Sorry for the slow updates. My computer decided to have a complete meltdown and among the parts that needed replacing was the hard drive. I'd backed up everything important! Unfortunately I did not view what I had already written of this as "important". Ahahaha KILL ME.
It's not all bad, though. The original plot soon took a dark turn I'm no longer satisfied with - it feels gratuitous and tonally jarring, and all I could think was "Wow, I must've been going through Some Shit when I wrote this, huh?" I'm okay with just wiping that part off the map and doing it over instead of trying to reshape it.
(This chapter is probably something I'm going to go back and edit a lot. I'll make a note when that happens.)
The Orcs snuck towards the back of the house under the cover of the murky night sky. Dagna's silhouette darkened the window frame, and Razashûk gave the glass a few quick taps. She jumped and then caught her breath, her eyes still big and wary. "You scared me! I thought you were guards, come to take me away for collaborating with my husband."
"No, it's us," said Durgrat.
"Come inside," she said, opening the window facing the garden. "Just be quiet about it."
"What happened, anyway?" Razashûk asked as he clambered over the sill. "I thought they were happy Torold got rid of the awful Orkish menace."
"There's one other ranger who's always had it out for him, and harped on the fact he let the big one get away," she said. "He's never even fought a thing in his life aside from talking back to his mother, but local politics, you know?" Razashûk suspected there was more to it than this and perhaps their brilliant plan wasn't as opaque as he'd hoped, but decided not to prod at her in her current state. A completely distraught human, let alone the odd one out in a den crawling with them, would be less than worthless right now.
"We'll get him out of there, at least," said Durgrat. "I don't think we can do much else, like get revenge and drink everyone's blood, but we can do that much."
"You stay here," said Razashûk. "This is our stupid mess."
Dagna stood up straight and balled her hands into fists, but after a moment she blotted at the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her dress and her voice quivered. "I'm sure you can do it," she said. "I mean, we got past the hard part, didn't we?"
Razashûk nodded. He was beginning to regret not just shoving Torold in the bushes, letting him hang himself on his own cloak, and running for it back when they had the chance, but when he thought about abandoning the Man, his stomach squeezed in on him and his limbs felt strange and wobbly. And so Razashûk told himself they had to see it through, if only because he'd be a terrible marksman with his hands shaking like that, and Durgrat's aim was laughably bad at the best of times, and they'd starve to death, leaving a not-insignificant chance that Morburzhûn might follow the stench of their corpses and pick their bones as revenge and worse yet, find the map and interpret it as a sign he was right to do it. Such a fate was unthinkable, and so Torold had to be freed.
Durgrat turned to him. "I'm going to deal with the captain. Follow me, after a few minutes. Stay out of sight."
"What exactly are you going to do?"
"Just trust me," said Durgrat. He conspicuously set his knife down on the table and headed for the door.
The others sat near the fire in silence. Razashûk fidgeted and after he lost patience counting how many times he tapped his foot, he decided to play his part. "I'm going now," he said. "I promise not to get Torold killed." Dagna nodded, looking like she was making a serious effort to hold her tongue.
Razashûk slinked out of the house and skittered low to the ground, keeping his back to the wall whenever possible. The town was maddeningly quiet, with only a short burst of plaintive barks from a dog somewhere in the distance cutting through the calm. Approaching the guard post, his ears pricked up at the murmur of voices emanating from the window, and he moved in closer to investigate.
He could have choked, watching the scene unfolding in the captain's tiny office. Durgrat was crouched on the floor, curled into a defensive pose, hands up in a gesture of surrender. He looked up at the captain, wide-eyed. "I can offer nothing but my remorse," he said, his voice gone soft. "I must repent for all I've done. Spare my life, and I am your thrall."
The captain wrinkled his nose and made a dismissive snort.
"I'll do all the rotten jobs around town," he continued. "Mucking stables, culling diseased animals, digging cesspits. Anything is better than having my deeds weigh on my conscience. It's only fitting I wallow in filth."
He drew the captain's waist into a clumsy embrace, startling him and nearly making him trip over. The Man shoved him back and Durgrat clutched his hands to his chest, looking crushed. "You don't want me around?" Razashûk had to admit, he made a revoltingly convincing wretch. He almost wanted to curse him and boot him out the door himself.
The captain glared, looking like he was suppressing the urge to be sick. "I'm going to think on what exactly to do with you overnight. But either way, no, I don't need you sabotaging and stinking up my village." Razashûk backed away as the captain shoved Durgrat towards the door and watched as the Uruk was led to join Torold.
