The Shipwreck Inn

[Winddancer]

Nestled in a small bay on the south side of the Sea of Núrnen lies the Shipwreck Inn. Ages past this bustling town was the epicenter of trade between the vast farm lands of Núrn and the surrounding lands. However since the Dark Lord's return, all tribesmen and women have been forced to produce crops for the ever growing Army. One could claim they were slaves, yet no bonds bound them, only the terrifying collections ensured that the townsfolk complied, lest they lose their sons and daughters to the Army as well. Corruption and crime run pampart with no governing law to ensure some kind of civility, most of those seedy characters having approriated the Inn as their base. Borlas and Edina run the Inn, Borlas a mean and grumpy man that is only placated with a coin. Edina is a fiesty hothead, beware her sharp tongue and her generous swats. Enter the Inn at your own risk and watch your back..

Rules:

• Please follow the Plaza RPG rules

• Please keep the silliness away, would like a serious pub ;) So please be 'realistic' as to what race to bring in

• No gifs

• Feel free to use Borlas and Edina, just keep to their cantakerous personalities. If you can pay they will serve you, if not you best have a GOOD excuse..

• Not going to post a menu, be sensible. And coin will be demanded BEFORE you recieve anything

[Dungeon Delver]

Today had been another long day in a series of long days that stretched back far enough that Draìocht couldn’t remember when she’d had a day to relax. Relaxing was so uncommon for a woman in her position that the very idea of it made her skin itch. Not having a whip in hand, not barking orders to some slack jawed subordinate seemed wrong on a cellular level. Yet the stars aligned, so to speak. There was a lull in the action. The shipments of grain were loaded up and ready to go pending a last-minute inspection tomorrow, and the latest brood of orclings was not due to arrive for another three days. What was Draìocht going to do for three days? It exhausted her just thinking about it. Relaxation. She wanted to spit to try and get the taste of the word out of her mouth. Orcs as old, as experienced, as vital to the machine as her did not relax. They didn’t sip wee heavy and chew the fat with officers, they didn’t read books or tell campfire stories. What the flying hell was she supposed to do?

Thankfully, more or less, her younger sister did not have the same problem. Gaoth was her inverse mirror image. Where Draìocht was standoffish and aloof, Gaoth was interactive and outgoing. Where Draìocht was driven and obsessive, Gaoth was laid back and willing to let things like promotions and opportunities float on by. It was hard to believe that they’d come from the same broodmother. Logically, they should hate each other, proverbial oil and water. Yet they didn’t. Neither of them could quite understand why that was. They both agreed they should hate each other and probably should have tried to kill each other at least once by now, but no. They got along famously.

That’s how Draìocht came to know about this place, the Shipwreck. An inn. It didn’t look like much, it looked more like a condemned building that would blow over in a breeze of medium strength. But to hear Gaoth talk about it, it was the best place to sit back and take a load off in all Mordor. She would know too, being a patron of places like the Tickle Troll and the Necromancer’s Guild. The very names of these places made her skin crawl. Frivolity was a waste of time. She stood a few feet from door, took one step then quickly turned to go. Surely there was some task she could find to occupy her time, she could see to the weapon stores, make sure they were all up to standards, the granaries too could use a thorough looking into.

“Oh no you don’t,” her sister was standing behind her, arms crossed and a devilish grin on her face. Draìocht felt a twinge of jealousy. Gaoth had gotten all the looks and none of the drive. It was annoyingly unfair.

“I don’t want to be here. I’d rather…”

“No.”

She scowled at her sister and tried to sidestep her. “I don’t want a beer, I don’t want a bowl of fish chowder, I don’t want…”

“No.”

“Goddammit Gaoth!”

“No.”

She growled; her hand went to her hip to pull out a blade. There was nothing there. She’d left all her daggers and whips at her room in the barracks. “What is the point of me being here? I’m not going to join in some singing battle or brawl or wet clothing contest. I don’t belong here.”

Her sister laughed, like everything from Gaoth it was slippery, silky, and disarming. “Then it’s a good thing this place isn’t anything like that. The owners would kill you before you finished pouring a single glass of water on your head. Water’s too precious to waste like that. And no one bloody sings in here.”

“Then what the hell do you do here?” she squinted back at the doors of the Shipwreck.

Gaoth scoffed. “We drink, we eat, we talk. It’s not a bloody circus.”

Draìocht had her doubts. She scowled and tried to take another step away from the pub’s entrance. “Well, I can do that at the barracks. No need to…”

“No.”

“Dammit woman!”

“One drink, sister. If you still feel like you’re going to crawl out of your skin, then you can go.”

“One drink. That’s it?”

Gaoth nodded. “That’s it.”

Draìocht sighed and turned back. They entered to pub and were hit with a wave of beer and rye. It was warm in here, warm enough to feel disarming, maybe even a little charming. It wasn’t well lit, but she could see the lay out well enough. The place was practically empty, but she still moved to the furthest booth in the darkest corner.

Gaoth rolled her eyes and let her sister go. She stopped at the bar, leaning over obscenely whilst talking to who Draìocht assumed was the owner. “Two stouts, darling. In the biggest pints you have. We’re all going to need it today.” She laid something on the table, Draìocht couldn’t see it but it sounded like a bundle of coin. Another difference they had. Gaoth was too free with her money while she kept hers locked away and safe from prying fingers.

This was going to be a hellish day. She could smell it.

[Narv]

This was going to be a relish day. Narv could smell it.

Another relish day. Such is the lot of those damned souls who, through the vagaries of time, error and misfortune, find themselves living in shacks behind latrines at fish processing plants in rural Nurnen, subsisting stoically and heroically on fish guts and barrels of raw relish stolen from a nearby tartar sauce factory. In fact, that was exactly Narv's lot - and he was all out of fish guts.

The stench of the weeks-old barrel oozed into Narv's nostrils and consciousness the moment he woke up, and they filled him with despair. He'd once liked relish, been a Fan even. Those days were long ago now, lost in the mists of time. This was no life for an Editor in Chief. No, Narv decided. Today would not be a relish today. Today he would rob the pub.

Or maybe just eat there. But his lack of any money whatsoever made the two goals difficult to distinguish. He'd figure it out when he got here, he decided. So he slunk out of the shack and through a few alleys to inn down by the shipyards. There was no menu posted outside, he noted with some disdain, before slinking in.

The scene was a lot less chaotic than the vistas he was used to upon pub-entering - one orc stewing over in Dank Bob's Corner, another at the bar dropping a wildly enticing purse of coins on the bar which Narv made a mental note to try stealing later, and.. that was it. Peaceful. That was nice. But it led to the immediate problem that there was no way Narv would be able to successfully rob this place without being instantaneously found out, given that there was little else for anyone to pay attention to but him. And that led to the followon problem that he was now standing in a pub with no money and no plan of action whatsoever for undertaking an operation that was very clearly impossible and that was also his only reason for coming here in the first place. This disturbed Narv.

He wandered aimlessly to bar, trying hard to look aimful. "Say there, uh, bar," he said to whichever of the two innkeepers decided they were the one that heard him, "got any, uh, complimentary....." he paused, thinking hard for what might be farthest possible thing in the universe from relish, the most ontologically and diametrically opposed, ".... mustard?"

[Zôrzimril]

West, then south, then south some more, then west again. That was - roughly - the path Sang-in had traveled from the uttermost East. Ships, carts, and even trekking on foot had all served him well on his journey. He’d traded spices for gold and gold for potions and potions for jewels and jewels for poisons until his rucksack was filled to the brim with a variety of small goods the likes of which few had ever seen outside the marketplaces in major cities. And since most people these days did not dwell within a day’s journey of a major city, people like Sang-in brought them both goods and tales of the wider world. Sang-in would not call himself a traveling merchant. He might settle for “purveyor of fine and rare items,” though. As for the massive man who traveled with him . . . well, no person carrying the kinds of things Sang-in carried would travel far without insurance.

When they reached the town on the south side of the Sea of Núrnen, Sang-in had a thirst. He and Namu, his guard, had traveled the last three days by foot, and the land - while more accommodating to life than Mordor’s gasping northern wastelands - had sapped Sang-in of his strength. Namu looked no worse for wear, but a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.

“A rest and a meal and a good night’s sleep, don’t you think?” Sang-in sighed dreamily. Namu nodded. Sang-in rather hoped the inn might offer beds for the night in addition to the house ale and stew. His stomach growled as they trudged down the road to the Shipwreck Inn.

The place itself was rather run-down. “Pity,” mumbled Sang-in as he scanned the building’s facade. The clientele inside might be able to afford a few of his wares, but he somehow doubted he’d turn a profit in this unnamed town. Still, he pushed open the door and stepped inside with Namu not far behind him.

The place was quiet. “Pity again,” Sang-in grumbled. He slid into a seat at a table not far from an orc.

“It might be early yet,” Namu reminded Sang-in. “Can’t really tell what hours folk keep in lands like these.”

