Well Dears, you basically saw everything shatter in the last Chapter... :P Read on to find out what happens next!
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Chapter Ten
'Take it all Away'
'Ohne Dich' by Rammstein
A heavily armored, grey-skinned male bolted into the tiny clearing, he knelt compressing a palm to his chest attempting to steady the breathing. A several pairs of eyes directed at him he shook his head to everyone's rage and dismay.
"Nearly caught me..." Farmak breathed out struggling. "We have tuh head fuh thuh mines..."
"Gundabad." The soldier's deep yellow eyes flashed ire, he snarled at the panting Snaga. "Commander said Gundabad." Hûrûrzushum appeared frustrated beyond repair clenching and straightening his numb fingers. His signature northerner's shaved cut made the straining veins on his temples even more prominent. The smaller male in front of him stood his ground despite terror leaking through the surface of his grey eyes.
"Ye think I wan'tuh trudge back, eh?" In a moment of defiance Farmak rested his calloused hands on his hips. "Dem short fuckuhs flood whole way through. Can't go North..." The young Orc sighed exasperated. "Nearly got beheaded mi'self..."
Five Orcs and one Warg occupied the woodland glade at the foothills of the Northernmost part of the great Misty Mountains range. Just a day travel North-West lay Gundabad the home of the two of the taller soldiers. The massive males weren't one bit happy they were not traveling home... Moria was far South... The task bestowed upon then however required an immediate resolve.
Two others were slender, much shorter Snagas. Being born in the mines they knew the ins and outs of the underground kingdom including the fastest way of getting there.
Hûrûrz's chest released a muted growl, the tip of his boot knocked a few scattered rocks far out the clearing. "Lead the way." He hissed petulantly, setting his jaws.
The Warg in the small mountainous meadow held the fifth Orc. Now even more pallid, the body of their slain King was fastened to the Matriarch's back. Her snow-white coat was mired in coagulated black. The large wolf's bright golden eyes were directed East in an absentminded glower.
The group proceeded on foot through the thick brush and rocky terrain. The plains, just a league away beneath were full of danger. Dwarves and Elves were advancing to force the leaderless Orc army remnants to flee. But none protested when given this task. Their grim faces and bloodshot eyes held the determination to give their leader the deserved final resting place. The quiet trudge, accompanied only by the shuffling of their footsteps was broken by a nearly whistling howl. The Matriarch's lengthy claws gouged the semi-frozen earth, she halted bowing her massive head...
"Leave her be." Until now, the entirely silent second Gundabadian interjected.
The soldier's skin was lighter than the rest, yet still held the visible tone of grey. Unlike the bright yellow and grey eyes of his comrades, his were dark, almost jade green.
"She is grieving..." The Orc continued.
"Ain't doing much..." Maushflokh retorted. " Just wanna offer'er some..." The small male stared into the ground fiddling with his fingers. "Some... Comfortin'..." His last word was almost a whisper.
Sâkaf smiled bitterly, his eyes held respect for the eldest. He didn't know the master besides of what his father had retold many times... An unerring and fearsome warrior, one to be remembered for centuries even after he is gone. Even though the loss of the great leader as such weighed on him he could only imagine how much of a burden that was for Maush and Farmak.
The small pack traversed the treacherous terrain until the navy black viscidity of the mountainous night had fallen upon them.
Sâkaf's face was nearly smooshed into the wilted grass as he nursed the tiny spark into the growing fire. He positioned the patch onto the packed pile of sticks watching the warm golden flickers light up the small clearing. A stifled whimper startled the young Orc unexpectedly and he nearly fell out of his crouching pose. All gazes darted to Farmak who knelt, slumped forward, his lean frame swayed back and forth, the rounded eyes were directed at the corpse of their King. It appeared he didn't realize sobs and mutters were escaping his chest.
"No... I cannot... I still cannot..."
To relieve the Warg they sat up the body to lean against the tree and staring at the massive frame of the once formidable ruler Sâkaf in his turn didn't register his jaw fall open. The bonfire's radiating rays snaked up the limbs to his stone hewn features, they wrestled with the shadows on his pallor face. Azog the Defiler appeared as if he closed his weary eyes in a moment of fatigue after a long battle that was no doubt victorious.
