***** Author's Note *****

Please note! This chapter has a LOT of blackspeech in it (translating took FOREVER haha), I've included a section at the end of the translations that is the whole conversation in English only for ease of reading.

The following chapters may be a bit delayed. I want to refactor a few things to make them flow better, so I'm working on that at the moment as well as writing the following chapters. But you can see content as sooner: Would you like to read YRWYS chapters early as soon as they are finished? Discuss writing, art, and orcs? Share your own creative works and get feedback? Then please join the discord server I made! Link in my bio!


53

Frogblood stumbled through the thick underbrush, cursing Barbaurak under his breath, but he knew the orc wasn't his real enemy. Sure, he and the other orc were slave poachers in his territory, but the olog was the real problem. It was too bad, if he truly was The Reaper, Frogblood mused bitterly over the idea. Az-Korra could have been a valuable asset for rebuilding his slaving operations, but too bad he would have to pay for Ku'Gohn's death with his own blood.

More than once, a Voice started to creep into the back of his mind, not unlike his blood-brother's own, but simultaneously something much stronger and overpowering urging him in through beguiling tones, Does your blood-oath mean nothing to you? The Reaper is delivered to you like a boar for slaughter and you walked away! Why haven't you fulfilled your oath, Gamum-throk?

Frogblood scowled and sliced through a tangle of vines; he hadn't been called by that since he had joined Ku'Gohn in making the blood-oath. Of course this mental specter would haunt him with such things. I ain't Gamum-throk anymore. He was a fool that woulda got 'imself killed afore even gettin' close ta fulfilling his oath. You an' I was both feral idiots back then... Never shoulda sworn our lives to this insanity. Especially if I knew you was gonna get on the wrong side of a giant, bloody troll! Frogblood argued back silently, CAPTAIN FROGBLOOD izzin't that as stupid as you. You'll have your oath repaid soon. I just need time. I need a plan, an opening...

Frogblood the coward, the Voice whispered back with a faint jeer. Frogblood the SNAGAORSK.

PISS OFF! Just as he started to pass a thicket of brambles, a loud snap snapped Frogblood back to the present. The green-skinned orc was rather grateful for his natural camouflage, as he saw a great gray beast just a few paces upwind rubbing its flank up and down the trees around it.

Frogblood stopped in his tracks, hoping it hadn't spotted him. Upon better observation, he could see the thing, just barely smaller than Az-Korra, was another warg, which he quickly surmised must have been part of the same pack from the den site. It writhed and pawed at its own face, seemingly too preoccupied with something to care about Frogblood, much to his relief. He was lucky the rattling of his chains hadn't attracted its attention.

Even as he watched, wary and ready to retreat at any moment, the bushes beyond it were shoved by a much smaller form; the warg pup from the night before. It whimpered and moved towards the much larger individual of its kind, but the moment it brushed up against the elder one it was swiftly met by rippling snarls. The pup had to jump back out of the way as the gray warg took a swipe and a bite at it, sending its packmate scurrying back into the underbrush. Alone again, it shoved its massive head into the roots of a tree, scraping up and down, snarling and wailing as though something was trying to break free of its skull.

Frogblood would have stayed to see what was wrong with it, out of morbid fascination, if it weren't for the moment the gray beast pulled back and locked its luminous blue gaze upon him. His breath caught in his lungs as he froze, watching... waiting for it to charge... But almost as if it were blind, the beast returned to its writhing upon the ground like a mad creature. The orc carefully, and quietly, extracted himself from the area, giving the warg a wide berth, and being sure to stay downwind and away from wherever the pup had disappeared to. The last thing he needed was to fight off a beast twice his size while in chains; though, with the sword in hand, he didn't feel quite so helpless if it were to show up.

Frogblood continued along his way, glad that the Voice seemed to shut up at the sight of the wargs. He didn't need a nagging wraith haunting his every move and distracting him in dangerous territory. Undoubtedly it would have been particularly snide at the idea that Frogblood was even complying with Az-Korra's orders in the first place. It was just to keep the olog off his tail while he planned to strike, the orc told himself. Whether or not the message was to keep the Voice silent was a tenuous attempt on his part, but at the very least, he didn't have to argue with the dead anymore.

