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

Apologies for the delay on this chapter! I had to push back some of the other chapters due to pacing issues, but this and the one that got pushed back are both long ones, so I hope that will make up for it! ALSO! You should totally check out the end of this chapter for an awesome surprise thanks to one of my amazing readers, Lulu!

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!

58

Pale wisps of luminous vapor lazily drifted up from the prone body of Barbaurak's subordinate; if he hadn't witnessed Zathra's bizarre behavior preceding falling completely still he might have assumed the magic-wielding orc was dead. But no, Barbaurak could still hear the crackle of bones finding their right place even while the pain of it seemed to have made Zathra black out entirely. Barbaurak knew of Zathra's magic, having employed his ability to heal plenty of times in the past after an argument gone wrong here, or an inter-tribe skirmish there. But never had Zathra had the ability to fix anything he couldn't see or have direct contact with; broken bones, internal bleeding, and such, that was always beyond his capabilities.

This, whatever this strange episode was, was different. Zathra ought to have been dead to the world for all intents and purposes, yet his magic was coursing around as if it had a mind of its own, keeping him tethered to mortality. And the strangest part was how it formed the shape of his missing arm. It unnerved Barbaurak to see the pale, partial apparition of a limb to replace the one Zathra had lost to the warg. Perhaps it was just the nature of magic crawling through Zathra's body akin to fly maggots consuming dead flesh that bothered him, or maybe it was just how much Zathra seemed capable of that Barbaurak had been completely unaware of which made chills run down his spine. But if he thought hard enough about it, this wasn't the only time something strange about Zathra had occurred. There had been one other time that Zathra's magic seemingly acted of its own volition: the day he and Barbaurak had gotten their mirrored scars.

Back then, they had both been taken into a crew of machinist orcs and set to the task of creating weaponry for the Dark Lord's warriors. Neither quite had the knack for killing and slaughtering as well as the elite orcs and specially bred uruks that were assigned to direct conflicts to the West of Mordor. Barbaurak resented his lot at the time; there was always some hot head who lorded himself over his fellow orcs, and unless you had the piss and vinegar to put a stop to it, they'd just have to accept the subjugation. But it was better than being designated an actual slave. Those pitiable orcs, often traitors or simply captives between tribes would be scarred by the hot iron brands marking them as such. Everyone looked down on slaves, but Barbaurak was at least a step above them. Still, the work of forging weapons and armor or crafting other war materials was dull working day in and day out. Sometimes, picking a fight was the only way to entertain one's self when doing the officers' bidding got a little too monotonous.

It was just such a day, of drawn-out tedium, that Barbaurak started feeling like a nest of Morgai flies was stirring in his head. He started looking for ways to piss the other lowly orcs off, anything to make the time pass, like a whelp fresh and eager to bite his superiors' ankles. But that wasn't unusual, at least not for Barbaurak; he was always game to be a thorn in someone's side, and his commanders knew it. They could sense his shrakh-eating grin a mile away. He only got away with his nonsense because he was one of the best forge workers there, and he was always careful to ensure that. The moment some upstart thought they could outdo him, Barbaurak would make a point to take them down a few pegs... or slit their throats in the middle of the night. If there wasn't anyone better than him, then the commanders would have no choice but to keep him around.

"Barbaurak, you slacking worm! Get off yer arse and unload the sap shipment!" came the barking order from some egotistical brat whose name Barbaurak never cared to learn.

"I'm on grog break," he sneered back and raised a rough-hewn tankard. He was too busy trying to work a splinter out of his gums from the cup to give two shrakhs about some stupid shipment. That could wait till he had finished his drink. "Find some other sod to do it, if yer in such a hurry! Or maybe you could just do it yerself if ya didn't have such a weak stomach!"

The orc in question was a fat little glob, by the unfortunate name of Bubfrib, who clearly took far more grog-breaks than anyone else in the complex. He fancied himself a head and shoulders above the rest of the rabble working the forges, often strutting around, poking and prodding things just to look busy, but rarely lifting a finger. Orcs here rarely questioned his authority, except for those who lived to pick pointless fights. Bubfrib huffed irritably, knowing Barbaurak was both a troublemaker and a good weight class or two stronger than himself. Forcing the stubborn orc to do anything was out of the question, but Bubfrib would never admit it. He gave a little stomp and barked a final order before leaving, "Get it done, worm!"

Barbaurak snorted while watching the fat orc wander off into the haze of heat, smoke, and orc sweat, "That's what I thought, roll away, fat arse..."

When he did finish off his drink, with an unfortunate new splinter trying to make its way down his throat, Barbaurak hurled the tankard into the nearest forge and sauntered off to do the job. Even if Bubfrib didn't have the authority to boss him around, the job still needed to get done, and few others had strong enough guts to unload barrels of sap, vile and acrid to orc noses as it was. The cold night air of the loading dock was a nice change of pace too. As he approached, ahead he could see a thin sickly-yellow orc arguing with an olog who was strapped to the cart like chattel.

"I'm working as fast as I can," Zathra hissed at the impatient troll, hefting a barrel onto one shoulder.

