Chapter III: Plans (Part I)
Two years passed. I suffered. And grew.
"Bloody 'ell, li'l Enos!"
In the midst of my overseer duties, I was stopped by Snaggi, who was suddenly praising me for seemingly no reason at first.
"Ya know, yoo survoived fah longa than most'a da otha slaves, I reckon! Theyz been eaten, bashed, starved, or worse, but yor still standin afta all dis toime, aren't ya?"
"Thanks… I guess." I muttered; Not much had changed in the working relationship between me and Snaggi, though we had both gotten to 'trust' and work more effectively alongside each other over that time, even coming to defense for one another from unprovoked Greenskin challenges or ambushes by gangs of Goblins. Snaggi sighed as he patted me on the head in a slightly demeaning way; The enamored jewels across his body and armor had only grown in quality and quantity after these last two years- much of it thanks to my team of workers.
"Li'l git, Oi'm praisin' ya, dontcha get it? Youz gotten stronga, and… definitely bigga, now dat I fink abou' it!"
His observation surprised me initially, but as I looked down at myself I noticed that I had, in fact, grown far more considerably than a two-year gap would allow; I had gained over two feet in height, making me over six feet tall at just fourteen years old- and with an incredibly strong and robust body forged over the years from strife and toil in an unforgiving environment.
Realizing what newfound power I'd acquired, I felt a sick satisfaction wash over me; Plans I had in the making for these last two years were that much more in sight.
I nodded to Snaggi; Though my animosity towards his species had not degraded in the slightest.
"I appreciate your praise, Snaggi."
Snaggi waved his hand in the air dismissively, his various ornate jewels clinking with the movement.
Alroight, don' let it get to yer 'ead now, ya git! Get back to work!"
(Music: "The Red Thread", by Frida Johansson)
As had been my routine every day, I headed for the familiar cliffhang after storing my whip and cudgel in my room; By this time, I had been in many more fights, and my confidence in hand-to-hand combat had soared, as had my experience.
On my walk towards the cliffhang, I saw the many small tents created around it as the months had passed. Our group had grown, mainly due to Strosk recruiting goblins, gretchin and snotlings to add to our little warband. I had initially despised this idea, arguing with Strosk that we could easily be ganged up on if we allowed this, but he assured me plentifully that he would 'bash in the 'eads of any green gits' that were tempted to take my head.
How reassuring to hear from one of those very 'green gits'.
I reflected on the day's goings as I sat cross-legged (less near) the edge of the cliff, whip and cudgel held religiously in hand. To my surprise, I had come across the most progress in this day alone than practically any other monotonous, slave-working day of these dreadful years.
To think, it had started with a scathing extended interaction with one of my subordinate slaves- the former baker, Elma. Though I had tried my damn hardest to keep all of the villagers from my hometown alive, it seemed inevitable that many of them perished after two daunting years working in an Ork camp; Whether from stress, insanity, or simply giving up on life.
Yet still, none of them had died from malnutrition nor murder by the foul Greenskins- I had ensured they stayed well-fed and protected for as long as they lived, offering many portions of my own food to them and throwing myself in harm's way to defend them, even when they spat at and harangued me so viciously. Though I certainly wasn't asking for forgiveness; That was a concept I threw to the wayside long ago. One may have considered it to be more of a personal redemption; Though I myself didn't view it that way.
I came upon the makeshift crafting stations next to my abode in the camp (I had managed to secure the remainder of my former villagers with the safer job of constructing new weapons and useful items, rather than working laboriously at the mines). I recalled seeing the withered look on Elma's face as she gazed my way- The once-joyful and bright aura she carried with her like a beacon during her time as a baker had all but died with the years, molding and shaping her into a bitter and stoic person. She had proven to have incredible resolve in surviving, though for what ends I did not know. Even having tried to shed my compassion and bonds with the villagers, I found myself unable to fully disconnect from them, however few were left.
"...Are you… well, Elma?"
I muttered the question to her, having thought to include 'baker' in her honorifics, but deciding it would come off as crass and spiteful. Still, her reaction was less than desirable- She spat on the ground to her side, eyeing me coldly. I could see all forms of anger and repressed fury in her eyes, and her words proved that restraint.
"As well as one can fuckin' be in this hell. An' you grew, seems."
I nodded silently, trying to share a common interest with her; I found myself desperately wanting to salvage what relationships I had of the past; Nostalgia and loneliness had taken a heavy toll on my heart and mind during these past two years.