Their King looked alive.
Maushflokh knelt quietly by his comrade's side. He glanced up momentarily, then his defeated gaze buried into the ground. The young Morian continued plaintively.
"...when da passed..." He inhaled with a whistle. "Mastuh' done take care of me and my..." He broke down into another soundless sob.
"I know, boy... I know." Maush's strong fingers compressed the younger Orc's shoulder.
Listening to Snagas grieve Sâkaf stare traversed the hardened features of the lifeless face. It was impossible to look away. The colossal muscles wrapped the skeletal structure covered by the skin as pale as the morning sky traversed by greying clouds that were sure to bring rains. Many marks covered the massive frame, the most prominent of all the gouged rifts of his tattoo scars. The signs of dominance and fearlessness none other could bare. If someone as mighty as him could be slain what can be said of the rest of them..?
An interesting injury attracted his attention and the young Gundabadian stepped forth. Quite recent, covered with freshly coagulated ink of his blood, the tiny wound was clearly inflicted pre mortem. Sâkaf's sharp eyes detected the shape of a mouth and every tiny incision each tooth had made even from afar. The bite mark. Careful, clean, yet very deep, exactly where the massive shoulder muscle met the neck...
The mating bite.
The soldier's thoughts floated instinctively to the Orcess his heart beat for, the one he hoped to see again... Make her his own...
The Kingdom had a Queen, the Orc's thoughts returned to the present. He wondered if she was back in Moria awaiting her beloved's return... Only to get his body brought back, draped over the back of his Warg, drained of life so soon after consummating their love...
At that moment the young Northerner had promised himself he will return home, he will not be the one to break the hearts of his mother and the one he loved.
"...Now what..?" Hûrûrzushum let out suddenly, clearly overwhelmed by the vision they beheld.
Unseen to all Maushflokh's eyes darted to Sâkaf, before he gave Hûrûrz a knowing look.
"We hope, boy. We hope."
x x x
"You are alive!"
Her wiry, trembling arms encircled his neck, she wept stroking and kissing his bruised face all over. The female's attention to her mate was broken only by their startled Orcling, the boy released a howling whimper. Rocking and soothing the baby on her hip she returned her attention to the warrior.
"Easy there, maathizub." Durbûrz grinned wincing slightly when she squeezed him tightly once again. He kissed his female on the lips pausing to savor the taste. And then as if for the first time her gaze fell onto his injuries. Bûrzkaur's lips shook at the extent, she went to set their son down. The Orcess scrambled to heat the water and gather rags. The wounded soldier slid down painfully, his body now in the safety of his mate's arms, he suddenly became overcome with fatigue. His lids leaded, he blinked gravely shuddering in agony but then relaxing at her touch.
"She helped me..." He murmured hoarsely. And faced with Bûrz confused gaze the Orc attempted to speak louder.
"She was ther'... Rimkaur..." The male sighed. "Went to'im..."
"She wouldn't listen..." The large, stinging droplets inundated the Orcess' inky eyes.
"Ain't ye fault." His voice raspy, Durbûrz coughed deeply attempting to clear his throat. "I've seen her eyes. She'duh gone till Arda's end for'im..."
Bûrzkaur's knife-edged teeth drew blood from her lip. Would she ever see her friend again..?
The young mother continued tending to her mate's injuries.
x x x
The life in times of war is always different, in any Kingdom. It is harder, strained, filled with worry, longing, hope. And so it was in Moria. With nearly all males gone, the mines were quieter, almost desolate at times. Even the littlelest of imps seemed to loose their vigor and playfulness.
The work didn't stop for Foshâlob however. There were always newborns, in the area that densely populated it was inevitable. The birther was happy for it, they'll need it. Hard on many mothers but the aftermath of the battle will require the population replenishment. She expected three imps today.
Being one of the eight elders Fosh also was in charge of all the happenings, not that anything happened at all. Except occasional brawling, disagreements that was about it. The elder committee was comprised of four females and four males, who shared the power equally. One of the males was the birther's mate, too old for any wars or quests. Their many children were already grown and mostly females, yet her old heart didn't rest easy. Her two eldest sons were ordered to Dol Guldur months ago. Having a good part of Gundabadians in them they were taller than most Morians... Stronger... The female sighed fixing her lengthy grey locks into a high ponytail.