“True enough,” Sang-in replied. “Get me an ale, will you? I’m parched. And whatever stew they’ve got. And bread, if there’s any to be had.”

Namu made for the bar, where a being who looked rather like a troll who perhaps had recently lost a lot of weight stood inquiring after free mustard. Another orc had just offered up a large bag of coin for provisions. Making a note of the latter, Namu pulled a silver coin from the bag at his waist and gripped it between his knuckles. He rapped the counter with the coin to draw attention to himself, then laid his payment down for the barman to take. “And when you’re done with this, erm, gentleman,” he gave the troll-turned-orc (?) an appraising glance (sniffing delicately as the odor of rotting fish reached his nostrils), then proceeded with his order, “two bowls of stew, two pints, and bread - if you’ve got it.”

Namu meandered back to Sang-in’s table, though not without another backwards glance at the pair at the bar.

“Of the two at the bar, one’s a dud, but the other might just have pockets deep enough for you,” he murmured to his employer. Sang-in grinned.

[Winddancer]

The door creaked on hinges that had not been oiled since it was installed. A soft sniffle accompanied the jingling of chains as the hooded man stepped into the welcoming warmth. He hated travelling this time of year, the rains neverending and the cold would seep deep into his bones. It was a good thing his employer paid well. Really well. He paused for a long moment on the doorstep, eyeing each individual inside with a wary stare. The place was busier than usual, putting him on edge. However a glance back outside where he could see the gathering rain clouds changed his mind about waiting for Urmog outside.

Another sniffle from behind brought him out of his reverie and he yanked the chain in his hand violently as he stepped further inside, eliciting a strangled yelp. His other hand was on the pommel of his sword, ready to pull it free should anyone come too close.

"Oi! You back so soon!?" Edina's voice carried like thunder across the inn as she spotted the newcomer. Dropping the last of the plate of the stew in front of the two men, she toppled the bread from the tray onto the table before tucking the tray under a meaty arm. "What you got with you this time?"

Peering over her glasses, she waddled closer, her beady eyes trying to see what (or who) was cowering behind him. "None of your business, Edina." He said gruffly as he made it over to a corner booth as far from the others as he could get, rudely brushing past an orc who was just stood in the middle of the room. However the ever curious innkeeper was not going to let it lie, getting her fill of the poor wretch as the man walked off.

"Hey this one is pregnant, you know!"

He paused, about to sit. His dark eyes shot to the girl trailing behind him, eyes scrutinising the girl's abdomen as she tried to hide it from his glare. Sure enough, there was a bump there. How had he missed that? No wonder she had been slow. With a snarled grunt he sat down, giving the chain another yank and forcing the girl to sit on the floor next to him. "What's it to you?"

"Oh nothing! Might want to up your price though, two for one, if you know what I mean?" She chuckled loudly, the sound grating on his last nerves.

"Just get me some food and something to drink" he grunted back at her, his eyes jumping from the female orcs to the men to make sure they had not made a move.

"Sure thing, some for her too? She looks ready to drop."

He scowled, though grunted in affirmation and slapped the coin onto the table. Not like a bowl of stew was going to cut into his profit.

[Dungeon Delver]

Draìocht glared, but at nothing in particular. She was annoyed. She’d been tricked into coming into this place, she could feel it in her bones. Gaoth was over at the bar having a conversation with the barkeep about something, she had no idea, sitting too far away to catch whatever sorts of lurid things her sister might be saying. She glared at everyone that came in the door.

A troll-orc hybrid thing that openly declared a love for and desire of mustard. Of all the lewd and horrible things she expected to hear in a rowdy tavern, that was the last. What sort of person just said something like that out loud, and to strangers no less? Draìocht wouldn’t be caught dead telling anyone the sorts of foods and condiments she liked. She was one of those orcs with a sense of propriety. And mustard? The troll-orc might as well have just asked all the women present if they were ovulating. She sneered and shook her head. There was a moral degradation in Nurn, happening right before her eyes. To distract her from the obscenities, she began to pick at a wooden splinter poking out of the corner of the table. It was a tiny piece of wood, greyed with age and lack of any proper care. The table itself was covered in stains of a dozen different colors and residual smells. She picked and picked, scratching with her thumb until finally it came loose. She chuckled quietly to herself in triumph. It was small and insignificant, but at least it had gone her way.

Then the humans began to roll in. She sighed and wrinkled her nose. They all smelled different kinds of awful, the first two that came in might as well have smelled like a batch of soap. They were clean, their hands free of calluses and scars. They were merchants, she could already tell, come into town to sell black stars knew what. Probably some human gizmo, without point or purpose. Human merchants never carried anything of any use. They never had knives worth two slabs of mud or effect poisons. She didn’t so much stare at them as given them so much side eye she might as well have turned herself completely around. She didn’t even realize she was until the stupid splinter jabbed her finger. She stifled a yelp and brought her finger to her mouth immediately. Stupid humans. This was clearly their fault… somehow. Draìocht was not having the good time Gaoth had promised her. So far, she was forced to watch flirtation rituals and smell flowery humans.

Another group of humans barreled through the front entrance, they were the kind of humans she liked a little more, if she liked humans at all of course. They looked they worked for a living, they were dirty and sweaty and smelled as though they’d stepped through more than one pile of muck and filth. And they brought in a slave? Draìocht sat up and paid attention, her besplintered finger forgotten for a moment. Were they looking to sell in the inn? Or just in town? The wretched thing was pregnant too. She smelled that as soon as they walked in. She chuckled smugly to herself, apparently the slaver hadn’t noticed? Drat that stupid innkeeper for spoiling that secret. Pregnant slaves were never cheap. Still, new rounds of experiments danced before her eyes. She was always on the look out for a new broodmare. Perhaps this stupid trip was going to be worth something after all. The great orc cracked her neck and scooted out of her seat.

“She’ll need something with extra protein,” she announced, moving beside the man. “Tell the innkeeper to add another fish head to her stew.”

--- * --- * --- * ---

“That much?” Gaoth leaned further over the bar’s top, doing her level best to haggle without using any of those ugly human haggling tricks. When the man still refused the goods right in his face she sighed and counted the copper pieces out slowly, one by one. “Borlas, you used to be such a reasonable man. Has old age started dulling your finer attributes?” He sneered at her and gave her the worst fake smile she’d ever seen. He was a greedy old bastard. Always had been. It had been her goal to one day butter the man up, but in five and a half years of trying she’d yet to get him to lower the price of his grog. It wasn’t that he had something against her kind, she saw how he looked at her when she turned to walk away, two pints in hand. He was just a right git. She sat at the table her sister had occupied but found it empty. She blinked. Evidently in her attempts to provoke the innkeeper she’d missed the arrivals of several newcomers. A troll thing looking for mustard of all things (what a dirty, dirty boy he was), a pair of easterners if Gaoth had them right, and a slaver. Of course her sister would go for the slaver. The woman was always looking for little mice to run her experiments on, as if she was going to find the next great uruk hybrid. That particular slave looked rotten to Gaoth’s eyes, but then again Gaoth was a purveyor of human meat the way her workaholic sister was. The bitc(h) was supposed to be relaxing, not dreaming up a new way to impress the bosses. Gaoth collapsed in the booth. It was not the most comfortable spot, but it beat standing. She sighed heavily and brought her pint up to her lips. The grog was sour and it was wet, that’s really all she needed it to be. She drained the entire wooden stein in a single, hearty draft. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she noticed the two merchants sitting next to her. She smiled languidly.

“Good evening, gentlemen. What brings you to the Shipwreck?”

[Zôrzimril]

Sang-in drummed his fingers on the rough-hewn tabletop, eyes boring into the backs of the two standing before the bar. Which one had the money? A series of sounds from the doorway drew his attention away from his musings; he turned to eye the pair who had just entered and immediately raised a curious eyebrow. A hooded man was leading a ragged girl in chains into their midst. Sang-in let out a soft hiss of anticipation. Slavers made good money and many lacked the sense to hold onto it. Just last year, he’d brought home a bag of gold after selling one such man a beautiful obsidian dagger inlaid with gold wire and imbued with spells from far Rhûn. He needed to find out when this newcomer had last been paid, and whether he might let down his guard long enough to be enticed by more inanimate goods.

The innkeeper bustled over with their meal while shouting greetings to the slaver. Steam rose from the stew placed before them, filling their nostrils with the scent of salt and meat. Sang-in’s stomach rumbled, and he picked up his spoon. Both merchant and bodyguard nodded in acknowledgement of the woman, but if she noticed them, she didn’t show it. She was far more interested in the girl trailing behind the hooded stranger.

“Think he knew she was pregnant?” Sang-in whispered to his guard. His spoon, full of stew, hung in midair where his hand had stopped on its way to his mouth. The goings-on in this pub had suddenly become much more interesting than a bowl of roadside inn stew.