After waiting several minutes to put distance between him and the guard, he shuffled towards the jail, peeking in the window as he tried to get closer without making too much sound in the shrubbery lining the squat building. His heart felt as if it was going to hammer its way out of his ribcage. Something must have made a sufficient noise, because Durgrat spun around, a glimmer of recognition sparkled in his eyes, and he motioned for the smaller Orc to come closer.
"Raz, don't be a dead weight. Stop stalling. Get over here."
Razashûk hissed through his teeth. "I'm the dead weight? Now you're both prisoners. What do you expect me to do?"
"I dunno, Mr. Educated. Did one of your father's ancient scrolls tell you what this does? Enlighten me." He reached inside his tunic and pulled out a tarnished iron key on a worn leather string.
Razashûk blinked. "How'd you manage that?"
"I didn't hug that old whiteskin fucker because he's handsome and smells good. Come get this and let us out."
Razashûk grabbed the key and hurried inside, jamming it in the locks that held his companions' cells shut. Everything involved was so old and rusty he was concerned the noise combined with the creak of the wooden door might give them away, but Torold and Durgrat slipped outside and he heard no extra footsteps approaching. He also unlocked the door to the last cell, where some drunk geezer was passed out in the corner. Better to have as many distractions as possible once the guards realized what had happened.
They regrouped at the tiny farmhouse. By now only a single flickering candle was lit, and the Orcs got the impression it barely illuminated enough for the Mannish couple to see right in front of their faces. When Torold appeared, Dagna barely caught herself before crying out too loudly in relief. She rushed towards him and wrapped herself around him. "You scared me half to death! From now on if we have to scheme, leave it to me."
Torold slapped his forehead. "Aw, owl noises! We never did get the bounty. That was the whole point, wasn't it? I uh, suppose we can't expect to collect on it now." He sighed at the floor.
Durgrat made his best attempt at an inconspicuous grunt and tossed a small drawstring bag at Torold, which made him flinch a bit as its weight landed in his hand. Torold's eyes widened as he peeked inside. He scooped out a fat handful of coins and thrust it in Razashûk's direction. "As I promised. It's the least I can do."
"Nice!" said Razashûk. "You're all right, seriously, still forking over our share after all that." Dagna seemed a little taken aback that he hadn't even put up a demonstrative token of resistance, but then softened and smiled after Durgrat jabbed him in the side and he remembered to say "Thank you."
The pair hastily packed all they could carry. True to her word as well, Dagna handed over a hefty burlap sack full of potatoes, which Durgrat swung over his shoulder as if it was a feather pillow. "We never liked it that much here anyway," she said. "What with the swampy air."
"And all those biting flies that come with it," added Torold.
"And that ugly fence!" said Dagna. "It looks like a blind man built it."
Before they could rattle off any more criticisms, Razashûk tried to nudge them along. "You'll have plenty of time to complain on the road."
"I am going to miss my furniture," said Torold as he gave the house one last backward glance. Dagna grabbed his arm and started walking before he could think about rigging up any traps in front of it for old times' sake.
Torold wasn't as terrible a tracker as the Orcs had been led to think. Perhaps shrugging off the burden of being expected to find anything interesting helped. They ambled after him along the hidden paths leading away from the village and the main road with little effort. Dagna apparently knew of a small outpost of traders she'd dealt with before settling down with Torold, and made some cryptic remarks about them knowing what to do if you didn't want to be found. Razashûk raised an eyebrow at that, and she quickly changed the subject by offering to share her own storytelling skills while they still had the chance.
But her heart didn't quite seem in it. Her voice was flat and hesitant as she struggled to entertain them with a half-remembered yarn about a lonesome, unlucky stonemason. Torold had already heard it at least three times and made it known he thought the ending was a bit weak, Durgrat found the idea of love potions upsetting on principle, and Razashûk was weary of stories about sad people living alone in the middle of nowhere.
"They can't all be classics," she said with a huff as they stopped at the top of a hillock to take a momentary breather.
Torold surveyed their surroundings and turned to the Orcs. "I recognize that rock pile. The path splitting off from there is safe for us, but not for you. They've got far more experienced rangers than the likes of me in the lands ahead. This is where we say our goodbyes."
Durgrat failed to look sufficiently stoic. "We'll be all right. I always land on my feet," Dagna reassured him. "We're both stronger than we look," she quickly added. She grabbed her husband's hand and held it tight.
