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Wolves And Shattered Shields	By : Hoglorfen Category: +Second Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 2426 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Tolkienverse, nor do I write this story for profit.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Whindaër was given a horse, but the leader of the group held the reins.
”I am Agannâlô,” he said, switching to Westron as they began to move. ”And you are Whindaër,” he continued when he received no reply. ”Fear not, the others will rejoin us soon.”
”Why did you try to kill my companion?”
”Kill? That was not my command.” Agannâlô suddenly seemed worried as he met Whindaër's cold stare. ”I swear to you, I did not send my men to kill your companion! There must have been a misunderstanding.”
She held his gaze almost long enough for it to be a challenge. Then she looked down. ”He is not overly fond of... tarks. And the Men of Elenna have slighted him on more than one occasion.”
Agannâlô gave her a wry smile. ”I did not expect one of the Fair Folk to take that word in her mouth. And 'Elenna'... It was long since I heard that name for the island of my birth. However, I am no longer a 'Man of Elenna', nor are those who follow me.”
”I doubt he would notice the difference.” Whindaër fell silent. Why had she used an Orcish word? It had come to her almost as naturally as her native tongue. Had Graznikh's crude manner of speaking rubbed off on her more than she knew?

They traveled for weeks. First north along the Great River until they reached a dark pass in the mountains. Here, Whindaër was blindfolded and covered in a black cloak.
”It is for your own safety,” Agannâlô explained. ”The Fair Folk rarely walk these roads, and there are those who would look unfavourably upon your passing here. Even your eyes would reveal your identity, and so I fear we must cover them.”
Whindaër felt a chill run down her spine as they entered the pass. There was strong magic at work here, dark magic. It made her skin crawl, and it grew stronger the further in they went. On the other side of the pass a cold wind blew, carrying a faint scent of sulphur and smoke. Whindaër could hear a strange thundering sound in the distance. It must be a plain of some sort, she thought as the wind increased in strength and threatened to tear the cloak off.

Graznikh cursed silently as he reached the valley and found his way blocked by a large tark camp. To the west he could see the ship that he and Whindaër had seen sailing up the river weeks before. Backing away from the ledge and out of sight of the camp, he went over his options. Can't go through the pass, too many tarks. Can't turn back and go 'round, that'd take too long. I don't have that kinda time. He glanced up. That leaves climbing the bloody mountains.
He doubled back an hour or so and began climbing. It was slow going, but easier than the treks he had done back home. These mountains were dry, so there was no ice to slip on. He took a brief rest after a few hours and turned to admire the view. The clouds had split up further west and he could see faint stars, but above his head the cover was still thick. The Great River ran far below like a band of silver, reflecting the moonlight, and far off in the distance he could see dark peaks that belonged to a foreign mountain range.

