled with the dripping of water and the bustle of armoured bodies. It was the sound of metal and flesh coming together in violence. The gaggle of orcs marching along the tunnels heard it and knew they were approaching one of the many slaughterhouses beneath the dark fortress that was Dol Guldur.

SHRACK…

Gornak was an old orc. His body was warped and bent, and he looked almost frail with his sallow skin and ragged armour that hung from him in loose tatters. However snake-like muscles, wound iron-tight around wiry limbs, were visible beneath rents in the metal plates that covered his body. His face was a tangle of scars and his eyes shone with a wicked light even in these dark tunnels. He was also possessed of a low cunning that had allowed him to stay alive long enough to rise to the rank of Captain.

KSHUNK…

Shorbug on the other hand was comparatively young. He moved easily, his body not yet wrecked by toil or war, his scars few. He was big for an orc though, no doubt, an utter coward. His layers of armour, finery by the standards of most orcs, suggested he was happy to let others fight and then set upon the fallen, looting their corpses. The fact he wasn't even a low ranking officer suggested a total lack of willingness to take risk of any form. Such orcs had their uses, but Gornak despised them, and he fostered an intense dislike of Shorbug even though he had clapped eyes on him for the first time only a few short hours ago.

THWUNK…

The sound was louder now. Gornak and his small band of lackeys had been winding through these tunnels for some time. The walls dripped with slick, green filth. They were deep enough down, below the forests and dungeons, that the caverns were dank and inviting. A chill ran through the air, bringing with it a carrion stench of putrid meat. He could hear the rumble and churn of bellies as the orcs following inhaled the thick carnal smells.

SHANCK…

"This is the one! Nearly there," assured Shorbug, though Gornak ignored him. Shorbug talked too much, and Gornak had drawn on all his self-control not to tear the obsequious little midden-crawlers tongue out of his head. He didn't need Shorbug to tell him what was obvious. The tunnel opened out up ahead, becoming a cavern filled with the bustle of labourers and crackle of weak, guttering torches. Gornak's ramshackle band rounded a corner and stopped abruptly on the edge of the killing floor.

Mounds of decaying flesh lay everywhere, breaking the thin mist of yellow decay that lurked at knee level. Around the edges of the room, thin, nearly emaciated orcs worked on these piles, separating out the sickly, pale organs from the dark, stringy muscle, hacking at tendons and sinews with brutal knives and cleavers, ripping and tearing at the cadaverous tissues. Gutters gouged into the floor let the thick putrescent blood and other liquid filth that oozed from the meat run into a foul stinking pit in the centre of the cavern. Something sinuous disturbed the surface of the fetid pool briefly before disappearing back into the depths.

At the far end of the cave was a rough stone dais. Atop this was the mangled and twisted corpse of some enormous beast from the depths of the dark forests above. One massive, yellowing eye stared balefully up into the shadows high above.

THOCK…

The creature's whole body quivered suddenly as a huge blade swung down, hewing a gaping rent in its thick, gnarled hide. The gigantic cleaver was wielded by a towering orc, head and shoulders above the other menials. It scowled down at the thing it was dismembering; a sheen of greasy sweat covering it thick body. Its right shoulder was a bulbous, cancerous lump; taught, malformed muscles bunched as it hefted the axe, swinging it in a ponderous arc. When it was positioned behind its back the orc bared yellow, broken teeth and swung the cleaver, putting its weight behind the rusted and bloody cutting edge.

SHCRUK…

With this blow the dead beast's head twisted with a sickening, wrenching sound as its shattered spine tore free. Its head landed on the floor with a crunching thud, evil smelling foulness pouring from its ruined neck to join the small rivers of slick, oily fluids that ran along the gutters and fed the dark pool in the centre of the floor.

"That's it," hissed Shorbug. The wretch began bobbing up and down, his mouth hanging open in a ridiculous rictus of glee.

"Got some troll blood in it, yes?" said Gornak, his face a mask of contempt for everything he was surrounded by, especially this chittering idiot, Shorbug.

"And the rest. Proper mongrel thing it is… I'll wager there's Uruk in there. Maybe some Warg too I'll be bound."

"Shut up," Gornak snapped and Shorbug's sneer wavered just a little.

Some of the orc menials had stopped in their butchery to whisper to one another, glancing at the new arrivals. The whispers worked deeper into the slaughterhouse till they reached Nashrok, the overseer.

Looking up from where he had been testing the latest cuts he glowered at the interlopers for a moment before stepping forward. He was an immensely fat orc, his jowls trembled with every waddling stride he took. His pendulous belly swung from beneath dilapidated armour that could barely contain the vast quantity of fat Nashrok has accumulated. One of his eyes was a mucus-crusted, clouded, white ball, but he fixed Gornak with the tiny black pupil of the other.

"What's this?" he said, a gauntleted hand tightening on the slavers' whip that hung from his belt.

"Recruitin'" said Gornak simply. He had never had a lot of patience when having to deal with any subordinates, and Nashrok was no different. He owed the orc nothing, he outranked him, and so could safely dismiss him as worthless.

