The search

[Morgeth]

It had been several hours since the sun had finally dipped down behind the mountains stretching along the horizon of Nagrand, but in the midst of all the darkness, sparked a few fires lit by those still awake in orcish settlement known as Garadar. Morgeth watched intently as the flames died down for the last time, weighing a log in her hand, as if pondering if she should allow the fire to live again. With a low grunt, the warlock dropped the firewood to the ground, turning her head to instead view the night sky; the vastness of cold space.
The stern glare of the distant stars stirred something within the young, pregnant orc and a small growl tore itself from her throat, giving proof of her everlasting defiance. The talks from the Ratchet tavern brewed in the back of her skull, and especially those she had shared with Mazguul. It felt hard to admit that she somehow had thought Mazguul plain, and maybe left the she-orc to her own devices, without showing particular care.
An agiatated sound escaped Morgeth as a hand ran down the face of her pale wolf mask, matched by a sleepy snort from the worg pup resting at her side. Not that long ago, not long enough at least, she had been a thief. An idiot, and scared child. But then, at least, she had cared for those she loved. Cared enough to be just an idiot, and to try to take them all in account. And now? Now she was just a fool, sitting by a fire. Spent her days hunting smaller prey, sleeping and awaiting the return of her mate, as well as awaiting the birth of her first son.
"So tell m'now! W'all this honour, all m'grom-damned strength! Why be I 'ere alone?! WHY?!"
The sudden, enraged scream reached the sky, that continued its relentless glare down to her, seemingly indifferent to the she-orc's angered despair. Getting to her feet, Morgeth hurled a pebble up towards - well.. towards whatever really. It mattered little, in the end. Hearing the same pebble fall down into the nearby river, the warlock gave a unhappy snarl.
"'t matters so lil', when 'e be gone.."
She knew the truth, as did Mazguul, about the chieftain's absence, and she had promised him that she'd stay away. That she'd stay safe. Untimely powerless as she was, how would she ever hold her ground against all that awaited them? First glancing to her hand, Morgeth's eyes closed, whilst her fingers slowly folded in towards their palm, forming an angered fist.
This could go on no longer; waiting for things to happen. She had to find him, and with that.. maybe she'd find herself. Sparing Mazguul's fate another thought, Morgeth nodded to herself, whilst turning to walk inside her hut. The orc had told her to fight for what she had, to clutch to it, and she would. Grom-damned, she'd fight, even if it made her an idiot along the way.
It felt almost like a ritual, discarding her heavy robes, and removing the wolf mask from her young features. It was like shedding skin, or maybe just resuming an old one. An hour later, she adjusted the plain hat to her head, one she had used for fishing and sneaking around prior to this. A nudge with the side of her foot sprung the young worg awake, and Morgeth smiled down to her unwilling companion.
"Th'time f'sleep be over, lil' one. 'T be time we went out there an' found ourselves th'grumblin' orc. 'E thought 'e could leave me behind an' deal w'is troubles 'imself. I be goin' t'prove 'im wrong."
Within the first few strides out from Garadar, a slow smirk grew onto Morgeth's green lips, and as the wind hit her face - as Gruulg told her it had done to him - the warlock sighed.
"This be th'time f'adventure."

[Gruulg]

((Absolutely nais morgeth, find grumpy!And let wind hit your face^^))

[Mazguul]

(( Wonderful read! You go find your one =) ))

[Norv]

(( I highly doubt Norvis will agree to this.
   Nice reading! ))

[Agra]

((Great reading! And got luck on your stroll.. ))

[Nazkhur]

((Good read Morgeth. I'm surprised she is still pregnant however, must be late by now.))

[Morgeth]

((I know D: It's all Kozgugore's fault really. But I think she's in her seventh month, so I still have time. She'll remain a fat, lovely orc for a bit longer <3 And thanks for the comments, very happy that people actually bother to read my storyspams!))

[Claws]

Mrs story spam a-lot keep them coming.

