[story] Darkness

[Okiba]

“There is a reason mortals retreat to home and a bright fire when night comes and darkness falls” â€" Assassin Proverb

Darkness: Chapter 1 â€" Dusk

His nostrils flared, irritated. The air was stifling, suffocating even. The coarse grains of sand and dust on the wind weathered his old hide while the sun’s rays scorched him mercilessly, Orcs of Frostwolf blood never liked the heat, never. He couldn’t even begin to guess the discomfort of his allies.

The Barrens, north and south, are the way they are for a good reason it seems.

He mused wearily, the heat had been an unwelcome companion to the Blademaster and the Siam’quashi party for three days now, the sun’s relentless attack would only be halted come sunset. And that, spirits be thanked, was not far off. Gripping the reigns of his worg he spurred the black furred beast into an ample stride to catch up to the leading troll of the trio, dust rising behind him as the paws met earth.

“The trail continues east then, Jol’tor?” Krogon asked as his wolf came alongside the armoured black raptor in the lead. The Siam’quashi turned his head to peer down at the Orc. His skin was blue, his face scarred and painted... in many shades of black and ebon.

“It be clear dey’ come dis way Blademastah’, We can be stoppin at da border to Dustwallow as da sun sets to make a camp” spoke Jol’tor, firmly as if it was matter of fact and not up for debate, or need not be anyway. His brows rose almost questioningly.

He worries that I intend to try to over-rule him, the Darkspear truly are weary of Orcs now, even those considered close friends it seems...

Krogon grunted, bowing his head respectfully to the senior Troll in acceptance, his gaze turning east as the horizon shivered between hues of orange , red and thinning blue. The sun of course was descending into the western mountains behind them, so his eyes were spared the glare, even if his bare back got no reprieve from the heat.

Krogon turned his head to eye the other two members of the group, and sure enough, they rode behind at a short distance either side of Jol’tor, riding atop their armoured  raptors. Neither looked ahead, that was for Jol’tor their tracker to do. Their task was that of lookouts, their eyes fixed on their flanks and rear for any sign of trouble.

Dutiful and vigilant, these Siam’quashi know their business and how to go about it well.

Nal’aka, the female rode on the north side of the road behind Krogon. She was neither beautiful, nor ugly Krogon guessed... Though she did forever wear that cowl adorned with bones and tusks, so he had no idea what she looked like to begin with. What he did know was that her twin-bladed war-blade looked potent, and worthy of felling a Gronn with one slice. She kept the weapon atop her back, shifting her body calmly with an aura of composure and control.

Tet’shalak, on the other hand fidgeted. On the south side of the road next to Nal’aka he was forever twitching this way and that as if the slightest sound was a warning of impending attack. Also unlike Nal’aka he wore nothing over his face, his bald head, small tusks and unpainted face were nothing unusual, so far as to say Krogon could discern no remarkable or noteworthy features. He did have a rather ornate looking crossbow though, adorned with bones and fine feathers... a bolt already loaded and ready to launch.

I am in good company for this errand I think.

Krogon turned his gaze ahead once more with a grunt, now facing the east and the approaching border to Dustwallow.

Though I get the feeling it has become a Wild plainstrider chase.

When the tribe had set out for the eastern kingdoms on the chieftains latest campaign, Krogon had been left behind with tasks and errands to prepare for their return. One of which included assisting the Darkspear as best he could with combating the renegade Dark shaman and Kor’kron on Kalimdor. Thus, he was here, ranging far and wide over the southern barrens in search of their elusive and dangerous foe.

The old Blademaster grumbled, running his right hand over the hilt of the sword at his left hip, reminding himself out of habit and ritual that it was still and always present.

I will be glad when the tribe returns and I may resume my proper duty’s.

It wasn’t that he was beginning to miss the absence of the tribe, being separated from its Orcs, It was also the frustration of this hunt. The dark shaman had raided a human caravan south east of Desolation hold and left Horde banners in an attempt to implicate Vol’jins horde. Such cowardly audacity could not be tolerated with the truce so tentative in Kalimdor. Unfortunately it also couldn’t  be dealt with, as the scum wouldn’t sit still and had reduced the party of four to scouring after them in circles, following whatever barely readable tracks and trails they left.

”Da border approach” Jol’tor spoke firmly, nodding ahead at the area drawing closer ahead. Krogon stirred from his thoughts and ran his eyes over the area, his gaze moving downwards as his wolf came to a halt at the top of what was a hill, and below... the marsh of Dustwallow. He could smell its stagnant water from up here.

”We can set camp up here and descend into the marsh to continue the chase” Krogon spoke, nodding firmly. It was the smart thing to do for now. Jol’tor nodded in agreement as he turned his raptor to face the other two trolls who had come to a stop close behind them. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, Krogon watched the last glimmers of the sun dip beyond the horizon to the west, the sky turning from blood red to gold and shades of deep blue as it rolled back over-head and to the east.

There it goes at last, some relief...

Then silence.

Silence is never something to be associated with inactivity, slumber or the absence of sound. That is a fool’s concept, for silence is the deep breath before action, the paused moment before danger and the plunge into chaos. Thus Krogon’s ears twitched as all sound fell away, the wind, the sound of crickets in the bushes...

...then the sound of bows and the whistle of arrows began.

[Okiba]

“Before you cast judgement on my choices, I suggest you take stock of your own” â€" Brin’gor the black, exile of the Warsong

Darkness: Chapter 2 â€" Judgement

The first strike stirred him, barely registering as his mind whirled into action to try and register what happened in the waking world. The second stung with re-doubled effort that was backed by impatient force, the pain on his cheek stinging him to consciousness. He’d been back-handed, with large knuckles, twice now.