"We want a look at that one," Shorbug said, indicating the huge brute slicing his way through the dead animal, jabbing a filthy talon in the air to emphasise the point.

"The half-troll?" said Nashrok obviously unhappy about the intrusion into his awful little domain. "Huh… I wouldn't bother. See its shoulder? That spread into its brain. It can swing that cleaver all day long, but that's about it. Can barely do that without me keeping an eye out."

Gornak turns a questioning eye on Shorbug who merely shrugged.

"I only said I'd seen 'im. Nevva' vouched for nothin' else…"

Gornak hardly listened to either orc. He didn't trust anyone's words especially those of another orc. He'd never say it, but he didn't even believe what he was told by his own masters, the chosen servants of the Eye. He only did what they told him because he knew the punishment for disobedience.

The point was, Shorbug was obviously making sure he wasn't blamed for wasting time and Nashrok was obviously trying to fob him off. No orc easily gave up anything, and that included minions. Gornak would make up his own damn mind; hang these maggots if they tried to make it up for him.

"Get him over here!" he growled, keeping his eyes on the distant half-breed. Nashrok bared his rotten teeth and turned towards the hulking orc.

"Oi! Get down here you miserable grime stain! Inspection!"

The giant orc looked up and plodded over to his master. The cleaver was set down with dull metallic thud and Gornak wondered how much the thing weighed.

"Seems strong…" Gornak said.

"Aye, but can barely walk," replied Nashrok. He started to bellow as he addressed his approaching underling. "Isn't that right, you festering moron? Can only just put one leg in front of the other! All you're good for is for chopping meat!"

The half-troll clumped to a standstill before the other orcs, weathering the barrage of abuse with the typical reluctant silence of all the lower caste.

"Thick as muck, this one," Nashrok went on. "You're wasting your time."

"What name did you get spawned with?" Gornak asked continuing to ignore those around him.

"Goblok…" the mongrel rumbled, though a rattling wheeze could be heard under the deep voice, as if the cancerous muscle of its arm was throttling it from the inside, blocking its throat.

"My, my… It does speak," said Shorbug, wrinkling his nose in disdain. Goblok fixed Shorbug with evil little eyes that were left almost totally in shadow by his heavy brow.

"Can you fight, maggot?" Gornak went on.

"I can kill…" replied Goblok. Thick drool dripped from his lower lip as he continued to fix his gaze on Shorbug. Several of the orcs stopped in their loathsome work to watch. Gornak thought he might as well give them something to see.

"Show me…"

The signal he gave Goblok was almost imperceptible but the massive half-breed got the idea. Maybe he wasn't totally brainless, thought Gornak.

Shorbug's open-mouthed leer faded in a way that brought a grin to Gornak's own scarred lips. Goblok towered over the smaller orc, rearing up to his full height.

"No…" squealed Shorbug and raised an arm in defence, going for his curved dagger with the other. Goblok's deformed right arm shot. A strangled shriek of pain and fury escaped Shorbug as the meaty paw closed around his throat. The yell turned to choking gasps as he was lifted off the ground. With frenzied movements Shorbug brought up his knife and hacked at the tumourous flesh of his attackers' arm. Goblok, did not seem to notice the gouges in his scabby hide, though he let out an angry snarl as Shorbug swung the blade at his face. The strike cut a groove above Goblok's left eye. The half-troll's free arm shot out and grabbed Shorbug's hand, crushing bones into the weapon's handle. Then, with slow deliberate movements Shorbug's arm was slowly twisted with the merciless power of a rack, a wet cracking sounding from the orc's joints as they began to give way. Shorbug's face was a hideous mask of horror as with a snap his arm was wrenched from it socket. Even though his windpipe was being crushed he managed to force out a gargling screech. Goblok stared into Shorbug's wide fearful eyes for a moment. Then, turning ponderously, his heavy, iron boots scraping on the slick rock, he heaved Shorbug around, flinging him towards the squalid black pool in the centre of the slaughterhouse floor.

Shorbug squealed again as he landed in the thick slime, thrashing for a moment with his one remaining arm, sending heavy globules of the rank fluid spraying into the air. He managed to let out one last howl before a tentacle shot from beneath the surface, wrapping around Shorbug's head, gagging the orc. His eyes rolled for a moment, and then he was dragged down beneath the surface into the putrid depths, towards the maw of whatever foul creature had made the cesspool its home.

"Not bad…" said Gornak reluctantly. "I may be able to find some use for you. Get your blade. Quickly scum!"

"I need that worm-ridden, overgrown, half-breed!" Nashrok whined as he waddled forward to stop Gornak. "You can't just take him! What am I meant to do?"

"Eat less!" spat Gornak and turned away. Goblok strode after his new master, handing Shorbug's dripping arm, still clutching its knife, to Nashrok. The fat orc watched the little band go, his bulbous body quivering with rage. With a surprisingly swift movement he turned to face his remaining minions. They had all been gawping at the spectacle but, now it was over and with their pit-boss in an obvious temper, they hurried to get back to work.

Nashrok watched them for a second, his face still twisted with rage. Then he waddled off, flinging Shorbug's arm into the black pool as he passed.