The wrinkled face popping up at her doorway next surprised her more than any.
"What ye want?" The elder inquired in mock anger. "Don't think ye having imps no mo..."
The stooped, grey Orc in front of her lifted the stare that was previously glued to the ground. His face forced the birther to swallow her words. His wrinkle littered, shriveled face it was... Were those tears she saw?
"What's wrong Hiisht..? Neve'seen ye like'dis..."
The ancient Orc could barely stand supporting himself by leaning onto the doorframe.
His breath came out in a lengthy, quivering whistle. "It's... Fosh... The elders gathered in the chamber... You must... You must hurry." He held onto his chest doubled over as if about to faint.
Not being able to get anything else out of the old weapon-carrier the Orcess ran like she haven't done in years. It must have been something of great importance, something...
The dimly lit gathering chamber housed the pelt clothed elders who positioned themselves habitually around the newly lit fire. Away from the group four fur and battered armor encased Orcs stood gloomily in an almost eerie silence. Foshâlob scanned the dark faces concentrating on the newcomers. They were covered in a thick layer of road dust, mixed with sweat it morphed into the stickiest grime. One, she recognized. She birthed him. Who could ever forget those dark emerald eyes, so similar to his mother's...
"Fosh!" One of the elder females wailed before the birther could master to mouth a word.
"It has happened... The unthinkable..." The other elder was always more dramatic than usual but this time the others followed suit. All look distraught, lost...
"...What... Wha'hapnd?" Foshâlob was able to breathe out faintly.
The overwhelming sensation of coming horror crept up her spine in waves.
Maushflokh nudged Sâkaf and without uttering a word the young warrior led her to a small adjacent chamber. A pelt was spread neatly in the middle of the compact space, on it lay their King, paled and bloody, fist balled at his side as if overcome with ire the massive Orc was about to attack an unseen foe. Fitting into the room barely was also his Warg, curled against his lifeless frame. Foshâlob's shaking palm covered her gaped mouth.
Back it the main chamber an elderly Orc cleared his throat. It took the ancient male a few moments filled with huffing breaths to compose himself for the inevitable speech.
"Hard times are upon us." The elder's voice was deep and thunderous, non befitting his seemingly frail frame. "The loss is great, but t'will be greater." The male straightened not without great effort supporting his stooped frame upon his staff.
"Gothizubu fathered no offspring. Haven't mated. After we aid his departure to the world of shadows we must elect the successor."
Hiisht's gaze fell onto the ground swiftly as he shuffled on the spot which didn't escape Fosh's sharp ruby eyes. Before the Orcess could confront the elderly Snaga someone drew the self-appointed speaker's annoyed glare.
Sâkaf made a noise in his throat.
Faced with the stern glare of the elder, who apperantly wasn't accustomed to interruptions the Northerner's cheeks darkened with guilty and embarrassed blush. He tilted his head forth.
"But he did... Have a mate..." The Gundabadian hesitated. "Master has a mark on his neck. Right where the mating bite should be."
Someone rushed to the next room to confirm and the moment was used by the birther. Fosh grasped Hiisht's rough shirt shamelessly.
"What'd ye know ye ol'bastard? Huh? I've seen yer look!"
Confronted with her fury, the Snaga's stare flicked to the others helplessly but they were no less curious.
"He did." The former weapon-carrier sighed. "He done mate'er..." He shuddered.
"Who?!" Fosh and a several others shouted in near unison.
"Rimkaur. She passed by tha'ol' fortress. Smelled'im on'er." The Snaga squinted as if expecting a repercussion. "Durbûrz seen'er as well..." He added hastily.
"Got'imself a young one eh..." The dramatic elder interrupted smirking darkly. "Well... She gone afta'im reckon she might be done with as well..." The elderly female lifted her receding brows in speculation.
"Dun't have'tuh mean that." Foshâlob's forehead split by a deep wrinkle.
"We-we haven't seen nuh females at thuh'lake." Farmak offered in carefully. "Commander done said take care o'thuh... Thuh mastuh that's all." He shuffled on the spot uncomfortably.
"What of thuh'commanduh?" The second male elder inquired raspily, he burst out into a coughing fit forcing everyone into silence.