Whoever did that will be losing that hand.

Eyes opened, but found only the murk and irritation of cloth barring their view, A bag was over his head,  the air around his face hot and moist from his ragged breath.

He grunted, sourly, part to ensure that whoever his assailant was knew he was awake, and part in irritation at his discomfort. He knew several things initially. First, his hands were bound in tight rope behind his back, second that he was kneeling on hard stone and lastly that the side of his head throbbed with a bruise.

The memory was fuzzy, but the ambush had ended with him being dismounted, putting up a fight, getting pinned down by sheer numbers then knocked out. He also knew Jol’tor was dead; the first arrows had hit him square in the chest and neck. The proud Darkspear had hit the ground with no more than a pained gargle and a last surprised breath.

His senses began shifting back into focus, first his sense of smell. This bag smelled like onions, probably just what they had at hand. Second, he felt different, lighter. They’d taken his sword, prayer beads and other belongings. Lastly, his hearing focussed. There were figures around him, talking in Orcish, rumbling deep voices of disdain judging by the tone. The eager sounding one to his right, likely the one with the arm on his shoulder spoke...

”We ambushed them at the border to the barrens! Killed the traitors group leader and brought these three as gifts to you!

Kor’kron...

”you have done well Vorg! We will have fresh entertainment from these as we ply information from them, then enact Hellscreams justice... Came a reply. This voice was ahead of him, gravelly with a hint of menace. ”Remove the bags from their heads, let me gaze upon these fools! He commanded followed by a feint echo, now making clear he was in charge.

A rough hand grabbed at the top of Krogon’s head,  grasping the bag then pulling it away with force. The light made his eyes reel so it took agonizing moments to adjust before could he could take in what was around him. He grunted in annoyance, his surroundings were mostly made up of Kor’kron grinning  like wolves who had found a lost lamb.

On his right was a Kor’kron guard, ‘Vorg’, young but muscled and sporting thin stubble. To his right was the Siam’quashi Nal’aka, she was being held down on her knee’s too... gagged and snarling, despite the arrow stuck deep in her right shoulder she obviously had plenty of energy for anger.

She still spoils for their blood.

On his left, Tet’shalak was face down on the ground. Bound, but beaten out cold. The bruises on his face and neck testament to the fierce struggle he put up before being subdued. A female Orc, in dark chain armour had her foot placed on his back, smirking with triumph as if the troll was a trophy from a hunt.

Shameless fool.

Finally he turned his gaze forward, his eyes at last accustomed to the dim light of what was a cave chamber, lit by scattered braziers. Ahead of the three captured members of the party stood an Orc of dark skin, with a jet black beard and wicked red eyes. He was a Blackrock Orc, and judging by  his rune inscribed mail raiment as well as the twisted, chain wrapped monstrosity of a totem in his right hand... a dark shaman. To his right was a shadow, no... more than a shadow, an Orc pup of some twelve years and similar hide as the Dark shaman. The boy was clad in no more than simple leathers with a light sneer on his lip, a hatchet ready in hand.

Father and son?

”An ugly pair of trolls and a weak traitorous Orc who backed them, pitiful!" The dark shaman sneered, utter contempt in his voice. Nal’aka came to a simmering growl at these words, as best a rebuke as she could muster while gagged. Krogon however opted for silence, for now.

”Varanak, my son...” The dark shaman spoke, placing his hand on the pups’ tense shoulder. ”Tell me, how will we deal with dogs such as these, who would dare hunt Hellscreams loyal, hm? He turned to look at the boy with a wry smirk, trying to prompt a response.

Using us as a lesson to educate his boy in dishonour...

The boys’ mouth opened and shut, his half grown tusks flashing for a moment as he was clearly unsure, perhaps seeing the ‘hated’ enemy for the first time.

“Well, what do ‘we’ do?” The father pushed, impatient.

“We do to them as they wished to do to us, Father” The boy forced from his throat, a hesitant voice showing he was not yet a full Orc.

”Precisely.

No!

An unfriendly green hand clamped around Krogon’s mouth to stifle any attempt at protest, the Blademaster strained to look to his right as a knife wielding hand was dragged across the throat of Nal’aka, her gag muffled any noise as blood spurted into the air and the troll slumped over. He did not see it happen, but he shut his eyes in anger as he heard the ‘thump’ of a heavy axe landing in the unconscious neck of Tet’shalak.

Fury and barely bridled rage burned in his chest. Executing them like swine at the spring culling without so much as an honest honourable accusation, a cowards ‘justice’ and nothing more.

You will pay for that, Scum.

“But this one, my son...” The dark shaman added as the blood of the two trolls pooled around their lifeless body’s on the cave floor. ”this one deserves something far, far worse than death. Isn’t that right, -Devilstep?-” He snarled, his eyes placed on Krogon, filled with venomous disdain. The sweaty hand of the Kor’kron Vorg un-clamped for his mouth, allowing him to speak.

And so the plot thickens.

”The only one who deserves to suffer here is you, -dog-. Your failed Warchief is beaten and toppled from his throne, whatever punishment you waste on me won’t elevate you from hiding in caves and scavenging the wastes for trouble...” Krogon snarled flashing his fangs, instantly without hesitation. It was true as far as he was concerned, every word of it. Hellscream would never be called Warchief again.

