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

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(Chapter 60 is already posted to the discord!)

59

Sparks had begun to crackle and pop from the fuel that Frogblood had gathered when Az-Korra had returned, and before long, the orc had a full fire blazing just outside the warg den. If the olog cared that Frogblood had obeyed him, he had shown no signs of it, simply prowling into the den with a mist of bloodlust trailing behind. That suited the slaver captain just fine; undoubtedly, that hellish beast would instill a sense of terror into the slave woman, validating all Frogblood had warned her of, and yet, knowing the Reaper was a slave-lover, the orc knew she wasn't in any real, immediate danger. It was a simple matter of playing her instincts against his to achieve what Frogblood needed and that pathetic she-tark would fall right into his plan.

But Frogblood wasn't a fool either; any plan, no matter how perfectly designed, no matter how accurate its execution, would have its hindrances or unforeseen circumstances. He needed to cover as many bases as possible, contingency after contingency, there needed to be a backup plan in case any little thing went awry. As much as it sickened him to know of orcs fawning over slaves, worse was the fact that Frogblood knew some human slaves actually pitied orcs in return; a foul, rotten sort of courtship that ought to be purged, like all pinkskin blood should be scoured from Mordor's lands. But, that was a simple hiccup to account for. If, in the unlikely case, the olog failed to sufficiently frighten the woman into siding with Frogblood, the plan could just as easily fall back to exploiting her disgusting, feminine empathies for the Reaper to create his opening.

As for other possible factors that could interfere with Frogblood's plans, the remaining wargs seemed to have been taken care of, if the fresh bloody trail the olog left behind was any indication. And then there were the other two captive orcs. Frogblood glanced over at them. The yellow one looked like he might've died, leaving the other, with the mangled leg to wallow, waiting for death at the hand of the olog.

He quickly buried a sly, manic grin behind a mask of comradery, mumbling a mournful address to the ruddy, scarred orc, "Pity, innit? All the orc blood spilled, an' fer what? A single stupid pinkskin?"

Frogblood noted Barbaurak's short pointed ear twitch in his direction, "If ye weren't such a greedy pig meybe none of us would be in this mess, ever thought of that, ya stupid green-gilled git."

"Can ya blame me? Or are you suggestin' yer innocent of any wrongdoing? My ship bein' sunk in the river would beg ta differ," the slaver captain's shoulders tensed, but his expression was carefully perfected as he placed a long dry branch across the pitched peak of the fire. The flames quickly dug into the splinters frayed from its outside, the light gleaming against Frogblood's beady eyes, "Don'cha think we can juss put that all behind us? Ya know as well as I, that olog is gonna slaughter you an' me, just like he's maimed yer crewmate there. All because of that mannish female."

Barbaurak turned his one good eye on Frogblood, examining the slaver with scathing suspicion, "Put it behind us? Ya think I have any intention of followin' the likes of you?"

"Nah, not at all," Frogblood corrected through his tightened jaw. From where he knelt, he could just barely hear a pitiful whimper softly crawling out of the tunnel to the den, which made containing his grin ever so slightly more troublesome. "I've been stripped 'o everything I 'ad ta me name. You and me, we ain't so different. Far as I'm concerned, I'm no better off than you are, minus that fillet'd leg. Do tell, juss how'd that happen, eh?"

Barbaurak's sneer was plenty enough of an answer, for Frogblood, who continued weaving his appeal to the orc, "Somethin' ta do with that female, wasn't it? See? She's a devil, a witch. Making orc turn on orc, weasels 'er way inta yer mind ta make ya dance like a puppet on a string, and playin' us all like fools, while she slips 'er way outta her own chains. Ya can't possibly be blind to her trickery."

Barbaurak flitted his gaze between Zathra's still form, his own mutilated leg, and back to Frogblood. Though outwardly he held a stoic expression, something was tickling at the back of his mind at the green orc's words. Indeed, if Barbaurak hadn't been so concerned with getting that human woman into the cave, he likely could have scaled the cliff just fine, escaping the wargs with ease. But instead, he had used his own body as a shield of sorts to protect her, even taking the warg's claws that should have struck her instead. At the time, he assumed, he was just saving the merchandise for when he made it back to his own captain, but was that really the case?

Saving her was my own choice, wasn't it? A flicker of doubt crept forward like a Voice whispering darkly to him. There was also the matter that it was a fight over the she-tark that had led to half of Barbaurak's company, Tuka and Silgak, his very own underlings met their untimely ends within minutes of finding her.

Barbaurak hadn't even thought to question at the time if it really was the blood brothers' oaths that truly made Silgak lose his self-control, but what if it had all been by design? That little Voice sang hintingly.

Even Zathra, an orc with the ability to bend the mind with his freaky magics, Barbaurak's right hand, seemed to have been charmed into believing they ought to let the woman go free while Barbaurak had been unconscious. Hell, everything, after they had been taken aboard Frogblood's ship, was a haze in his mind, and to be frank, Barbaurak had only Zathra's word to go off of, for what had occurred between then and waking up on the Southern bank. Could he even trust an orc that might be compromised by human manipulations?

The corner of Frogblood's lip twitched, as he watched Barbaurak's face from a distance, "I know yer no fool. Bit of a temper in ya, sure, but definitely not a fool. Yer exactly the kind of orc that sees things as they are, under all the deceptions and lies. You an' me workin' together? We might juss be able to get outta this mess alive."

