Glints of sunlight broke through the raggedy curtains. Razashûk squinted and adjusted to his surroundings. He got up using Durgrat as a bolster, and nudged the Uruk a bit harder when that failed to awaken him.
"Mmmf," said Durgrat. He rolled over and grunted again as he opened his eyes. "I forgot we were here. I'm not looking forward to this."
"Me neither. That's why it's best to get it over with," the smaller Orc told him. He looked over and noticed Torold and Dagna were already awake. Dagna motioned him toward the table, and handed him a chunk of bread.
"It's not much, but you should eat something before you die."
He snorted and wolfed down the offering. Durgrat soon appeared by his side, and did likewise. Torold yawned and took a seat across from the Orcs.
"Time to get this plan hammered into shape."
They all gathered around the wooden table, which creaked under the weight of everyone leaning on it and trying to look like they were concentrating very hard.
"So, we act horrible and then you bring us to justice," said Razashûk.
"We're going to need a bit more to go on," said Dagna.
"We'll be dragged to the town square, as I've been told Men do. Torold will stab me, but not really. I'll play dead and Durgrat can distract everyone by begging and pleading for his miserable life to be spared. Dagna will drag me away into the woods, seeing as I'm a corpse, and nobody enjoys those."
"I knew someone who did," said Durgrat, who didn't look too thrilled at having that memory dredged up.
"You knew someone who does everything," said Razashûk, rolling his eyes. "Let's stay focused. Durgrat, you'll try and make a break for it, or surrender and promise to behave from now on, depending on the reaction your pathetic display gets."
"I'll chase him and push him off a cliff, or lead him into exile someplace very far away," said Torold.
"I'll defend Torold's honor if it's questioned," said Dagna.
Razashûk nodded. "Let's get a move on, then. Torold, you've got a knife, right?"
The ranger huffed. "Of course I do."
"Good. Durgrat, where's that jar of black dye you nicked?"
"I'll go get it," said the Uruk, and he dashed over to rummage though his belongings.
"While you're working with that, we're going to set a trap at the door while we're gone, just in case anyone gets suspicious and wants to snoop around here," said Torold.
"Good thinking," said Razashûk. Durgrat tossed the jar at him and he caught it. "Dagna, do you have any scraps of cloth?"
She nodded and ducked into the other room, producing the remains of yet another old green cloak.
"One last thing: can you get some mud from outside? Just a handful or so."
"Fine," said Dagna, and she trudged out.
After a few minutes of everyone rearranging themselves, Razashûk sat down to attempt crafting a sealed poultice that would appear to leak Orc blood. Durgrat watched at the window for any nosy folks strolling by. Torold was apparently making a snare of some sort, and Dagna set about chopping up some vegetables and making a stew over the fireplace. That didn't have anything to do with the plan, but she knew everyone was still hungry.
The corner of Razashûk's mouth twitched up. "You're so helpful. I'm not going to go as far as to say I like you. But I like that you're not very bothered by us."
"Not particularly, no," she said. "I mean, I have no reason to judge. Back in the old village, I had a friend I was awfully close with. We said it was just practice for when we found men, but..." she blushed and looked off to the side.
Razashuk's eyes widened and he cackled. "I wasn't even talking about that. I just meant that you didn't beat us to death with a chair for being Orcs the moment we stepped in your house. And we're supposed to be the ones focused on base desires. Thanks for sharing, though."
Dagna shot him a snotty look. "Enjoy it. You're not hearing any more." She turned back to her chore.
Torold, who had been over in the corner fumbling with a pile of rope and sticks, looked up and snapped at them. "Could at least one of you stop talking about who stuffed their fingers in what and help me figure out how to arrange this stupid thing?" He huffed when the rope got tangled in yet another unintended knot. "Son of a piemaker!"
"Like I said! I didn't say anything about..." Razashûk trailed off and decided to save up his obnoxiousness for when he'd really need it later. He went over to Torold, and knelt down and examined the mess. "What kind of trap is this even supposed to be?"
"Er, the kind you get your ankles caught in," said Torold.
