***** Author's Note *****
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Great chunks of earth-made flesh sloughed to the ground as Ammatar shed his serpentine form. Broken and shaken as he was, it was impossible to maintain the transformation as he melded back into the dappled shadow. While the shattered structure of the snake's jaw sent spikes of pain through him, it too dispersed along with the detritus that rotted away from his real body in the blink of an eye. The magic with which he bound his form together was both a blessing and a curse in that way; whatever damage was done while transformed didn't carry over to Ammatar's actual body, but until he discarded the transformed visage, he could feel the pain as real as any wound. It hurt like hell!
The forest entity was fairly certain whatever had hit him with strength enough to break the oaken bones in his jaw also seemed to have cracked his cheekbone, and maybe all the way up to his snake's eye socket as well. He had been made completely blind on one side of his face until he transformed back to his humanoid form, leaving Ammatar half collapsed amongst his cage of trees. He scowled and groaned as the mossy flesh and tree-bark scales returned to the earth from whence they came, before uttering a sigh of relief. But that relief was short-lived. More than anything, he was furious.
The wretched scum, the tainted Eldon and the seedless bloom, weren't the only ones trespassing in his forest! In all the chaos of pursuing the pair, in the betrayal of one of his own creatures, Ammatar hadn't seen what had attacked and driven him off, but something had snatched his prey right out from under his nose; something formidable. It made Ammatar seethe with unbridled rage.
If not for sensing the Eldon's magic that corrupted the gray warg's mind, the forest spirit might have turned a blind eye to the passing of a single orc. It was simple enough to let his creatures deal with one puny invader. They rarely even made it this deep into the forest anyways, but the fact that this orc wielded such magic power already had Ammatar bemused to the point of throwing a fit! That magic carried with it a terribly familiar taste, one that tantalized and taunted at things Ammatar had lost to time for how deep beneath the roots such memories were buried. To have those memories uncovered so unceremoniously and out of the blue, perturbed him.
Now, he wanted answers; just who was this orc that smelled of so distinctly elvish blood, how could he wield such magic, and why did it taste so painfully familiar?
Such questions were why the forest spirit had begun a sirenic call in the first place. All manner of beasts found such a spell irresistible. Orcs were, of course, no exception, low and animalistic as they were bred to be. It was a simple spell to weave, one Ammatar had used countless times before to capture bands of orcs who wandered too far into the forest. A small net at first, he then cast wider with each verse he sang in an attempt to capture the Eldon's fascination. The lure has been easily set, but what Ammatar hadn't expected was for the seedless bloom, that plagued thing, the human woman. His plan hadn't accounted for the appearance of one who was wholly unaffected by his trap.
She disgusted Ammatar, the moment he tasted the infection of orcish foulness about her, though she, herself, was no orc. Rooting into her mind laid bare exactly what she was. Orcs always maligned whatever they touched, especially that which held the essence of creation and life itself. Ammatar knew their destruction all too well.
The human was nothing but a shade cast by creators who rejected such corruption. The contemptible bloom was grafted to Morgoth's thicket, tangled in the weeds and bearing fruit for the blighted vines choking the canopy of Mordor of all light. But poisoned roots could only permit a bloom to produce for so long before it too withered and was devoured by the vines' thorns. It was better that her seeds had died within her so she could never serve her orcish masters again.
She should have been grateful, that Ammatar was willing to give her up to the earth so that she might have replenished the very same forest that her fruit would rather see burned to the ground. He would have freed her from that worthless, defiled, languishing existence. That she defied him, defied his mercy, despite her polluted state, was unthinkable. That she had willingly fled him, retreating to cower behind an orc, was revolting.
And the other assailant? The forest spirit brushed any lingering chips of wood and leaves from his jaw as the last bit of pain subsided and the vision in his eye slowly returned to focus. Just what manner of creature was the other thing that had struck him?! Another warg under the Eldon's own accursed magic perhaps? It seemed unlikely to him. He knew practically every beast that lived in his woods. There was nothing within his forest that could have rivaled him, not while he had taken the form of a giant serpent. He could take on other forms, beasts of air, water, and earth, but the snake; that had always been his favored form, the most powerful, the one he mastered first. No orc or beast had ever been able to overcome him while transformed.
For something to have so thoroughly brutalized the enchantment, left the tree-ish man rattled. He had to find out exactly what his assailant was, to devise a way to cast it from his woods, to never be caught off guard like that again. However, his transformation would take time to recoup and without it, Ammatar felt a chill he hadn't felt in millennia. He felt vulnerable.
Once he had regathered his senses, Ammatar reached out the tendrils of his magic across the woods, seeking with gossamer webs of power with which he might ensnare the minds of any creature creeping about. They would be his eyes and ears, his tools to deal with this current orc infestation- an ethereal sense of disapproval at the idea whispered through Ammatar's head, but he brushed it away.
His own creator had always hated when he used the beasts of the forest against their will, but that was because she was weak, he reasoned sourly to himself as his magic pinpointed a familiar creature lurking nearby: the warg pup, limping about, searching for its packmate. No, his creator was simply a coward who never could stomach the brutal realities of nature nor did she ever dare bend it to her will as he did. He was nature incarnate! Life, death, and rebirth were all his right to command as he wanted! Ammatar insisted to himself. The web of magic started to collapse around the pup, snaring its mind with Ammatar's influence once more.
My slave?! Alaesia grimaced darkly to herself as she finally had a moment to breathe; the sight of the orc forced to his knees had been a horrible reversal of roles she never wanted to see. What madness had run through her own master's head to cause him to give her a slave of her own?! Was it just because she asked Ar-Tashk to spare him? The idea of having a slave, to command around, to lord over, or to force into submission before her feet had made Alaesia sick to her stomach. Being the one in power didn't make it slavery anymore right in her eyes, not when she knew the horrors of orcish subjugation. However, Alaesia knew she couldn't reject Ar-Tashk's gift.