[Morgeth]

Morgeth gave a quiet grumble as she stared down into the stillness of the water, having to face the look of her own features glaring back at her. The wolf mask had been put away, resting just beside her, and she was thus able to fully view the new cut across her face. This bleeding gift had been bestowed upon her by the "loving" blade of one of the night elves they had faced during the attack on Feathermoon, but in her heart she found no hatred for these wretched beings. No, too busy with the emptyness of worry, of missing something.. someone so very deeply.
The young orc frowned, even emitting a quiet snort, as she allowed her fingers to trace the outlines of the cut.
"Grom-damned, grumbler. Where be y'hidin'?"
Flicking some of the still fresh blood to the ground, the she-orc got to her feet again, fastening the pale, dirty mask to her features. With her chin lifted upwards, as if in pride, she motioned to grab the reins of the nearby wolf, which gave her a quiet growl in greeting. Scratching the massive beast behind one of its ears, the green-skinned female gritted her teeth. Norviskrall had started asking questions, but her answers felt poor. She could not very well simply tell the orc that she was out looking for Kozgugore, because then it would all turn into some endless nagging back and forth about what is right and what is wrong.
Convincing herself of this, nodding quietly along with her thoughts, the young orc dragged herself onto the back of her wolf, giving it the utter freedom of finding its own way back to the zeppelins. A sudden kick from the inside of her gut made for a rough reminder of what was at stake here, save for her own heart, and the warlock gave a low growl of her own.
"Jus' calm down, eh? We'll find y'father, an' when we do.. I be goin' t'kick th'livin' crap out o' 'im. Y'll see."

[Mazguul]

(( Poor Morgeth Keep looking for your Koz!
Once again, nice update ))

[Morgeth]

Hate; it boiled from the pit of her stomach, and hit the roof of her mouth with vile intention. Morgeth twisted, trying to find a more comfortable position over the cold feel of the cave floor, and heaved a low sigh. As worry for Kozgugore's health had clawed her inside out, Morgeth's eyes had grown weary and even in her pregnant state, she felt hollow. This night was no different, despite the comforting words of Braggha and the lingering support of Nazkhur. Braggha had told her about love, loyalty and that she should trust in the old grump, and in his ability to take care of himself. But it had been several weeks now, and no word. Not even a sliver of hope, and whilst soothing words might echo within her ears, fear now had a firm grip on Morgeth's heart.

He's dead.

The words entered her mind as if being spoken by someone, and maybe - just maybe - the winds of these elven lands brought with them ill intentions. The young warlock snarled, earning her a quick glance from her blood-sister, but Nazkhur soon settled back again, and Morgeth's eyes finally closed. The weeks of insomnia had taken their toll, and now sweet promises of forgetting all troubles - if only for a while - seduced her down into the darkness that is sleep. But as some of us are destined to know, every breath taken in hopes of a better future, is a breath taken in vain.

Dead.

Within her dreams a vast array of disturbing images flickered before her, depicting the most vile things, and from the depths of her tainted self, Morgeth's soul roared in pain. The life of a chieftain, brought to an end by an assassin's dagger; a love bled dry. The sheer despair itself seemed enough to bring her to her knees, but in the midst of such things, something else grew. One simple thought, with a very simple goal. Revenge.

Claim it.

As easy as the dagger had cut through the flesh of her most honoured, most beloved one, so had the dagger cut through Norviskrall's hand when he had assumed the duties of a chieftain. Always there to help, the strange shaman. Always there to pass judgement, to nag and whine, but ultimately.. to claim more and more power.

So close, so very close now. To the truth.

Had she paid more attention to her surroundings, even as far as one can do so in dreams, Morgeth might've noticed the reoccuring suggestions, that never hailed from her own thoughts, or even her own mind. Somewhere, behind a dark veil, the fel mused. It mused at the mere thought of once again embracing one of its bitter disciples. Unwilling, foolish, little warlock indeed. In the end, it could all be made out to look so easy. The greed of shamans had such a rich history, so would it seem so unlikely for one - especially one raised by elves - to have an annoying chieftain murdered?

You know what to do. For honour, for revenge, for your family.

((Might continue this, when my brain is with me. Tried writing this ten times now, and I fail at each attempt. Bluh.))

[Norv]

(( Oooh!
   *blinks several times, then reads again*
   N-n-nicely written!

   *wants neeext!*  ))

[Morgeth]

"Lok'tar, Sister Morgeth.
It saddens me to write such a thing, especially to a mother to be, but we have found no further traces of your mate within the borders of Ashenvale. I sent several of my scouts out to Barrens as well, but they came back empty-handed. Chieftain Kozgugore has been an inspiration to us all, and we hope for his swift return.
For the Horde
Gorick Cragshot"

The warlock snarled as she clenched her hand shut, throwing the useless piece of paper aside, and she slumped back to the wall of the inn. Swift return, eh? They hoped. Alot of good that would do. Grumbling at the uselessness of her peers, the young she-orc looked around herself, sparing a brief glance to the saddening interior of Hammerfall's main house.

