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3

Ar-Tashk's raiding party took their prizes and left nothing of Ku-Gohn's camp other than burning piles of debris, pools of inky black blood, and piles of orcish corpses. Alaesia tried to keep her head down, but something, perhaps morbid curiosity made her sneak peeks as the remaining members of the olog's force finished up looting. Near one of the piles of bodies, she heard a grisly, sloppy crunching sound, only to realize one orc was chewing the arm off of a corpse. She quickly averted her eyes when the orc glanced up at her as Ar-Tashk forcibly marched her to the forefront of his gathering crew.

Ar-Tashk slammed the iron bolt which had Ku'Gohn's headless body dangling from it in the ground before the orcs and roared in triumph. Blood splattered across the ground from the body as the olog addressed the orcs. Whatever foul words he spoke, Alaesia was entirely unable to discern, but it caused the gathered crowd to crow and bellow right back. Their raucous cheers sounded like nothing but a bunch of mindless beasts to Alaesia, all ready to tear into their victims.

A couple of other pitiful looking slaves from the late Ku'Gohn's were brought forward and shackled in-line with Alaesia. All around them, the orcs jeered and needled at the slaves with their weapons. One of them went to take a jab at Alaesia, only to be driven back by a low growl from their leader, "Moz snaga-izub." Whatever the olog had uttered made the orc in question obediently retreat, and any others who had been eyeing Alaesia turned back to toying with the other slaves. There were plenty of other spoils to snag before they were all claimed.

When every inch of the loot had been thoroughly scoured and divided up, they began marching back to their own settlement. The chain-line of slaves was forced to follow the orcs in silence. Any hint of a protest from a slave elicited a swift punishment for all the slaves; some were beaten, others stabbed, and one slave was was even forced onward by the searing heat of a torch biting at their back. The only one alleviated of the harassment was Alaesia, but only because the olog leader was yanking her along, himself, by the lead from her wrist shackles.

Everytime she stumbled, hesitated, or resisted, the olog would whip the chain to send her crashing forward. Everyone else chained behind Alaesia felt the brunt of her mistakes as the force of the olog's punishments would travel the whole length of chainlinks, leaving bruises and welts wherever it made contact. Once or twice she felt like her arms might be torn out of their sockets by the vicious pulling on the chain. For the sake of the other slaves, she tried to do her best to keep up with the olog.

Miles of sharp rocks under Alaesia's feet left what meager leather wrappings she had as shoes shredded and her soles raw with scrapes. When she felt she couldn't take another step, she was sure these orcs would kill her on the spot. It was only made worse by the gashes from the ghuls still oozing blood across her body. Her legs shuttered on one step, then gave way under her in the next. The woman hit the ground hard, only to have a couple slaves behind her hurry forward in silence to lift her up before the olog noticed, but he was far more perceptive than they thought.

He whirled on the trio of slaves and spat a command at the two helping Alaesia. They could only stare in confusion, not knowing the meaning of his foreign language.

An orc hurried forward and swung the staff of his spear at the two slaves until they cowered away from Alaesia, "The boss sez he'll gut anyone of yeh snaga scum that can't carry yerselves! 'Cept you…" The orc spat at her, "He sez he'll gut one o' yer lil tark friends if you can't keep up. A shame really, I wanted one of yous tarks fer meself. Ta'think you'll be responsible for all their deaths cuz pinkskins is so weak!" The orc hooted at his own joke and tipped a nod at the olog at having made the message perfectly clear.

Alaesia hesitantly and slowly clambered to her feet which protested with sharp stings. The thought of her fellow slaves' lives being at stake made her stomach drop. He knows he can't threaten me… I'd just be getting what I want, but I can't let them die because of me...

Ar-Tashk's shadow fell across her as she steadied her legs. He growled and grabbed her collar to utter a half coherent threat, "Az korra, I am the Reaper. Death is mine, snaga-izub. It is last for you."

Alaesia could feel her heart trying to escape her chest; a sound that Ar-Tashk reveled in. Her pulse was tangible through the air. It beckoned him, taunted him, driving him ever closer to the brink of madness for its rhythmic, mind warping chant. He wanted to clasp his hand around her tiny throat and squeeze tight until that ticking stopped, but not yet. A beating heart to snuff out wasn't nearly enough fun on its own. He dropped the woman back to the ground, and commanded his company to continue moving onward.