"...If not then Sâkaf will..." Someone's voice attempted to add in.
Hûrûrzushum and Maushflokh stared into the ground shaking their heads. The Orc group simply didn't know. They left the battlefield with the body without looking back. Amongst the hum of the discussion all seemed to ignore the baffled Gundabadian.
"...Rimkaur..." Sâkaf brow furrowed as he repeated the name once again.
Fosh's gaze flicked up as she was the one to notice once again. She should've known... Should've known from how flustered the girl was when the master brought her back to the mines...
"Your sister, hûn." The birther approached tentatively. I'm sure your sire have told..."
"...Akh." The words had left his lips absentmindedly.
Then, hesitantly, he started once more. "...I do not wish to rule... My father... He will live." His features contorted in agony as the young warrior attempted to stifle his emotions.
He had to leave, had to return immediately. He and the others had fulfilled the order, now his sire needed his aid. The terrifying thoughts of the Dwarves reaching Gundabad plagued his mind, attacking his mother, his beloved...
He also had to search for his sister...
x x x
The task of preparing the body for the final departure was taken by Foshâlob. The young Gundabadian was compelled to volunteer as well. After all if his sibling indeed mated the master, he was now or was supposed to be family. It's the least he could do before taking his leave.
The funerary chamber was lit by numerous candles creating the required solemn mood. The elder worked deliberately, dipping the cloth into the warm liquid she scrubbed the blood away. Fosh bit her lips, amongst many congealed coal-black streaks there were barely discernable signs of dark red. Her fingers clenched the edge of the granite platform.
Not hers... Not hers... She reiterated inwardly.
Foshâlob's chest rose in a deep inhale. She was supposed to grieve yet she was almost suffocatingly livid. When Rim was sent off in a way alike Shapogatâr she was relieved... But now what... Even if the poor imp is still alive what will she do when she learns of the Pale Orc's death... To loose a mate especially such a brief time after the bond is created is more often than not does not end well. The grief drives one insane... Slowly eating away at the heart until nothing but a shell remains.
"You think she is dead don't you?" Sâkaf noted despondently.
She must have let more emotions show than she had thought. The birther met the male's astute green eyes.
They shone with a calming, jade light. "Tell me about her Foshâlob... Tell me more of my sister..."
x x x
Sâkaf and Hûrûrzushum left abruptly, supplied with Wargs by Morians. The rest of the population readied for the final departure. Deep in the bottomless shafts of Moria, many glâdu of snaking stairs and passages down into the impenetrably dark mountain womb was Morlum. The Black River disappeared into the underground cavern never to be seen again. Orcs believed the stream led to the world of Shadows, where all dead must go.
The body rested on a wooden float, decorated in best furs. Azog's arms were crossed on his chest in sign of the regality of the deceased. No final speeches, no ceremonials, their King was the leader of a few words. The few of the population that could make it into the abysmal cavern mirrored the eerie silence of the underground. Eight Snagas, including Farmak and Maushflokh carried the platform.
The soft gurgling of Morlum was the only sound until a familiar voice produced a raspy whisper.
"Mmm... Mastuh got somethin' in'im hand..." Hiisht nudged Fosh as her vexed gaze darted into his direction. That anger faded however, there was something, protruding ever so slightly from master's tightly constricted fist.
"Go'n Hiisht check whats'it..." The elderly speaker halted the procession. The cot was lowered carefully and Hiisht stepped tentatively as if walking on ice, his shriveled skin covered fingers clenched and straightened with nervousness. He started slowly with only one of his digits but soon had to use both of his hands to attempt to unclasp the Pale Orc's fist. With all else failing soon huffing and furrowing his brow he was using his two fingers as a pincer, grasping at the object inside...
"Something smooth and... Warm..!" Hiisht's eyes shot wide. "I-I... can't free mi'finguhs..." His arm jerked back as two other Snagas attempted to aid.
A sound so prominent, it silenced the melody of the waters, it inundated the cavern resounding off the pitch-black walls, a hiss bound in a growl.
"Narrrr." It sputtered growing ire. "Nar..."
x x x
"Still here" by Digital Daggers
When you are submerged your vision is clouded no matter how clear are the waters. You might see things that are no longer there. That's what he was, floating in the viscidity of his own mind, delusional in his desperate hopes.