"I don't know what to say," said Durgrat.
"It's probably better we both keep our mouths shut," said Razashûk. "I hope you find whatever you're looking for, though."
And with that, their brief and ill-fated fellowship was broken, and the pair disappeared into the foliage, the sound of their footsteps and occasional mutterings fading into silence. The Orcs stayed a moment, stewing in the quiet. A sliver of sunlight began to emerge over the hills in the hazy distance, finally spurring them to move back into the cover of the deep forest.
"Right, no more wandering near Men's roads," said Razashûk. "That aside, I suppose we've gained some great wisdom about not judging books by their covers or their silly first impressions where they get their stupid cloak snagged on a tree branch, but there's got to be an easier way to learn that."
"I also learned I still hate jail," said Durgrat.
As they made their way, the greenery began to give way to sparser growth and drier air. The forest was no less dense, but now the foliage began to look more twisted and barren, and even the evergreens bore dull, brownish needles, as if it were all slowly starving. It sounded different, too; bird songs and rustling leaves gave way to whistling winds and the occasional slither and hiss underfoot. Razashûk felt this was a good sign, as it hinted that Sauron's grasp had reached even this forlorn corner of the world and grazed it with his fingertips. Their prize loomed closer.
They reached a ragged glade where the shadow of an ancient and long-fallen tree stretched across the ground, and its source made for a convenient shelter. Its massive tangle of uprooted tendrils, sun-bleached and bone-dry, was stuck in place, jutting out at an angle like a roof. Dead trees could not be offended by their presence, and so they spread down their meager bedding into a pile and set about kindling a small fire.
The available fare wasn't terrifically exciting, but it was warm and it was theirs, and better yet, they didn't have to chase it down. The potatoes hit Razashûk's stomach like a sack of rocks and for the first time in what seemed like ages, he felt full, to the point he didn't think he could eat any more. Durgrat complained about them being sort of bland, so they scanned the area for any sign of something else edible. All that they could find were mysterious white berries neither of them recognized, and even Durgrat knew better than to take that chance.
Razashûk plunked himself back down near the dying embers, still a bit sluggish. "We should rest here a while. I know you're going to get bored, but I'm not sure I have any stories you haven't heard." He paused in thought, his lip curling into a smirk. "Oh, wait. I just remembered a good one. Once upon a time, there was a foolish young Uruk who thought jail sounded like the most fun place in the world..."
Durgrat feigned swatting at him, missing his face by inches.
"Careful!" said Razashûk. "I'll call for the rangers, seeing as there's a creature attacking me. And then guess where you'll end u..."
Durgrat tackled him, knocking him over sideways and pinning him to the ground. "You'll have to escape from me first."
"Pfft, what are you going to do, eat me up? I know you pissed and moaned about the food, but I'm all gristle and bones. I'm not worth the effort."
"Don't you remember what happened last time? I have no problem devouring you." Razashûk did remember, and his skin flushed with warmth at the thought. He grabbed for Durgrat's hand and moved it up under his shirt.
Durgrat laughed. "What's wrong with you? You seem almost...happy."
Razashûk scowled at him. "I've learned a lot of valuable life lessons recently, all right?" He looked as if those words pained him to even form inside his head. "Don't make me think about things like that right now. I'm trying to feel less disgusted. If you don't want to have fun with me you can go sulk on that pile of rotten moss."
"See, that sounds more like you," said the Uruk. But he continued smiling, and slithered his other hand up Razashûk's leg, giving a playful squeeze as it slid up the back of his breechcloth.
After a few moments of clumsy groping, Razashûk scrambled out from under Durgrat. When Durgrat got up on his knees, Razashûk shoved him backwards and down onto the nest he'd arranged, seated with his back to the wall of dead roots.
"Look, just sit there and you can eat...shut up. Let me do this," Razashûk said. Those tender words of seduction swayed Durgrat's heart, and he relaxed as Razashûk fiddled with his clothes, yanking aside anything that was in the way of the important bits.
Razashûk knelt in front of him and settled there, one hand gripping Durgrat's inner thigh and tracing circles with his thumb while the other explored the juncture of his legs, at first barely brushing against the Uruk's foreskin. Durgrat didn't have much patience for that, and grabbed Razashûk's hand and guided it, wrapping his fingers around his cock, then letting go as he took the hint and stroked it, steadily growing more confident as it stiffened more with his touch.
