What the Hell IS That?
For the span of a heartbeat, Nargratûrz was frozen in shock. Was this what a shara looked like? He could barely breathe. It had a dark, bulky upper body, incongruously thin legs, and a deathly pale, oddly smooth face. Its expression was nearly as surprised as his must be. Then it rose to its feet and glowered menacingly. Advancing, it removed what must be a covering from its head and proceeded to strike him repeatedly with it, shouting things he didn't understand.
The blows didn't harm him in the least, yet instincts brought his arms up protectively. Then the beast at her side growled threateningly, and he lowered his arms, pricking his ears.
Abandoning her annoyed assault on the stupid man, Sam whirled and saw the pack standing at the top of the rise.
"Nice going, asshole," she snarled, kicking his shin hard. He yelped and scuttled back out of range.
Pissed off and not at all in the mood for a tussle with wolves, she drew her pistol and shot the lead wolf right between the eyes. The crack of the shot echoed through the chill air for several seconds. The remaining wolves thought better of their dinner plans and turned tail.
Sam holstered the weapon and gave the guy a whithering look. Her expression changed when she realized he was afraid. Not surprised by her sudden appearance, not relieved that she had saved his worthless hide from a wolf attack, but actually terrified. Frowning, she crouched down and really looked at him.
He was shaking like a leaf and gasping for breath. He seemed to be trying desperately to pass through the tree behind him, as though to escape her. His eyes were wide open and the orangey-yellow contacts the idiot wore made his eyes appear bloodshot. Unlike her cousin and his retarded friends, he wasn't wearing the typical mix of thickly layered leather and metal armor they favored when they suited up and pretended to be Orcs. This stupid guy was only wearing a thin shell of worn hides; short-sleeved shirt and knee-length pants. Even more ragged scraps were wrapped about his feet and had clearly seen better days. He looked like he was scared to death and freezing his ass off. Latex body suit nothwithstanding.
"Hey," she said, trying to calm him, "you okay?" He made no answer, just stared at her with the same panicky incomprehension. As though he didn't understand a word she said.
Glancing down at his leg, she realized the snow was darkening with a sticky black fluid. Evidently, a few of the wolves tagged him in the leg. Shaking her head, she rose. It was impossible to tell what damage was done with his ridiculous body suit on.
"Your blood pack's busted, dude," she commented. "You guys really go for realism, don't you?" Sighing, Sam offered him a hand up. "I know I'll regret this, but you need to be checked out. My cabin's not far. Come on."
He just sat there, clearly not understanding her intentions. It didn't help that Darûk kept licking his face. The poor bastard was too shell-shocked to push the dog away.
Rolling her eyes, she reached down, grabbed his muscular arm, and hauled him to his feet. Now that he was standing, he was at least six and a half feet tall, perhaps a foot taller than her. Unperturbed, she pushed him in the direction of her cabin. He'd seen her gun; only an idiot would misbehave with that threat on the table.
Glancing behind, she scowled. "The least you could do is drop character for a minute, you big dumbass," she grouched as she led the way. "And if you can't get that latex off your legs in a timely fashion, I won't hesitate to cut it off." Looking back to check his reaction, she noted his slack-jawed expression, revealing some really god-awfully fake-looking jagged fangs. She nodded with satisfaction. "Yep, don't care how much you paid for it or how long it took you to get it just right. You piss with wolves, you pay the price."
As the initial fear of seeing a shara up close diminished, the Uruk began to calm a little. The dancing beast seemed quite at its ease, even somewhat pleased that he was accompanying its master. Yet he could not still the hard beating in his chest. The shara wielded strong, and incredibly loud, death magic. He must do nothing to displease it. The shara seemed to want him to accompany it, so he would obey.
Still, Nargratûrz was completely flummoxed by the shara's behavior. It didn't seem surprised to see him, yet he was fairly certain no Orcs had been exiled from his or any other nearby clan for a century or more. The stream of words coming from it filled the silence, but he had no idea what it was saying.
"Lat honuz-ik uruk?" he asked hesitantly when it took a breath. [You have seen orcs before?]
"Knock off the grunty Orc-talk, jerk," Sam snapped. "I'm not in the mood."
The shara's sharp tone of voice was more effective than words. He shut up.
Minutes later, they reached the small cabin her uncle owned. It was pretty nondescript from the outside, an impression unchanged by going inside, although the man's hunting trophies could be found here and there. It was utilitarian at best, unluxurious as worst, but it had what Sam needed: isolation from the world's distractions, and an internet connection when you wanted them back.
Nargratûrz had never seen anything like it before, and stopped in his tracks. The white earth clung to it, and sharp translucent crystals hunt from it. A pile of stones at the top released smoke into the frigid air. Noticing his paralyzed state, she reached back and grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him forward.
