It's here! I'm sorry about the delay in posting, but between a nasty writer's block, work, scholarship deadlines, and that monster procrastination, it's been hard getting the time to write. (Since summer for me does not equal a ton of extra time to lie around and derp) Enjoy!
It was just another one of your average Ringwraith's day in Minas Morgul; the orc captains were shouting, whips were cracking, prisoners were screaming, and the fell beasts were growling, all the usual hub-bub of noises commonly associated with an evil fortress. Khamûl was striding rapidly through the luminous hallways of the Dead City, stressed with his job and attempting to fend off a migraine, though it was not yet lunchtime. (Or munch-and-crunch-time, as they say in Mordor)
So, since the Chief had banned coffee to the dismay of his fellow wraiths, the lieutenant was headed to the dungeons by way of a quick pick-me-up. Nothing could cheer Khamûl up more after a long day of work than simply standing in a cell and reflecting on all the torture and pain its inhabitants had endured. Reaching an empty chamber, he entered, inhaling deeply in contentment as the heavy, cloying scent of decaying flesh and clotting blood came to his nostrils.
Suddenly, a less-than-soothing voice hollered nearby. "Kha-mûl! Where are you?"
"That's sir to you, scoundrel!" His commanding officer roared back, solving the question as to his whereabouts.
"Hmm, day been that bad already?" Udu commented, unfazed by the other's temper as he sauntered into the cell. Khamûl was never picky about how his companions addressed him except when frazzled or in front of the Chief. Some semblance of ranking must be kept, after all.
"Yes, it has," Khamûl sighed as he turned to face his fellow wraith. "So, I came here to cool off and rejuvenate. Why, just think of all the pain and misery the people in here have gone through, countless lives blighted, the bright flame of youth extinguished in a blink, dreams turned to dust, hopes (and appendages) crushed…." He soliloquized, wiping away a retrospective tear. "It's beautiful, that's what, and more restful then overseeing an execution."
"Agreed," Udu responded, secretly wondering if Khamûl needed more than a break as he absently scratched at the three-day scruff on his chin. "Anyways, I was sent to inform you that the Boss wants a new torture device by the next staff meeting, something particularly horrid."
"Of course he does," Khamûl huffed as his partially attained peace vanished. "I love my job, but what's wrong with the old tortures? What do I look like, a death idea factory?"
"Weell-"
"And the state of our torture department, it's absolutely shameful!" Khamûl continued, determined to enjoy his rant fully and properly as befitting one of the Nazgûl. "I do my best, but the workers grow lazier every century. Why, look at all these prisoner belongings those bumbling, incompetent orcs have left here!" He ejaculated, gesturing at several bottles and containers lying on the stone bench.
"And what's this writing on the walls?" Udu asked, thinking it wise to indulge the upset Nazgûl as he moved closer to examine the scribbles.
"Ah, ravings from our mentally un-hinged 'guests'," The other said dismissively. "Pay them no mind; it's just nonsense."
"Well, this looks important, like a code or something." Udu insisted as Khamûl at last turned to scrutinize the writings.
"By the Master, you've got something here: E=mc2. What does that mean?"
"Maybe it's a recipe of some sort." Udu suggested, stifling a yawn as he thought longingly of the forsaken meal back in his room.
"A recipe.…it must be for a torture device!? That prisoner was a smart one! Oh, Witchy will get his new torture for sure now." The lieutenant chuckled in fiendish delight.
"…Except for the slight problem that you don't know what the ingredients are, or if that recipe is even for persecution."
"What else would be worth writing down here, hmm? And I'm going to find out those ingredients if it takes an age." Khamûl responded determinedly, swooping up the forgotten bottles and vials as he stalked out of the cell, Udu at his heels. "E=mc2…. Send out a message to the rest of the Nazgûl that I want them to bring to me anything they can think of that starts with an 'E', 'M', or 'C'. Make it snappy too!"
"Okay." Udu sighed, already imaging the plethora of items soon to overrun the Torture R&D Department.
"What was that?"
"I mean, yes, sir!"
"Eggs? Where in Mordor did you acquire such revolting produce?" Khamûl asked in disgust as he gingerly deposited the offending article into a large cauldron.
"You said anything with an 'E'." Gakh pouted. "What do you want me to bring, elves? I think eggs are a great way of torture."
"There's a reason it's me, not you, in charge of interrogation." Khamûl muttered as he threw some mud and cold chicken liver, provided by Kraak, into the mixture.
"Don't you think you're taking this a little too seriously? There're a thousand possible combinations, and the fellow who wrote this recipe is currently airing his internals externally." Rut ventured, earning a glare in return for his reasoning efforts as the thick grey gunk was ladled onto a metal plate.
"Very well, Rut, you may try it first, since it obviously won't do anything to your internals." The lieutenant snorted, shoving the goop towards the unfortunate wraith with a smirk.
"Uh, we don't have internals, right?" Zag quietly inquired of Kraak to the side.
"It's called intimidation; apparently we're really good at it."
Rut whimpered in protest at his officer's demand, but orders were orders, and soon a generous portion of the concoction found its way down the unhappy Nazgul's gullet.
"Well?" Khamûl asked eagerly as Rut coughed and choked while Gakh wondered if any of the present party knew how to administer CPR.
"It's…actually pretty good." Rut finally wheezed in surprise, both at the taste and the continued existence of his 'internals'. "You should make it more often."
"Blast!"
"Who knew you had a cooking streak, Khamûl?" Udu snickered in mock admiration.
"Can I try some?" Kraak asked hopefully.
"Get out, all of you, and leave me in peace!" Khamûl growled in disappointed pride as the wraiths obligingly filed out the door.
"Can we take the egg-liver salad with us?"