As he reached the top of the foothills, the ground levelled out somewhat. The main peaks were still far above, but he hoped to find a pass or the like further down. Strange sounds echoed up above, despite the wind. Graznikh frowned. They sounded a bit like bird sounds, but not quite. He knew that strange creatures older than Orcs dwelled in the deepest caves, where neither sun nor surface air ever reached, but he had never heard of such beasts living among the mountain peaks. Better safe than sorry, he thought and drew his knives.
When he found the entrance of a narrow pass, he also spotted a thick white rope spanning the pass further in. He had seen its like many times, glistening with dew after chilly mornings. Only the size was different. Why does it always have to be spiders? he thought as he eyed the pass. What's wrong with giant grasshoppers or fleas? He warily eyed the webs far above as he sneaked through the pass. The faint chittering sound echoed from above every now and then, but it sounded distant. Another sound reached his ears. A shaggy shape flew at him from behind a large rock and he dodged instinctively. He dropped, rolled and got to his feet, knives ready and stared in surprise at his attacker. The half-starved warg pup was almost the size of the hounds that he and Whindaër had cared for long ago. It bared its fangs and crouched, ready to pounce again.
”Don't do that, little one,” he growled. ”You'll only get yourself killed, either by me or by those chittering fiends above.” He relaxed slightly as it hesitated, watching him with wary, intelligent eyes. He glanced up and noticed one large and several smaller bundles hanging from the webs above, neatly wrapped up in spider silk.
”Your mummy and littermates?” he asked gently and the pup whined. ”I know. I lost mine too.” He slowly sheathed his blades and squatted, holding his hand out the way Whindaër had instructed him. The pup watched it for a while, then took a few steps closer to sniff it. ”I'm not here to hurt ya,” Graznikh said. ”I'd wager we both wanna get out of here as quick'n quiet as we can.” He grinned as the pup wagged its tail. Then it lay down, panting as if it had just ran ten miles. ”Hungry are ya? Thirsty too, I'd wager. I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of food, not enough to fill the belly of a growing warg at any rate. But if you promise not to spill, you can have one of the water skins and a sip o' ghâshpau. That ought to clear your head.”
The pup eagerly emptied half a waterskin that he poured into a natural hollow in the ground. After lapping up some ghâshpau it perked up noticeably.
”So which way did ya come?” Graznikh asked. He had no idea how much wargs understood, or if the pup even spoke the common tongue, but it took a few steps in the direction he had come and turned towards the pass. It gave him an eager look. ”Right. Then we go, but quietly. Don't wanna call the chitters down on us. They've taken enough.”
The warg pup turned out to have extremely sensitive ears, far more so than him. It scouted ahead as they slowly crawled through the narrow pass, crouching down flat and holding their breath every time one of the large spiders passed overhead. They did not seem to be able to spot them as long as they stayed still and kept well away from the webs. Graznikh could not keep from shuddering as one particularly large shadow passed right over him. Butterflies would be downright nice. Or centipedes. Just as they reached the other end of the pass, Graznikh felt something touch his hand. The string was so thin that he had not even seen it, but it sent a soundless shivering signal that amplified through the giant webs above. The warg pup yowled in terror.
”Fuck my life!!” Graznikh cursed. He cut the web with his blade, grabbed the pup under his arm and ran with the spiders in hot pursuit behind.

The eyefold was removed, and Whindaër blinked in the sudden light. Agannâlô took up position next to her and Whindaër gave him a hostile glance. Soft footsteps were heard from behind and Agannâlô straightened up. The man who entered the room looked Elven at first glance. Long reddish-golden hair flowed behind him as he turned to sit in the armchair opposite hers, and his eyes were a strange golden hue that glowed with infernal intensity. Beautiful was the only word that could be used to describe him. He radiated power that made her skin tingle as he beckoned to the servant with a graceful move.
”Is there anything I can get you? Only the best for such an esteemed guest,” he said in fluent Quenya with a glowing smile.
”I thank you for the offer,” she said as a blindfolded servant offered her a cup containing a steaming red liquid.
”Mulled spiced wine,” the servant replied to her unspoken question.
The beautiful man waved his hand. ”Leave us!” As the door closed, he looked at her through honeycoloured eyelashes. ”Do you know who I am?”
Whindaër shook her head. ”No. I have heard rumours though.”
”Oh? Humour me.”
”The smiths in the haven spoke of a great tutor who had come to the smithing guild in Eregion. A master smith of great power. Of Annatar.”
The man smiled into his cup. ”I have had many names. That is one of them.”
"They also said that Annatar had betrayed the Eldar. That he was not the one he claimed to be."
The beautiful being did not reply. Whindaër shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. ”And the Men who brought me here called you Tar-Mairon.”
”That is another.”
”But you are not of Elenna. Of... Númenor.”
”I am not.”
”And yet... they follow you.”
He looked up. ”That is because they see what I see. What you have seen as well, though you do not yet know the magnitude. Númenor is growing too powerful, and they are arrogant. They see themselves as the true Masters of Arda and they would have dominion over all shores, be they East or West. And they could very well succeed. The Elves are weakened, they would not stand a chance if Númenor decided to invade. Yet your kin allowed them to grow so strong, even helped them. You have been decieved.”
Whindaër frowned. We may have suceeded, had we not been attacked by a vast army of Orcs."
”You have seen it already, albeit on a small scale,” Tar-Mairon continued, seemingly oblivious to her words. ”How they cut down your forests, slowly turning all of Enedwaith into a wasteland. They used to do so with your leave, but now they do not even ask.”
”Does it matter?” Whindaër whispered. ”Another force has already claimed that land and turned it into a wasteland of their own.”