”Ha! Still your tongue Red blade Mutt. You turned your back on your Warchief, plotted against and even waged war on him... you are a lowly snake and I will show you the fate of those who spit on Hellscream! The dark shaman retorted with a scornful snarl before he continued, ”While you rot, I will do everything I can to ruin that pack of dogs you value so much more than your own honour! It’s the ‘abyss’ for you! He laughed, carried away with his own triumph.

The tribe...

”move the stone! Ready him for the descent!” The vindictive shaman laughed, proud and victorious.

Vorg and the female Kor’kron seized Krogon harshly by his arms and dragged him to the other side of the chamber, both laughing as if whatever was to come was a joke the Blademaster would not be privy too. When they at last stopped, a third and fourth Kor’kron were dragging a massive flat boulder from the middle of the ground... as it was displaced, it revealed a hole, and a limitless dark space beneath.

He was stopped, being half dangled in with knee’s placed on the edge of the gap in the earth. Below was nothing but shadow, he couldn’t see the bottom and only felt stagnant lifeless air rising from within. The fire in the heart of the Blademaster fell to a simmer, turning his gaze to the laughing dark shaman he spoke, and chose his words wisely...

“What is your name, Dark shaman?" He growled.

”Why would you want to know, Blademaster? It is of little help to you now!"

Krogon smiled, coldly.

”So when the time comes, I know who I killed.”

The laughing rose, to a hearty chuckle on all sides, though Krogon kept steely faced and maintained his glaring gaze.

”Good one! It is Mala’kal, though you and I shall never meet again, cast the traitor in!"

With that, ‘Vorg’ cut the bonds around his hand, and kicked him forward. Thus he descended into the dark, knowing the name of whom he would kill.

...Mala’kal.

[Sadok]

((Great story thus far! You write action scenes pretty damned well. I understand that there's more to come, so keep it coming!))

[Groshnok]

A fantastic read, looking forward tot he next chapter.

[Izeira]

An interesting story, and rather similiar to the Dark Knight the more I think of it, should have this playing as it's theme https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oIfk5-8oy_o

[Okiba]

“The greater the rise, the more painful the fall.” â€" Human Proverb

Darkness: Chapter 3 â€" Abyss

It shrank. With each time lost moment, the blinding shape, that circle of light that grew smaller as the descent hastened. Walls of slick, moist rock shot up around him on all sides, reaching up from the darkness as they grasped at nothing. Humid air rushed through his open hands, his ears alive with its howl. Ancestors only knew when he would hit the ground.


He tried to call upon the spirits of air, to plead with them to slow his fall, begging that they spare him from a deadly impact, but he heard and felt nothing. His prayer beads would often help him call on their aid in times of sudden dire need, but in this place it felt as if his plea fell upon deaf ears and a muted voice.

Mala’kal...

Laughter, a choir of chortled laughter echoed from above, piercing his ears like knives in his back. The walls vibrated with the sound of their mockery and contempt, growing fainter and fainter as he plummeted and the shadows around him grew.

Spirits give me strength!

And then it struck, though it was not solid. The landing had no trauma but all the pain of a thousand blades as he was swallowed . A mass wrapped around him, and in that moment he thought he had been thrown to some dread beast, until sense hit him hard with realisation. He had landed in water, icy cold and piercing his hide with its torturous fingers. Flailing he gasped then choked on fetid freezing water, searching for the surface while bubbles and muck filled water entered his nose, mouth and eyes.

As his body rose and his head exploded above the surface for that sweet, desperate breath, he ceased his flailing and paddled for the edge of the water twenty feet away.

Curse them! Curse their dammed cowardly hides!

Growling and snarling, with the rage of the Trolls murder still simmering in his chest, he scrambled with slick hands onto the water side. With haste he quickly surveyed the area revealed by the distant light above. He could see the area around him for brief, fleeting moments. He was at the bottom of a cavern, with the entrance nearly a hundred feet above, and down here a wide space surrounded by many smaller cave mouths curving off in various directions, all leading outwards or down.

He took a moment, gasping haggardly. The fall and landing had surprised as well as taken the wind out of him. Then a noise followed, echoes of commands from high above. Mala’kal was giving out orders, but what?

Likely adding insult to injury.

Krogon bared his fangs, his eyes narrowed. Then he saw it. At first a shadow over the entrance, then a shape, then a second shape. Both grew, both span, swaying this way and that as they fell.

Splash!

Splash!

Water erupted from the pool as both struck, waves ascending as the objects sank, rose and bobbed, dark swirls of crimson fanning out into the dark brown water. They had thrown the dead trolls in after him.

Have they no honour!?

He clenched his hands, the rage intensifying as his bare muscled fists formed and compressed.  The body of Nal’aka rolled, her face still contorted with rage while her features were smeared crimson. They would be avenged, and he would see it so.

With a wince and cough he rose to stand, icy tendrils of water dripping off of his blood and mud soaked body. He would first have to figure out a way out before he could pay give them any proper burial rites--

...Snort, Snort...

Krogon’s body stiffened, his eyes darting to the source. In the mouth of one of the small caves he could see the shadow of someone, or something watching him. It snorted, like a pig, it shuffled on hooves as its eyes glared at him. A Quilboar?

Then more, the sound of smacking lips and subtle hissing. He turned his head to look behind himself, another shape dangling from the opposing tunnel mouth. A troll, male, tilting its head this way and that, from Krogon to the dead in the pool. To the side of newcomer, atop an out-thrust ledge high above, popped two shadow masked heads, snarling, their eyes gleaming as they looked the Blademaster up and down hungrily.

I’m not alone down here then...

He cracked his knuckles. These fellow ‘inmates’ may not be so hospitable to newcomers. His ears twitched as words escaped the lips of the prowling troll...