In his bed, under the softness of the pelt his hands fumbled around not to find her... The panic chilling his heart, his chest heaved as his attempted to peel his eyes open. When something small and warm, pressed to his side suddenly, the gentle palm slid up his scarred back.
"Rimkaur..." The warmth exploded in his chest slipping down into his stomach as he rolled on top of her burying his face into her fragrant locks. Her body, smooth, small, alive with desire arched beneath him... A shuddering breath of relief escaped his lungs... But just like that she vanished as if never there. Azog awoke, struggling to open his eyes, clinging to the pleasant illusion, face against the fur, arms around an empty spot. A roar escaped his throat, reverberating the cavern it tore his chest until it slowly morphed into a rueful howl.
She is gone... She had been gone...
The Orc rolled over onto his back his rapidly rising chest exposed a lengthy scar, as straight as a pin, right in the middle of it. The sides of a large laceration were fused forming a dark grey scar tissue. The large pallor fist unclenched to expose a tiny object. The rounded silver locket she wore when returned, the thin silver chain still attached to it from when in his last attempt to reach her he pulled it off her neck... The same neck the Dwarvish weapon rested against... The Orc's thumb brushed the intricate filigreed landscape still delineated by blood. In an odd reaction his lower lip had began to tremble.
When Azog came back, in a sharp jolt, as if someone's helping hand had yanked him out, he was gasping for breath, even though he wasn't being drowned. The voice hoarse from disuse, he growled, rasped her name... As if still there at the frozen lake... Ready to leap to his feet and obliterate the Dwarf until he is nothing but the bag of bones.
The reality had sank in deliberately, he did die...
Yet his chest was still rising with breaths, his heart beating, the eyes saw through the blackness around him, he peered into the shocked faces not finding the one he wanted. How was it all possible? The palm sliding over the smooth river rocks he stood and collapsed immediately, many limbs rushed to his aid, helping him in silent awe and amazement. When the light shafts of the upper level hit his skin he had finally fathomed the location and slacked as overpowering waves of nausea rippled through his torso, forcing him to shudder and double.
"Not here..." He croaked. "Not here..."
He had to go back there... Had to get to her...
The King was taken to the healer's eventually, to get his strength back. But there was not much to be accomplished, all he needed was time. His wound of only three days old wasn't spurting blood even when he attempted to breathe deeply. The sharp pain and the sound of the blade slashing through his flesh still plagued him, yet he was still here, he lived... Azog recalled her sobs, her pleas, her beautiful, tear mired face...
All she wanted from him, was...
Him...
It was so simple, yet he, in his blood thirst and the madness of vengeance could never give it to her...
The Orc realized all now, even more so that the vile voice in his mind had lost its sound. He still felt it humming in the distance, yet for the first time in years he answered only to himself. And another realization came crashing down right after, as the image of Rimkaur's features still rippled in front of him...
In truth it never left him...
It was her...
Her inky tresses flapped at her back like a dark storm cloud about to unleash its fury, the small hands burned as searing coals on his skin. Her last gift, before her own life had faded away.
"...I've dreamt we had a child... A boy..." The soft, loving voice plagued by grief rang in his ears over and over again. Was she..? Was she with child... His son. In the fading torch lights his deep sapphire eyes shone as his insurmountable grief morphed into the reaction he haven't experienced in over two centuries.
In irrational moments of hope Azog thought she might have survived. He hadn't seen it happen... Yet something in his heart withered more and more day to day.
Interrogating Maushflokh and Farmak didn't give him much information. His own army was the mere leftovers and the Pale Orc had nearly rode there himself only to collapse in his still present weakness. His wound had opened back up and this time he hoped he'd bleed to death... Yet he awoke once again.
All have become increasingly dire when more warriors had begun to return from the battlefield. He spoke with each one, frantic, like a madman with hope in his bloodshot eyes. No one knew nothing of a red-haired human or even her sire... That was until a most Northern division commander had ventured back to Moria.
The war was lost, however not everything was in vain. The King under the Mountain was now deceased, his kin held an opulent funeral and rumors carried one name from lips to lips. He was slain by a woman with black eyes, a feral creature, a witch, a spawn of all vile that exists...