Tar-Mairon radiated a deep sadness at these words. ”Yes,” he said. ”I know, and I am sorry. I tried to prevent it, you see, but was utterly unsuccessful. I failed you, and all those who dwelled on those shores.”
Whindaër tried to meet his gaze, but quickly looked away. ”What happened in Ost-in-Edhil? I have heard only rumours, that there was some kind of commotion before the war. That... Annatar was-”
”A grave misunderstanding,” Tar-Mairon interrupted quietly. ”No, I am not He. If I was, would I have aided the Gwaith-i-Mirdain as I have done? Would I have helped them create all the great works that they made? No. What happened was that I attempted to ask Celebrimbor for a boon, a payment of sorts for my efforts. But he would not have it, he would not even hear me out. He claimed my works for his own, accused me of crimes that I had not committed and had me thrown out.” He frowned at the memory. ”I... regret my words then. They were what caused the 'commotion', as you call it. I will always do, but they cannot be made unspoken. I can only try to make what little amends I am capable of, even though they will largely go unnoticed.”
”My father spoke well of you.”
Tar-Mairon lifted his gaze, suddenly interested. ”Oh?”
”His name is Estelmaitë. I do not know if you remember him.”
But the man smiled knowingly. ”That is a name I know well. A great smith and a dutiful student. He defended me, even as Celebrimbor threw me out. I am... humbled, by his conviction and loyalty. I dearly hope it did not spell his doom.” He eyed her. ”You are his daughter then?” As Whindaër nodded, Tar-Mairon looked... eager. ”Then this is... a most interesting turn of events. Interesting indeed.”

After narrowly escaping the spiders, Graznikh set the warg pup down and allowed himself a brief rest.
”I don't even know why I'm doing this,” he grumbled to himself as he sipped from the ghâshpau flask and found it to be nearly empty. ”Skai!” The pup whined and nudged his elbow. He grinned and scratched it behind the ear. ”Don't worry little one. I won't abandon my âmbal, and I won't abandon you.” He looked out over the foreign land beyond the mountains. Burzdur... he thought. The slopes ran steeply down into a deep gully before rising again into a smaller ridge and then stretching out into a vast plain beyond, dominated by a large, cone-shaped mountain with fire instead of ice at its peak. Smoke billowed from its interior, turning the sky dark. Only the occasional lighting lit up the lifeless plain and foothills. There seemed to be several roads leading from a gap in the gully, and he spotted several strongholds and encampments. He looked down and found the pup bundled up next to him, fast asleep. ”Good idea,” he whispered. He rolled up on the stony ground and fell into a fitful sleep as soon as his head hit the ground.

Whindaër took a deep breath, steeling herself. ”And what would the Admirable want with a lowly outcast?”
He gave her a kind smile. ”I am curious about you. I too have heard rumours, other than those your father voiced. And I may be a master smith, but smithing is not all I am skilled in.”
Whindaër could not meet that burning gaze. ”I do not understand.” She could feel him studying her.
”You bear the telltale signs of fading.”
He rose from his seat and walked over to her. His fingers were burning hot as he placed them under her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. Suddenly she could not look away. He said something, but she could not hear it as the roaring of fire filled her ears and his eyes grew until they were all she could see, melted together into one great burning Eye that bore into her very being. There was no pain, only intensity. Then the moment passed and her vision cleared. Tar-Mairon sat down, understanding slowly spreading on his face.
”I must say, this is unbearably romantic,” he said. ”One of the proud, haughty Noldor has beloved an Orc of all things! It is no wonder you are fading; your delicate fëa cannot withstand the burden of such an affront.”
Whindaër closed her eyes. ”I will carry the shame with me to Aman,” she whispered, tears burning behind her eyelids.
”Do not speak that name here!” Tar-Mairon snapped. Then he regained his composure. ”Why were you traveling east?”
”To seek solace,” Whindaër replied. ”My... companion thought there might be someone, a sorcerer of some kind, who could help us.”
He beamed at her. ”And there is! You are looking at him.” He rose again and began pacing the room. ”You are fading because you, as admirable as it may be, have attempted to bridge an impassable chasm. You and your dear Orc have formed a bond that should not be and tried to create a greyscale where there can be none.” He stopped to take a sip of his wine before he continued. ”This, my dear Noldo, is a world of black and white. The only grey here are Men, which is why they are so contested and contradictory. Dwarves are neither; in truth I would hardly call them a People at all. Elves and Men can join, and even have offspring, as can Men and Orcs. But Elves and Orcs? They are opposites, mortal enemies. Never shall the two join. You have done something impossible, and I am curious as to how that came to be.”