Frogblood grabbed a few branches here and an old spit of dried wood there all while keeping an ear out for any predators that may have been stalking him, and yet it seemed the woods were calm. Unnaturally calm. He stopped and took a look around, only just starting to realize there was a vaguely familiar scent starting to permeate the air around him. The cloying, medicinal smell seemed to cling to his throat and nostrils; it was enough to drive most orcs fleeing away with their highly sensitive senses. Yet, it started to create an itch in Frogblood's brain as he sought its source.

Finally, his eyes lit up as they settled on a mound ahead, a hint of some ancient long-since fallen ruins poking through a thick cover of plant life. Coiling around what little remained of the structure sprouted tendrils of a plant that Frogblood was very familiar with: Mokob-hai. What fortune had smiled upon him, he didn't know. Though, if he still had his crew to answer his neck and call, Frogblood would have immediately ordered them to secure a route between his ship and these ruins, for such a weed was invaluable to Mordor's armies and thus worth a hell of a profit! A cold grin cracked the orc's face and he mentally made a note of how to find this place again, but moreover, a plan was finally starting to come together before him.

Frogblood brought the short sword blade up and with one quick cut, sliced a portion of his belt sash off before carefully using the portion of fabric to collect a large handful of the weed. Bundled tightly in the fabric, he tucked it away into a belt pouch for safekeeping. A foreign satisfaction washed over him, as if Ku'Gohn's ghost was pleased with the orc captain's machinations, and he started making his way back toward the den site, almost ready to set his plan into motion. Ku'Gohn would have his blood repaid soon.

Ar-Tashk heard the creeping little maggot's approach at the den entrance around midday. It had certainly taken the green orc a long enough time to collect some simple firewood! Though most of the while that he was away, Ar-Tashk had occupied himself with butchering the wargs up. He had to fight every ounce of himself to keep from charging out of the den when the faint scent of human blood bloomed fresh on the slight currents of air that drifted into the den from outside.

He knew his human snaga was still injured, that incessant, infuriating injury inflicted on her but that scum Vezhir, but Ar-Tashk had no idea how he would react if he were to go to her now. Her taste in the air was making his mind buzz furiously. His hands seemed to quiver at the idea of squeezing her tiny body, feeling the crunch of her bones and the cascade of her warm blood on his fingertips as he pictured performing the violent act before the eyes of the orcs that had stolen her from him. If they thought they could have her, they were dead wrong!

And yet, his ripped-up skin pulsed with angry fever where the warg claws had delivered their infectious strikes, giving Ar-Tashk a moment to pause. He wondered, suppressing the other side of his thoughts if warg hide would make a good enough bandage. Rabbit hide hadn't been perfect, but... at least it made him feel better at the time. The sharlob had tried so hard to bind the makeshift intestine cordage tightly around his hand, but he had been sure if he flexed his fist too hard, it easily would have snapped the cord. It had amused him so much, he had been very careful to avoid doing so. Yes, he concluded, warg hide and guts would make for much better medical supplies.

"I got yer firewood, Reaper. Whatta ya want now?" Frogblood threw his gathered supplies upon the floor with a loud clatter, watching the olog carefully through smirk-narrowed eyes.

Ar-Tashk barely turned to grunt at him, "Make fire, pagurz."

His derogatory tone wasn't lost on Frogblood, but more importantly, the olog hadn't batted an eye upon being called Reaper. Frogblood's breath quickened and he slipped his hand into the pouch that contained the bundle of mokob hai, "Ya got any flint?"

Ar-Tashk huffed impatiently, "Nar. Pagurz Snagorsk, you get more wood. I make fire. Get green wood, for smoke."

Frogblood scowled, but bit his tongue. He couldn't be too hasty. There would be an opening. It was inevitable. Patience was the key. "Alright, alright. But really oughtta do something about those slaves out there. Gonna attract all sorts of nasty beasts stinkin' up the whole place. That human's not gonna last to see nightfall once they get a whiff of 'er blood."