“Looks like we be eatin’ â€"meat- tonight, boys...” It purred, lapping saliva from around its mouth.

Krogon tensed, his jade eyes narrowed ready for a fight. However, all that was pre-empted by the spine chilling sound of scraping stone, and the dimming of distant light. High above, the Kor’kron had begun to push the boulder back over the entrance. Very quickly, and with the clank of completion at their task, the laughter of Mala’kal and his minions ceased.


Thus all fell to Darkness.

[Sadok]

((

The thought plickens!))

[Okiba]

“Monsters? Monsters do not truly exist in this world. But that does not stop them existing in our minds, where mortal thoughts make menacing visages out of what we cannot comprehend.” â€" Kel’tosh the Seer

Darkness: Chapter 4 â€" Monsters

His fist shuddered with the impact, shockwaves running up to his shoulder for all the force he had used. Though he could not see what he’d hit, he could defiantly feel the tusk and pig snout reeling away from his hand. The sound of staggered hoof steps and the clatter of a fall quickly followed.

The swine only saw an old Orc, easy pickings for hungry hands. He didn’t take note of the Scars, they never do.

He settled his stance, drawing an arm back ready to strike again should the Quilboar jump up. But he didn’t, instead it settled into pained snorts and groans... Narrowing his eyes, that happened to be near useless, he strained his hearing to catch glimpse of anything else incomeâ€"

“HRaaa--!”

Chomp!

It bit down, hard, having leapt at him from the right side. His right shoulder roared in pain, the feeling of gushing blood bursting forth under the onslaught of mean, desperate fangs filled his mind. It was on his back, clawing for a firm grip on his chest with its feet purchased around his hips. It was desperate for a meal.

The old Blademaster through his fist up to meet its nose, but found only dark empty space, its head had swung back before burying itself back into his shoulder for a second sitting. Then the other one struck.

Small, claw like hands wrapped around his ankle while teeth sunk into his left calf muscle, tearing, pulling, rending desperately for the smallest morsel. Thoughts ran through his head, brief and useless, ways to escape, to throw them off. But with the complete dark, no answer from the spirits and none of his weapons it was as if all his skills had been thrown out the window. He thrust his right hand for the face of the ankle biter and the left around to gouge the one on his backs eyes, they may be blind down here but it would still hurt all the same.

Too slow! You’re moving too slow!

”Off of me you dammed animals! Off!! He roared, his hands squeezing, twisting and digging into the soft flesh of their faces, nails finding eyes and digits finding lean tender muscle to compress with desperate, savage force.

The smaller one yielded first, releasing its grip from his leg, squirming as it clawed at his arm, pleading for it to release its face. The larger one on his back however only seemed to grow more ferocious as he tightened his grip of the junior’s skull.

Splash!

Now what!?

The assailant leapt off him, scampering toward the sound of shifting water by the central pool, so in turn he released the other attacker with a forceful push in the same direction. With staggered steps back, ensuring his footing and waving hands around wide to check for space, he listened and listened well.

Snarling, splashing, growling, snorting and the unmistakable sound of skin being dragged across stone. What where they doing? What could be in the water that was more important to cannibals than fresh meat-

Ancestors no...

As his back came up against the cold surface of the cavern wall, realisation washed over him. Why fight for fresh meat when you can just take dead meat? His stomach churned at the thought, that somewhere ahead of him in the deep dark beyond sight, they were fighting over the bodies of the two murdered trolls.

“Mine! This one is mine! Snort, snort, Mine!” The Quilboar wailed, seeming to have darted straight for the easy pickings once his snout had been cracked. The scuffling continued, the sounds of frenzied pulling, biting and rabid tearing of feasting. Krogon stared into the blackness, he could see nothing! A miracle such as it was.

”Get ya own one piggy! Off!” Came a trolls voice, with the sound of kicking and snarling. He and the Quilboar must of been fighting over one body, while the other two fought over the second. His heart raced, thinking, always thinking desperately of a way out...

Can they see me plain as day down here? Am I sitting a duck!?

Waving a hand in front of his eyes he found nothing. Only the pitch black of this abyss. He’d have to rely on other senses...

Bones cracked, the frenzy of the feast increased. His stomach turned at the thought of their gore desperate barbarism, and his rage peaked...

”You animals will pay for that! Pay!” He roared defiantly into the darkness, though all he got in return was the muffled noise of laughter and the slurp of flesh being consumed.

”Making friends then new one?” came a bemused, grizzled voice from close above. He froze, looking up. He could see nobody, only the dark suffocating his vision, but he knew they could see him.

He was prey.

[Okiba]

“Trust is like money, hard to earn but easy to lose.” â€" Goblin Proverb

Darkness: Chapter 5 â€" Stranger

His heart skipped a beat.

“well don’t wait around, climb on up.” The voice continued, resonating from a perch above him. Krogon tightened his grip on the rock at either side, his back against its cold surface as he gazed up into nothing. The voice had been firm, but not threatening, holding no hint of malice or deceit. Only simple, matter of fact advice.

Don’t trust it, don’t trust it. Down here there can be no mistakes.

He breathed out, having only just realized he’d been holding in air, boiling inside him until it was ragged and hot. Licking his lips, he turned and placed his body so his chest compressed against the moist, cold stone.

What are you doing? You know you shouldn’t!

But he did. Raising his left arm, then his right, he searched and found purchase, lifting himself as his bare feet found simple footing to move upward. Moving inch by inch with every cautious grasp and pull, ensuring what he held onto was secure, he eventually placed both his hands on the lip of a sharp rocky ledge. He dangled there, spirits only know how high up in this dark. He paused, breathing in, tense as he decided if to continue or not.

