****Author's note****

I hope you have been enjoying the story so far.

I will be taking a break from posting over the holiday weekend.

Tune in next week for more!

Alaesia followed the witch at as far a distance as her lead would permit, but as soon as they were out of range of Ar-Tashk's senses, the witch turned on her ward, holding her staff point threateningly at Alaesia's throat. Alaesia recoiled, waiting for the imminent strike of pain she had been conditioned to expect. But it never came.

Instead, Alaesia felt her shackles being pulled as other goblins joined the witch in their routine efforts to restrain the human. When the slave woman was sufficiently subdued, the witch used a large, jaw-bone knife to slice away Alaesia's makeshift clothing from her midriff. The witch cut the sackcloth from hem to hem causing it to slough to the floor and leaving Alaesia exposed. She could swear a couple of the goblins cackled at her predicament as they pulled her chains even more taut. Unfortunately, her body had little strength to fight them and she was quickly cowed to the witch's demands.

The eerie crone forcibly inspected Alaesia to ensure her spell was proceeding as planned. She sneered contemptuously at the human's visible discomfort at the examination procedure, "Be silent, bala. There's plenty of worse things to suffer. Consider yourself lucky that this won't take as long as carrying your own spawn."

Alaesia jolted as a sharp pain lanced from each place the witch prodded with her pointed nails. The feeling caused her stomach to twist as a wave of nausea washed over her. She grit her teeth, trying to curb the sensation, while also trying to remain silent, as to not encourage the witch's taunting. But the crone continued, almost as if she was taking great pleasure in lording over the human.

"In just a fortnight more, the majick will have run its course, and you'll have the honor of birthing the first of Vezhir's new army," the witch stared down her crooked nose, watching Alaesia's face blanch only to have to throw herself backwards as Alaesia began to wretch and heave. Putting the thought of giving birth to an orc into words had pushed her past her breaking point, causing Alaesia to lose the control she had on her nausea.

Despite the heaving, Alaesia's stomach was empty; only a bit of raw stomach acid splattered on the stone floor and splashed onto the witch. She hissed and moved to backhand the slave, only to pause in thought. At the same time, the other goblins quickly moved to reinforce their hold on Alaesia even as she continued to gag.

It was the witch's task to ensure the overlord's spawn forming in the slave's body had enough nutrients to grow, even if its carrier tried to reject it. The crone retrieved the rations she had collected for Alaesia, waiting for the woman to gain control of her faculties once again. Finally, when the sickening feeling passed, Alaesia looked up to see the witch holding her staff at Alaesia's throat once more.

"You think you've known suffering, don't you, bala? You've no idea what I could do to you. But the overlord wants you alive..." The witch's tone had a wicked note to it.

She had seen Alaesia's fear take control of the human woman's mind every time Vezhir had come to the kitchen over the past few days. It was a primal, instinctual response that silenced even her pleading for death. "I see hunger in his eyes. He craves feeling you, tasting you, having you all for himself. You think he leaves you in peace for any reason other than me? He'd carve your bloody, beating heart from your chest if I said so. Imagine what I could have him do, if you continue to fight with me–"

Alaesia's mind began to race and cold sweat flooded across her skin at the witch's words.

"–Imagine if I had you chained in his personal chambers, day and night, bala."

The witch let her threat hang in the air, with a cruel sneer. The thought froze Alaesia like a wave of ice. The uruk's visits to the kitchen had already left her internally lacerated and her will broken; she couldn't fathom the horror of being forced to stay alive and subjected to him in every waking moment. She tried to take a calming breath, but it shuttered in her lungs. Finally, she bowed her head.

The witch noted Alaesia's dejected resignation and indicated that her entourage of fellow goblins should slowly relieve their restraints on her until she was granted control of her own limbs. The witch commanded curtly for Alaesia to eat; the human woman took a piece of stale tack from one of the goblins, and tentatively took a bite. She gnawed on the food in silent obedience, then took another bite, and another until it was gone.

The witch forced Alaesia to continue eating, over and over; her gaunt stomach eventually became painfully distended. Satisfied, the witch led Alaesia through multiple halls deep in the fortress, periodically making attempts to either test her obedience or to accomplish some sort of task. By the time they returned to the kitchen, Alaesia had been clothed in a spare, rough-spun tunic and was half rinsed clean in water drawn from an icy cistern beneath the fort.