Razashûk scrunched up his face and untangled as much of it as he could. "It's uh, not really. Who taught you how to do this?"
"I looked at a book one of the other rangers had once, a few years ago. I can't read that well, but it did have pictures of people getting stuck."
"I see. Look, leave this part to me. You go talk to your fellow rangers and sow the seeds of panic. Be charming, and make sure they don't fucking swear. You wouldn't want to look bad while you're lying to people."
Torold sighed. "Right. I should probably attempt to build up some suspense. I'll tell them I saw someone skulking around the fence and take it from there, I suppose." He put on his cloak and headed out the door.
Razashûk turned to Durgrat. "All right, so, when it comes down to it and we're 'captured', you throw yourself to the ground and wail, going on about how your Mannish blood has won out over your wicked origins, and you seek repentance." He paused. "You should probably think of something more impressive to repent for than swiping trinkets and harassing unlikable wanderers."
"I burned down villages and ate everyone's guts and drank their blood. Then I took their money."
"Good enough," said Razashûk. He looked down at the mangled components and then swept them aside. "Whatever he was trying to do couldn't trap air. I can rig up a trip-wire easily enough if they're really that concerned though."
Torold returned not long after. "They don't suspect a thing. Everyone really thinks I'm on the trail of some mysterious skulking vagabonds. It's rather exciting!"
Razashûk had finally managed to get a blob of dye secured inside a coating of mud and fabric. He prodded at it with a stained finger, satisfied it would hold without oozing or bursting.
"Is there a trap set at the door?" asked Torold.
"No," said Razashûk, gritting his teeth. "I was working on something more important."
"But what if someone wants to take our furniture?"
Durgrat, sensing that his companion's head was about to explode, hit the side of the pot with a fireplace poker, producing a loud, dull clang. "Hey, I've got an idea, too. Everyone shut up and take a break." It was possibly the mightiest surge of leaderly initiative he'd ever shown. The pitmaster would've been proud (then wondered where his whip had disappeared to).
Torold went over towards the fireplace and murmured an apology to his wife for snapping at her earlier. She ruffled his hair and they wandered off to the side garden.
Durgrat sat down next to Razashûk. "I don't know everyone."
"What?" Razashûk was still half-distracted by the array of items scattered in front of him.
"Earlier, you said I knew someone who did everything. Not true. I never knew someone who made me feel quite like you do, who decorated his body like yours, who made the noises you do when I lick your..."
"Ugh!" Razashûk said. "Are you sure you don't know how to read shitty poetry?"
"You're welcome."
"You take me by surprise, is all," he said. "I mean, when you did things like ask if I wanted to jerk off with you. I thought you were making fun of me."
"No wonder you're lonely," said Durgrat. Suspecting he'd just made a very poor choice of response, he shifted closer and put an arm around Razashûk. "I'm glad you've stuck by me."
"Yeah. Let's get ready to go march to our deaths."
Torold stormed into the middle of the village, with the Orcs in tow behind him. Their hands were bound, though in sloppy knots they could easily slip out of, unbeknownst to the onlookers gawking at them.
Razashûk was the first to be confronted. "I found this creature trying to sneak through the gate," said Torold, "No doubt intent on murder and mayhem." Razashûk hissed at the crowd for effect.
"Do you have anything to say in your defense, monster?" Torold asked.
"My only regret is there aren't more of you to kill!" Razashûk snarled as he freed his hands and made rude gestures with them.
Torold growled and lunged at him with his knife, just barely grazing his shirt as he slipped it between the Orc's arm and body.
Razashûk shrieked, grabbed at the supposed point of entry, and squeezed the poultice full of stolen hair dye, giving the impression of a burst of pitch-black blood spewing from his side. The crowd visibly flinched. He dropped to the ground, gurgling and twitching, then lay as still as he could, slowing his breath just like he did when sneaking up on a particularly jumpy quarry.
Dagna rushed over. "Oh, what a disgusting mess my husband made," she said. "Don't worry yourselves, I'll dispose of this. I consider it a family responsibility." Razashûk had expected her to drag him over the bumpy ground, and felt a twinge of both surprise and relief when she hefted him up and slung his slack form over her shoulder. She shuffled off to the edge of the forest as fast as she could with the semi-dead weight.