Namu watched the cogs turning in his employer’s mind. Unlike Sang-in, he was devouring his supper. He swallowed the last of his stew in less than a minute, then used his crust of bread to soak up the broth lingering at the bottom of the bowl.

“No. Too defensive. Trying to get the innkeeper to shut up about it.”

“Mmm,” Sang-in agreed, his eyes flashing. This man would soon be in possession of a good deal of gold if he wasn’t already. He began taking a mental inventory of his pack, wondering what might interest the hooded man most. Poison? A slaver would want his victims alive, so perhaps he’d like the concoction that rendered even men of Namu’s size temporarily paralyzed. Jewels? No, no. What would a grubby slaver do with jewels, anyway? Line his hood with them? Perhaps a rare weapon. Those he had in plenty, though it was all subtle stuff. None of this hand-on-the-pommel-of-my-giant-sword business. His pack would not accommodate such wares. He brought the tips of his fingers together and stared wistfully into the distance.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if his buyer appeared here in our midst this very evening?”

Namu did not reply. Instead, he nodded as the orc (Gaoth) from the bar spoke to them. Sang-in gave up on watching the slaver for a moment and turned his attention back to their table. With a look, he asked Namu, “Is this the one with the money?” The bodyguard replied with a nearly imperceptible nod.

“Do you mean to say we don’t belong here? What gave us away?” Sang-in asked, dropping his spoon back into his bowl. “I thought we’d blend in with the locals.” He paused, staring straight at the orc, then let out a boisterous laugh. “Only joking. We’re just passing through on our way to greener pastures, though green is not my favorite color - not by a long shot. What do you think my favorite color might be?”

[Winddancer]

The thick chain felt cold and heavy as it lay across his lap. He was not worried that she would try and run, especially not after the beating he had given her when she tried it on the first night, the dried cuts and purple bruises covering her face a testament to how thoroughly she had been punished. A few more slaps had ensured that she also stopped the infernal crying. Blood and ashes, how he loathed that sound. Something one of the earlier girls had found out when he went into a frenzy and crushed her windpipe, after not learning to be quiet from the many beatings. Rotten girl. Cost him a lot of money that did.

Drenched from the rain he was grateful that Borlas and Edina kept the room warm with a roaring fire and his usual seat was close enough to it that he should dry at least half way by the time he left, though he did not get a chance to make himself comfortable and pull out his pipe before none other than an orc accosted him. Gritting his teeth that Edina hadn't kept her big mouth shut, he glared up at the female with a snarl.

"None of your blasting business." With the growled reply, he shifted slightly in his chair to show he was armed. It would not be the first time that some rogue orc, or even human, would try and relieve him of his goods. So far none had managed and he intended to keep it that way.

"Piss off with your advice, she is being sold in a few minutes and I have no need to worry about her damn proteins, or her bastard baby. So unless you intend to pay more than Urmog, I suggest you go find your own slaves somewhere else."

He heard a whimper coming from the girl on the floor and keeping his eyes on the orc, he backhanded the girl to silence her. With a stifled yelp the young girl cringed into the corner, trying to ball herself up as much as she could and to be out of reach of his hand.

Not that she could. Leaning a little to one side, he reached out and yanked the girl to him by her drenched hair, forcing her head up towards the orc. Ignoring the girl's terrified screech, he hissed towards the orc "I only deal in quality slaves, of the best Gondorian stock there is and you do not look like you could afford this one." On the word afford, he roughly shoved the girl back towards the wall, her face connecting with it hard enough to make her yelp in pain and likely adding yet another bruise to her face. But even with all the cuts and bruises, it was more than clear that the girl was young and beautiful. And what mattered most to orcs, healthy enough to survive a while. And thanks to the information from Edina, also fertile.

[Dungeon Delver]

Humans. Draìocht didn’t see the point in them. They whined when they were too hot or too cold, they cried if you took away their toys or didn’t feed them enough, and they weren’t nearly as versatile as orcs. Whatever pit in the ground they originally hopped out of was one cursed a thousand times over. Humans were annoying. And they smelled somewhere between horse dung and frying bacon, it was confusing being around them. The male of the species were the worst. They jumped at every single shadow and tried to punch anything that came near them. Somehow, black stars only knew, they hadn’t immediately died out as a race. That probably had something to do with the blessing of the Dark One and his tender mercies (such as they were).

As for the little twhit twoo sitting next to her with chain in hand, Draìocht knew how to deal with him. He was just angry because he woke up next to someone else piss. Or not, she really didn’t care. She wasn’t a counselor and his feelings of inadequacy stemming from his mother abandoning him or his wife not finding him satisfying enough wasn’t her problem. Humans, half as fragile as glass and twice as useless.

“Urmog? That twiddle fingered idiot?” she scoffed. In truth she had no idea who or what this Urmog person was, nor did she care. “That fool couldn’t lick the paint of an oliphant’s ass. If he’s the best you can get to buy your… product,” she took another look at the slave girl, she was thin and a bit on the sickly side, but she’d still do in a pinch for what she needed, “then you might as well just sell the girl to the swineherd for parts. The man won’t give you what you’re asking. He’ll try to cheat you. Mark my words, little man, he’ll knife you as soon as you hand over the girl.” Again, there was no way she had any way of knowing this but given the area and the practices of the slave trade it didn’t sound far from the truth. “I have ways and means that chumps like him could only dream. I’m the best bloody broodmother south of the Sea.”

Casually as she could, she moved between the girl and the man, lifting up the chain and tossing it on the bar. “If you to build your reputation, you’ll deal with me. If all you want is enough coin to drown yourself in what passes for grog, then drop the sense of superiority and give the wench to me.” she intercepted a stein of the forementioned beverage and drained it while staring directly into the man’s beady eyes. Human eyes were so weak and rheumy, they didn’t have the sharp look orcs did. Sad really. She looked him over. He looked the type to just want to drown himself in grog. As the orc set the mug down and wiped the excess foam from her upper lip, she decided that this fertile girl and her unborn welp were going to be hers. It didn’t really matter what this slaver wanted. He could play and walk away a wealthy enough man, or he could find himself in the bottom of a well filled with spiders.

--- * --- * --- * ---

“I would never say you don’t belong,” Gaoth said with a hungry tinge to her voice. “This is the place people come when they don’t belong anywhere else.” She took a draft of the grog, just enough to make her eyes water. “South of the Sea is the compost pile of Mordor. S(hit) walks and money talks, or so the saying goes.” She sniffed the air, just to emphasis to what she was about to say, smirking opening. “And the pair of you are far, far too clean and fresh faced to have spent more than a week down here. You still smell like the outside world.” She chuckled. “You don’t look like you’ve given up just yet either. There’s still a twinkle in your eye.”

She took another drink, closed her eyes, and laid her head back against the wall. It was far from comfortable, everything in this wind forsaken place was far from comfortable, but it was good enough for the moment. She felt her spine decompress, the pressure building in the small of her back suddenly lessened and she breathed the air or sweat and stale ale deeply.

“Your favorite color?” she asked, opening her eyes again and looking at the newcomer. She leaned forward, over the table so that she was just a few inches from the man’s face. She studied the man’s face in intimate detail. He had very good skin, she needed to know his secret for that. Virgin blood? Dragon scales? Spider silk? Illegal moisturizers? She was confident he’d tell her. Men (and women) didn’t keep secrets from her for too long. “Well, given that your eyes have flecks of gold in them, and you are dressed like a man who knows what he’s worth. I’m going to say gold. You won’t find a lot of here; copper and salt are more common in these parts. You look smart though, I bet you can find a few places that shimmer.

She leaned in closer, almost close enough to touch, then moved back in her seat, arching her back with exaggerated emphasis. “So, what color do you think is my favorite?”

[Winddancer]

There is a level of desperation that is borderline soul destroying. Pushed as far into the corner as she could get, the young girl looked up through her grimey wet tresses at the two now haggling for her life. Pregnant with Lord Aradan's unwanted child, bound and dragged to Valar knows where against her will, she was now forced to watch as the despicable man haggled with an orc. An orc! How could the orcs even be in here, around humans?? How could any human stay their hand and not immediately try and kill them? They were the enemy!

But what was breaking her mind was that she was talked about as if she were an item to be sold, something insignificant. But worst of all, she was desperately hoping that the horrfic man would decline the offer or even kill the orc for daring to approach him. It was like choosing between Melkor and Sauron, yet she still silently begged and prayed that the man would refuse. Anything sounded better than being bought by a broodmother. Not that she fully comprehended what that was, but she had heard of broodmares and if it was anything like that then she was in serious trouble. Cradling her belly protectively, she held her breath as the orc yanked the heavy chain from his lap, bracing herself for the reaction that was bound to come given his short temper.

His eyes bulged as the chain was yanked from his lap. What the blasted.. the vein in his temple throbbed, the rage springing to the surface and colouring his face a darker red. How dare she..