Ar-Tashk whirled on his heel glaring down at Frogblood who edged cautiously towards the den entrance. The olog's deep guttural voice was unusually unsteady as he demanded, "What beasts?!"

The stone face of the olog was wide with anger and alarm, as well as the barest hint of... concern. There was no doubt, he had fallen prey to the mind-warping disease of slave infatuation.

Frogblood could hardly contain his triumphant grin. He had it! Proof of the olog's weakness! After confirming his target's identity and a weak point, he could start to devise the final plan of attack! Frogblood mumbled a nonchalant response, trying to mask his true thoughts behind a careless facade, "I saw this great big warg prowling around out there. Only a matter of time till it comes back an' eats e-"

The olog shoved Frogblood aside as if he were an annoying gnat, silencing the orc midsentence, and stormed out of the den. Frogblood couldn't help but notice Az-Korra's uncoordinated scramble up the rocks before following closely behind. How pathetic it was to see a mighty olog reduced to a tamed pet, throwing himself before a slave's, a human's, feet! As much as it could be an exploitable vulnerability, it might also prove to be a troublesome influence, if he were to allow the olog to have any allies, human or otherwise. Or... perhaps... Frogblood thought as he watched the olog stomp across the clearing towards the human, she might be able to get closer than he ever could, and the olog would never suspect it.

Zathra and Barbaurak saw Ar-Tashk emerge from the warg den, covered in gore and guts from his butchering. Alaesia, herself, felt a cramp ripping in her abdomen, while at the same time the ground unmistakably started to buckle at the familiar approach of her master's weight. The only thing that stopped her from fleeing immediately was Zathra grabbing her ankle as he hissed, "Don't! Never run!"

Whether or not she understood his meaning Zathra didn't have time to confirm before the olog was bearing down upon them. The heat of the giant's breath rippled the air as he snarled at Zathra, "Dalg latub nahk isla-izub, urukdug!"

Alaesia watched in horror as Ar-Tashk's scarred hand curl into a bludgeon, raising above his head, ready to crush the life out of Zathra. She had no time to think and without realizing she threw up her own hands. Her whole body withered under the immense pressure and she braced herself for the impending strike. Pleading, her own voice cracked out in a panicked scream, "DON'T!"

Her eyes pinched tightly shut, but instead of being crushed, Ar-Tashk seized her in one hand, gripping nearly her whole upper body with one easy movement. Dread filled her as she felt her feet leave the ground and when her eyes peeled open, she was staring down into Ar-Tashk's pale, dangerous eyes. He held her aloft, growling his guttural language that she couldn't understand at her.

"Amirz brus latub krampurz?! Zaz uruk?! Amat, isla? AMAT?!"

Alaesia couldn't cower, couldn't flee, couldn't even breathe for the tightness of his grip upon her. She could feel herself trembling and her shot to the collar now digging into her throat as she gasped, "Plllleaase... Ar...Tashk... I d-don't... understand... J-just don't hurt them..."

"What shrakh are you spitting about loyalty, you stupid troll?!" Barbaurak's curt voice cut in, making Zathra groan. With deft ease, Barbaurak transitioned to black speech, catching the olog off guard and drawing his attention away from Alaesia as she tried to contain her fear that would otherwise make her vomit, "Mash snaga-srinkh thrak olog-hai krampurz, lat pagurz?"

Alaesia's heart skipped a beat when Ar-Tashk's murderous gaze snapped down towards the orc, "B-Barbaur-rak! D-dont!"

"Shut up for once in your life, Bar!" Zathra hissed at the same time. The only thing staying the olog's hand, Zathra was entirely sure, was Alaesia's pleading, and without his magic to influence the olog's mind, he doubted even she could stop Ar-Tashk if Barbaurak pissed him off enough.

Even in spite of his injured state, Barbaurak wouldn't be silenced. The brutal-sounding language jut from his mouth like an ugly curse on proud display. He nodded his head pointedly in Alaesia's direction as he spat venom at Ar-Tashk, "Na snaga, nar mupsh hila!"

