"Where'd ye take tha' snaga, Snake-Tongue?" Barbaurak spat out a remnant of bile and blood that had pooled at the back of his tongue.
Morning arrived the same dreary gray as the rest of Mordor, even here in the vales downstream from Thaurband, the great slaving hub of Nurn; however that was less the effect of Orodruin belching smog into the atmosphere, and had all to do with the great walls of sea mist rolling inland off the sea. Heavy, thick fog doused the hills all about in a chilly dew that made for the rich soil responsible for keeping Mordor's armies fed. Hidden under the cloudbanks combing the earth, tiny green sprouts did their best to resist orcish attempts to strip the land of all living and good things. Carpets of mossy green stretched out in all directions around, before disappearing into the mists.
Barbaurak leaned his whole body weakly against the stone ruins of his encampment, trying to wait out the pops of black in his eyes and lightheaded feeling that would have him crumple back to the ground like a sack of meat; that was the last thing he dared to do with Zathra's gray warg settling into the carnage of the campground with an unsettlingly intelligent look in his eye.
It was as if the beast was taunting the orc as he grabbed the body of one of Barbaurak's recruits, met the orc's gaze, and then crunched down upon the corpse's skull. With his stomach still churning from being pierced through and the swirl of magic that bound Barbaurak's injuries back together, the sight of what could have been his own grisly fate only added to the ill weight in his gut.
It had taken Barbaurak a couple hours after Zathra's return to clear his head and come to his senses, fading in and out of delirium, thoughts of the past puppeting him along in dream and vision; once he had regained a grip on reality, Barbaurak had immediately realized the notable absence of the slave woman Zathra had stolen away with the previous night. That would be a massive setback to his plans, despite what Zathra claimed about helping Barbaurak. She had been the first and only one he'd had fortune enough to capture in weeks, if not months, of hunting.
"Ain't something' ye need ta concern yerself with," Zathra kicked over one of the dead bodies of another of Barbaurak's underlings and raised an eyebrow at the iron breastplate the owner had been wearing; too bad for the orc it did nothing to stop the flames of the incendiary ooze from consuming him. With a bit of polishing to scrub out the scorch marks, the armor piece was better than anything Zathra had ever owned before. Bleeding marauders; somehow, they always had the best gear, despite being the laziest lot of orcs in Mordor, even fresh out of the vats.
Not yet able to summon the energy to contend with Zathra again, Barbaurak grumbled petulantly while holding his dizzy head in his hands, "They don't juss let anyone parade their sorry arses inta Thaurband, 'specially a couple rogues withou' any reputation. Nevermind getting anywhere near the pits. We'd need tha' slave, if not more, 'alf a dozen, at least, juss ta get inta the block fer the chance ta infiltrate—"
Zathra had begun methodically looting the dead, even finding the glass canister he'd dropped, unbroken between some of the flagstones, but he stopped abruptly, eyes flashing blue, "We ain't sellin' other sharlobs inta tha' hellhole juss ta buy our way in the door."
Barbaurak felt his gut suddenly singe again, as if it were on fire, for just a brief moment, making him yelp in protest. He glared daggers at Zathra, the glow fading from the elf-like orc's eyes, only to realize the pulse had left him feeling oddly revitalized; whatever lingering pains in his stomach and head were nearly gone, leaving only a memory of the spear and bloodstains to indicate their fight had ever happened.
He would not thank Zathra for healing him... No. It was Zathra's fault for attacking his crew in the first place. Though, Barbaurak wasn't particularly upset by the loss of his recruits. They had been fodder from the start, to be used for whatever purpose he deemed necessary. Vat-grunts were easy to recruit and easy to boss around, that was until they started getting more world-wise. He would have disposed of them long before that ever became an issue, as soon as he had Selga back...
Instead, he got to his feet, "Then how the blazes do ya plan on getting past the gate? Or inta the keep? Or the pits beyond tha'?!"
Barbaurak had to take a moment to find his balance and make sure he wouldn't pass out, then went to retrieve his sword and whip, only to find both stuck under the gray warg's massive paws as he was now gnawing away at the stump of the corpse's neck.
The beast snarled challengingly at the orc's approach.