'His hand immediately went to his sword, fingers wrapping around the hilt so tight his knuckles went white. But it seemed the orc, audacious as she was, knew the trick to diffuse the current situation despite the obvious disrespect as she drank the ale which Edina had been bringing over to him. He knew it was a slight, he knew it was showing disrespect and for that the orc should die.

It took everything in him to not pull his blade from the scabbard and stab it into the vile orc's neck. Try and drink with a huge blade in your throat, he thought to himself before snorting in a deep breath. The only reason he didn't was the promise of money. He did not care who the girls went to, whether it was Urmog or some demented breeder, all he cared about was the profits. Afterall he had to make it worth coming all this way, not to mention ensuring that his employer never found out that he wasn't actually killing the girls himself, but selling them. For all he knew they were dead now anyway, most never survived being a slave in Mordor for too long, especially females, so in a roundabout way he was doing as paid for, kind of.

Urmog had become his fence here in Nurn, a profitable one at that given the quality of girls he could provide. But that did not mean he could not be replaced, if there was more money to be gained. Slowly he stood from his chair, hand still on the hilt of his sword and his raging eyes still locked on the orc.

"Your offer better not be as offensive as you.." he growled, ignoring the girl's desperate cry.

[Dungeon Delver]

It took considerable will power for Draìocht not to bash the man’s head on with her empty stein then slam into on the counter under it was a soupy, meaty mess. It’s the kind of thing a wretched little gutter rat like him deserved. She’d seen his type so many times in her time in Nurn. He was so dramatic, so formulaic, and so boring. She rolled her eyes. It was quite literally the least she could do. The only reason she didn’t actually just kill him there and then was because it would make a mess and the innkeeper would have probably kicked her out. That would have been a tragedy, and ironic as well. She hated the place until the moment she set eyes on the girl. How often were slaves moved through this inn? Was this a trafficking depot? Were the innkeepers themselves involved? There was a balance she couldn’t upset, a pipeline she dared not block off. A steady stream of slaves from- The orc looked at the girl and squinted. She was pretty in a very ordinary way, nothing remarkable about her, nothing standing out to proclaim where she was from. She could have been from anywhere, Gondor, Eriador, or some far off country in Rhûn with a name no one could pronounce. She sniffed presumptuously then smiled darkly at the girl. She would find out, one way or another.

“If you weren’t about to give me prime meat, I would find your words rather impertinent and be thusly offended.” She tried to give him a sweet, friendly smile, the kind her dear sister Gaoth would be able to use and charm him out of clothing and coin. She, however, was not blessed with such physical attributes. “Lucky for you, I’m willing to overlook your appalling lack of decorum. I suppose that Urmog let you talk to him like that? Another reason to let him rot. An orc that let’s a human talk to them the way you’re trying to talk to me without at least a dozen threats or demonstrations of bodily harm is up to something. Might even be looking to undercut you or sell you out. Are slaves all you try to sell off here? Regulations can be rather stringent in Nurn and contraband especially looked down upon. Those like Urmog would sell you out in a moment to save their own pathetic pig skin.”

She put a small bag of gold on the table, ten coins worth. “That’s a down payment, I need to inspect the merchandise.” She then looked at the girl, pulling the chain so that she was forced up and into the orc’s embrace. Draìocht grabbed her roughly by the chin and began to inspect her. She seemed to be in good healthy, if severely malnourished and exhausted. Her bones were strong and well formed, her muscles weren’t atrophied. She touched the girl’s belly and felt around, searching for the signs of healthy pregnancy. She wouldn’t be worth what she was going to pay if the child inside her died. They didn’t need chum for the pigs, they needed subjects that could carry to term. From what she could tell, the baby seemed healthy. Draìocht didn’t have much experience with human babies but from she knew of orc pregnancies, the baby was still alive. She had plans for this child. So many plans. She grinned as she looked into the girl’s eyes grabbed her jaw and forcibly turning her head. “Where’s the girl from anyway?” she asked without looking back to the slaver. “And how much was your friend,” she gave a sarcastic emphasis to the word, “going to pay you for her?”

--- * --- * --- * ---

Isidro had been on the road for so long. Being a merchant had its benefits, or so he’d believed before he’d set out on this epically long trip. See the world, they said. Meet new people, they said. Experience life, the said. He would love to smash all their faces in for that. What they hadn’t told him was the hundreds of miles of nothing he would experience. The storms that grew out of nothing and tore across the landscape so violently it ripped up trees and hills alike. The towns were dwarves were looked down on as a lesser form of life and tried to hunt him. But, for better or worse, he was here. Where “here” was wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but now that he was “here” he didn’t find it so bad. There were stories about this place, this country. Mordor was a name to strike fear into the hearts of dwarves and men and elves, but it didn’t strike fear into Isidro’s heart. He was more curious than anything. Could the stories all be true? Could this place be a literal slice of the abyss made manifest? The Void bleeding through the fabric of reality? He found the stories to be mostly a bunch rotten cheese, as his mother used to say. Sure, it was a less than welcoming place, but it was far from the hellscape all his folk used to make it out to be. However, he was a very tried dwarf right now and he needed to take a breather. He would head out into the markets tomorrow and see what wares he could sell or trade. Today, all he wanted was to park his wagon and drink himself into a silly stupor, maybe meet a woman or man that would be willing to share a few things. He wasn’t picky. The Shipwreck Inn looked like just the place he needed. It was unassuming and dilapidated in places, clearly in need of foundational repairs, and probably some roof work too. He liked old buildings on the verge of collapse. He couldn’t say why, maybe it was the idea of squatting that sounded exciting with an edge of danger, maybe he had a death wish buried deep in his soul that wanted to come out when he was supposed to feel his safest, or maybe it was some psychological reason that he’d not discovered yet. He entered the inn after parking his painted wagon around the back and locking all the doors, compartments, and windows and chuckled merrily, or at least a merrily as a place like this would allow. There were already people here, orcs and humans by the look of them. Isidro shook his head, it beggared belief to see those two species existing calmly next to one another, normally they hated each other more than elves and dwarves, or humans and dwarves, or dwarves and other dwarves. Dwarves had a lot of enemies. The two at the bar looked like they were in the middle of some intense negotiations, and the three over in booths across each other looked like they were engaged in… something. He was going to like it here. First though, it was time to drink, once he had a few beers in him, he’d see what everyone was about. He smiled secretively as he sat down, feeling his muscles instantly feel soothed. Yes, he was going to like this place.

[Winddancer]

It was like being pulled into the arms of your worst nightmare. Her cry ignored by both captor and buyer alike. Vile fingers probed her mouth causing her to gag uncontrollably, strong fingers clenching her face in ways that were sure to leave a mark. It didn't matter how much she struggled, the orc held her in a vicelike grip as the other hand relentlessly slid over her body, poking and prodding at her joints, muscles and bones. Her cry of terror became a wail of despair as the orc dug her hand into her belly, poking and prodding at her child inside. Fearing for her unborn child she struggled even more, though even so it was pointless given the firm grip the orc had on her.

As the orc clamped down on her face she cried out in pain, her head wrenched painfully to the side as she was forced to look at her captor. Unable to speak more than muffled whimpers through the grip, she begged for her life with teary eyes.

His ragefilled eyes flicked briefly to the girl in the orcs' arms, the pitiful look ignored. He detested how the orc just took it upon herself to grab a hold of the girl and inspect her. For all he knew she could be damaging the girl or endagering the baby's life with the way she probed the belly. Not that he knew anyting about pregnancies, but he was pretty confident that the belly needed protecting. If that girl went into labour now, the orc would pay..

"She is from one of the finest families in Gondor.." he hissed the lie through gritted teeth as he tried to swallow his need to stab his blade into the orc's face. "And from what I can deduct from her condition, she is carrying the unborn child of one of the most influential and richest families." That was guesswork of course, but even he could put two and two together, afterall this was not the first girl to be disposed of and seeing as he was a curious person, had spent some time to find out who Gelion worked for, having followed him and learned the it was not Gelion himself that needed the girls to disappear. Apparently abusing servant girls and rich daughters was frowned upon in Minas Tirith.

The only thing that stayed his hand was the promise of more gold. With 10 gold as downpayment, there was promise of more. "He pays 50 for each girl. But for this one? Given that she is pregnant? 100." He knew he was asking too much, but who in their right mind would give the actual amount and not try and up the price. Especially as the orc looked desperate to have the girl, for Valar knew what. He did not care what she did with the girl or the babe, as long as she paid. And remained quiet about it, the reminder of selling contraband making his skin crawl as he looked towards the door. The last thing he wanted was to be the next in line as slave.