This is a bad idea.

Below, behind and faintly all around he could hear the muffled sound of the ‘monsters’ as their feast continued, worse still laws the stench. The whole place stank of excrement, aged and inter mingled with fetid hints of urine and degrading meat. His stomach turned but gave him resolve enough to act. He was not safe down there, not right now anyway.

But what other choice Do I have?

With a sharp inward breath he pulled on his arms and scrambled onto the flat rocky ledge. He could not guess how far it spanned left or right, or how far it reached out ahead of him. All he knew was, someone was there with him.

He’s watching. Or Listening.

He swallowed unsubtly, his throat dry as he spoke simply, “I am here.”

”Took your time. Be a spot ahead of you four arm lengths off, to sit and be comfortable. They won’t come up here for you, so you can calm yourself stranger. He stated, simply. It was a fact, or at least to him. The haggard voice came from his right, close, but out of arms reach.

Slowly, go slowly.

Krogon narrowed his eyes and without thought or characteristic suspicion moved forward. Sure as anything he found the back of a small ‘mouth’ in the cave wall, and placed his back against it to look out into nothingness. His mind raced with questions while his sense took in the sounds and nuances of this place, where to begin, If at all?

Cautious what you reveal of yourself to him, let him do all the talking.

”No pussy footing around, shrimp. It’s dangerous down here, far safer to work in pairs for mutual protection. I don’t have to like you...

That’s blunt.

”...and I don’t need you to like me. Welcome to hell.” It finished. His voice had come from some short distance to his left now. Judging by his tones and accent, he gathered him for an Orc, definitely. Orc’s picked up on how their own fangs and tusks altered their speech better than other races. This one’s were large, and caused him to speak with his throat more than his jaw. Judging by the distance, and how he sounded marred, he was probably facing away, looking out or even listening over the ledge.

Hell, Apt if nothing else

Doubt rolled through the mind of the Blademaster. Perhaps this one had been down here too long; desperation can do strange things to an Orc. While he continued to take in the details of his surroundings, feeling the rock at his back and sides with his hands for certainty, he also considered his questions...

His name? Where is this place? Is there a way out? So many things...

”What Do I call you?” He felt himself ask, without forcing the thought to cause it.

”Vrex, Stranger. Call me Vrex. Rest for now, we will talk when you have adjusted better.” And with that he fell silent.

[Okiba]

“Greed and gluttony lead only to sloth and decay.” â€" Brex of the Frostwolves

Darkness: Chapter 6 â€" Spoils

The sweet, bloody taste was overwhelming. Each mouthful was a moment anticipated, savoured and then quickly forgotten as the next bite approached. The boar was succulent, melting on the tongue while her fangs tore it piece by piece from the leg bone.

At least Vorg can do something right.

Teshka grinned, thinking to herself. Vorg had hunted the boar well, and now it sat skewered over the fire, dripping its sweet, fatty juices. It was positioned to the side of the cave chamber, with the group sat all around, all but Mala’kal... he sat aloof to everyone else atop his self made throne, his runt pup at his side. While the father gorged himself on pork, the Orc-child picked apart his own meal hesitantly.

Vorg and the Dark-shaman adept Brusk however exchanged whispered jokes, likely at the boys’ expense. All the others were faces with names not worth the effort to learn, some dozen in total. Curling her fangs in disdain at these shoddy surroundings, she turned her attention back to her meal... sinking her teeth back into that prized meat.

“Garbage run! Haha!” Brusk yelled triumphantly, he stood and walked to the great stone that led to the dark chamber below. With the help of Vorg the pair quickly moved it aside to the cheering chants of the others. Her eyes followed the scene, the Kor’kron grunts throwing stripped bones and other waste food or garbage down into that abyss where the prisoners lived, and hopefully died.

Scraps, they don’t even deserve that.

Mala’kal chuckled, coldly, he threw a bare bone aside and clapped as the grunts pushed the great stone back into place with the grinding of stone and a shifting click of completion. The boy Varanak just looked afraid, as usual.

Weakling, Mala’kal should have throttled him at birth, and his bitch mother for spawning him too.

Teshka smiled wide, flashing her fangs at the sheepish pup, this caught his eye and he quickly turned pale with worry.

Perhaps one night while he sleeps, I’ll slip into his furs, make him blush... then strangle him myself...

She mused, as Mala’kal waved his hands, calling all the Orcs to resume sitting so he may speak. Quickly as they had risen, they all sat around the fire facing his primitive throne once more.

“Kor’kron! Hellscreams loyal!” He spoke, booming to ensure their attention. ”Tonight we feast and celebrate! Tonight one of our most hated enemies’s, The Blademaster Devilstep, languishes and suffers in the abyss of our pit!” He raises his arms, the crowd cheered. Teshka gave a half hearted cheer of her own, for appearances and all.

Not like it was difficult, the Blademaster hardly lived up to his Reputation, Dog.

”Soon, we will leave this place and strike down those who would chase us like animals! And return Hellscream to his rightful place! Hellscream lives! Hellscream is free! Hellscream will be victorious!” He roared, the cave erupted into similar roars. News of Hellscreams escape had come in the early hours, quickly followed by wild boasts and claims my Mala’kal.

”you shall all drink deep of the cup of victory, and feel its rewards! Riches! Spoils! Blood and glory! Power will once again be ours! For the true Horde!"

”For the true Horde!” they all echoed his victory cry, and Teshka followed suit.

Whatever gets us out of this cave...