"Groth..." Zathra gave the warg a hard look of warning, but the warg, Grothraum, didn't budge; stubborn creature. "Did ya know wargs can s'posedly talk? Been tryin' ta teach the brute, but I think 'e's juss too old ta pick it up properly."
"I don't give a shrakh 'bout yer dumb beast learnin' ta speak," Barbaurak retorted. "The only thing I care 'bout is finding Selga..."
The warg's ears pinned against his skull, lip curling to bare his yellowing fangs, as long and sharp as a dagger, but he made no move to snap or bite; a miniscule improvement since their first run-in in the woods to the south. Barbaurak could almost swear he could sense the disdain oozing out of the warg, as if it wasn't worth the effort to dignify the orc's insult with retaliation.
After a moment of internal debate, Grothraum gave an indignant snort, but ultimately conceded. The great, gray beast moved off Barbaurak's gear, and padded over to Zathra, who started loading up other scavenged bits and pieces onto the makeshift saddle on his back; the new gear only added to the bizarre silhouette the warg cut, with more spears, plates and mail, and a few blades taken from the orc grunts, strung here and there.
Barbaurak snatched up his weaponry before the warg could change his mind, "Thaurband's ain't just a fortress, it's a maze. It messes wi' yer 'ead, the longer yer in its walls. Ya 'ave no idea what we'd be goin' up against juss ta get inside."
"But you do."
Barbaurak froze stiff, his back towards Zathra.
"We don't need ta buy our way in. I juss need ya ta point me in the right direction. With yer guidance, I can get us in an' out with little ta no trouble from the guards," Zathra continued, though Barbaurak could barely hear him over the heavy pulse of his own heartbeat buzzing in his ears.
Whatever blood Barbaurak still had in his system drained from his face. His knees nearly buckled beneath him and his mouth dried like leather cooked in the desert sun. The hilt of his sword slipped under his clammy palm, but he quickly shoved it, scabbardless, into his belt, muttering, "There's nothin' ta remember."
A lie; one that Zathra would no doubt try to see right through with that mind-worming magic of his. But that was one memory, the elf-like orc could never seem to breach, no matter how much he poked and prodded. Barbaurak's memories were so clad in iron, even he had since forgotten what they held.
He wanted to remember... Not Thaurband. No. Barbaurak wanted to get lost in his memories from before that wretched place; the memories of her...
When he had returned to Razmat at the entrance of the village, with the woman in tow and word of the Khand chief, Ariid's, fate, the Captain had given Barbaurak a grim nod of satisfaction and ordered him to take the final tribute to the ship to be held with the other snaga, before turning his attention to the other Khandian men. It was treason to lie to officers of the Eye and theft to withhold slaves from tribute. So Razmat had judgement to mete out upon the Khandians for their complacency in the matter, and the village leader to replace. The other crew members had drawn their weapons, eagerly awaiting their Captain's word.
The woman, her own gray gaze lost among the flaming eyes painted across her face, screamed against the silk hood Barbaurak had stuffed between her teeth, and kicked him as hard as she could until he dumped her in an empty cell aboard Razmat's ship. The moment she'd knifed him, something flipped in Barbaurak like a switch.
Maybe, if she had been an orc, he would have slit her throat without question. But instead of offense, some other feeling, one he had no words to describe, welled up in his gut. Or perhaps that was just the blood bubbling from his flank where she had stabbed him.
"QUIET!" Barbaurak ordered, wrangling with the woman as she fought him at every move. Her hands, coated in the same paint as her face, proved as slick as grease as he tried to maintain a grip so he could cuff her with one of the shackles bolted to the cabin wall. "SKAI LAT! Quit squirming!"
It took only one quick jerk and she slipped between the orc's fingers, produced yet another small, needle-like dagger, and lunged at him. Barbaurak reeled back, narrowly avoiding the loss of his good eye, then returned with the brunt of his full body weight to drag the woman to the floor. They tumbled across the floor briefly, collecting slivers, dust, and cobwebs, until the orc got the upper hand and pinned her beneath him.
"Mmmff!" She glared up at him while trying to catch her breath.
"Yer gonna get yerself in a lotta shrakh tryin' ta pull stunts like that!" Barbaurak's heart pounded against his chest. Bumps crept up his arms and his face twisted in a bizarre way, fangs bared. He leaned over the woman, just managing to latch a manacle around her wrist before she could jab at him again. "Learn ta behave, like a good snaga, an' I might just remove that."