The question hung in the air, and Whindaër felt obliged to answer.
”I convinced myself to accept him. There was something he said... 'an Elf that wishes to live will live through any torture'. I suppressed my fëa, willed it to give in.”
”Ah... so there was no love between you before the bond? The love came after the fact?”
”Yes.”
”Interesting...” He continued pacing in silence, deep in thought. Whindaër fidgeted nervously.
”As far as I can tell, there are two ways to go about this,” he said as he sat down. ”The most obvious would be to break the bond. No bond means the taint may be washed away in time. But I doubt either of you want that,” he added at seeing Whindaër's dismayed face. ”Also, I would need the both of you here for it. The other solution is somewhat... unconventional.”
She swallowed. ”Tell me.”
”Well,” he said after a sip from his goblet. ”Simply put, I may be able to warp your fëa into its very opposite and bind it in your body by magical means. The warping has happened naturally once or twice before, usually after the Elf committed heinous acts which closed the door to the other shore but had something that kept them going, something that prevented them from fading. That madman Fëanor and his sons being the most obvious examples. You have already taken the first step, which makes this so much easier. The rest will, however, require certain acts.” He gave her a knowing smile as she blushed. ”I see you begin to have the mind of an Orc already. No, my dear, I will not subject you to that. But what I will do will be painful, and it will take time. And you will have to resist me with all your might and fail.”
”I... understand,” Whindaër said. ”But surely you would not go to all this effort and expect nothing in return?”
”No, I do not think you fully understand. But I am glad that you asked,” Tar-Mairon smiled. ”I want you to serve me. I will let you stay with your beloved, and in return you will help me in a similar fashion. You are a skilled warrior, you are strong, intelligent and, if your actions up to this point are of any merit, you have a strong will as well. And you are an Elf, a Noldo at that. All things that I will have need of in the years to come.”
When she did not reply, he rose. ”I can grant you even more, should you wish it. This room is yours to use as you see fit. Take some time to think things over, and send for me when you have decided.” With that he left.
Whindaër laid down upon the soft bed. She reached out through the bond and was rewarded with a wave of love, joy, relief and fear. The fear puzzled her; did he know something she did not? She sent him reassurance and comfort, but was met with disbelief and worry.
She wondered about the identity of this 'Tar-Mairon'. He could not be Gorthaur; she could sense no evil aura about this man and the self-appointed Dark Lord was currently annihilating Eregion. Unless he had the ability to be in two places at once...
There was a large mirror on the wall, and she walked over to it. The image that stared back at her terrified her. Her hair had completely lost its shine and hung dirty and tangled around her shoulders. Her face was unbelievably filthy, and the dust on her cheeks bore lines from her tears. Her robe which had once been a dark green was now a mottled mix of green, grey, brown and black. It was torn and disheveled and her boots were worn and cracked. There were tiny wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. I have aged..? She knew well the tale of Gwindor, who toiled in the mines of Angband and returned a broken, ruined man. Will I face the same fate?