She'd have to go hunting soon again, because now her last coin had been spent. Spent on useless scouts and hunters, that had tried to track Kozgugore down. She knew that Ghost - that pale shit of an elf - would not be pleased to miss out on his daily payment, but she cared little. Even if all her secrets were to be spilled to the tribe, resulting in her possible rejection from it, she could not live knowing that she had failed to do everything within her power to find Kozgugore. She'd spend every coin, every last drop of her own blood, to find the orc. The only reason keeping her here, within this insane confinement of war, was the promise of her son.

Looking down to the fat stomach, she could do little but feel a vague flicker of hope in her heart, and despite the grim expression hiding behind the wolf mask, Morgeth forced a smile.
"M'lil' one. I 'ope y'will 'ave 'is strength, 'cause y'll need 't when y'be born. Y'll need 't t'put up w'me, an' t'survive in these times o' war." She bit her lip, realising she'd have to ask Norviskrall for even more coin to spend. Not to fatten Ghost's wallet, no. Only to hire more idiots who'd bring her the same messages she had already recieved tenfold of. The thought of asking the shaman for anything clawed at her insides like a beast, but there was little doubt he'd be the one she'd have to share words with. Cursing under her already heated breath, the young warlock got to her feet - giving signal for the small worg at her feet to accompany her - and stepped outside to the cool breeze of the Highlands. She licked her lips, tasting the air, and tried - as usual - to pick up his scent. All she could smell was rain, the meat from the butchers and that ever-lasting hint of troll. Gurubashi. Grom-damned everywhere too.

With a snarl in annoyance, and another shake to her head, she drew the dagger from her side. Not much to see, but it would suffice to cut the head of one of these raptors that seemed intent on lumbering around Hammerfall. While she did not care for food herself, she wouldn't be the mother to let her son starve just a few months before his actual birth.
"Feckin' 'ell, Kozgugore. I can'nae do this 'lone. Y'need t'get y'wrinkly arse back 'ere. F'me, f'your son.. an'.."
Morgeth glanced to the side, catching the brief sight of Osan chasing his chicken down the wooden steps.
".. an' f'em."

[Claws]

Bah tipical male Orc ta run when it comes down ta looking after
what they caused.
No wonder Sheorcs be stronger then them.

[Morgeth]

No matter what path,
down which you stray.
I will be your hunter,
and you my loving prey.

My mark upon your skin,
made by teeth and blood.
Our enemies will drown,
my hatred; a bitter flood.

It is for you alone,
that I ache to reach.
My hands will roam your flesh,
seeking what it has to teach.

What has been exchanged,
can never be undone.
The wolves will sing it;
We are one.

Her hands did indeed roam his flesh, as the words rang through her head. Morgeth could again feel the comfort of Kozgugore's presence, and it had an undeniable impact on her. The relief in which her heart bathed was soothing in its own way, but to be able to feel him, to touch his weary, sleeping head, was beyond anything she could describe. She was aware of her own decline, most likely enough to have proven Gnash right, in his early prediction of her being another "crazed fel-magician". But there was little, close to nothing, strong enough to force such darkness into her mind at an occasion such as this.

She gripped at the matted fur of the ragged, dirty wolf mask, and leaned in to inhale the orc's thick, rich scent. The chieftain's breaths broke off a bit, and even in his sleep he managed to produce a small grumble, granting Morgeth a slight pat on the back, as if rewarding her for her brave efforts. Or maybe trying to calm her enough for him to have his good, well-deserved rest. The warlock grinned in turn, bravely nuzzling herself closer to familiar feel of the orc's neck, as her dark eyes broke off to view the entrance of their cave-like escape.

In times like these, full of war and despair, Morgeth could grant herself this selfish thing.
The joy of knowing this hunt to be over.

The joy of knowing that she was not alone.

((Felt right to finish off the topic with a bit of utterly mushy orc poetry, and a story to boot. It's quite late at night right now, so I seriously doubt the quality of it, but heck.))