With that, as the others chanted, raised mugs and sang of victory and blood, Mala’kal walked over to Teshka, grinning from pointed ear to ear.

Teshka stood, licking the remainder of her meal from her lips and fangs, wiping the grease from her face.

Come to wrangle his way into my furs again...

He stopped in front of her, a mass of muscle and chain mail. At his hip sat a Totem wrapped in chains... a symbol of how the elements obeyed him to the point of slavery.

”You have served me well, and best of all those here Teshka, I have a special reward for you..." He smiled, his square chin straining with glee.

She bowed her head and smiled playfully, knowing full well the games a female had to play with male superiors in this horde or any other. The wiles of a female had many benefits if used right.

”And what be this boon you would grant me above all others, hmm?” she purred in response, smiling that smile only a she wolf could use.

Mala’kal placed a hand behind his back, and brought it back about. Thrusting an object into her hands.

An actual gift and not some lusty innuendo? Well it’s a first. But he’s not earned some rutting yet...

She ran her slender, claw like hands along that smooth, red surface. Gronn bone, an expensive material and worth it too. She tightened her grip, it was a sword, sat in its scabbard. Curved and lengthy enough to be wielded with one hand or two. With a snapping motion she unsheathed it to a song like note, the air splitting... unleashing a tongue of shining metal, razor sharp and shimmering in the light of the fire.

...Or perhaps you have.

She grinned, her eyes running up and down the blade, it was dark blue to the eyes, and showed signs of expert craftsmanship, folded thousands of times with pain staking effort. Who ever had made it, had made it well she judged, eyeing the emblem of a demonic Orcs face, complete with horns and menacing visage at the base of the blade.

Courtesy of our new inmate, Ha!

She snapped it back into the sheathe with a smooth even motion ending in a final click. It was priceless, and hers if she was willing to pay what the seller asked. She finally lifted her dark red eyes to the dark shaman, forcing a blush and a wry smile.

”such a fine gift, How could I ever repay such generosity?” She spoke softly, standing close to him now. Only a hair distance was between them as his hot, lustful breath fell on her face. She knew what he wanted, and he knew she did.

His hand rose, caressing her chin. And that was when she knew...

...She owned him.

[Sadok]

((Woof, is it getting hot in here? Great story! I want to know how Krogon gets out of this one!))

[Groshnok]

bae caught me giftin

[Okiba]

“Crumbs and the hungry are alike to gold and the poor.” â€" Goblin Proverb

Darkness: Chapter 7 â€" Hunger

It shuddered, with anger, anger so loud as to make his efforts at hiding in this place entirely futile. The movement of unused acids in his gut had lasted nearly a day now, unanswered in their calls for nourishment, growing in noisy discontent with each hour. At least, what he considered to be an hour, time was quickly losing its meaning down here. The feasting cannibals had long since finished their meal, skulking off with the lapping of blooded maws back to their own corners to digest and wait...

This place will be fraught with problems...

He considered this, as he sat cross legged atop the ledge looking out into the pitch black of main cave chamber beyond. His eyes found nothing, not a scrap of light. Already he’d begun to become accustomed to using his other senses. Touch, smell and sound would be allies here, his only allies, save for Vrex perhaps.

And I can’t even be sure if he won’t simply kill me in my sleep.

The thought gnawed at him, worse than the pangs of hunger in his belly. Vrex had not moved all this time, while Krogon sat on the far right of the ledge, Vrex remained perched on the far left. Not a word had been passed between the pair, all the while the Blademaster could only think, endlessly.

Focus, consider your options, what do you know?

Well, he knew what they had taken from him upon capture. First they took his swords, then they searched him and removed his daggers, knives and other weapons. His armoured gauntlets too, and even the sandals that bore no other use  were not safe.

No weapons then...

Next they took his waist-wrap, along with his tools and climbing gear concealed within. Smoke bombs, rope, climbing claws and other gizmo’s he had handpicked for just such a tight spot.

They would have been useful now.

That all paled though, in comparison to the true robbery. He didn’t know when or what was done with it, but his iconic wolf mask had been snatched for some unknown fate. He’d rarely ever be seen without it hiding his features, like many Red Blades. Though worse still, they had taken his prayer beads.

The spirits are silent here, they would have been a great boon.

His right hand rubbed over the top of his chest where those sacred orbs had one rested. That those had been removed showed incredible foresight by the dark shaman, as well as intimate knowledge of how a Blademaster gained and tapped into his spiritual powers. It all pointed to one thing...

This was no chance skirmish. They planned it well, and I was the target.

He snorted, realising with disdain with how easily he had been caught.

”You seem agitated, stranger. What has you so riled? Hrm?” Vrex whispered in his cool, coarse tone.

Perhaps now is the time to start asking.

Krogon ran his hand over the moist, cold surface of the rock he sat upon as numerous questions ran through his mind, all competing for priority.

”Why are the spirits so quiet down here?” He asked, at last. Probably after too many silent moments, but the question needed an answered. The spirits were mute, and the earth felt tender.

Vrex snorted, not with disdain but with amusement. ”this whole chamber is one giant wound to them, is why.”

Krogon turned to look toward him, finding on the black veil of the dark and the sound of disgruntled breathing.

”Mala’kal scoured every tunnel, chamber and surface down here with runes of enslavement and agony. The earth itself is a ward, beaten into submission to allow no other spirit a voice or presence...” He finished, spitting for good measure.

Krogon ran his hand over the ground again, his brows furrowing in anger. All Dark Shaman had much to answer for, but Mala’kal was quickly becoming the most intolerable. When his lip had curled enough he pressed on with his questions.