"Don't care, puny orc. I have more deliveries to make," the olog growled back. Barbaurak could see the spark of irritation in the olog's gaze growing as he watched Zathra impatiently, "You take too much time."

"If yer in such a rush, then crush the elf-y maggot and move the shipment yerself, thick 'ead," Barbaurak interjected as he shoved between the pair, nearly sending Zathra's barrel tumbling away. The olog grunted, almost as if surprised at Barbaurak's intrusion upon the argument and for a moment it looked as if he was considering the idea. Then he shook his head; he might as well take advantage of the time he had to wait, after all, being driven like a beast of burden, the olog rarely had the luxury of taking breaks. At the same moment, the thinner orc was only just able to keep the barrel aloft after scrambling and fumbling to keep it in his grip, and which point he rolled his eyes at Barbaurak who was carelessly reeling barrel after barrel from the cart onto the loading dock.

"Careful with that!" Zathra carefully set his barrel down and lunged to stop each of the others before they could roll too far. "This shrakh's expensive!"

"Is it worth becoming an olog's snack, pretty boy?" Barbaurak quipped back, hurling the final barrel full force at Zathra's chest, knocking him flat. The stench rising from the barrels was unmistakable, though thankfully faint due to the tight seal of the wood. He grumbled to himself, feeling the prick of the sliver at the back of his tongue and wondering why tankards weren't made with as much care as these stupid barrels. Zathra groaned and tried to get up, but Barbaurak had jumped out of the cart and planted his elbow firmly on the barrel, pinning both it and the orc underneath to the floor as he waved his hand in dismissal to the olog, "See, that didn't take that long. Now piss off! On yer way!"

When the olog was out of sight down the dark road, Barbaurak finally let his weight off of Zathra, allowing the orc to snatch a gasping breath. As he and Zathra started moving the barrels into the work complex, they carried them to a small room that was partitioned away from the greater forge areas, the walls of which seemed to be reinforced with massive plates of metal with far more care than most places. Inside the room, the smell of the sap contained in the barrels permeated the vicinity. It was almost enough to make Barbaurak sick on the spot, "Whattya even need all this shrakh for anyways?"

"Ain't you ever used a fire weapon before, lad?" Zathra glanced at him with a scathing look like he was an idiot.

"I ain't yer lad, dumb arse," Barbaurak snapped, as he started rifling around the room curiously. There was a surprising lack of torches or candles in the room, making it rather dim, even for orc eyes, except for a network of polished metal disks that were angled perfectly from a small gap in the wall to ricochet light in from the fires outside. "Of course I know how sap is used, I jus' can't fathom why ya need so much..."

"Stop touching things if ya don't know what they are for!" Zathra hissed, snatching a small glass and metal cylinder out of Barbaurak's hands even as he protested; it would have made a decent replacement tankard, double the size of his last one at least! Zathra carefully placed the cylinder on a table near the door, its contents sloshing slowly within, and explained impatiently as he got back to his workbench and cracked open one of the new barrels. If he could satisfy Barbaurak's curiosity, maybe he'd leave sooner, "I'm in charge of making sapper bombs. Each canister needs to be carefully filled and sealed, but not alotta folks can handle the smell."

"Ooohhh is that why they have ya tucked away in this cosy lil cabin o' yers?" Barbaurak eagerly reached for a tankard he had spotted sitting atop a grog basin before Zathra could stop him. If Zathra could have thrown Barbaurak out, he would have, but despite being an inch or two taller, Barbaurak was definitely better built. If it came down to blows, Zathra knew he wouldn't be able to match the other orc's strength. Barbaurak, on the other hand, was practically giddy to see the Zathra starting to fume as he welcomed himself to the basin, "I thought they just wanted to hide that revoltin' face of yers. In the right lightin', I'd think ya were some sorta elf! Mmmfff! Skator gash, what's in this grog?!"

Zathra's nostril curled up in a look of disgust as Barbaurak choked and spluttered the contents of his stolen tankard, "It ain't grog. It's spirits."

"'Ow in the blazes did someone like YOU get spirits?!" Barbaurak glared indignantly at Zathra out of one eye as he tipped the tankard up and downed the contents greedily.

The pale yellow orc rubbed his eyes, trying to maintain his composure, "It's fer the ignition chamber of the canisters an' yer drinking my very LIMITED supply that I NEED ta do my job."

Barbaurak shrugged and filled his tankard again, "If it's so important the commanders will getcha more. Ya ever mixed this stuff directly with the sap?"

"No," Zathra stated with a deadpan look. Clearly, satisfying his curiosity wasn't working to get rid of him. "That'd be a massive waste of materials."

"Why?"

At that, Zathra had to pause. He never had actually tried mixing his materials. He had only ever just followed his training for making sapper canisters, never really caring to question it, "Well, it's just a lot of expensive stuff to go and experiment with like tha'... I don't wanna have ta replace it myself. HEY!"