"It's colder than a witch's tit, moron!" she barked, dragging him up to the doorstep. Grumbling under her breath, she stuck a finger between her teeth and yanked off her glove, then fumbled the keys from her jacket pocket.
When the door opened, a wave of heat flowed out, striking Nargratûrz's chest and face. It wasn't as hot as a furnace, but comforting as a cooking fire. He blinked and stared through the doorway, uncertain. The strange shara made his decision for him, hauling him in by the arm.
Once the door was closed, the heat of the place enveloped him and he sighed with relief before he could check it. Losing track of the shara, his eyes wandered about this place in wonder. The heads of beasts he didn't recognize were mounted upon the walls. To his relief, none looked like his kind. None of the furnishings had a like counterpart in his experience, and he was at a loss to define them.
But the colors were stunning. On the floor, on the walls, on the strange objects large and small... It was a riot of different shades and patterns that enthralled and amazed him, and he slowly turned, drinking it in. In the wall opposite the door was an alcove in which a weak fire crackled, the wealth of wood charred inside.
Coming back around, he caught sight of the shara... and froze. Apparently it wasn't nearly as bulky as he'd thought, for quite suddenly it was not only thin and lithe, but its coverings were a completely different color. Looking around, he found the dark blue thing it wore before, now hanging from a hook on the wall. He looked back at the shara curiously. It dawned on him that, based on its familiar shape, this was actually a sharlob.
She glared at him. He wasn't sure what he'd done, but assumed the appropriate chastened look regardless.
"Sit," the sharlob snapped, pointing at one of the large, unidentifiable objects in the middle of the floor. It stood in front of the fire, and had the look of rounded softness about it. He had no idea what she said, though, and just shook his head.
"Nar srinkhsha-izg," he said helplessly. [I don't understand.]
"What did I say?" Sam snapped angrily, and the lumbering moron flinched. "No Orc-talk! Now sit the hell down!" Stepping up to him, she shoved him backwards. "Man!"
He staggered as the backs of his knees hit the thing, and he sat heavily. The thing had a springy give to it that was unexpected, and he almost leaped off again, fearing he would continue sinking and the thing would swallow him up. Quickly, though, it seeemed to even out and support his weight. He cautiously settled. The sharlob placed him there; it was clearly where she wanted him to be. It was best never to question the wishes of a female, no matter whether she was Uruk or sharlob.
Sam went to the kitchen area and fetched a pair of long scissors and a first aid kit. She barely acknowledged his cringing when she neared. Kneeling in front of him, she cut through the leather, opening the left legging. His foot coverings were filthy and falling off; she barely wished to acknowledge them as shoes. Peeling the one off his left foot, she looked for a seam or cuff for the body suit he must be wearing. There should at least be a separate pull-on foot covering, else why would he let his shoe-things be so damn useless for protecting his feet? There was no separation between the feet and the main suit, though.
"I'll give you this," she allowed, "this is one hell of a good suit you've got on. Doesn't feel at all like latex." His foot was odd as well; it was large like one would expect of someone so tall, but the nails were more like claws. Taking the scissors, she tried to pierce the fleshlike covering to expose the bite wound.
His reaction was abrupt and loud. Jerking his leg out of her hands, he vaulted over the back of the couch away from her. Racing for the door, he tried to rip it open, but it wouldn't give, and in his panic he yanked and pulled as though it were locked.
Sam was completely baffled. Rising, she cocked her head to look at him again. Why on earth was he so freaked out by everything? She wondered if he was emotionally disturbed or something. You know, worse than her cousin's stupid ass friends generally were anyway. And another thing, if he was one of Dale's LARPing buddies, why didn't he recognize her? Granted, she didn't really hang out with them much, but when she went over to the house to visit her nieces and nephew, or chat up Andrea about something, they were often in the den swapping Orc stories, discussing Orc culture, scratching Orc itches, and other silly Orcish things. Not a one of them hadn't flirted with her at one time or another, and could all boast at least one patented Samantha rebuff each.
This one acted like he was from another planet, not just another LARP group.
Glancing over his shoulder, Nargratûrz saw her take a step toward him, eyes narrowed suspiciously, sharp blade in her hands. Flattening himself against the door, he roared at her like a cornered, wounded animal, bestial teeth bared.
That brought Sam up short. "Hey," she said nervously, "that was really good. Sounded just like a lion."
It was beginning to dawn on her, watching his chest heaving, and seeing a mix of anger, pain, and fear in his strange golden eyes, that maybe he wasn't who she thought he was. Maybe not even what she thought.