Zathra, himself, silently pled for her to just go along with it. By the great bleedin' Eye, don't argue with 'im! Doesn't change a thing if I'm servin' as yer slave or 'is. Forgive me a lil selfishness 'ere, but if 'e wants me ta act as yer slave, at least that'll mean 'e doesn't plan on killin' me, yet. Leave it be, please?
It's foul, that's what it is. she spat back, though she knew he was right. Under Ar-Tashk's hovering presence, Alaesia noted how quickly Zathra's demeanor towards her shifted. He wouldn't look her in the eye, wouldn't allow her to help him off the ground after Ar-Tashk let him up, nor did he seem willing to speak openly to her. Slaves shouldn't speak unless ordered to, after all. I don't want a slave any more than I want to BE a slave!
Ye'll be fine, lass. I'm still 'ere ta help, and I don't think things are as dire as ya believe. Yer olog's bloody well possessed by ya. Zathra reminded her; a suspicion was creeping into his mind about the olog's intention to leave Mordor, but he didn't want to give her any false hopes, at least not yet, in case he was mistaken. He would have to burrow his way back into the olog's head, to confirm a few things first. Zathra knew she wanted to protest, but he curtailed the woman silently and offered her his advice, Don't be soft on me, 'less ya want ta put a target on me back. I doubt 'e'll take kindly ta ya givin' out any preferential treatment.
I'm not being preferential! I just don't want any more bloodshed... She hated that he believed she could just suddenly treat him differently, as if she could simply swallow her disgust at the whole institution, but it was, as Zathra surmised, the only way to ensure he wasn't going to lose his head.
Tha's juss the way of Mordor, submit or die. The orc seemed so nonchalant about his fate. It was infuriating! In any case, if ya can, try ta convince 'im it ain't safe ta stay here. I've a feelin' that snake ain't gonna leave us in peace and yer brute don't seem keen on taking a lowly orc slave sers'ly at the moment.
Alaesia loathed how familiar she was with such expectations. The tit-for-tat between her and Zathra had kept them both alive thus far, but he had knowingly, and willingly, put his own life at risk when he could have abandoned her to her fate as Barbaurak had. Who was she to retract that tiny mercy that only she could provide now with her unwanted sway over Ar-Tashk? However, the risk still lingered regardless, like a blade waiting to drop, for the olog refused to let her out of his grasp.
"Th-thank you, for sparing h-him," Alaesia let out a tense breath, conceding to Zathra's plight, and bowed her head toward Ar-Tashk as he pulled her by her collar's lead back into his arms. She had no doubt that it would only take one word, and the olog would tear Zathra to pieces if she wished it. His desire to please her, in the face of his violent ways, was unnerving and unfamiliar, doing did little to assure her of his intent. Obedience, silence, and submission all made a slave less of a target, though none of her attempts to sulk away from Ar-Tashk seemed to deter his attention. For the moment, it seemed wise to give Zathra an excuse to move out of striking distance, "M-May I have him p-prepare some supplies for t-travel...?"
"Ahk... But wait. Here. Tonight." He grunted and glared disdainfully down his nose at Zathra as he addressed Alaesia. Ar-Tashk knew it would be foolish to run headlong into the woods now. Sunset was just a couple hours away, they'd never clear the stretch of trees to the river before nightfall, and if that snake creature was still lurking about as the orc claimed, they stood a much better chance at survival holding their ground in the clearing, at least until dawn. Traveling at night with a predator of that magnitude stalking them would be courting death. Not that Ar-Tashk quite felt up to the trek at the moment.
The olog was too brutally depleted to do much more than argue now anyways, as his adrenaline waned; he didn't care how much the orc whinged and griped about needing to leave, but it got under his skin as his Isla seemed similarly perturbed. She needn't worry; he wouldn't allow any snake or warg to threaten her. However, he was at a loss for how to make her understand that.
Upon receiving Ar-Tashk's permission Alaesia glanced at the orc with a slight tilt of her head to dismiss him. The tiny exchange only served to bristle Ar-Tashk's hackles possessively, though he didn't protest for the fear his irritation would grant the Voice purchase in his mind.
The Voice wanted him to blame her for the raging aches scrawled across his back like markings on a map. The stench of Mokob-hai lingered thick in the air around her; it would be simple to find her guilty of plotting against him. But the orc's, Zathra she had called him, prior protests echoed in Ar-Tashk's ears, giving him reason to pause. Her tiny hand had matched the print smacked on the dead, green orc's face, she bore the scars to prove it, and most of all, she hadn't fled when she had the chance. He found himself clinging to that sliver of hope, that she held any regard for him, to have tried to defend him. It was enough to curtail his wrath, for now at least.
"Where is third orc?" Ar-Tashk's tone grew quieter as he growled. He sank to his knees beside her, while fighting back both exhaustion and the Voice cursing his every thought. He didn't particularly care about the answer to his questions, he simply needed something, anything he could divert his ire towards; any distraction was better than the Voice clawing for dominance inside him.
"B-Barbaurak? He..." Alaesia's thoughts began to race as her master questioned her. She considered for a brief moment if it was better to tell him the truth, that Barbaurak had nearly killed her; to risk spurring Ar-Tashk into a rampage of vengeance? Or was it wiser to let sleeping dogs lie? She bit her tongue indecisively, "H-he... is gone. He probably got k-killed by the f-forest's beasts..."
***** Translations *****
Ahk - Fine
Eldon - Elf-bred (Begotten by elves)