A few days and several earthworms, dried ears, eels, mice, metal maces, mustard, crossbows, crushed cheekbone crackers, and camel meat later found a very frustrated lieutenant with still no solution to his mysterious torture-recipe problem. He'd experimented with the powders and substances in the bottles left behind in the cell, but they too had proved fruitless and unsatisfactory.
"This is hopeless." Khamûl at last admitted, (just to himself, of course) as he sat despondently in his makeshift 'laboratory', idly fiddling with a piece of silver metal from the container marked 'Sodium' as a rat scuttled across the floor.
"I guess I'll have to think up something else for the meeting." He said gloomily as he tossed the metal to the rodent, who proceeded to pick up the shiny thing and nibble at it with alacrity. Several minutes passed in silence when a mini explosion was suddenly heard, followed by small squeak, the smell of burnt fur, and a curse from Khamûl.
A surprised and astonished silence ensued before being broken by a villainous laugh.
"I have an idea!"
"You called for us, Boss, what do you need?" Ski asked as he and Krith stood uneasily in front their Captain.
"If it's about the fell beast that ate half a squadron of orcs, I can confidently say that it was not my fault." Krith interposed as Ski elbowed him in exasperation.
"No, this is not about that incident, though it does have to do with the orcs," The Chief said as he rolled his eyes at their antics. "I have a problem, and I want you two to fix it."
"Us?" The wraiths chorused in uneasy dread.
"Yes, you. During the past couple of days, orcs all over Minas Morgul have mysteriously and inexplicably exploding without reason."
"Come again? Exploding? As in 'boom-boom'?" Ski questioned incredulously. "And why do we have to fix your problems?"
"As in, learn some respect or it'll be you next." The Chief threatened, fed up with his daily dose times nine of insubordination.
"Yes, sir."
"You two are (as much as I hate to admit it) my best investigators, detectives if you will, and I want you to find and locate the cause behind these detonations, as well as the culprit responsible. The Master has big plans for Minas Morgul's armies, and I've already lost nearly a third of my soldiers."
"So, you essentially just want us to snoop and skulk around? Captain, it'd be our pleasure." Krith replied in delight as the duo shared a grin at the enjoyable work before them.
"Ski and Krith are on the case, Boss!"
"Good, now go out there and get working before I lose the other two-thirds of my army."
"Well, that was exciting." Ski commented as they stepped around the mess on the floor that had once been an orc. "Always observe the problem first before you look for a solution."
"But what could have caused this sudden epidemic?" Krith ruminated as he examined a ruptured spleen. "Why are some orcs blowing up and others not? There must be a differentiating factor… You there!" He called to a nearby goblin sentry. "How long was this fellow on duty before he blew?"
"Jus' ten minutes 'er so." The soldier rasped, slinking away as if close proximity to his deceased companion would incur the same death. "He'd come from eatin' before that."
"Eating…" Ski muttered reflectively. "Did all the others explode shortly after a meal?"
The goblin blinked as if the connection between the internal bombings and food consumption had never occurred to his primitive mind. (which it hadn't) "Yes, sir."
"There's our clue, Krith!" Ski trumpeted as the goblin hastily shambled away. "To the kitchens!"
"So, what do orcs eat?" Krith asked a few minutes later as they walked into the Mordor equivalent of a mess hall.
"I don't want to know." Ski stated decisively as they gazed out over the hordes of orcs shoving food down their throats faster than a hungry Warg. "Yet the explosions have to be linked somehow to what they're eating."
"Hey, notice the silver stuff?" Krith inquired, pointing at a nearby orc whose meal was sprinkled with some shiny substance. "Only some of the bowls of food have that metal thingy, the others don't."
"Huh, I think we've found the problem, quick work there, Krith."
"Elementary, my dear Ski. Let's follow this fellow here and see if he goes ka-boom."
"And then we'll go ask the cook which unfortunate person has been putting this stuff on the food and wrecking the Chief's army."
"You called for me, my Captain?" Khamûl inquired questioningly as he made a respectful bow, mainly because the Chief seemed in any mood but pleasant and it was best not to push the snark too far.
"Are you responsible for my armies of orcs exploding?" The Witch King demanded, cutting straight to the chase, as his voice grew dangerous and threatening.
"That's what this is about?" Khamûl responded in surprise as he straightened up with a slight look of relief. "Why, I was just following your orders to find a new torture device for the meeting tomorrow, the orcs were good test subjects, after all, they're dumb enough not to realize what's going on."
"I asked you to find another method of persecution, not destroy all my soldiers needed for war." The Boss sighed in irritation.
"Then I suppose that means it worked, right? That metal does beautiful things to one's stomach and makes quite the splendid show." Khamûl smiled menacingly. "I'm sure if you won't accept my brilliant idea, I can find more suitable people to experiment on." He added sweetly with meaningful look at his Captain, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Curse Khamûl, he knew how to get under the Boss's purely figurative skin.
"Very well, Khamûl, you need not have a new design at every meeting from now." He relented, trying not to visualize what may be lying in wait for him in his room this very moment.
"Thank you, sir." His lieutenant bowed deeply, a satisfied smirk on his face as he turned to leave.
"So where is the rest of this magic-exploding metal?" The Chief asked somewhat nervously.
Khamûl faced his superior again with a blatant grin of smugness and triumph. "Don't worry, Boss, it's in a safe place."
Five minutes later, eight successive pops were heard at various places in Minas Morgul, followed by a collective yell of Ringwraith-rage that rang throughout the Dead City from tower to dungeon.
"Kha-mûl!"
So this chapter was a little all over the place, but I made it a little longer to compensate. Anywho, expect an update only every other week or so, but I do have some more solid(ish) plans for the upcoming chapters. Thank you for all the kind reviews, follows, and favorites, they help me write faster. :) Cheers!