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

I've added a lil artwork to the end of Chapter 3! (unfortunately I can't add pics here on fanfiction, so you can see it by following the links in my profile to Archive of Our Own or Wattpad to see!) Go check it out!

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Everything Frogblood had ever built, his flagship, his crew, his empire of slave trade was ablaze around him. Giant spears of shattered wood had been shot at blinding speed in all directions, spreading the flames across the entire area. It was sheer dumb luck that Frogblood himself wasn't impaled by any of the shrapnel.

The entirety of the front end of the vessel was destroyed by the explosion, causing the back end of pitch backward until the butt end of the rudder was buried deep in the depths of the riverbed.

Anyone left alive within must have been thrown back into the belly of the ship their only escape rising high above their heads, while on the top deck, Frogblood suddenly felt himself slipping, falling back towards the doors of his cabin that were suddenly beneath, rather than behind. He clawed anxiously at the deck, trying to stop the descent, but down he tumbled back into his chambers that were starting to flood with river water. He struck what once must have been his war table, now overturned and bobbing in the water.

An oil lamp that once sat upon the war table was now shattered, now pouring its own oil into the growing bonire, lighting the upturned chamber all around Frogblood. Taking stock of his situation, the once-captain now crew-less orc seemed trapped. Rings of fire now filled the crown of shattered wood above, and skirted along the surface of the water around him. There was precious little time to escape.

He snarled, making bloody oaths of vengeance, cursing the scum who had laid the trap. Timbers creaked and whined as they shifted all around him. The carnage of the escapee olog and orc made bodies tumble and crash into the stairs and railings, one or two even falling through the open chamber doors overhead and crashing into the water within the captain's quarters. From his low vantage though it seemed to Frogblood's heightened senses the duo likely were consumed by the blast.

His mind whirred, while trying to find the best route to freedom. The explosion probably wasn't caused by the weird duo. They were captured separately, the orc way back near the Black Gate, and the olog from Cirith Ungol.

No... more likely than not, it had been the other slavers, the pair of poachers, with that tark bitch, that had set him up. Frogblood grit his sharp teeth at the thought. Whatever they had called their captain, Razzim... or whatever... would pay in blood for sabotaging his operation...

Frogblood's eyes locked onto the portholes lining the walls of his burning room as the water was rising around him. It was his only way out. The orc lunged through the flaming oil ignoring it as it seared his skin. Gobs of whatever flammable material had caused the explosion were beginning to chew through the wood above his head and drip down. He snarled as some dripped onto his shoulder, sending waves of pain into his cooking skin. He threw off his captain's coat, but even that couldn't remove all of the viscous material. He just had to press through the pain, vigilant to avoid any more of the deadly precipitation.

He could see his trident across the room, pinned down by a fallen beam, impossible to recover at the rate everything was burning down around him. So, with his uninjured arm wielding the short sword he'd confiscated from his latest prisoners, Frogblood started to hack at the nearest porthole, shattering glass and wood alike. If he could make it wide enough for his shoulders, there was a chance he would survive. The thick hardwood resisted the blows, even as he struck harder and harder.

More of the slime started raining down, a great hole having been opened up above his head. Frogblood barely skirted out of the way of the sudden deluge which hissed and sputtered when it hit the flood below. The smell of the material was vaguely familiar, bringing with it a sense of nostalgia to the orc, but it was hard to pinpoint the memory with how faint it was under the choking haze of smoke and cinders. He looked up with sly calculating eyes, grabbed his coat from where he dumped it in the water, and when the next hole started to open in a timber beam above, he threw the coat beneath it to catch the falling goo.

Quick as a flash, before the flames could start to crawl up the fabric to his hands, the orc whirled in the waste deep water, flinging the coat and its contents at the porthole. If he couldn't hack his way out, then he'd burn his way through.

Sure enough, the speed at which the strange goo could eat through wood, the way in which it clung to flesh it didn't take long for the whole side of the chamber to be eaten away. The moment there was a clear path out, Frogblood rushed to take it. He swam to shore, the wreckage of his entire life sprawled on the river behind him.

He noted a number of corpses, they must have been blasted towards shore and washed up along the rocks as well, with lip curling distain. He could always recruit more orcs, make them build him a new ship. Battered and bruised, but at least he was alive. That was all that mattered really anyways.