[Dungeon Delver]

Draìocht could always tell when men lied to her, their pungently bad smell worsened, turned from rotting meat to rotting lemons. This man, though he reeked of a hundred different smells of rot, decay, and foulness, smelled like a yellow lemon, spiky, sour, and unnatural. The orc expected him to lie to her though so the smell that befouled her sensitive nose was not a shock. This girl, wherever she had come from and whoever she had been, was not someone anyone would miss, from the finest families in Gondor indeed; more like, she was some back-alley prostitute that got quickened by some married lord who didn’t want to deal with her. The orc barked a laugh, a harsh sound like the clanging of a broken bell. Normally, Draìocht was a foul tempered storm of wrath and ruin, but there was something about this dilapidated inn that brought out the more sardonic and jovial nature in her, a nature she didn’t even know she had. Maybe it was the haggling, maybe it was the alcohol (normally she considered herself teetotal).

She grabbed another tankard and downed the bitter ale in a single gulp. “You are selling her quite poorly, my dear man,” she broke into another atonal bark of laughter, poking and prodding the man’s ego mercilessly. “If she was the daughter of some noble house in Gondor, you’d have never gotten out of Ithilien with her.” She leaned in and whispered harshly. “If you’re going to lie to an orc, you had better make damned sure it’s the best lie you’ve ever told. I don’t like you, muck racking, unwashed heathen as you are, and lying to me about the pedigree of your stock isn’t going to help you.” Most importantly, though, from this interaction, she knew he was going to lie and how to counter it. She was learning more about the slave trade each passing moment. It wasn’t as difficult as all that.

She coughed, loudly and conspicuously, turning back in her sister’s direction. Gaoth was still hanging over the human, pressing herself close enough for him to get a very good view of her. Draìocht rolled his eyes. The man was about to lose his coin, his belt, and at least his sense of dignity (though likely a key had been deposited in his pocket without him knowing). Gaoth looked up and rolled her eyes. She touched the man’s nose playfully then swayed over to the bar, moving to the other side of the slave trader, boxing him in. Draìocht felt her confidence rising. There was a dwarf in the bar now, when had he arrived? She glared in his direction before turning back to the slaver.

“One hundred gold pieces? You silly, silly boy. Do you really think that’s the place you want to start bargaining? I daresay you’ve never touched something worth a hundred gold pieces. I’m willing to give you sixty gold pieces for the pair of them.”

Catching on quickly, Gaoth leaned in on the man. ”I’d say she’s being rather generous. If you’re trying to sell this bag of potatoes,” she pointed at the girl quivering like a frightened puppy, “then you’d be lucky to get her for more than forty.”

Draìocht thought she saw the glimmer of a dagger in his sister’s hands. She smiled. “What’s your counter offer?”

[Winddancer]

His face twitched several times. He was not stupid, he knew when he was in over his head. And right now, he was in way over his head. With the second orc sidling up and boxing him in, he knew he had lost any perceived leverage. While an excellent swordsman in his own right, he knew that in tight quarters like this, he would be no match for these two. Even though they were female.

Grinding his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, he noisly sniffed in a breath. He knew he had no choice but to accept the 60, which was likely more than Urmog would have paid anyways. But there was no way he was going to trust that the orcs would actually pay him that amount, or even let him walk out of here alive with the money. He had to ensure that he had something they would want.

"60.. and an agreement to buy the next 5 girls for 40 each.." He paused for a moment as if thinking something through, his pale grey eyes flicking between the two. "However.. if you want them with child as well... That will cost you more.." The two did not seem like they wanted to start their own slave trading business, however it had not go unnoticed how keen the bigger of the two was to have the girl and the baby inside.

The captive girl let out a squeak and buckled at his words, trying once more to struggle free of the vicelike grip. How sick could a person be!? Selling another human to orcs, selling unborn babies to orcs!? She tried to scream despite the grip on her face, weak hands pummling at the orc holding her. She could not even begin to imagine what they would want with the babies, the thought alone making her even more hysterical as she fought as hard as she could.

"Now now you all.. you are upsetting the girl and likely the baby too. She needs some food in her, so the baby can grow strong." Edina admonished them all lightly as she set a tray of food and ale on the table. "Let's not have any fighting in here and upset all the customers. You know well enough to take that outside..." Edina eyed them all in turn, daring them to cross her, Borlas slowly drying a cup as he watched them with a frown, though his hand was never too far away from the one-handed axe hidden under the counter.

[Narv]

Narv was reminded by his brain that he was getting mustard! "How's that mustard coming along?" he asked the room at large, knowingly. Which was a neat trick he thought to himself, since he didn't actually know at all.

Then he noticed the rules written on a big board behind the bar, and realized that weaseling free mustard out of the place might fall perilously close to breaking the 'no silliness' rule, which would in turn presumably break the 'no breaking the rules' rule, which was a bad one to break. He couldn't help but feel an extra twinge of guilt about this skirting-with-the-rules business which he surely would never have felt as a younger orc (troll? the ambiguity felt vaguely rule-breaky as well, he pondered with some concern. He really probably ought to know which he was by now). He couldn't fathom why though - he was just a scamp, a nobody from round back of the fish processing plant. What concern had he for rules? And yet, he couldn't shake it. Some lofty moral burden lay upon him which he could not name. Somehow it would just be extra bad if he in particular, Narv Moris, voted most likely to be least likely to be most least-unliked of his spawning cohort, broke the rules. A universe in which Narv's actions were of any moral consequence was a twisted one indeed - yet he found himself compelled to conform to it.

"Mustard...ing.. of the forces! Mustering I mean, mustering the forces of darkness!" He shouted, seriously. "You there! Buying... pregnant.. women?" he guessed Draìochtward , "have you mustered any forces of darkness? You should! And what about you!" he turned to... an unnamed man. "Selling pregnant women..? How goes the mustering with ye?"

This still seemed a bit silly, Narv thought, but he was trying his best. If they thought he was too silly they could just ignore him, he consoled himself. Oh and he was definitely an orc, he decided. It said so on his bank statements.

[Dungeon Delver]

That was much, much more like it. Draìocht preferred her human men (when she preferred the little ratlings at all) quiet and demure, stumbling over themselves and put on their backfoot. It was disgrace to all orcs, uruks, goblins, and boldogs when a man had any advantage over an orc. Draìocht, by answering each of his sniveling remarks with orkish wit and superior intellect, made sure that he could never be on his front foot. The price for the slave was still too high, even with the promise of a child in the next few months. But this man, smelly, dirty, and vacant headed as he was, still had a human’s pride. Pride was one of the many things that made them such an irritant, akin to cockroaches but larger and less appealing to find in one’s bed. Wound their pride too much, and a human might suddenly decide it’s worthy incurring the wrath of the innkeeper and take a shot at you (not that this particular one could land a blow against experienced orcs like Draìocht and Gaoth), or worse, the human might actually get indignant enough to cry. There was nothing worse than a crying human, especially if the tears are angry tears. Some orcs like to collect those and drink them in fancy alcohol concoctions, but thankfully for this particular specimen of sad, angry man, Draìocht and her sister were not those types.

Draìocht nodded to her sister, signaling her to stand down, but to stand ready in case this human decided to do something decidedly human. “Sixty is enough for now, and as for the future stock, darling, darling, darling, I’m not going to agree to forty per person until I see them. I don’t even know your name; how can I trust that you won’t give me rotten slaves if I can’t even trust you with a name? I’ll tell you what though, I have a counteroffer. I’ll agree to look at any future stock you have and if I don’t find them up to snuff, I’ll purchase you at forty gold pieces and sell your stock to the kitchens? Sound like incentive enough?” She smiled, a crooked, toothy smile. She didn’t look very good doing it, but in this instance, a pretty smile like one Gaoth would have given him, would not have struck the message home. She pulled out another sack of coins and counted them out on the table with painstaking slowness.

“But, of course, our dear innkeeper is right,” she said after a moment, “the girl looks terribly upset. I can only imagine, given all the time you’ve had her around you. She deserves to be around people that will look after her.” She rolled another few coins toward the burly, surly innkeeper. “As you say, she needs to eat, make sure she gets her fill.” She glanced at her sister, who smirked loudly enough that it almost made Draìocht want to smack her, but she decided against it. This was a moment of triumph after all. She had so many ideas for this slave and the forthcoming child. So many ideas…

--- * --- * --- * ---

It was all fascinating, watching the orcs and humans interact. There was tension in the air, enough tension that he could cut it with, well a knife obviously. It was better than watching a dwarven soap opera, there were so many twists and turns, betrayals, and alliances. The best thing was, Isidro didn’t even have to instigate it or get involved. Getting involved in someone else’s affairs was a faux pas beyond all faux pas. He’d learned that the hard way, when he tried to help his sister deal with one of her ex-boyfriends. As it turned out, she didn’t actually want him dead and buried in a shallow grave, she only wanted to say it out loud. Whoops! Since then, Isidro decided it was best to just watch the drama unfold rather than participate.

However, the more he watched, he realized there was a point for him to interact, though intervene might have been a more appropriate word. There was another orc, one not associated with the others it seemed. They ignored him (rather unkindly too if Isidro was being honest), who wanted some… mustard? He kept saying things like muster and it made Isidro think the lad was trying to hint at something. He wanted mustard. Mustard was a good thing to have, it was tart and savory and umami all at the same time. It was rare in places like Mordor, but that shouldn’t mean that this poor soul should suffer from its lack.