As the Orc soldier recalled words he overheard, Azog's glassed eyes stared into nowhere. He was many years back in one of these very tunnels, a small female child in his lap, pouting in her very serious fury.
"He lives?" The girl inquired. And as he nodded in confirmation her golden eyes flashed with an almost insane determination. "Then one day I will kill him."
The Orc re-telling the story cleared his throat.
"She gut'im, mastuh... Wrote yer name in'is flesh..." The soldier's gaze drifted to inspect the stone tiles beneath his feet. "Nevuh'seen since..."
The Orc King rose, his jaded eyes shut as he nodded to the soldier. He strode out of the chamber slowly, bereft of the remnants of hope.
x x x
Staggering he faltered, his shoulder collided the wall, the Orc recoiled scraping his back against another stone structure, he slid down slumping into the corner. His eyes gazed about yet they did not see, the forearms were coated in clotted blood. He craned his neck to take another generous swig. The male's scull thumped against the wall clumsily. Honestly, he did not even know where the fuck he was... Some dark room to pass out it, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. What is the point of living... Waking up every day with the gut wrenching guilt so immense, it threatens to hurl your entire insides out... With the pain so crushing it is as if someone had expertly carved your lungs from beneath your ribs and left them laying on top of your chest for some sick amusement.
He resumed the aimless raids, throwing himself into the midst of any bloodbath, hoping for the chilling, spindly fingers of death to finally grab him by the throat, but it hadn't happened. His scars grew in number yet he still lived...
More so existed.
Azog consumed another gulp of the fiery liquid. He could not recall how much of it he drank... He did not discern day and night any longer, did not give a damn...
"What'ye doing here all alone?" A soft, yet raspy voice inquired.
Ignored, the female stepped forth leaning onto the door frame coquettishly.
"Can I join'ye mastuh..?" She continued, adjusting the velvety factor in her voice.
Azog's gaze flicked up. A brown-haired Orcess leaned onto the wall, letting a slit on her skirt expose her supple, grey-skinned thigh. His vision a variegated mess, he attempted to focus his stare as the visitor was beginning to grow impatient. Her gaze inspected his body, blood, the flask... With the sudden realization a vile and mischievous spark lit up her red eyes.
"Come on now, what about it then?" She flipped her hair to one side.
Azog sat, still transfixed. His head careened to the left gradually and the female took it as a yes. A grin revealed her pointy fangs as she began to unlace her leather blouse, stepping closer deliberately.
"About time you had a real fuck." She cooed. The Orcess approached as if prowling, then straddled him in one leap as a huntress with the incapacitated prey at hand.
"Looks like ye gon'need some coercin'." She snickered staring down his torso.
Her fingers tickled his pecks before she drew her blunted nose near to sniff his neck and jaw.
"Still smell like'er though..." She sneered. "Yer little baalak pet..."
The Pale Orc's gaze focused onto the female in his lap. Snapping out of his trance, he flew to his feet so abruptly the Orcess' body thumped the rock floor. She scoot back as fast as she could, resembling a long grey spider.
"Out." The Orc bellowed, his voice thundering through the cavernous passages. "Get the fuck out." He roared.
The aforementioned female scuttled away as quickly as she could, spitting profanities along the way. "Mastuh he is... Fuckin' flâgît... Bewitched by that twat... Hmmm..." She huffed angrily, lacing her top back up. In her distraction she had nearly ran into someone.
A lanky Orc, stood in the protection of the shadow, just out of reach of the nearest torch. He wore a sleeveless leather top and worn out trousers, his right hand held a long serrated dagger. He grinned at the female and sheathed the weapon, yet the malicious spark in his eyes remained.
"Wha'ye want?" She confronted the male, annoyed and impatient.
"Yer fine." The Orc kept a grin on his face, catching her off-guard.
"So what of it?" She puffed up angrily, examining the male in return, he wasn't half bad. "He dun't think so." Her eyes rolled back pointing to where she came from.
"Who's that?" His narrowed eyes kept the eye contact.
"Mastuh..." Her eyes flashed. " 'im still stuck on the half-blood cunt..." She crossed her arms.
"Mmmm." The Orc made a sidelong step and another, waking a half-circle around the Orcess.