Barbaurak snorted, "I already 'ave a captain I report to, an' I ain't so shallow as ta swear fealty to another without good cause, scum-blood."

Frogblood's claws tightened on the hilt of the short sword as he hissed, "Why build the riches and horde of some other orc, when I could show ya just what it takes ta become a captain yerself? Or would ya rather grovel at that human's feet so she'll call her doting master off killin' ya again? Or juss wait fer her to get sic the Reaper on ya for entertainment when she grows tired of seeing yer hideous face?"

That seemed to get Barbaurak to shut up, if only for a moment while Frogblood continued his cruel taunting, "Ya were so quick ta kick me off 'er, an' I'd bet ya don't even know why! Meybe I'm the fool fer thinkin' ya had an actual brain in that flimsy skull of yers. Guess I shouldn't be surprised if yer only thinkin' with yer dick like a pissy lil slave-lover. Has ya on yer knees already, does she?"

"SHUT UP, YOU PIECE OF SHRAKH!" Barbaurak snarled, giving a sudden attempt to lunge, only for the sudden torque of the split flesh on his leg to send him to the floor, crippled beyond the chance of beating the smirking orc to a pulp. Barbaurak hissed, trying to ignore the pain, but even with the arteries sealed, the loss of blood was making his limbs far too shaky. The idea that he, Barbaurak, Judge of the Imprisoned, might be a slave-lover was enough to make his head fill with rage.

Razmat sighed irritably, "You showed a lot of promise, Barbaurak. That sharp eye of yers could always pick out the cream o' the crop..." The captain was a sly, calculating orc with a sharp tongue, and sharper mind, who had made it perfectly clear when he was recruiting for his new slaving venture there would be no tolerance for any orc screwing with the merchandise if they couldn't pay the slave's price. But Barbaurak had never been good at taking orders... and when he and Zathra had signed on to Razmat's crew, neither orc had an iota of wealth to their names, thus it was the first, and only time, Barbaurak had ever been called such a degrading name, "You didn't think I'd notice yer sneakin' about? Smell yer stench in the cell? What am I supposed ta do with you turnin' out ta be a slave-lover?"

"I ain't a slave-lover... Captain..." Barbaurak snarled, his eyes darting back and forth, wishing he could turn back time, even just a day, just so he could stop himself from making the stupid mistake that had led him to where he was now, standing at attention as his captain lounged at a table in the officer's quarters of the ship.

"That's not what I've been hearin'," Razmat beckoned a clawed hand to Zathra who was standing near the open door, "Bring 'er in."

The thin, sallow orc obediently did as he was told, entering the cabin, with a pitiful-looking woman in tow by a chain on her neck. Her gray eyes were sunken, but wide and bloodshot with fear, but they settled onto Barbaurak with a glint of hope. Her lips parted, forming a silent plea in the shape of his name. Captain Razmat rose from his seat at the table, walking around to take the tether from Zathra to examine the human with a precise eye. She stood obediently, though quivering, clearly knowing her place as an object to be owned by her orcish masters, allowing Razmat to turn her around to face Barbaurak and holding her shoulders in his claws before reaching around and lifting the hem of her tunic to expose a collection of scratches across her papery skin.

"Want ta rethink yer statement, Barbaurak? These marks ain't yers?" Razmat queried, his voice cold and demanding. "Yer scent ain't all over her?"

"Az gashn AZ NARKRAMP PULUM SNAGNARGA!" Barbaurak snapped back, meeting Razmat's gaze defiantly, if only to avoid meeting the human's eyes.

Razmat sighed again, drawing a long thin blade from his belt, "Fine, yer not a slave-lover. But I know ya DO know my rules, Barbaurak. I can't let ya go unpunished. If I don't, everyone will start ta think they can get away with doing the same. This whole operation will fall apart if I don't keep you dog's in line. I can't have somethin' like this happening again, ya understand?"

"Ooooh, did I strike a nerve?" Frogblood sneered, cutting through the thick of Barbaurak's memory. The fact that even in his rage that Barbaurak couldn't muster the strength to attack Frogblood was all the reassurance that the green orc needed to know that the maimed orc wouldn't be any trouble once Frogblood set his plan into action. The light of the fire flickered eagerly in Frogblood's eyes as he exposed his teeth in a taunting grin at Barbaurak, "Don't tell me you ARE a slave-lover? For that foul little tart? Somethin' tells me she prefers riding olog dick!"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Barbaurak snarled, digging his claws into the ground angrily. "I AIN'T A SLAVE-LOVER!"

Frogblood scoffed, leering down his nose at the orc whose eyes would have poisoned his tormentor if they could have, "Pitiful. Mark my words, you fool. Sooner or later yer gonna learn how slaves'll toy with ya, mannish female'll act all sick an' sweet ta make ya drop yer guard, then stab ya in the back, all cuz ye were stupid enough to think they actually cared about ya. Maybe then you'll realize the only one's ya can trust is orcs."

Before Barbaurak could get another word in edgewise, Frogblood smirked and slipped away from the fire, and down the open maw of the warg den. Things were almost ready for his plan. Just one more thing to ensure was in place. It was nearly sunset; time to get the human's answer.

***** Translations *****

She-tark - human (female)

Shrakh - Shit

Az gashn AZ NARKRAMP PULUM SNAGNARGA! - I said I'M NOT A FUCKING SLAVE LOVER!