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

Happy New Year! I wish you all the best in your New Years Resolutions!

To Alaesia's surprise and desperate relief, her olog captor hardly bade her any heed after returning to the keep kitchens. Unlike every waking nightmare she had been forced to suffer at the overlord's hand, Ar-Tashk did not bother her much at all over the following days. Their interactions were limited to the olog ordering her to prepare him food every once in a while, making her trail him like a dog whenever he would go about his business, and hunting; after which he would rather generously share his kills with the slave.

Still, Alaesia couldn't shake the feeling that she was only ever moments away from being assaulted. Even if the olog hadn't show any sign of lusting after her, the memories of Vezhir's violent attacks would come crashing back every time Ar-Tashk or any other orc stared at her. Some nights, she would lie awake, unable to sleep due to the pain of her changing body, sure that in the dark silence of the kitchen, she could hear the overlord coming to find her. When she did manage to doze off, nightmares haunted her sleep; more often than not Alaesia would wake up in a panic, blind to her surroundings, still caught up in visions of her abuser that she couldn't escape. It only got worse when other forge worker orcs started to visit the kitchen.

The commotion of construction around the kitchen seemed to keep the goblins away, which suited Ar-Tashk just fine. He'd witnessed Alaesia's panic attacks in the dead of night, while he had been monitoring for the goblins sneaking about. For the most part, unless her thrashing started to become a danger to herself, he didn't interfere, as his presence being too close only seemed to make her reactions worse. Still, he made a point to keep Alaesia away from the vicinity as other orcs arrived. Who knew how other orcs might react to a slave behaving like a vulnerable, wounded animal.

The forge workers had come to assemble a wall of steel bars across one of the arched alcoves that lined the walls. They had to haul their materials deep into the belly of the keep. Once there, they started work, drilling new settings into the stone of the walls and floor to set the bars in, hammering the wrought iron into their fittings, and assembling the whole cell wall from scratch. The process was slated to take more than a few days, during which Ar-Tashk found it easiest to keep out of the forge workers' way by just going out hunting, with Alaesia in tow. It kept her away from the forge workers, which seemed to lessen the frequency of her panic attacks, if only a little. Plus, Ar-Tashk needed to stock up on what resources he could; paying for the cell wasn't exactly cheap.

Keeping up rations for himself was enough of a chore, adding his slave's insatiable appetite on top of that, plus his agreed upon costs for the work of the orcs and forgemaster quickly became an endless toil. Hunt after hunt, he worked to keep up with the demand, trading his kills to others around the fort for various rations and supplies to pay for his debt. All the while he kept Alaesia at his side, which was proving to be more challenging than he had realized.

Keeping the human fed didn't seem to do much for her strength; it seemed like an uphill battle to prevent her from deteriorating even more. For any weight she gained, it would be gone by the following morning. She was only barely able to keep up with him while he hunted, and more than once she had nearly collapsed from fatigue. Eventually Ar-Tashk had to resort to chaining her to trees like the first time he had taken her hunting, so she could recoup while he would scout in the area. All the while, he was ever watchful, keeping her well within his sights.

Upon returning after a particularly successful hunt, with multiple caragor carcasses in tow, the olog passed off his kills to the uruk forgemaster as his final payment for the construction of the cage. As he handed over the caragors, the forgemaster, as full of snark as ever, wondered aloud, "So… Reaper… What might ya be trying to win in the fight pit this ev'nin? More followers perhaps? Maybe that upstart, what's-'is-name… oh, roight, the cap'n of the guard, has ya worried about keepin' yer position as old Vezhir's lap dog?"

Ar-Tashk whirled to face the forgemaster, "Ma gashn-lat gus, pushzom? What are you spitting about?"

The uruk shrugged with nonchalant indifference, "I thought I heard 'The Reaper' was slated to make a grand appearance at the fight pit, tonight, yer mightiness. The cap'n of the guard has gotten a bit of an ego lately… Or so I heard."

"Speak, angh-durb-artha," Ar-Tashk stepped in the uruk's way so he couldn't dismiss himself. "What you hear?"

The forgemaster eyed the olog to gauge his reaction as he explained, "Qol'dra's his name. Ya prob'ly know 'im? I hear he's been 'aving a roight go at everyone who's entered the fight pits for the last week or so. Getting a bit cheeky, if you ask me. Maybe he thinks he's got a chance at replacin' ya? The Overlord ain't hiring fresh blood for bodyguards, is he?"

"No…" The olog's entire countenance had turned dark and his voice was low and cold.

The forgemaster bared his teeth in a crooked grin, "An' I heard you accept'd the challenge, to teach the cocky shrakh a lesson?"

"No challenge I hear of…" Ar-Tashk gritted his tusked maw, and dismissed the forgemaster, "Leave. NOW."

The uruk guffawed at the olog, jeering, "I never thought I'd see the day! Who would have guessed the Reaper was such a wet-backed coward!"