The door was unlocked and a servant entered with a large tray laden with assorted foods.
”My Master sends his fondest regards,” the servant said as he placed the tray on a low table. Whindaër noted the strange pattern of the man's speech as she thanked him. The servant bowed, and it was then that she realised that he had no eyes. Or rather, his eyes had been removed and the hollows glazed over with a milky white film, rendering him completely blind but somehow still able to orient himself. There were also tiny stitches of thin thread outlining his lips, no doubt making it extremely painful for him to smile or open his mouth wide. A terrible, efficient way of keeping servants from needless talk. Whindaër felt cold.
The tray was nothing short of a display of excessive wealth. There were delicacies from all corners of the known world, and even some she did not recognise. There were exotic fruits of various kinds, Númenorean cheeses, cold cuts of what could only be aurochs from the far east, and a small bottle containing a clear liquid that smelled almost like the creme Whindaër used to perfume her hair with.
Someone must have misread the date, she thought as she read the label. Mead from Vinyamar in Nevrast, the place where the Noldor-in-exile first settled? Impossible.

She thought about Tar-Mairon's offer as she ate. She had always thought the opposite of fëa to be hroa, the duality of spirit and body. But the strange man obviously knew things she did not. As the mead made her relax and let down her guard, Whindaër felt the alternative as the weariness seeped into her. Only her will held her in this world and she knew that it was only a matter of time before the moment came when that will would fail. She had not slept since Agannâlô captured her for fear of fading while she lay defenseless.
Whindaër was terrified of death, more so now than ever before. She could not bear to face her brother, or Sairion, or the others from the haven who died needlessly because of her. If there was a way to delay that moment, as Tar-Mairon believed, the price of serving him would be worthwhile. Would it not?

After waking up and sharing a quick breakfast of dried meat and water with the warg pup, he set out towards the road. If this is Orc land, he reasoned, the road ought to be safe. If not, there are plenty of hiding places nearby. As he walked, he tried to come up with a good excuse for being there. I could say I'm on my way to Lugburz to join the army. Hopefully that's legit enough. The warg pup trotted at his side, sticking its nose in every hole and nook along the road. Suddenly there was a loud squeak and up from a hole flew the biggest rat Graznikh had ever seen. The pup fought bravely, but the black rat was fierce. It ended as Graznikh caught the rat by the neck and gutted it alive with a knife.
”Good catch!” The pup seemed to beam at the praise, bleeding from several bites on its neck and shoulders. ”That's yer first battle scars,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”I'll tend them, then we'll both have a nice juicy meal for once!”
As they traversed the plain, Graznikh figured he had been lucky for once. The pup kept catching rats and large lizards. He let it keep the smaller ones; it had been starving long enough and needed to put some meat back on. The larger ones he split evenly and snacked on as he walked. The lizards weren't that bad. After a while, the pup seemed to have finished gorging itself and returned to his side.
”I wonder if you have a name,” he mused. ”Can't really call you 'little one' later on when you're big and fierce, now can we?”
The pup let out a 'wuf'. Then it suddenly tore off the belt pouch containing his last silver pieces and some other useful stuff, most importantly the old comb, and bolted with a sound that was remarkably similar to a hissy laugh. ”Hey!” Graznikh chased after it. ”Get back here, you damn little pirate!”
After a wild chase, he finally managed to tackle the pup and get his pouch back. He wrestled with it a bit for good measure and the pup definitely laughed now.
”So that's how you want it, huh? Zuzar,” he grinned. The little warg met his eyes and repeated the name. Graznikh stared, amazed. The pup hadn't pronounced the word like an Orc or tark would, it was more like a hissing gasp followed by a low growl, but it was definitely a word. ”So you can speak! Y'know, I always thought that was just a story, of Orcs and talking wolves running together long ago.” He kept scratching Zuzar's belly and was suddenly drenched by a big wet tongue.