The woman glanced down at the silk gag wedged between her teeth as he gestured to it, then back up at the orc. Rage filled her stormy gaze, like lightning just waiting to strike, "Ahk ht ffh!"
"Nar buth, Raumro," Barbaurak snorted. "Not til ya learn ta bite yer tongue. Yer only gonna piss someone off, screamin' or cryin' like tha'—"
"Ah dhuu naht craihh!"
"O'course not... Yer not soft like tha', eh?" Barbaurak had a hold of the woman's other hand now and another manacle. The bulk of his weight leaned and pressed so close to his captive that he could feel the huff of her angry breath on his neck, like a furious little drake hatchling trying to spit flame for the first time. "But there's a lotta bastards on this ship juss lookin' fer any excuse ta beat a snaga senseless. Best ta not even give 'em a hint of temptation."
He brought the latch together with a pointed CLICK.
She flinched.
A hollowness briefly passed over the woman's face, but vanished so quick, the orc wasn't sure if he had just imagined it or not.
Was all her bluster an act? He measured the slave with a critical eye. Now that he had her restrained, it was impossible to ignore just how small she was compared to him. All the cascading layers of black silk which engulfed the woman hid a slight frame pushing with all the strength she could muster against his. Curiosity prickled at the nape of his neck; what else was hiding behind that mask of paint and lightning in her gaze?
But Barbaurak had other duties to attend to. He didn't have time to find out what made this shara tick.
"Juss keep yer 'ead down an' no one will bother ya. Got it?" Barbaurak didn't wait for any sort of response or acknowledgement. He hurried to his feet, pulled the woman's chains taut, secured them with little consideration for slack, then slipped from the cabin cell into the ship's corridor before the sound of his pulse could grow any louder.
His heart hammered against his ribcage like a war drum until he was sure everyone aboard the ship could hear it.
What was the matter with him?! She was just a damn snaga... but the look in her eye had worked under his skin. Had he just mistaken her indifferent demeanor for gratitude when he had slit the village leader's throat? Why had it amused him so when she managed to knife him? He half expected her to breathe fire in her fury if he had removed her gag; but now, that small hint at something deeper, the tremble as the shackles locked around her thin wrists, made him itch with a need to uncover whatever else she was hiding—
"What's with tha' grin? Got some good loot or somethin' from the village?"
Barbaurak whirled, involuntarily slamming the door to the woman's cabin cell, finding the speaker striding down the long shadowing corridor; a gaudy orc whose long-beaked nose studded with gold piercings would have made a crow jealous, called Khuvuld, approached, followed closely by another familiar orc, Snake-Tongue.
"None of yer business, nosy rat. Don't ye 'ave some other maggots ta boss around?" Had he been smiling? Why the blazes had he been smiling? Barbaurak dropped his expression to a deadpan sneer at the pair. "I came back on orders from Razmat, so piss off."
Barbaurak had avoided Zathra for a while now, only talking to or working with him when expressly ordered, despite all Zathra had done to even win them the chance to join Razmat's crew. They weren't marauders like the rest of them; it was a miracle Zathra had been able to convince Razmat to give a couple of raggedy tribe-less, ex-machinist orcs a chance, joining the slavers at their lucrative game.
Khuvuld wasn't the sort to let either Barbaurak or Zathra forget that fact. He scowled and made as if to open the cell, "Mind yer tongue, azhthak. Yer speakin' to an offic'r. An' offic'rs get first dibs on all loot brought aboard!"
Barbaurak bristled, not even quite knowing why, but every fiber of him was suddenly adamant about not letting Khuvuld pass. He grabbed at the other orc's hand on the door latch, and slammed him as hard as he could with a shoulder to the chest, "I said PISS OFF. It's juss another tribute fer the Eye!"
Khuvuld stumbled back a few steps, snarling. "Yer hidin' somethin', aren't you? Keepin' all the goods fer yerself!"
"If loot's what ya want, ye can go shove these up yer arse!" Quick as a whip, Barbaurak hurled the pair of daggers he had confiscated from the woman at Khuvuld, who ducked just in the nick of time. They pierced into the wall behind with a dull thud, lodged firmly in the wood like twin needles, a couple of the orc's black hairs caught on the blades.