Barbaurak grabbed the canister that Zathra had been filling with sap, and dumped the contents of the tankard in, giving it a good swirl and creating a noxious concoction as the viscous liquid became intermingled with the spirits. Zathra lunged, trying to snatch it back, only to have Barbaurak kick the workbench into his gut, "Quit fussing, elf-face. I'll deal with the commanders if they get pissy."

Zathra grit his teeth; he hated having to use his abilities around other orcs. The last officer to witness it got his throat slit for his troubles, just so Zathra could keep a low profile. He didn't want to attract any more attention to himself than was necessary, but this stubborn orc invading his workspace just didn't know when to quit! Zathra shoved the table back and grabbed Barbaurak's arm, sending a faint pulse of blue energy sparking up the limb before it settled at the orc's temple, "STOP messing with my things and git out already!"

As if suddenly stunned by an electric shock, Barbaurak had to blink a few times to regain a sense of what he had been doing in the first place. He looked down at Zathra's hand on his arm and shrugged it off angrily, shoving the canister back into Zathra's waiting hands, "Fine, I'll leave. Ya don't have ta have such a stick up yer arse."

The smell coming off the mixture within the canister was enough to singe Zathra's nose hairs as he took a whiff. It couldn't really be helped now, as the ooze couldn't be separated into its individual components anymore. He shot an icy glare at Barbaurak who was moseying his way to the exit, taking his sweet time and examining every nook and cranny along the way, and for a moment Zathra thought to himself that he should have given Barbaurak a stronger zap, but at least he was leaving. It didn't take much effort to seal the canister, hazardous as it was to leave open, and once finished the loitering orc still hadn't made it to the door.

Zathra sighed and moved to push Barbaurak out, "Okay, thanks fer yer help. Ya can go back ta yer own station now."

But the orc wasn't so easy to dismiss. He pivoted, slipping past Zathra with one easy movement back to the workbench to grab the canister and flipping it back and forth in his hands and watching the solution in the glass roll back and forth with intrigue, "Funny tha' such a small thing is so... volatile."

"Seriously, just keep the stupid thing then and GET OUT!" Zathra snarled, seizing the collar of Barbaurak's jerkin, and yanking him back towards the door. As soon as Zathra managed to push him out of the room, he heard the orc let out a sinister chuckle.

Just across the way, entering from the loading bay, Barbaurak saw Bubfrib scouring around, no doubt looking for someone to micromanage. He was carrying a torch, looking to illuminate any hiding spots Barbaurak might've slipped into. But Barbaurak felt no need to hide, in fact, he reveled at the idea of knocking a hole in Bubfrib's ego. His knuckles twisted around the canister, and he jerked his shoulder out of Zathra's grip just in time to snarl, "Oi FAT ARSE. CATCH THIS!"

"NO!" Zathra barely had a moment to snarl, lunging forward and trying to grab the canister before it left Barbaurak's hand. But it was too late. Barbaurak had pitched the canister with all his might, and it was hurtling towards Bubfrib's face. That was the last thing Barbaurak could remember of that day. The subsequent light and blast when the canister made impact and shattered had burned away all memory after that.

It had only been after the fact, and in the devastating aftermath of the building burning down around them, that Barbaurak had even come to. Based on how much the fires had died down by that point, he had estimated a good day or two had passed, if not more. But that wasn't the strange part after the incident. At the time, the blast had knocked Zathra back into Barbaurak, taking the brunt of the damage dealt, yet his scars hadn't turned out quite as bad as Barbaurak's. That was when Barbaurak learned of Zathra's magical capabilities, for somehow, even as the sticky ooze burned on and on until not a drop was left, the flames were left combatting a strange blue energy.

When Barbaurak had woken up, he watched the energy crawling on Zathra's face, having landed under the thinner orc after being knocked back. The strange blue light, being in such close proximity to Barbaurak, even leapt and arced across to his own face where Barbaurak felt it dig into his flesh. By the time the burning gel was spent, the blue energy had petered out into pitiful sparks, but both Barbaurak and Zathra, though still unconscious, were left relatively unscathed. The same couldn't be said of Bubfrib. His remains had turned into a scalding puddle of goo, not quite so lucky as to have a constant stream of magic healing him entirely through the process of burning alive.

Barbaurak's hand drifted absently up to the scars on his face as he looked down at the still Zathra's own matching set. It was like looking into a mirror, seeing the flesh where the sap and alcohol mixture, in combination with whatever had been in the ignition chamber had latched onto their skin and clung till both orc's faces had melted beyond recognition. But one thing was sure, whatever was going on now with Zathra's magic, was far stronger than that first incident. To heal a body crushed by an olog or to restore a missing limb? It was a form of witchcraft that perturbed Barbaurak far more than anything else he had ever witnessed.

***** Translations *****

Shrakh - Shit

Bubfrib - a name meaning Pig Pimple

Skator gash - Hellfire!

And a HUGE shout out to Lulu for creating this AMAZING artwork featuring Zathra & Barbaurak! It seemed fitting to share this with this chapter, considering it is all about how they got their scars. (Sadly FF does not allow embedded images, so if you want to see the the artwork, please use the link in my profile to check the story on Ao3