Ar-Tashk lashed a fist at the uruk, but the forgemaster was light footed enough to weave out of reach before the blow connected. He dodged out of the kitchen, cheering back, "I'm looking forward to tonight, Reaper! It was nice of ya to clean up yer little slave for the victor! With hair like that, I bet she's a fiery one! She could probably use a little fattening up though!" The forgemaster and his crew slipped away, sniggering to each other, while leaving the olog to stew in his frustration.

Ar-Tashk feared no uruk, let alone a sun-fearing orc like the guard captain. He knew full well the fight pit was a playground for an average olog, and the idea of slaking his bloodlust with a proper fight was all in a night's entertainment, but there was one problem. Anything brought to the pit was included as the prize for the winner of each fight. If a combatant rode in with a caragor pack to fight, and the opponent won, the caragors would become the property of the victor. If a gang lost their leader in the fight, they were obligated to pledge loyalty to the combatant who killed their boss. If a fighter showed up empty handed, it meant their rank was the prize to be fought for. Yet none of those stakes were what made Ar-Tashk hesitate.

What had made his temper flare was the fact he had kept his slave at his side at all times since the day he had noticed the goblins lurking around. There was no way he could take her to the fight pit; she would only be a liability in battle; slaves, though they were usually orcs, were expected to fight with their masters if they hoped to survive. No human slave had ever participated in the fight pits as far as Ar-Tashk knew, let alone a sharlob.

With no way of knowing what an opponent would bring to the fight, he wouldn't be able to predict he'd even be able to keep his slave from coming to any harm, especially if he was facing multiple opponents. It didn't matter how strong he was if he was preoccupied. His only option would be to leave her in his quarters. His hackles raised at the idea of the goblins sneaking anywhere near his slave, but he observed the newly built cell appraisingly.

At a glance it seemed secure enough. The cell door was too small for himself, as an olog, to fit through, and the alcove was deep enough that his outstretched arm could only just brush against the back wall of the cell. A puny goblin wouldn't be able to reach her through the bars, if she stayed back far enough. It would have to do for the slave's safekeeping, there wasn't really any other option, and evening was fast approaching.

No-showing to a fight pit challenge was considered a forfeit, and would likely cost him his life if he failed to attend. Ar-Tashk didn't know who was responsible for accepting the fight pit challenge in his name, but as soon as he found out, he would make them bleed out in agony for gaming him like this. He gruffly shoved Alaesia into the cell, secured the lock, and tied the key to his belt. Then he began to prepare for battle.

From within the cage, Alaesia watched her captor don the set of armor she hadn't seen him wearing since the time he had first captured her after slaughtering Ku'Gohn the Gourmet. The olog's frightening visage still bore the black splatter of Ku'Gohn's blood, and the giant claw marks from the ghuls that gouged the leather hide sections of the armor.

Over the course of the last few days, while constantly in his presence, she had almost become accustomed to Ar-Tashk's brutish appearance when not fully armored; but as he strapped great plates of spined metal to his limbs, she was reminded of his barbaric, blood-thirsty nature. The unarmored olog she was becoming familiar with was still the same, cruel beast holding her captive. He is only keeping me alive as his slave for his own, sick entertainment and to be a breeding vessel for his own master…

Once Ar-Tashk had finished readying himself for battle, he paused briefly, opposite the bars to Alaesia. In the week since discovering her secret, her emaciated stomach had distended at an alarming rate, despite the fact the rest of her body remained thin as a willow twig. Even under the patched together tunic, he could see her pregnant form pulling at the fabric.

He gazed down at his slave, huddled in the corner of her cage, as far from him as possible; he was beginning to hate how she peeked at him. She never looked directly at him, face to face; he only ever caught her glimpse at him out of the corner of her eye. When ready for battle, he couldn't be more different than the fragile human, a fascinating contrast. He almost hoped to see the look of intimidation and awe she might have in her eyes at seeing his armored grandeur, but her meek gaze was averted in submission.

He leaned closer to the door, hoping he'd capture her attention, but she turned further away, tucking into the shadows, while wrapping her arms around herself. The motion gave the olog a strong urge to seize her in his own arms as he had at the shoreline, just so he could hold her in an overbearing embrace while he could listen to the fluttering of her frightened heartbeat. That sound was addictive, nearly as much as the feeling of cleaving an enemy in two.

Ar-Tashk hefted his ballista and a barrel of iron bolts; he was ready. If, by some fluke, he fell in the fight pit that night, he hated to think he wouldn't ever get the chance to hear her heartbeat that closely ever again. The thought of it sent a wild flame into his veins. No shrakh-stain of an orc would be able to kill him. He refused to entertain the possibility that he might lose, growling an oath under his breath, "Az narkramp za maukum… Az gadhal dhog ukh-krut, isla-izub."

Alaesia shivered as the Reaper let out a guttural bellow that rattled the stone walls as he departed. She dread to think what suffering was in store for the poor soul that the olog was hunting that night.

****Translations****

Ma gashn-lat gus, pushzom? - What are you talking about, dung worm?

Angh-durb-artha - Forgemaster

Sharlob - Human woman

Shrakh - Shit/dung

Az narkramp za maukum - I will not lose this fight.

Az gadhal dhog ukh-krut, isla-izub - I promise I will return, my life-maker.