"I'd nevuh let go of som'th'n like ye..." The male knelt suddenly, pulling her onto his knee he inspected her neck. "Non attached are we..?" The stranger smirked darkly taking a sniff of her skin he pressed his thin lips to her collarbone.
As she perked up, her arms holding around his neck tentatively The Orc looked up, his lips covered with a grin of mischief.
"Can ye do something for me sweetheart? A small favor..?"
The Orcess smiled in return.
x x x
An incredibly compact cave-like room held about ten male Orcs. Their heads were bowed forth and when they exchanged words they spoke in hushed, nearly whispering voices. One at the edge of the huddle stood out as a leader as all quieted when he delivered words. The Orc was visibly aged yet still in his prime, the wrinkles he had he wore as proudly as his scars. And he had many, they covered his face and the visible parts of the torso. One in particular, almost separated his nasal bridge in too, disfiguring his cheek as well.
"Fortnight." The leader hissed. "We advance."
"Did thuh' bitch confirm? He inquired gruffly fixing his stare onto the lanky Orc who flared up immediately.
"Don't call'er that..." He attempted the retort, but witnessing the change in the leader expression corrected himself swiftly.
"Yes she did... Mastuh."
The task the female had was comparatively easy, a mere distraction that will serve them well in accomplishing their bloody goal. The soldier shook his head as if attempting to ward off the creeping conscience from the back of his scull. He'll get rewarded well after all.
x x x
The hurried heavy steps sent murmurs down the hallways, scuffles, rattle, growls and shouts confirmed it wasn't a simple quarrel. It wasn't as if he did not expect...
Yes, he did suspect that some might loathe his leadership, his decisions, or perhaps want revenge against something he did... But then again it's not like he gave a fuck anymore. Azog rolled his shoulders back and remained seated. They'll come here soon enough, they will track his scent. His absentminded gaze drifted to his left arm, the still razor-edged and fear-instilling prosthetic. The Orc brandished his weapon with darkness taking over his features.
"This is it then?" The voice was low and guttural. It thundered as if an avalanche of rocks tumbled past him down the cliffside. Yet it was still raspy and muted from disuse.
"Mal?" The Pale Orc inquired instinctively.
"Is that what she would have wanted?" The gruff voice elaborated and with that again came the perception. He hadn't heard this voice since... Ever since he was an imp...
"She is dead, she doesn't care..." Azog's jaws gritted as once again he sensed the will leaving his body.
The large, glowing eyes told him that was no excuse. His head hung hopelessly but the mounting growl in her chest nudged him out of his misery.
"...Live." He mouthed direly. "She would want me to live..."
The massive Warg lowered her head nudging her master's shoulder softly.
"Her scent lingers still..." She rumbled quietly closing her eyes.
x x x
If for a second they thought to overcome a leader that he was would do with a mere hundred Orcs was an insult to him. His weapon and his teeth hadn't seen the end of their days to the enemy's dismay. To add to all not all were traitors, not all took grief and exploited its effect. The years he ruled Moria had indeed earned the Pale Orc the unquestioned loyalty from many, including surviving soldiers and commanders. The uprising was squashed but surely not without blood. The once that survived were dungeon bound. And that was a dark, forgotten hole no one ever wanted to experience.
What all forgot however that one year was more than enough time for the turmoil to brew anywhere it was unattended.
Hiisht hated running. At his old age he thought he should be, whatever forces be damned for this, nearly sauntering down the hallway... Yet the news were, even when admitted by him too profound not too rush. The Orc careened into the gathering room, nearly tumbling to his master's feet he accomplished quite an entrance.
"Mastuh..." He huffed reeling. "Gundabad done taken by them!" He exclaimed as poignantly as he could. "The Boshok tribes."
Black Speech:
Farmak - Lizzard
Hûrûrzushum - Brave Challenger
Sâkaf - Falcon
Maushflokh - Ink
Maathizub - My sweet
Gothizubu - Our King
Hûn - Heart (Could be meant as 'Dear')
Akh - Yes
Glâdu (pl) - Measure of distance (One glad is approximately 1.3 feet)
Morlum - The Black River
Nar - No
Baalak - Half-breed
Flâgît - Idiot
Mal - What?
Boshok - Highlander