"I… can understand that feeling well."
My comment seemed to deride more bitterness from Elma, rather than appreciation.
"Do you now? Did you understand it when you spent the past year whipping and beating us like fucking chattel?"
I grit my teeth, though not out of anger towards her. I was bitter and hateful in those first months; I'd nearly lost my mind to the conflict between my past life and the now-fucked-current life I was living. I had failed, even now, to grasp any more memories from the past, and it frustrated me. I had directed my anger wrongfully towards the other villagers, and ever since I had regretted what I had done deeply.
I worked tirelessly to try and restore my relationship with the villagers, offering them pay (in the currency of 'teef', the Ork's money which was, quite literally, teeth), providing protection over them night and day with hired muscle, making sure they were well-fed, and dealing with any other issues that tried to assail them.
Still, it was wrong of me to think that those like Elma would ever forget how I wronged them, however long a time had passed. Staring at Elma, seeing her divert her eyes, ever so subtly afraid of receiving punishment for her words- I felt a terrible despair wash over me, equally matched by a twisted delight in power that was unsettling to indulge.
I had been lonely over the years… In more ways than one. As I began reaching my teenage years in this body, it was inevitable that I would begin experiencing… certain frustrations. There was more than one moment where I had thought to request one of the female slaves to join me in my abode… but ultimately, my dignity as a decent human being won out every time. Even in this hostile, merciless world, where those with power could wreak havoc in the lives of others by the thousands with complete impunity, I refused to stoop to the same level as the scumbags that called themselves 'lords' or 'kings' in this realm. Perhaps it was because of my past life's modern outlook, or because I had been on the receiving end of abusive power more often than not; But either way, it was my resolution to self-restraint that kept me (relatively) sane and (less relatively) noble in intent.
I'd be damned if I would have my first romantic time (in this body) in this dank shithole, and with a person who didn't want to willingly share their body with me. That was the very antithesis of what I sought, and a disgusting idea to boot!
Still… as I laid eyes on Elma, I couldn't help but feel that unreasonable arousal within me. She was four years older than me (though I was taller than her by a good margin), and that caused a serious conflict between my adult mind and youthful body. Though, by medieval standards, a fifteen year old was technically considered an adult…
"Gah!" I groaned aloud in frustration, much to Elma's fright.
"H-Huh?" She muttered. I rubbed my head in embarrassment of having let out such a dumb sound.
"Eh- nothing. Uh… I had an idea, by the way, if you're privy to it."
Elma's eyes narrowed, though there was a hint of curiosity in them.
"...What is it, then?"
I pointed to the eastern end of the camp, where my smaller camp laid at the cliffhang.
"I have a… group that I've gathered outside the camp, with a… I suppose you could say… better view and work environment than here. We could… move your station over there, if you wanted some peace of mind and a safer workplace. Not like these greenshits have zoning laws."
Elma's eyes remained stoic, her face unreadable. I had assumed she was considering it, or maybe she was just thinking of a way to tell me to fuck off. I raised both hands in a gesture of peace.
"Look… I won't force you to do anything. I… I know what you may think of me, but I should have said this two years ago. I'll say it now: I want you to live, and survive, along with everyone else from our village. Even if you hate my guts, or want me dead a hundred times over… I just want to keep the rest of you alive, no matter what."
I poured my sorrow and earnest into those words as heavily as I could. Even if she remained unchanged in her mind, I wanted to share my frustration and torment with someone, anyone that could understand it; Outside of these Sigmar-struck Greenshits. I was surprised when I felt Elma suddenly move forward, grabbing my arm tightly and furtively glancing around.
"You… really want to keep us alive?"
Her words came off broken and disillusioned, which only served to depress me even more. I had blushed as I felt the hand of a woman- Even a minor physical touch as this was stimulating to me, after years of self-isolation and lack of meaningful interaction with others of my race.
"Y-Yes. I do. I mean it." I muttered.
"You think I have forgotten how you treated Malte? He is still recovering from your brute display."
I bowed my head deeply, unable to say anything in my defense. Malte, in fact, hadn't died- I ensured he'd been treated immediately after that… confrontation with him two years ago. I had considered having Azur heal him completely, but I had no clue how much of his 'magical power' Malte would be able to handle, and eventually I decided it was just too risky to try.
Elma stood silently for a few moments, and I waited around to see if she was wanting to respond. I was further shocked when Elma suddenly embraced me, arms wrapped around me so tightly that I wasn't sure if she was trying to hug me or choke me out.