Vezhir was exiting just as the witch returned with Alaesia in tow. His eyes flashed in Alaesia's direction. His gaze pierced into her very core, stripping her to complete vulnerability in his mind. She shrank away and hurried past him; desperate to be beyond his reach. Vezhir eyed the witch, who nodded at him. The whole of the silent interaction did not go unnoticed by Ar-Tashk. The great hulking beast rumbled deep in his chest, but Vezhir swiftly interrupted any thought that were rising in Ar-Tashk's mind.

"The goblin will remain here, under my command, Reaper. I'm assigning her to ensure your slave is kept alive and in line for you," He gestured to the goblin witch. "After all, being your first and only snaga, it would be a shame if she died too quickly. You should take some time, make the most of having a slave. They can be... of use, sometimes."

The logic made the olog scowl, but he supposed Vezhir was right, but even still, something pricked the mane on his neck about the goblin witch. From then on, he decided, that his slave would be kept firmly at his side at all times.

When Vezhir had departed, Ar-Tashk shoved a number of crates around until he had formed a pile against which he could rest his weary back. The overlord had been immensely pleased to hear that Ar-Tashk's task had resulted in around five-score slaves being seized and delivered to the cave system on the far border of Nurn. Ar-Tashk had made a point to not inform Vezhir of the four slaves who had died during the ordeal. What the overlord didn't know, couldn't trouble him. Yet even the Reaper, a mighty olog, was exhausted by at least fourteen days of nonstop tracking and fighting.

As he slouched deeper into his makeshift back rest, he threw a rotting apple core in the air and caught it in his mouth; he barked sharply at his slave, "Snaga-izub! I hunger! I said make food!" Hadn't he told her to make him a meal? What good was a slave if she couldn't even do that.

Alaesia felt the witch yank her chain, forcing compliance after the witch leered at her with a knowing glance that was exchanged between them. If obedience to the witch was the only way to spare herself from the threat of being abused by the overlord again, she couldn't help but comply. Alaesia slowly moved to fulfill with the brute's order, but there was precious little food in the kitchen that was still edible.

Rats had very nearly cleared out any hint of food, and mostly, only fetid scraps remained. After some time of scrounging, she timidly approached the olog with a stew of scraps in a small cauldron. She tried to offer him a bowl, only to have him bat her aside as he grabbed the searing hot cauldron in just one hand and down the contents in a single swig.

Ar-Tashk tossed the now-empty cauldron aside; it was hardly enough to sate his immense hunger. He pulled Alaesia's lead close, until he could see the flaring whites of her eyes. For the first time since he had cauterized her wounds, he was able to look over the human woman.

She was still as fragile as ever, pink and soft, but he could perceive through scent that she felt more vulnerable than before. Ar-Tashk couldn't quite put a finger on what he could sense, but whatever it was agitated him. Weakness in a fortress full of uruks was a death sentence. Perhaps that was the source of his unease. The Reaper had fought tooth and nail to become the overlord's right hand. It felt wrong to have something as weak as a pinkskin in the fort; almost as though simply having her around made himself weak. If he hadn't been so infuriated by the blow to his ego, the sense of losing his authority over death, he probably would have snuffed out the human's life already.

Returning from his thoughts, Ar-Tashk was enraged to know someone had tampered with his possession while he had been away. He grabbed Alaesia's injured forearm, making her strain to stand on her toes, lest her arm be dislocated. In a low threatening tone he demanded to know who had harmed his slave. Unfortunately his broken use of language lost the query in translation, but it seemed the goblin witch understood.

She uttered something to the olog in blackspeech to which Ar-Tashk responded that the witch should fetch the offender. Alaesia could only watch in horror when the witch returned with another goblin in tow, and the olog ripped its arm off with one swift pull.

The wretched goblin creature writhed and shrieked in pain as it stumbled and fled. Ar-Tashk sneered and cursed after it. Next time anyone touched his slave, it would be their head; the olog bit into the detached limb, ripping off chunks of meat and swallowing them without chewing.

He glowered at his slave, feeling a pang of hunger, even as he devoured the rest of the arm. Tomorrow they'd hunt.

****Translations****

Bala - breeder

Snaga - slave

Snaga-izub - My slave

Pinkskin - human