Razashûk traced the vein on the shaft with his tongue, snaking a slow, wavering line up and down. His pace increased, egged on by the sounds the Uruk was making and the thrill of knowing someone so much bigger and stronger than him was not only humbled and at his mercy, but had put himself there willingly. He looked up with a grin and snapped at the air with his teeth before getting back to work, and Durgrat let out a small gasp while his cock gave a satisfying twitch in Razashûk's hand.
He knew the Uruk wouldn't last much longer. The muscles of his abdomen tensed and rippled. Razashûk could feel the head swelling under his tongue, and shoved as much of it in his mouth as he could manage, sucking and swirling his tongue around the underside. Durgrat gripped the back of his neck, and his fingers clenched down while his breath grew heavy. Razashûk let the pleasant warm dizziness taking over spread from his head down his limbs, and felt a wave of hot triumph surge through him when Durgrat growled and erupted in his throat.
Razashûk sighed as the Uruk drew back out of his mouth. He sputtered slightly, then turned his head and spat on the ground. Durgrat either didn't notice or didn't care, as he was idly digging through one of his bags of ill-gotten miscellany. Still heated after catching his breath, Razashûk blinked as he saw him smearing something onto his fingers.
"Where did you get that jar of grease?" He had a pretty good idea why Durgrat had got it, at least, and his pulse hastened from both curiosity and apprehension as the wheels turned in his head.
The smaller Orc inhaled sharply at the sensation of Durgrat's hand prodding at him, blunt, slippery fingertips sliding between his buttocks and circling the opening there, increasing the pressure as he explored. It was slow, to the point that Razashûk almost wanted to bark at him to hurry up, but his nerves won out in the end and he trusted the Uruk's cautious pace.
One finger pressed in, and Razashûk froze for a second until he realized it merely felt new and unfamiliar at worst. After several tentative thrusts, it was joined by another, and Durgrat settled into a pattern, guided by the small encouraging noises coming from Razashûk. "Ah!" He squinted his eyes shut and dug his grip tighter into Durgrat's thigh, hard enough to turn his knuckles white and make his wrist shake. "Keep going..." he rasped when the Uruk paused, squirming to try and bear down and once more make him hit whatever it was that had sent lightning up his spine a moment ago.
Durgrat obeyed. He twisted his fingers around while he worked them back and forth, keeping the rhythm once he found the right spot again. Razashûk let go of the Uruk's leg and wrapped both his arms around him, pulling himself forward and pressing their bodies together. He rocked his hips while Durgrat did his best to keep up with the motion of the other Orc grinding into him.
Durgrat felt an echo of heat return to his blood as Razashûk moaned into his skin while his face flushed a darker shade of grey. There was one last sharp throb and a gush of wetness against his stomach as Razashûk spilled onto him with a low, throaty snarl. It was enough to make him want to attempt another go already, but the Orc was obviously spent. He quivered and then slumped like a rag doll, his scrawny arms dropping down to his sides while he leaned his head down and panted.
After a moment, they pried themselves apart, rolling onto their backs, still silent aside from the occasional non-verbal acknowledgment of tired contentment. Razashûk wrinkled his nose. Out of all the ridiculous embellished details he'd heard, tales that stirred up envy and frustrated him even if they were intentionally disgusting because at least those horrible unlucky twits were getting laid, nobody ever warned him of the little pitfalls. Plenty of "she almost choked to death on it" or "and that's why you make sure you're not holding in a massive shit", but no "your leg will cramp up" or "don't be surprised by the smell afterwards, that's just the way it goes."
Ultimately none of that mattered much to him, and he felt a faint twinge of realization that he'd be very suspicious of any experience that didn't have some sort of drawback. "That was nice," he said.
"Who put a spell on you?" said Durgrat.
Razashûk's mind was still too hazy to come up with any snotty comebacks. He shifted closer and nestled into the crook of Durgrat's shoulder, and a faint smile spread across his face when he felt the Uruk's pulse thrum against his ear.
We could stay together like this even after we get the treasure, he thought. Then That's stupid. Maybe I do have a spell on me.
A vague sound of thunder rumbled in the distance and the air cooled. This was a good omen; with any luck a blanket of clouds would spread over the entire sky and smother the sun. He decided the reason for his mood was that their surroundings were growing less nauseating. They dying forest was strange and foreign, but the muted gloom of it all reminded him of home, and darker pastures lay ahead.