"Then, please, by Sigmar… get me the fuck out of here. Away from this camp. I am afraid. By Sigmar, I am so afraid. I wake each day, wondering if I will be stabbed or maimed or raped or worse! I can't take it anymore!"
Seeing Elma, one of the only remaining strong, steadfast, and stoic survivors of this ordeal, break down in my arms so desperately, hearing those heart-wrenching words…
Filled me with indescribable rage.
Hours later, sat on the perch of that cliffhang, I reflected on those moments, the knuckles of my hands pale-white from gripping my tools so harshly. I remembered the Goblins that Elma had pointed out to me as being the bane of her existence, before they were plastered across the rocky soil. Their blood would serve as a potent nitrogen source for the ground. Looking down at my blood-soaked hands, it was only then I realized I'd forgotten to scrub the stains of those fetid Greenshits off my flesh.
Oh well.
In the end, escaping from here was a pipe dream as of right now- as I had been forced to observe in the weeks coming here, there was nothing but miles of desert and rock formations, a veritable wasteland with no hope of scavenging for food nor a good chance for survival, especially if there was the risk of being pursued by the Ork camp, or running into another one…
I let out a pent-up breath, looking back to see the encampment -along with the newly-added Elma and other villagers, unpacking their belongings and setting up camp- and smiling ever so softly. In those moments, there was something I realized quite intimately.
Power meant everything. If I had the capability to kill, to rob, to steal and maim…
Then I had the power to build my own paradise, however small and insignificant it might be. Damn the gods of this world, damn the Ruinous Powers spoken of so fearfully in the days of my village home, and damn these fucking Greenskins.
The only prayers I would ever give would be to the deity I had believed in my past life; God.
Many would scorn me for still holding such beliefs, after the atrocities I had become muddled in, and subjected to in this cruel era. I cared not for what the pitterings of insects and follied humans or otherwise would lay upon me, but with each passing day, it was inevitable that the constant misery would erode my faith.
Still- if there was anything to blame, anything to direct my gathered rage and fury towards…
It was this piss and shit-rot world that had trapped my soul here, against my will.
In my ponderance, I half-expected Azur to dance-jig his way up from the camp to where I sat on the cliffhang, but looking back at the small campsite allowed me to see him -along with Strosk- carrying out their own little activities. Snik the Death Runner, despite having spent two years in my 'service', would spend several days or weeks away from me, and had never once interacted with anyone in the camp aside from me- nor did he ever approach me when I wasn't completely alone.
His behavior wasn't alarming in the slightest; I still had plenty of times to speak to him, and what I gleaned from our conversations was incredibly insightful to his personality, as well as the culture and society he'd come from. I couldn't help but release a sigh from recalling all the insane knowledge I'd gotten from Snik alone, and despite his comical speaking mannerisms.
I calmed my unsettled mind, deciding to meditate at the cliffhang- a practice I'd adopted in the early months of my loose captivity here. It was the most amount of serenity I could get from a boisterous place like this.
Closing my eyes, and breathing deeply, I felt the waves of calmness and tranquility begin to wash over me; Granting me clarity and focus on the tasks I had ahead of me…
…
…
…
"Power…"
I almost disrupted myself from the meditation, swearing to have heard some disembodied voice whisper into my mind. Yet my curiosity won, and I tried concentrating on the faint whispers that were passing by my ears.
"Find them…." ….. "A thousand dying sons…" ….. "Glory at a price…."
…. "There is no respite…" … "Our paths intertwine…." …..
Long moments of silence, broken occasionally and suddenly by those abrupt whispers, began to grow in volume and frequency. Within minutes, it sounded as if a thousand voices were speaking of different things at random times. Yet in the massive cacophony of sounds, there was a consistent, singular word that repeated, over and over.
"Malice."
At one point, the uncountable numbers of voices coincided as one to speak the word, and a great miasma of indescribable energy seemed to concentrate inside me; Only for all of those voices to dissipate without a trace as I opened my eyes in shock. I looked around frantically, only to realize that the rising sun was breaking over the horizon- signaling the dawn of a new day.
I was startled that so much time had passed, yet the trance-like meditation had felt like mere minutes. Standing up from the cliffhang, I made it a separate goal to investigate this… whatever it was. There was no doubt that it could benefit me if I dedicated time to studying the phenomena that had just grasped me so mystically.
For now, I would need to keep grinding, until the day I could finally make a change to my hellish conditions; and exterminate the Greenskins once and for all.