"Lat narzgab gurut, snagaorsk? Latorsk Isla-izub! Na-IZUB!" The olog almost seemed dumbfounded that an orc who was inches from death spoke so boldly at him, and Alaesia felt his clenched fingers on her ribs start to shift. The pressure didn't lessen, but instead moved away from her windpipe, allowing her finally to get a full breath.

"Ar-T-Tashk..." Alaesia whimpered. Her grasp on the vile language was vague at best, but even she could tell her master was furious about the supposed slave thieves, the snagaorsk, he assumed them to be. Even if they were orcs, and slavers at that, it wasn't their fault for her disappearance. They didn't deserve to die like this, blamed for her actions, helpless to fight back... The guilt that she might yet be the cause of someone elses' deaths, just like she had caused her father's, weighed upon her heavier than any chain, "I t-tried to escape... I-it was m-my fault... Th-they didn't know... P-please Ar-Tashk... J-just let them g-go..."

Zathra winced through gritted teeth as his magic pulled a dislocated ankle back into place. He was helpless to intervene. To even his own surprise, the pitiful human woman was begging for them to be spared?! After everything that he and Barbaurak had done? Maybe it would have made sense if she was under the influence of his enchantments, but without it? No. Why would she risk her own life, invoking the olog's wrath, for their sake?

Even as the olog, seemingly deaf to Alaesia's soft words, took a menacing step forward until his shadow fell upon his prey, Barbaurak didn't stop. Ever bitter and bold, he continued pressing the olog's buttons, as if wanting the inevitable explosion, "Ruz na latub, lat pagurz olog! Lat brus na or lab okamum! Mash amub kramp lat narzgab? Az na? Throqu na? Tram na?"

Ar-Tashk felt a cruel familiar desire stirring within himself at the orc's words, a primal urge both in favor and somehow utterly reviled at the same time. The Voice within him pressed down upon his shoulders, echoing the orc's sentiment. YOU HAVE WHAT YOU WANT! CRUSH HER LIKE THE INSECT SHE IS!

Alaesia's hands clumsily clung to Ar-Tashk's as she tried to support the weight of her body from where he held her hanging in midair; her tiny nails could barely find purchase in his thick hide, but the tendons shook, like a horse shaking off a biting fly, as she accidentally grabbed into the scarring tissue of his injury. The slight sting made a wave of realization wash over Ar-Tashk and in an instant, he became vividly conscious of the woman's soft skin under his calloused hand as he fought both the involuntary twitchings from the scars, and also those of his predatory instincts. Her fear-filled tears dropped onto his fingers, but she didn't turn her green eyes away; those wild Nurnen eyes searched deep into his own, as if trying to see him behind his monstrous exterior... Never had anyone else put into words the same sorts of thoughts and ideas that Ar-Tashk had been hounded by the Voice to enact. Hearing it out loud from anyone except his own mind, particularly from this slave-thieving orc, was jarring, in a way it almost made it hard to concentrate on whatever the orc continued to hiss.

"Puzg tail kurn krukul balum sha mikbork. Zash lat grat rakh na, dhuzud kramp tash dok," Barbaurak sneered, watching the olog hesitate while stealing a glance at his human prisoner, "Kramp tash!"

The olog's hand that was holding Alaesia aloft dropped slowly and he curled his prize towards his chest. He could hear her heart stutter, bringing floods of memories of holding her close after finding her all torn up in her cage. Did he really want to see her like that again? Did he want to be the one to inflict that kind of damage? To leave her broken, on the cusp of death... like Vezhir did? Who would revive her... like he had? These orcs? Ar-Tashk growled low and deep, "Nar..."

"Hon! Lat pashnar! Nar olog shulg bugud gat snaga ISLA!" Barbaurak spat in disgust. It was impossible to mistake the olog's possessive stance for anything but obsession. "Lat nar narzgab snaga. Lat narzgab bala!"

"GUKRURZ URUKDUG!" Ar-Tashk snarled, lifting back on one leg and poising his other to smash Barbaurak to a pulp.