He stood up from his seat, nodded to the two men still somewhat frozen, staring at the place one of orcs had been (there was a little drool he thought coming from one of them, but he moved too fast to tell), and stood next to the orc. The orc, up close now, was much taller than he’d appeared. Dwarves often misjudged people’s heights before coming up to them and finding they themselves were the ones on the short stick. The shadow of the orc reminded Isidro that orcs and dwarves had had a war not that long ago and maybe it was a poor idea to engage with one in such a jaunty, jocular manner. But then again, dwarves also fought with other dwarves, with elves, with men, with just about anything that moved on two legs really. Damned dwarves, they ruin everything!

“Get this poor lad some mustard dammit!” he shouted, his voice raising an octave higher than he’d intended (meaning somewhere around a B♭). The innkeeper looked at him as though he’d just asked him to give up his bed to a horde of bedbugs for the night. The faces humans could make! It never ceased to amaze the dwarf the way humans could contort their faces into the strangest shapes. He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, disappeared behind a large wooden door, shouted something unintelligible above his breath, then returned with a bowl filled with something brownish yellow in color. Isidro assumed it was some variety of mustard, having never actually seen the stuff in real life. The innkeeper once again grumbled something intelligible that was neither under nor over his breath. It was a remarkable feat, Isidro realized.

“Pay no attention to them,” Isidro said to the lad, taking the bowl of mustard from the innkeeper and proffering it to his (hopefully) new companion. “They just don’t understand the allure of mustard the way you do.”

[Narv]

Narv had asked for a lot in his time. He'd asked politely for a loan from every vaguely moneyhavinglooking establishment he could think of before resorting to his current, less capital-intensive residence behind the fish processing plant. He'd asked to not have to join the army, and then he'd asked if he could leave. While he lacked firm evidence on this, he assumed he'd probably asked very firmly and insistently not to be ripped from the warm embrace of his spawning pool. Daily he asked for money, for drinks, for food, for directions to drinks or food, for money, for acknowledgement, for money, and daily he asked for various individuals to go certain places and do particular things to themselves when they invariably ignored him, robbed him, stabbed him etc in reply. The life of Narv was a life of near-ceaseless asking for things - but as he considered the bowl of brown rot being handed to him, he realized that this might be the first time he had ever received the thing he'd asked for.

And it was from a dwarf! The things you used for hoppit darts when the supply chain was in flux! The things you used to buy by the barrel from the Iron Hills and use as filler for soup! A dwarf had given him free mustard, and had called him 'lad'. Narv was stunned.

"Ah" he said, staring at the mustard. No more words would come. Eyes fixed on the bowl, he turned from this mystical apparition that called itself Isidro, and walked to the door. Then he was running, running as fast as he could, an orc and his mustard and his soul dancing to the music of the kindness of the dwarfs. His destiny now clear.

[Winddancer]

The "counteroffer" made him pale, fidgeting slightly as his eyes darted back and forth between the two female orcs. Unfortunately, he was not in a position to oppose it or even to haggle further, even though he was well aware of being robbed of the true value of this slave. He knew he had run out of luck and knew that if he tried to push them further they would end him. So it was with a disgusted curl to his lip that he watched the burlier orc count out the coins, his eyes greedily watching as they were piled up on the table. The struggling and crying girl was already forgotten and so was her illegitimate spawn growing in her belly. Afterall the world would be a better place without the spawn of Aradan growing up to be as henious as it's father. He should be hailed as a hero for saving the world from having another Aradan.

"Fine.." he mumbled as he reached out and grabbed the coins, his eyes keeping a close watch on them both to ensure they did not attack while he gathered them up. As quick as any magician, the coins disappeared into his own pouch, which was hidden deep inside hs cloak. He waited for Edina to lean forward and grab her coins, before sliding out from the table and with quick feet making his way out of the tavern, the muffled screams of the girl following him out.

Of course he had no intention of ever dealing with these female orcs again. He wasn't stupid. And seeing as he wasn't stupid, he needed to get out of there before Urmog showed up to claim his "prize". Let those two lowlife thieves deal with the wrath of Urmog he thought with cruel satisfaction. Pulling up his hood, he ducked out into the pouring rain, returning back the way he had come.

As unlucky as it seemed he had been tonight, it looked as if that changed as he managed to avoid running into Urmog who entered the establishment with a loud bang as the door hit the wall and a roar of annoyance as he had almost been run over by a running orc with a bowl on his way here.

"Get me a blasted ale! Now!"

[Dungeon Delver]

Thank the winged gods! The human was finally gone, and his wafting odor left with him. He had all the appearance of a disheveled raccoon, greedy, looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one steals his precious shiny object. Draìocht felt she’d earned a smug, satisfied smile as she watched him scuttle out of the inn. These White City folk were so, what was the word, touchy. They expend so much of their energies being morally superior to orc kind all the while they exhibit all the traits they supposedly loathe about their enemies. Not a mirror in the entire city apparently. They were greedy, unwashed, and uncouth. Draìocht was glad the inn was rid of his stench, perchance her luck would hold, and his corpse would wash up on the shore after a brawl with a homeless person went south.

Enough musings though, the washed fool was not worth a spare thought, the orc breeding mistress had several things she needed to attend to forthwith. She nodded to her erstwhile sister and pulled the chain on their newest acquisition. The girl looked to be in truly rough shape; as Draìocht inspected her, she wondered just how much she’d overpaid for the girl. She was bonier that she’d previously seen, and her eyes were closer together than she’d like. She frowned and muttered under her breath, but just loud enough for the girl to hear. “I hope for your sake I didn’t overpay.” It wasn’t a threat or meant to scare the girl, just an observation with the same kind of teeth any conversation might have in the Black Lands. If the girl shrank back too much from that she was going to be in trouble. Weakness was not a tolerable attribute. She bared her teeth and sniffed. The stench the Tark had brought with him had not completely left the establishment. The girl looked as grimy as a child crawling through the mud.

“When was the last time you bathed child?” she asked, not expecting the frightened lamb to answer. “I know proper, weekly bathing is a thing that hasn’t reached your city yet, something about griminess showing their devotion to,” she paused and thought a moment, “to whoever it is they worship over there. ‘Round here though, we know a thing about proper hygiene.”

She looked to her sister again, Gaoth nodded and took the chain around the girl’s neck with a deft wrist. “My sister here will take you to the baths were you’ll be properly scrubbed and scoured, probably for the first time in your miserable life, and then we’ll have a real examination of you. You might be pregnant now, but that’s no excuse to hold off getting you ready for work. You understand me?” she leaned in close and grabbed the girl’s chin. “Am I being clear enough for you?”

The door burst open behind her and someone obnoxiously loud and raucous entered the previously pleasant enough establishment. “Boar god’s good sense, what the hell is it now?”

[Winddancer]

She screamed.

She poured all her heartache, terror and anger into it, but because of the tight grip on her throat all that came out was a gargled and muffled grunt. Tears burned in her eyes as she watched the man leave. He was leaving her here! With orcs! Her mind reeled, wishing it was some kind of ruse, that the man was only pretending to sell her and would be back for her later. But deep down she knew he wouldn't.

“I hope for your sake I didn’t overpay.”

What was worse? Being killed, likely violently? Allowed to live, but endure unimaginable atrocities? She whimpered almost inaudibly as the larger of the two orcs re-inspected her, feeling her flesh crawl with disgust and terror. She did not want to die, but she also did not want to endure whatever torture these two had in mind. And then there was her baby. Trembling shackled hands went protectively to her belly, still feeling tender from the violation of the groping hand of the orc. What on Arda could they want with her unborn child? It did not bear thinking of.

However she wasn't given much time to think of the baby as the smaller of the two orcs took her chains. Terror flooded her again as the larger of the two grabbed her painfully by the chin. She couldn't help the sniffled whimpers, her eyes filling with tears once more. But she did not get a chance to respond, even if she was able to, as the door banged open with a loud thud when it hit the wall. Still held tightly, all she could do was turn her eyes towards the sound, her body trembling even more as she saw yet another orc had arrived.



"Get me a blasted ale! Now!"

Damned Void, how he hated the rain. He hated being wet. It always made him itch, which in turn made him angry. With an angry flick at his chin he glared at the patrons in the inn, his surly eyes coming to a rest on the trio stood by his favourite table near the fireplace. His eyes narrowed as he saw the chains around the human's neck, nose twitching as he wondered if this was the promised slave. He could not see his contact anywhere however which made him pause for a long moment.

But what were the chances of two slaves being sold on the same day..

"What do we have here?" His voice rumbled like onimous thunder, fingers scratching away at his neck as he took a few steps forward towards the three women. "Is that my slave you have there?" One hand moved to rest on the hilt of his sword, the other still picking mindlessly at his irritated skin.