"YOU TRYIN' TA KILL ME, MAGGOT?!" Khuvuld roared, reaching for his sword.
"Skator-ghash! Calm down! The BOTH of ya!" Zathra darted into the quarrel, pulling the pair of hot-headed orcs apart with one swift deflection and forcing Khuvuld back a step. "Bar's tellin' the truth! I woulda though someone with a hound-nose like yers oughta be able ta sniff out the difference between a shara and whatever lousy scraps of loot that midgewater hovel has ta offer. Fightin' over a tributes ya can even claim ain't worth the trouble, right? Razmat's got all them strict rules..."
A glazed look passed over Khuvuld's face as Zathra droned on. Then he shook Zathra's grip off his arm and stormed off in a huff, all while muttering something unintelligible beneath his breath.
"Skai... Bleedin' officers..." Zathra sighed, suddenly feeling dizzy, as if his strength had been sapped. If he had been expecting any gratitude for his interference, he would have to wait until the heart of Mount Doom itself ran cold.
Barbaurak looked ready to pick another fight with him, just as much as he had towards Khuvuld, "I can handle that puffed-up buzzard on my own! I don't need ye fixin' my fights, ya weaselly lil coward!"
"I'm not fixin' anything juss fer YOU, shrakh-fer-brains," Zathra moved a step back, eying Barbaurak's hand that was resting readily on the hilt of his old, rusty sword. "Maybe yer too daft ta understand this, or maybe Razmat's been blowin' smoke up yer arse cuz, but whether ya like it or not, we'd both pay the price fer the other's shrakh-throwin'. It doesn't matt'r how much Razmat likes ya if ya get on the rest o' the crew's bad side. So do us both a favor an' quit startin' fights tha' need fixing!"
Barbaurak fell silent.
He hated how often Zathra was right. But Barbaurak didn't even understand why he had been inclined to stop Khuvuld from poking his beak of a snout into the cell in the first place. It wasn't as if the officer would have done anything once he had confirmed the only thing of value in the cell was the woman.
But just the thought of him going anywhere near her made his spine tense—
"Ah... Bar? Yer bleedin'..." Zathra interrupted Barbaurak's conflicting thoughts, but Khuvuld hadn't made any strikes, leaving Zathra at a loss. His confusion only deepened, for the corner of Barbaurak's mouth had curled up again.
Barbaurak lifted his hand to his cheek, trying to mask his expression, but found it damp to touch with his own blood. Pulling away, he found he was indeed, bleeding, fingers stained black by his orcish blood. It seemed he hadn't quite totally dodged the woman's attack, and his flank was starting to ache; it was almost impressive how quick she was with those tiny daggers of hers.
He growled, focusing hard to control his voice, "Yeah? An' what of it?"
Zathra sighed wearily, "I'll patch ya up. Come on..."
"Come on, Bar—"
"NO." Barbaurak snapped from his reminiscing back to the cold reality of the sea-side mist, rolling in a thick cloud across the ruined camp. It felt so heavy and oppressive all around, like it was crushing the wind from his lungs. "Whatev'r plan yer scheming up, it won't work. They'll gut us both the second we step foot in that place."
Zathra had climbed up astride Grothraum's back, seated among the spines of weaponry like some sort of weird throne. He guided the warg to come up alongside Barbaurak and held out his hand. "I need ya ta trust me. Give me a chance to set things right... If not fer yer sake, then trust me when I say I am doin' this fer Selga too. I coulda done something back then. I should've at least tried..."
Barbaurak's breath was labored, breaths deep and slow with a twinge at Zathra's words.
HE should have tried.
The orc shook himself hard. This wasn't the time to get caught up on the what-ifs. That past was over and done; his camp, his plan, his captive, his underlings, all of it, gone. Nothing could change that now. He had no other options.
Barbaurak took Zathra's hand in his own, glaring up at him, and digging his claws in with emphasis. "Fine... I'll... try ta remember... But I don't wanna 'ear a damn thing about any of yer filthy magic. Ye keep that nasty elf-shrakh to yerself."
Zathra gave a good heave, and pulled Barbaurak up onto the warg's back, who grumbled in protest at the increasingly heavy burden, "Er... 'Bout tha'... Yer not gonna like what I've got in mind..."