The party eventually arrived at the gates of a fortress wall which towered above them, at least three or four times even Ar-Tashk's height. The heavily reinforced parapets appeared to be shrouded in a black mist. Everything about the place felt as though all the light was siphoned away. The great wrought-iron doors split wide open, granting the warband entry, and drawing the slaves into the shadows. Alaesia kept her eyes down as she and the other slaves were forced inside. There might have once been hope of an escape from the ramshackle tents of Ku-Gohn, but the walls of the fortress were a cage unlike any the slaves had ever seen, and unfortunately, within this cage, they were trapped with a myriad of monstrous orcs, uruks, ologs, and other wild beasts of Mordor.

One by one, the party disbanded in separate directions, taking loot and slaves with each of their respective owners until only Ar-Tashk remained, leading Alaesia by her chains towards the ominous heights of the fortress' keep. A hungry-looking goblin, standing guard at the doors to the keep, eyed Alaesia. The caked blood from her wounds drew his attention, and he attempted to bite at her before Ar-Tashk roared, "irzkrat-shrakh!"

He swung a backhand at the goblin, striking both him and Alaesia onto their backs, driving the sniveling little rat away from his slave. While the goblin guard shrieked and scuttled away, Alaesia was choking on her breath from the impact. Ar-Tashk didn't bat an eye at the human's weakness, and instead just began hauling her through the threshold by the chain. Upon entering the keep, the olog was met in the grand entry hall by the overlord of the keep, Vezhir the Crow. Ar-Tashk proudly presented the beheaded body of Ku-Gohn, still thoroughly stuck on the end of the human-sized iron bolt from his personal ballista.

Alaesia was almost sure at least one of her ribs was broken now, as she tried to not shift because of the immense pain from Ar-Tashk's strike. Over the pounding of blood that pulsed in her head, she couldn't focus on the exchange between master and servant, only vaguely noting that the overlord seemed pleased with the olog's work.

"And what's this slave doing here, Reaper?" The overlord moved to inspect this human toy Ar-Tashk had brought back, lifting her by a fistful of her dull, red hair to look at him in the face. Alaesia had to bite her tongue to keep silent; she had been conditioned long ago to avoid punishment by staying as uninteresting as possible. The less attention she drew from her captors, the less pain she might have to deal with. She hardly dared to glance at her tormentor as he examined her.

The overlord was an uruk, looking somewhere between man and monster. He was larger than Ku-Gohn, a regular orc, had been, but still significantly smaller than Ar-Tashk. He was a frightening looking figure, with blazing yellow eyes, not unlike a screech owl, and a black mask painted, dripping down his face. His lips curled over needle-sharp fangs as he spoke.

"What do you have here, Reaper?" He sneered in contempt at Alaesia, asking the olog, "A little victory feast perhaps?" A bird-like claw of a hand grasped at her throat, its talons threatening to slice right through her skin like shears through a flower stem.

Ar-Tashk could hear his slave's restrained grimace and her heart racing from where he stood, the sound still making him itch to snuff it out, but he loathed that it was the overlord, not himself, causing it. He uttered a response in black speech, low and threatening, like the tone a dog might utter when its master threatened to take a bone from it, "Gobu-izub. Gu nar graur snaga-izub."

"Labu snaga?" There was a hint of surprise in Vezhir's tone; the olog had never shown any interest in taking slaves before. It was actually the first time he had ever even expressed wanting to keep any spoils from a raid for himself. "Keep it out of my way. The last thing I want to deal with is an infestation of tarks in my fortress."

Though the overlord held authority over the olog, he did not quite dare to push him too far, so Vezhir released Alaesia to the floor. With a wave of his hand, he permitted the olog to be dismissed, and Ar-tashk dragged Alaesia deeper into the dark, stone halls of the keep.

****Translations****

Tark - Human

Snaga - Slave

Moz snaga-izub - This slave is mine

Az korra - I am the Reaper

Snaga-izub - My slave

irzkrat-shrakh! - Flee/Run away/Piss off, you shit!

Gobu-izub. Gu nar graur snaga-izub - My own reasons (basically saying "I have my reasons for doing what I am doing"). Don't touch my slave.

Labu snaga? - Your slave?