[Dungeon Delver]

“Would you stop your bloody whinging?” Gaoth hissed at the girl, the level of acceptable crying had been reached several minutes before and Gaoth had lost her patience. Humans were irksome, whatever gender or racial background. She yanked the chain to make the girl look her in the face, then grabbed her cheek with a single, sinewy hand. “Look girl, crying like a wounded rabbit will not get you want you think it will. Getting attention that way is a one-way trip into the pits with some very unpleasant people. My sister and I aren’t going to hurt you unless you continue to countermand us. You ain’t a princess in the tower with a prince coming to rescue you, you’re a pregnant slave girl whose livelihood depends on how well she pleases her masters. From the sounds of things, you were lucky to get out of the White City with that pretty neck of yours attached to your head. Be bloody grateful to my sister and me. We’ll treat you well if you do what we tell you. And right now, I’m bloody telling you to shut your mouth.” She paused, hearing the slimy, nauseous voice of the newest inn patron. She spat and rolled her eyes. “See what crying gets you? You get the attention of sea scum like this one that just walked in.”

Draìocht nonchalantly stepped between the orc and her sister, her expression neutral and sober. This creature roared and lumbered about like he was already halfway through a keg. She sneered at him. This was the kind of lout that gave orcs such poor reputations, if it were possible to have a different opinion of one’s mortal enemies that was. She crossed her arms. She was not in the mood to deal with belligerent bullies today, especially not after having to make a deal with a filthy Tark. “Who exactly do you think you are then? And what makes you think that anything in this establishment belongs to you, other than a barstool up your arse?”

[Winddancer]

"Quit your belly aching, I am bringing it as fast as I can!" Edina sharply replied to the rude bellowing.

She stepped in closer, just as Urmog's eyes narrowed angrily at the female orc's response. Edina, fairly large herself, stepped in front of Urmog just as he took a step towards the flippant orc, teeth slowly baring as he growled softly.

"Here, drink your ale and come have a seat at the bar. Borlas has made a mouthwatering stew, have something to eat while you wait for your contact. He is likely delayed by the rain.."

Edina flicked her eyes back towards the two orcs and the girl, hoping they would play along with her lie. The last thing she wanted was for a fight to break out and destroy her inn.

One could almost see every thought on Urmog's face as he contemplated doing as Edina suggested and have some food. He knew Borlas made the best stew for miles around. But his expressions returned to anger as he pushed Edina aside and ignored her continued protests with a single roar of "Shut it!" before returning to his advance towards the trio.

"Who said you could trade slaves in here!? Hmm?! This is MY inn! The only trading going to happen is when I make a purchase!"

Edina's curses went unheard as he slowly unsheathed his short sword and took a few more steps forward. "Leave the girl and get the fredegar out, or I will end your miserable, uneducated lives".

[Dungeon Delver]

Gaoth sighed and rolled her eyes. She’d seen this exact scenario play out across the ruddy fields of Nurn too many times, a score of scores. The players were never any different either. Sure, they all wore different masks and had different names, but they were all the same in the end. Whoever this orc was, or thought he was, was no different from the wheatfield bullies she and her sister had been dealing with all their lives. Certain breeds of orc were just formed differently, and, of course, by differently she meant backward. Instead of having a brain first, they thought with their, well that, and their ass.

Draìocht, for her part, actually burst out laughing. Her sister never did anything like that unless the situation was truly ludicrous. “Stay here,” she ordered the girl. “I don’t need to come looking for you when we’re done roasting this moron’s shrivelly bits over the fire. Understand?” She looked hard at the girl. She didn’t like the light in the slave’s eyes. She’d run, no doubt. It would be useless of course, but she’d do it anyway if she were unsupervised, and Gaoth could not afford to let her sister take on this sloven dimwit on her own. She cast a glance about the inn. A dwarf? When did he get here? Who was he? He had an odd look about him, but he would have to do.

“You there,” she shouted. “Dwarf. Watch this girl for me, will you? I’ll pay for your meal and lodgings for the night.”

The dwarf looked at her as if shaken from a dream. His eyes turned from the orc who’d just burst in, blustering and wagging his stick about, then to Gaoth and the slave girl. His eyes were strange, and his smile looked a deal more sinister than she’d have liked, but she was out of options. “Eh? What do you say?”

He smiled and sauntered passed the new orc paying him the same attention one might give a gnat and bowed elaborate in front of Gaoth and the slave. “Name’s Trelldon Ymirson. Make it two nights and you have yourself a deal. Careful, that orc over there might be slovenly drunk, but even a blind one-footed goblin with an axe is bound to do some damage, even if it’s comical.”

Gaoth growled and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine! Two nights and dinner. Deal.” They shook and she handed him the girl’s chain. He moved in quickly, standing beside her with odd curiosity. Gaoth needed to keep an eye on him.

But now there were more pressing matters, the idiot with the pig sticker being the main commotion.

“Your inn?” Draìocht was saying, her malicious mirth far too evident. “I doubt you own a pot to piss in, let alone an inn. And it seems the lady behind the bar disagrees with you. Probably should have paid her to back up your absurd story. What was that now? Your inn and only you get to buy slaves here? Who the bleeding mountain’s arsehole are you? You act like you’re the Âsh’s own shire.”

“Tell you what,” Gaoth broke in, seeing the conversation taking a very negative turn. “How about you have your ‘blasted ales’ or whatever it was you were wanting, and don’t try and fight two very sober orcs and a dwarf? I like this place and I’d hate to ruin Miss Edina’s establishment.”

[Winddancer]

"What the.." Urmog watched increduously as the dwarf sauntered past him without any fear. It only served to fuel his anger, watching with incredulity as the slave was handed over to the dwarf. Confusion was added to the emotions clearly writ on his face as one of the orcs challenged his "ownership" to the inn.

"What? I never said i owned the inn! I said this was MY inn, as in only I get to trade slaves here! What the hell! Why am I even explaining this to the likes of you!?"

His eyes bugged with fury as he continued with his advance, stopping right in front of the tallest of the orcs. "Get out. Leave the slave and Get. Out." The angry words were spat at the two, full of threat. As if to further add to how serious he was, he slowly slid the sword up and rested it just below the female's throat.

"One more word from you lot and I will shove this sword through your gullet and drink your blood!" The words were growled between clenched teeth as his face pushed in so close to the female that he could feel her breath on his face, his skin beginning to itch uncomfotably on his cheek.



Even if she wanted to, she could not stem the stream of tears, nor the whimpers as the smaller of the two orcs threatened her. At the moment she was too terrified to even think straight, her mind in constant flight mode. It did nothing to allay her fears when the orc handed her over to a dwarf, not when she saw the look in his eyes. It would even have been a relief, a means with which she could try and plea for her release as the two were occupied, but any attempt was quickly drowned as she saw the eerie look in the dwarf's beady little eyes. Letting out another whimper, she tried moving away, putting tension on the chain that was secured around her neck.

[Dungeon Delver]

Draìocht didn’t understand some things. Tarks and their love of the color white, butterflies and their showy, colorful wings, and orcs that insisted (yest insisted) and getting themselves killed. It was bad enough that they had to contend for resources and supplies with humans and trolls and the nameless things knew what else, but why did they always have to fight each other? Orcs had the capacity for teamwork and cooperation, yet time and again they seemed to do just the opposite. She was, of course, no stranger to killing her own kind, but only when the need was absolute. Killing one’s way up to the top is really just as brainless as sleeping one’s way up.

“What muck hole did you come crawling out of?” she asked, either referring to an actual muck hole or the creature’s unfortunate mother. Looking at this orc though, if he had had a mother at one point in his life, she likely left him out for exposure. The buying and selling of orkish infants as a well-worn tradition, but sometimes a babe was too useless to even trade for latrine materials, so they were simply left outside in a storm. She would wager quite a lot of money, all the money she’d just spent overpaying for this slave in fact, that he had been abandoned by mummy and crawled into a troll’s nest.

“You don’t own this inn, I’m glad we agree,” she turned and looked at her sister behind her and nodded, looking up first. Silent communications between the sisters had saved them several times in the past, so much so that they developed their own system of nods, winks, head tilts, and gestures to communicate far more than mere sign language.

She turned back to the orc and made a face; this muggy fool’s face looked to be peeling like a half rotten onion. She could only imagine what sort of shire infested food he stuffed in his mouth. His threat to drink her blood made sense in that context. She chuckled to herself.

“You know,” Gaoth said, suddenly behind the orc, “unless you’re a bona fide vampire, drinking blood is incredibly unhealthy. Do you know what sort of nastiness hides in the blood? No wander you look so pallid. Have you been to a doctor? I know a good hag that can whip you up something to detoxify your gut.”

As soon as the orc was distracted, Draìocht grabbed the short sword out of his hand and smashed him in the face with the flat of the blade. She was done playing with ugly bullies today. She came here for drinks, not dicks.