Durgrat feigned shock at the sight. "Oh, what a horrific fate. And poor me," he said, looking up at the sky with wide, mournful eyes, "I'm just a wretch, trying to atone for my wicked ways. This world is so vast and full of wonders, and I've been kept confined in darkness by my cruel master since the beginning, knowing nothing of virtue. I've finally seen the light, thanks to the corruption in my veins being diluted by Man's noble blood, but it's probably too late for me. I did a lot of bad stuff." He sank to his knees and let out a tormented howl.
Those whose heartstrings were prone to being tugged by this sort of shameful display tut-tutted among themselves. Others remained stone-faced. Whether it was out of skepticism at this convenient change of heart or just ordinary prejudice, it hardly mattered.
Torold struck a pose. "Perhaps this creature speaks the truth. Perhaps there is a well of goodness deep within its monstrous heart, left untapped by a life of misguided malice."
"It's true! Release me, and I'll fuck off to somewhere very far away and never bother anyone again."
"No! Kill him!" a man cried out from the crowd. A few more shouts of agreement followed.
At this, Durgrat panicked. He bolted in the same direction Dagna had hauled Razashûk, shaking off his bonds behind him.
"Alas," said Torold. "He can run a lot faster than I can."
"Well," said the mayor, "You did get the one Orc, but it was the small one."
"I still think that counts," said one of the other rangers. "People die from small things all the time. Remember that goatherd who got a fever from stepping on an old nail?"
"Indeed. You could die from just a tiny vial of poison," said another, with maybe a bit too much conviction in his voice.
The rangers and residents broke out into a burble of incoherent arguing. Nobody bothered to try and track the escaped Uruk. The potential killer outside their midst could wait. At the moment it had to be decided who was the most right and what exactly to wring their hands over.
Durgrat stumbled through the forest, following Dagna's footprints. He found her and Razashûk crouched with their backs towards a mossy mound of boulders, and they both jolted when they heard him approach.
Dagna exhaled with relief. "Is Torold all right?"
"Last I saw, yes," said Durgrat. He smiled at the smaller Orc. "They were glad he murdered you, Raz."
"Oh, good," said Razashûk.
"I'm going to make my way back now," said Dagna. "Is there any specific way you'd like me to say I buried you?"
"No," said Razashûk. "We don't bury our dead where I come from, and I always found the idea a bit strange. All that effort for a body." He stopped and considered for a moment. "Just tell them you dumped me in the swamp and I sank like a sack of bricks."
"Will do," said Dagna. She carefully made her way towards the path, wobbling over piles of rocks with her skirt clutched up around her knees so she wouldn't trip on it. "The offer of potatoes still stands if you think you can sneak back in safely," she added. With one final wave, she disappeared into the trees.
After the sun began to disappear below the thick tree line, Razashûk decided to scout out the situation back in the village. He lurked along a row of shrubs, one hand near his knife just in case. He spotted a cluster of figures off to the side of the town square where they'd been earlier. He recognized one of them as Torold, who was being led into a small, squat stone building, his head bowed and his hands tied. The rest of the figures exited without him. Razashûk's stomach dropped. He skittered back to the woods, where Durgrat hadn't budged.
"I think they weren't entirely satisfied with the Orc-killing services, and now Torold's locked up."
"What? Where?"
"The fucking jail, where else?"
"Oh." Durgrat frowned. "So should we just get out of here now, or what?"
"That git and his weird wife were nice to us when it could've gotten them killed. You can leave now if you want, but I can't just let him rot in a hole. Besides, all our stuff is back there. And I really want those potatoes."
Durgrat didn't seem to understand just how monotonous the typical Misty Mountain diet was. As far as Razashûk was concerned, potatoes might as well have been oranges from Harad, dusted with rare spices.
"So what do we do?" asked the Uruk.
"The ranger captain keeps the keys on him." He stroked his chin. "Well, shit. If only I knew someone who was good at taking other people's things without them noticing."