”What of the other prisoners?” He pressed. It was a good question, he’d only seen four, there could be many more in those tunnels leading from this central chamber.

”Them? There be plenty. You already met the pig, the troll I call Drooler. Don’t forget Sela and her son Tirek too, Orcs them. The ogre too... but he mostly just sleeps down his tunnel.”

that was a female and her pup gnawing on me? Pfah, worst still an ogre of all things...

Krogon grumbled, he had a variety of individuals to worry about in a maze he didn’t know and had to discover without his eyes. On top of that he was without his tools and spirits allies.

Patience...

Stone grinded on stone, far above...

Within moments as the groan of rock continued, a bolt of blinding light penetrated down from high above and illuminated the chamber and the rank pool of water at its centre. Krogon squeezed the lip of the ledge tightly under his hands while his eyes re-focused, then his ears became aware that Vrex had moved.

Where is he going?

The other Orc who he now saw for the first time had leapt from the ledge and begun darting toward the water edge, his back turned to Krogon as his muscled body bounded forward with purpose. His hair was long, dark and messy, much alike to his beard. The only clothing he could make out was that of a ripped pair of leather pants more alike to a long loin-cloth.

Splash... and he was in the water, diving head first. Krogon watched eagerly now, trying to fathom the purpose of this sudden burst of energy, there was also the other thing...

Why aren’t the others moving?

Not a single head emerged from one of the dozen tunnels surrounding the chambers walls, nor did a face rise above the numerous rocks or low ledges. Then the answer descended along the beam of light, down from the hole so high above.

Garbage.

A dozen bones, spoiled vegetables and other undesirable food stuffs hit the water sporadically as laughter echoed down from above, chanting and jeering. The cannibals didn’t eat this crap, they had good succulent meat to fuel them and no reason to shun it, no morale or principle remained that held them back.

But Vrex, Vrex clings to his...

The other Orc bobbed, dived, splashed, grabbed and clung hard as he scooped up the discarded meals. As soon as he had entered the water, he had dragged himself back out, wet and panting... dashing back toward the ledge with as much haste as he could muster while the beam of light above shrank once more with the grinding of stone.

As slick wet hands finished grappling their way back onto the ledge and the sound of dripping water pattered onto the stone, Vrex dropped the food at his side and rolled with a clatter something meaty smelling his way.

”Next time, it be your turn. That is how we eat.”

[Okiba]

“Fear can paralyze a soul to the spot, but it can also spur determination the likes that storms are made.”

Darkness: Chapter 8 â€" Depths

Each foot-step was preceded by nervous, frantic grasping. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t see what was ahead, he had to feel for it constantly. Pawing over each rough stony surface he countered while his feet drudged through icy water with hesitant steps. He could just as easily step into a bottomless pool and drown as well as smash his skull on an unseen wall of stone.

Miles, This thing goes on for miles...

The air wasn’t much better. It thinned sometimes, radiating strange chemical smells while it felt as if it would suffocate him with pressure in other parts of the passage.

Vrex had best save me my meal if they throw anything down today.

He grumbled. The meals had been few and far between, every day or two as best he could judge. And each time, more and more hungry faces peeked out from the shadows around the main chamber, growing steadily more ravenous. Fresh, bloody meat had not been theirs for nearly a week now. Those hungry eyes had worried him on both his dashes to the pool, but he could not let doubt hold him back. He was adapting.

Next time they pounce on me they will get a shock.

He snorted, probing a low hanging rock with his hands before he ducked under to continue. Gentle, calm shuffles all the way. Vrex had mocked him, told him several times before each of these little trips. “the tunnels lead only down and to nowhere, do not waste your time”, over and over.

Find a way. Search. You can’t sit idle no matter what he says or others before you have done.

It was true, as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t climb up to the entrance of the main chamber with his bare hands and no tools, so there was only one other option.

Explore.

And explore he did. This was the third tunnel he had ventured down after his turn waiting for the garbage drop. The first had led to a cold, still pool of water that acted without intention as the inmate’s water source. The second however spiralled down a short distance to a honeycombed maze of criss-crossing paths that led ultimately nowhere, it had taken him a whole day to memorize its corridors and find his way out.

Two down, many more to go. There has to be one that goes somewhere...

This tunnel was mostly straight. Granted, it had dipped somewhat while it ran its course, water rising to his ankles, but it was straight. Only the occasional minor obstacle lay in his path as he moved forward through what his eyes perceived as only the colour black, and nothing else. Until he came to an incline, and crawled his way up with agonizing care.

The air began to thin, and surge ahead, sucked forward...

Is this perhaps the end of it?

He placed his right foot forward after a cautionary grasp with his hand, only to find air, and the void below. His body plummeted, both arms spinning to grasp, clutch and grab something, anything!

”Spirits!” his voice burst forth in a startled gasp, the sound carried out up the tunnel the way he had come, and then thundering into nothing and worse in the vast nothing below.

His hand grasped, scraped and caught, with only half a fingers width of dry rock to spare. His strained, the sinews stretching to tearing point in wrist, digits and thumb while his body rocked and reeled, dangling in that black open space. His voice echoed all around, deep and menacing... a lost, hopeless ghost.

compose yourself.

He took a sharp breath, summoning the reserves of strength he had to hold so precious, thrusting his other arm upward to search and grasp. He found sharp rock, but it was enough to give grip while his feet found the rocky wall he had stepped over.

With worn, strained hands and the push of his legs he clambered back onto the lip of the ledge from which he had tumbled. Air dragged into his lungs like molten steel. Vrex would mock him for his stubbornness, how many other inmates had nearly fallen here, or indeed plummeted to their death?