--- * --- * --- * ---

Oh, how fun was this? Trelldon had not seen something this entertaining since he gifted an orc chief at his wedding a rotting apple labeled “for the ugliest”. Ah, those were the days! Discord, mayhem, infighting. Such a joy to behold. He, naturally, never got involved in such things, a trickster never involves themselves in the chaos, that’s how one got caught. He was delighted tonight though, he didn’t even have to foment chaos to benefit.

The chain he was holding taut and he gave the girl on the other a look. One that told her in no uncertain terms was he letting her go. He’d seen the transaction between the orcs and the man, everything was legal and upfront. There was nothing invalid about the purchase and sale. True, the man should have given them some sort of receipt, but he looked a bit too piqued to have thought that through. In any case, there was no reason he should let her go. And, best of all, he was getting something out of this himself! Two free nights on a soft bed and a drunken night of revelry? Who could resist? He yanked the chain back. “Best stay here lass. You don’t need to run off and end up causing yourself more trouble. Oh, and lookie there! A little one on the way?” he touched the belly, hoping for a kick, when nothing happened his mood soured and he thumped her swollen belly with thumb and middle finger. “I plan on having a grand night of drinking, eating, smoking, and well you understand what else by the looks of ye. Don’t bloody ruin it!”

[Winddancer]

Unaware of having a female counterpart in Minas Tirith, Urmog spluttered with indignant rage. How very dare she! He was going to rip this impudent wannabe excuse for an orc's head off and suck out her brains! He was going to laugh with glee at the horror on the other orc's face as he crushed it beneath his ironshod boots! He was gonna..

Stars exploded in his vision, his mind reeling as the flat of the sword connected with a sickening crunch that re-broke his nose and sent splatters of almost black blood flying from his mouth along with a tooth. The feeble grunt that followed the tooth sounded almost like a question as his body dropped and deposited him heavily onto his arse on the floor. Eyes streaming with tears from the sickening pain from his face, he blinked rapidly to clear his vision of said tears as well as the many stars that clouded his vision.

How.. what.. he shook his head groggily, trying yet failing to get up gracefully.



Would she have been more or less terrified if she had seen the quick work that the female orc had made of the male orc? Likely more in all honesty, given that that would be whom would get to decide her fate. Dire as it already was, she did not want it to be a thousand times worse. However her attention was on the dwarf, whimpering and trembling with both disgust and fear as he too groped at her belly. It was not her chained wrists that prevented her from removing his hand, it was the strength with which he resisted her attempts. While the unborn babe had been created by less than consensual means, she had already become protective of it. It was not the baby's fault that it's father was a monster.

The dawrf's words set her off again, joining the male orc on the floor. Hugging her knees to her chest, she did her best to protect her stomach, head buried against her dirty and scraped knees. What had he meant? Had he meant in general? Or was he going to use her? The thoughts spun in her terrified mind as she softly cried into her knees and hoped the female orcs did not hear her and punish her.

[Dungeon Delver]

This was much more like it! Draìocht was not a stranger to having men down on their knees in front of her, maybe not so familiar as her sister (whose wiles seemed to have no end), but she was no prude either. However, this was not the time to be daydreaming about subs and doms and the like. She had work to do, and it was her favorite kind of work: turning sniveling snaga into passable orcs. The work with a lout this size would not be easy, but a bully’s bravado, once sheared off, shows just how small he is.

Draìocht handed the sword to her sister, who then set it on the table and sat back with a grin on her face. She knew what was coming. As the orc struggled to get up, she took him by the head, using her right hand to caress the side of his face, her thumb just at the point between eyeball and the bridge of his nose. She began squeezing, not enough to pop his eyeball out, but enough to show him she could and to distract him from her left hand that came in swinging hard in an open palmed slap. She did not let go as she bent down to his face.

“Listen carefully, Snaga. I don’t care who you thought you were, coming into this inn as if you were the king of the castle, but you are nothing. This inn is my territory now, owned by the lovely barkeep over there. See her? You will do everything she ever tells you to do, whether it’s cleaning out chamber pots with your tongue or scrubbing the floor with that hairy arse of yours. Understand?” She gave him another slap, making sure he was paying her very close attention. “When you come in, you must pay me fifteen gold, and anyone you bring with you must also pay. If I am not here, you are not allowed in. Understand? Good. That girl is not your slave. In fact, none of your slaves are your slaves. They belong to me and my sister and this inn, forthwith. You are a filthy, useless worm. I want you to know that, and I want you to repeat it back to me when I’m finished with you, worm. If I hear or think you are planning any sort of retaliation of any kind against myself, my sister, this inn, or any slave, I promise you I will put out both your eyes then sell you to the trawlermen on the Sea for them to use as bait. Understand? I suppose you think your name is Urmog. Whoever told you that is a liar. Your name is Snaga. You are a worm. Do I make myself clear? Go crawl into that corner over there and wait until I’m done here. GO!” She slapped him hard again, stinging her hand, then undid the snaga’s belt so that his coin purse plopped to the floor.

Without a second glance at Snaga, Draìocht returned to the bar and sat down with a satisfied sigh. She looked at the blade he’d planned to gut her with. It was in piss poor condition; the edges were rusted over and the weight was all off. Briefly she thought about restoring it but no, better to give it to the blacksmiths as scrap.

“Nice work,” Gaoth said, a tankard of frothy ale in her hand.

“Thank you,” she said, putting the sword back on the bar’s counter. “A round for everyone, yourself included, Edina, on that worm over there. Put him to work however you want.”

“Speaking of work,” Gaoth started, “that dwarf over there has been helpful, keeping an eye on the slave during that thorny little interlude. Told him we’d pay for two nights here and whatever he puts on the tab tonight.”

The orc sisters looked at one another for a moment, then Draìocht rolled her eyes. “Fine, I suppose. You heard it Edina, whatever he wants and two nights on us. Well, on Snaga over there.” She plopped down the sack and scooted it across. “I suppose we should send a runner to the brothel across the way? Do they have dwarf girls? Hey, you. Do you like dwarf girls?”

The dwarf and the slave came around the corner, a bright, almost too bright, smile on his face. “Oh, I do, and orc lasses, though I would be well to steer clear of the two of you in that regard, begging your pardon.” He grinned and handed the chain back to Draìocht. “Pleasure doing business with you ladies.” He bowed low and returned to his table, ready to feast.

“Now then to a more important task, girl, come here,” she pulled on the chain. “You’re a slave, no getting around that. But you’re not going to be sent to the mines or some such bother. Can’t risk you or the babe in that belly of yours. No, you’re going to act as my assistant. Part of breeding a better army is finding out exactly what makes us tick. When I perform my autopsies and examinations, you will be there to give me whatever aid I need, including taking notes for me, you can write I assume? The rest of the slave population might not like that you’re getting this treatment, but they’ll just have to deal with it. I’ll house you with the older women, they ought to take care of you better. Once the babe is born, we’ll take stock and see what you’re going to be useful for. Understand? Good. Now, your name. I don’t know what it was before, and I don’t care. Your name is now Fughirm, Nightwish. Good? If I call you, you will answer, or so help me I will find ways… Are we clear? This is your new life girl. Drink up and get used to it.”

“Oh!” she turned back to the dwarf with a glint in her eye. “My good dwarf, if I might beg a favor of you? Whenever you go out, can you sing a song? A rude song of course, one about Snaga over there? Something humiliating and emasculating. Call it ‘The Slaver Who Got Slapped’. That ought to ruin his reputation.”

[Winddancer]

The squeal of agony filled the room and she would have covered her ears if i were not for the chains that prevented her from doing so. With each resounding slap she jumped and whimpered, face pressed hard against her bare knees. She could still imagine the sting on her own face from when Aradan got angry, her dirty hands sliding between her face and legs to cover her mouth and stifle her whimpers.

She wished it was possible to take delight in the male orc getting his comeuppance, however each slap just reminded her that it could just as easily be her face on the receiving end, her turn likely coming far sooner than she would like.

As if on cue, the dwarf yanked her to her feet and easily dragged her to the two orcs. As a reflex her chained hands held the longer chain connected to the crude ring around her neck, almost as if it could help her keep her balance. Breathing in sniffled whimpers, she was brought to a halt before the bigger of the two orcs, too afraid to look the her in the eyes as she kept her gaze downcast.

She could not hold back the small yelp as she was tugged closer, her whole body trembling as she was told of her fate. At the mention of being an assistant, her eyes flicked up briefly, daring to hope that that would be the worst of it. However her hopes dashed at the mention of autopsies and examinations. Of course it would be something horrific. Tears well in her eyes again, quickly lowering her gaze back to the floor and biting back the sob that threatened to spill. What manner of nightmarish horror was she going to be subjected to? But even the thought of witnessing unimaginable terrors did not hit as hard as the implication of her child being taken once it was born. And then what? To be dissected? Examined? Experimented on?

As the dwarf began making up his rude song, Fughirm fought not to throw up.