But, the orc barely had a moment to catch his breath. Unknown to him, the noise of the explosion had attracted the attention of another in the vicinity.

A scarred and knotted hand clamped down upon the orc's chest, pinning him to the ground. Frogblood gnashed his fangs, trying to get a good look at his assailant, but unable to shrug the leaden weight, "Gerroff me! You 'ave any idea who yer messing with?!"

The fist gripping him twisted, bearing down until it felt as though his bones were going to break apart into powder. The orc could only just see from the corner of one eye, the brutally giant form of a great, maned olog looming over him, taking in a deep breath before rumbling at the his new captive. "Az gakhnar amirz latz. Amalz snaga-izub?"

"The 'ell are you?!" Frogblood spat at the olog viperously, only vaguely recognizing the word for slave. "You them poachers' boss? Come to collect yer bleedin' lackies?"

The olog noticed Frogblood's fingers creeping for the hilt of the short sword tucked into his belt, and he snatched it away before the orc could take a swipe at him. Recognition of the weapon flickered across the olog's eyes. It unmistakably matched the scabbard at his own hip, the blade he'd last seen his own slave holding in her tiny hands, "Za thauk-izub, orska!"

"I don't speak your worm's tongue, scum!" Frogblood couldn't stop the brute from ripping his only weapon from his hand, frustrating any chance the orc had to take the olog out.

"My sword..." the olog growled low and threatening, "Az skum na ir lat. Amalz na... Where is sharlob?"

Frogblood's eyes widened, trying to piece together just who exactly he was talking to. He grit his sharp teeth in irritation. Of all the luck, it seemed for all the world, Frogblood had stuck his hand into a nest of morgai flies for all the misfortune befalling him, "You ain't mates with those poaching scum? Yer hunting that bitch too? Yer too late, that one prolly got blasted ta pieces by the same shits that blew my boat sky high."

The olog roared, seizing Frogblood by the arm and flinging him away. The orc howled in agony as his arm was popped clean from its socket, almost to the point of ripping from his body, only staying attached as the olog let go at the right moment.

Rocks scattered as Frogblood came to a screeching halt, and before he could react the olog was bearing down upon him once more, making demands in that unintelligible language he spoke, "Where is sharlob? Az tumnar lat! Az pash skum na!"

Frogblood let out a shriek, trying to scramble away, "The snaga was escaping! Last I saw 'er!"

The olog paused, just before his fist could crush the orc's spine, "Escape... Where? SPEAK ORC."

Frogblood spat at the olog, holding his dislocated arm while grimacing, "Off me ship, ya bastard, before it got blasted into oblivion!"

The olog looked down at Frogblood with a baleful look, as if he had the significance of a gnat before the mighty warrior. He reached an arm back to his gear, and drew out the set of chains he had recovered from the riverbed, "Ghung naz maturz, lat mat shuz... Find her or die."

Frogblood struggled to slip through the olog's grip, but couldn't stop him as he clamped manacles and chains onto the orc's limbs, "Who the 'ell do you think you are, treating me like this?! I'm Frogblood, the slave lord!"

The olog snorted in dark amusement, "Nar, rad latz Frogblood za snaga."

If looks could kill, the olog would have fell dead on the spot. Frogblood didn't need to speak the black tongue to get the gist of what the olog had said, "An' who the 'ell are you to enslave Frogblood?!"

The olog pulled the chain now latched by a metal collar around Frogblood's neck bringing him close enough to feel the heat and damp of the olog's breath as he uttered, "Az Korra..."

***** Translations *****

Az gakhnar amirz latz - I don't care who you are.

Amalz snaga-izub? - Where's my slave?

Za thauk-izub, orska. - This sword is mine, thief.

Az skum na ir lat - I smell her on you.

Amalz na? - Where is she?

Sharlob - Human (female)

Az tumnar lat! - I don't believe you

Az pash skum na! - I can smell her nearby

Ghung naz maturz, lat mat shuz... - If she is dead, you die too.

Nar, rad latz Frogblood za snaga, - No, now you are Frogblood the slave.

Az Korra - I am The Reaper.