Do not give up, do not ever give up.

[Okiba]

”Not everyone falls into feral habits out of desperation; some simply revel in blood and savage deeds.”

Darkness: Chapter 9 â€" Frenzy

His stomach tightened, twisted. It had been a fair few days since the last scraps of sustenance had plummeted from above. The last dash had been made by Vrex while Krogon had been searching the final side tunnel. To his dismay, after climbing down a steep wall that had once carried a waterfall, he found only a flat empty bottom that led nowhere, blocked.

Where else is there to go?

His stomach shuddered again. The angry shudder vibrated through his body, and no doubt anyone else in the cavern could hear it, in turn he could hear the rumble of other hungry bodies too.

Their starving us on purpose, pushing us to barbarity.

He sat forward, opening his eyes to be greeted by his old friend the darkness. The main chamber was quiet, aside from the occasional meek grunt or rumble of starvation. Perched here on the ledge he was ready at a moment’s notice to make his run of the gauntlet.

Vrex timed his turn to rest very well.

The other Orc slept quietly to his left, curled up into a muddled, sleeping ball at the other end of the ledge. Hunger promoted lethargy as the body conserved its strength; after all, being awake was a lot of effort.

Click...

His ears twitched, straining to the source. It came from above, high up as an echo. It was time. His body shifted into a leaping pose, ready to lunge downward and sprint toward whatever scraps were thrown down.

Don’t take any risks, if you can’t win, don’t fight...

The scraping of stone rose, light burst forth from the hole far above in an eye blinding explosion of colour. He didn’t have time to let his vision adjust like the others, he needed to move now and get there before they could hone in on him...

Now!

He leapt, his heart racing as he landed on unsteady, thinning legs below the ledge. The noise of his landing prompted other sounds around the cavern, rustling, growling, snorting and drooled hisses. They were getting ready as he threw his already tired legs forward in a dash. The lights dazzling rays had finished blinding him, his eyes had adjusted, and the pool was within leaping distance, the rushing air above heralded the fall of something followed by cruel laughter and jeering.

Jeering? Why would they jeer foodâ€"

Splash!

Water exploded upwards in a plume of spray. Whatever had hit the water was bigger than a few scraps, on top of that it was thrashing and wailing too.
“Augh! Ack!” It splashed wildly, dragging itself to the edge of the water, hauling itself onto the rocky lip near the bare feet of the Blademaster. A human, male, clad only in a torn shirt and trousers. Scraps finally followed into the water, but those would play second place to what was to come...

No, no, no... not now, not now...

The human raised his eyes to meet his, instantly widening in terror he scrambled to crawl away. A slick wet worm on the rocks, scurrying from what he thought to be another terrible Orc. Sense soon gripped Krogon’s throat while his heart drummed in his ears.

”Run you fool! Head for higher ground!” He spluttered, only for his body to be smashed aside with terrible force from his right. He flew, to his own left as a massive shadow thudded past him. Striking the ground he did not slide but hit with force, his shoulder popping with dislocation as he landed.

Move, get to safety before they make a move on you too!

His exhausted, mal-nourished body protested as hot spiked of pain shot up his left shoulder. The ligaments and muscles shuddered with agony as he propped himself up.

”No, no! Mercy! Please! Please!” His eyes shot to the pleading, the human was backed into a corner, the massive body of the ogre that had displaced him looming over its mark. All around other shadows stalked about, on ledges above and awaiting in the wings of the dark.

”Flesh... warm... flesh... mhrghmm...” The ogre that had been elusive up until now frothed over the prospect of fresh meat, opening his hands as he lunged forward to grab his prey. However, the human had energy in him yet and barrelled sideways out of any grasp, only to find himself in the loving embrace of the troll, Drooler.

”Aught--!! He wasted no time, sinking his saliva dripped fangs into that soft pink shoulder, tearing away a bloody chunk to the sound of pain spurred squealing. The pig ran in, grabbing an arm with stunted hands to then sink in his own mangled teeth.

Animals, bastards, do something Devilstep, do something!

His head whirled, pushing himself along with his right hand while his left sagged at his side. His body did what his head would not, acted on survival instincts and moved for safety.

“Grah! Mine!” The ogre roared, having rounded and throwing the other two off his meal. Grasping the startled human with both hands now, throwing his teeth at the wailing body as it was pushed flat to the ground.

“Gnâ€"no-no please!” He was cut short, those ogre jaws sinking into that soft flesh flank. The troll and Quilboar stalked around, moving in to try and grab a bite, bloodied arms flailing to try and push them off with little desperate success.

Kill them, do something, act!

His mind protested but his body continued dragging him away, toward a tunnel he knew to be safe, its maze of winding corridors known only to him. He watched, unblinking as the female Orc and her starved child leapt in now too, all of them tearing, biting and scrabbling. All the while the screams filled the cavern and echoed upward with the reply of mocking laughter falling back down. Vrex sat on his perch, watching with hungry eyes.

He wouldn’t, would he?

Each movement of his right arm made his left feel as if the bone was ripping his flesh apart, the pain surging to the forefront of his thoughts while his eyes remained locked on the scene before him. The screaming had stopped, the frenzied noise of eating had begun.
When he at last reached the mouth of the tunnel he could still see the human as the light began to fade, the stone high above being pushed back into place. Those lifeless, terror filled eyes looking back at him as he lay flat on his back. The last glimmers of light vanished, while that body was pulled apart for every morsel. The cracking of bone, the tearing of flesh, the squabbling of the feast...

The thundering beat of an angry heart...