Moving closer, she focused on his face. A heavy brow ridge cast a dark shadow over his eyes, yet they glittered in the firelight. He had a rather blunt nose; his nostrils flared, and a growling, grunting sound came from him with each breath. The corners of his mouth were turned down, lips slightly parted. Those sharp, jagged teeth she'd thought were fake now seemed simply unbrushed. There were particularly large incisors on the bottom jaw that reminded her of Darûk's, in a very unsettling way. His bodysuit was a dark olive color, yet not as dark as her cousin's LARPing friends seemed to prefer.
Backing away, she slowly pulled out her cell phone. Glancing between him and the phone, she punched in her cousin's number.
Your dime.
"Hi, Dale," she said shakily.
Sam? Thought you were on vacation.
"Yeah, I'm up at your dad's cabin." The strange... man watched her curiously.
Really? What for?
"Just, you know, trying to find my muse. I don't think he came up here. Listen, I've got a bit of a problem. Take a look at this." Turning the phone, she snapped a picture of the...guy. The flash startled him, and his eyes widened again. Sending the picture, she put the phone back to her ear. "Did you get that?
Yeah. Uh... nice makeup. Not how I'd do it, but...
"Yes, very good makeup, sure, except I don't think it's makeup." Briefly, she explained her meeting with the creature, and his reaction to her attempt at removing his body suit. "I don't know for sure, but he just... doesn't act like a guy in a costume. He doesn't seem to know what I'm saying. He's only said a couple of things, and he sounded like one of your stupid friends trying to talk dirty to me in that language you guys are always using. You really need to get up here and...and do something," she ended lamely.
Have you looked at the radar? I am not going all the way up there with that front coming in just because you found some jerk in the woods.
"You're kidding," she said flatly. Turning away from the stranger, she continued, "There's no TV up here, remember? Just dead animal heads on the walls..."
Didn't you bring your computer? I thought you never left home without that thing.
"Sure, I brought my computer, but I don't spend all my waking hours on the god damned weather channel site!"
Well, doofus, there's a blizzard coming fast and furious. The roads will be shutting down in a matter of hours.
"Okay, if you're going to be a huge puss about a little snow, then stay home. I'll sort it out myself." Squatting in front of the fire, she absently prodded it with a poker.
A little snow? They're predicting a foot tonight alone!
"God, I thought you'd be all over this."
Okay, normally I would, but if I go up there, it'll be the both of us snowed in and needing Marty to come pull our asses out of a snow drift.
"Make that the three of us. I don't think this guy is going anywhere either. Jesus, Dale! I don't want to be stuck up here with a guy who thinks he's an Orc! That's more your thing, not mine!" She glanced nervously at the guy. He'd dropped to his haunches, leaning against the door, and was still watching her curiously.
Well, has he made any moves on you? Threatened you at all?
"No," she said slowly. "But... he makes me nervous. He keeps... looking at me. Like he's never seen a girl before. Not... quite like he's hoping to score, but... a little too curious for comfort, you know what I mean?"
All right. Son of a bitch. Okay, I'll come. Andrea's gonna have my balls for this. It'll take me hours, you know. We had an ice storm down here this afternoon. I don't think it got up as far as you are, but we got nailed something harsh. Ah, FUCK!
"What? What's wrong?"
Fucking school thing. Deena's in some stupid-ass play. 'Arsenic and Old Lace.' I'm guessing she's the arsenic.
"You'd better not tell her that," Sam warned, stifling a giggle.
Okay, tonight's out. Can you survive one night? I'll get going in the morning first thing.
"Yeah, I think I can make it. I had to shoot a god damn wolf. Scared the bejesus out of him. I suspect he'll keep his hands to himself."
Nargratûrz watched her move around the room, talking in fits and starts as if she were in a conversation with someone he couldn't see. Slowly, calm began to return to him. She only occasionally glanced in his direction, but otherwise didn't approach him. At least she wasn't trying to stab him with the strange blade again.
The sharlob's voice was softer than an Uruk's, even a female's. And her hair was silky, falling in dark waves the color of old leather about her shoulders. Orcs and Uruks were almost universally black-haired, if they had hair at all. He wondered if it would be as supple and smooth as leather if he touched it.
Shaking his head to clear it of such thoughts, he reminded himself that she was a sharlob. If this were an Uruk female, she'd let him know if he was wanted or not. Her pacing frequently put her back to him, a certain sign among his folk that he wasn't worthy of attention. Not from a fellow warrior, and certainly not from a female.
He bowed his head. Even being in this warm place was little better than the hollow under the tree. He didn't understand the sharlob's speech, didn't know her world, and hunger still gnawed his insides.