"AR-TASHK NO!" Alaesia cried, averting her gaze from the inevitable bloodshed as she felt the lurch of Ar-Tashk dropping all his weight onto his foot. Slate snapped and crackled as his heel landed, a hair's breath away from Barbaurak's skull.

The olog leaned over the orc, pinning him down with his free hand and snarled, "Lat atish latub slaium ur rad, TUG dhurz Isla-izub lup tash! Bugud na bala urzku, Az narkrampadur frau fakhth lat!" Ar-Tashk kicked Barbaurak roughly, and withdrew before turning around to shove Alaesia's chains into Frogblood's hands. "Take Isla-izub to cave, Snagorsk... Do not touch her."

The green orc, who had watched the whole incident from the sidelines, glared back at his captor who stormed out of the clearing into the underbrush of the forest beyond; Frogblood was just as baffled as Alaesia at the exchange, having not comprehended anything except for a word or two here and there. But he didn't protest, the woman, his key to taking revenge, had just been delivered right to him!


***** Translations *****
Gamum-throk - Plague Eater (Frogblood's previous name)
Snagorsk - Slave thief (Frogblood's title assigned to him by Ar-Tashk)
Sharlob - Human (female)
Pagurz - Stupid, fool
Nar - No

For clarity I'm including who is speaking for these (skip to the end for English parts only):

Ar-Tashk:
Dalg latub nahk isla-izub, urukdug! - Remove your hand from my lifemaker, orc scum!
Amirz brus latub krampurz?! Zaz uruk?! Amat, isla? AMAT?! - Who has your loyalty? These orcs? Why, lifemaker? WHY?!

Barbaurak:
Mash snaga-srinkh thrak olog-hai krampurz, lat pagurz? - What kind of slave gives loyalty to olog hai, you fool?
Na snaga, nar mupsh hila! - She's a slave, not some devotee!

Ar-Tashk:
Lat narzgab gurut, snagaorsk? Latorsk isla-izub! Na-IZUB! - You want to die, slave thief? You stole my lifemaker. She is MINE!

Barbaurak:
Ruz na latub, lat pagurz olog! Lat brus na or lab okamum! Mash amub kramp lat narzgab? Az na? Throqu na? Tram na? - Of course she's yours, you stupid troll! You have her at your mercy! What more do you want? To kill her? Eat her? Rape her?
Puzg tail kurn krukul balum sha mikbork. Zash lat grat rakh na, dhuzud kramp tash dok, - Quit toying around like a whelp with a rat. If you are going to split her open, just do it already!
Kramp tash! - Do it!

Ar-Tashk:
Nar... - No...

Barbaurak:
Hon! Lat pashnar! Nar olog shulg bugud gat snaga ISLA! - See! You can't! No troll would call a simple slave LIFEMAKER!
Lat nar narzgab snaga. Lat narzgab bala! - You don't want a slave. You want a breeder!

Ar-Tashk:
GUKRURZ URUKDUG! - SHUT UP ORC SCUM!
Lat atish latub slaium ur rad, TUG dhurz Isla-izub lup tash! Bugud na bala urzku, Az narkrampadur frau fakhth lat! - You keep your life for now, ONLY because my lifemaker begs for it. Call her breeder again and I will not hesitate to slaughter you!

English only for ease of reading:

Ar-Tashk:
Remove your hand from my lifemaker, orc scum!
Who has your loyalty? These orcs? Why, lifemaker? WHY?!

Barbaurak:
What kind of slave gives loyalty to olog hai, you fool?
She's a slave, not some devotee!

Ar-Tashk:
You want to die, slave thief? You stole my lifemaker. She is MINE!

Barbaurak:
Of course she's yours, you stupid troll! You have her at your mercy! What more do you want? To kill her? Eat her? Rape her?
Quit toying around like a whelp with a rat. If you are going to split her open, just do it already!
Do it!

Ar-Tashk:
No...

Barbaurak:
See! You can't! No troll would call a simple slave LIFEMAKER!
You don't want a slave. You want a breeder!

Ar-Tashk:
SHUT UP ORC SCUM!
You keep your life for now, ONLY because my lifemaker begs for it. Call her breeder again and I will not hesitate to slaughter you!