Zuzar suddenly perked up and let out a warning growl. Graznikh turned as three tarks on horses stopped nearby. They wore similar garb as those that had tried to catch him before. Three mounted against one on foot. Well, one and a half. This is not good.
”Your name and number?” one demanded.
”Graznikh, no number yet,” he replied. Number? The pup growled quietly, trying to pronounce his name.
”Then state your business. How did you get past the gate without a number?”
”I didn't use the 'gate'. And I'm on my way to Lugburz to join the army.” He placed a reassuring hand on Zuzar's shoulder as he felt the pup press itself against his leg. The tarks eyed him suspiciously.
”Very well, then. Turn right at the Orkish Cross and follow the Doom Road past the Mountain. You'll have the Tower in clear view after that. The recruitment office is three streets up past the main gate, to the left. Good luck!”
Graznikh stared after the tarks as the horses cantered off. The fuck was that? He shook his head as he kept walking. They let me go, just like that? And were damn civil about it, on top of everything. I'l probably get killed when I get to that bloody tower of theirs. No tark is that polite to an Orc without holding a sword at their neck.
As they passed the Mountain soime time later, Graznikh had to stop and stare. 'Tower' was not really a fitting word for the immense structure that rested upon the mountain spur like a giant, sleeping beast of steel and stone. A large chasm filled with molten rock separated it from the plain, spanned by several wide bridges. The tower that rose at the center was perhaps the first thing one noticed, but it was actually only a small part of the fortress. There were several walls, one inside the other, with immense battlements and several smaller towers. Innumerable lights from torches, lamps and windows dotted the place like fiery stars. In Graznikh's eyes, it looked downright cozy. I wonder how many tribes that place could hold, he thought as he began walking towards it. That's like the stronghold of strongholds! He gently touched the bond. It was slowly growing stronger, meaning that he was heading in the right direction. I wonder how she's holding up in there.
Closer to what Graznikh assumed was the main gate, the road became crowded. The last time he had seen this many Orcs at one time was when his band had reached the main camp of the army back home, and even that seemed small in comparison. Graznikh stopped by the roadside for a while and simply stared at all the people.
There were companies of soldiers, lines of snagas carrying things or pulling carts, taskmasters with whips, smaller groups of the large Black Uruks and myriads of civilians. The din was overwhelming. Suddenly the ground rembled underneath his feet as the Mountain belched another plume of black smoke; from the mountainside, a wide channel ran and now it was nearly flooded by the lava stream that gushed through it and jetted out into the chasm surrounding the fortress. Eventually graznikg found the courage to enter the road. Zuzar tiptoed right next to him as he followed the living flood towards the gate.
”Wanna stay free, or could I put a leash on ya? I don't wanna lose you in this crowd,” he said. The pup seemed to ponder this briefly, then nodded. ”Great. You're still small, but don't worry. Soon you'll be huge and everyone'll get outta the way as soon as they see ya.” He took a rope from his belt and placed it around Zuzar's neck. ”That doesn't help, ya know,” he said with a grin as he tried to tie it to the scratching pup.
”Wuf,” Zuzar replied and accepted his bindings.
Out on the road, Graznikh soon realised that he stood out. People kept giving him odd looks and as the only pale-skinned Orc among thousands, his black warpaint long gone, he felt like a walking target. The fact that he had a warg pup tied to his belt did not improve matters. He quickly fell into the swagger that he had used so many times before to bully his way into Dunlending villages and tried to ignore the knot in his guts. Showing weakness here, where competition was everything, would simply not do.
Getting in through the gate proved to be a minor problem. The guards barely glanced at the seemingly endless stream of Orcs entering through it. But as he passed, he realised one thing – everyone was going inside. No one was walking in the other direction. He stopped. Is this a one-way gate? He thought about going the other way, but decided against it. There was no point in drawing attention to himself and risk getting thrown out, or worse.
He remembered the tarks' instructions. 'Three streets up and to the left.' What does that even bloody mean? What's a 'street'? He kept walking as if he knew exactly where to go while pondering the instructions. Soon, Graznikh was completely lost. Zuzar whined.
”Aye, I know,” Graznikh said. ”I fucked up again. And there's not even any food left.” How the fuck am I gonna save my âmbal when I can't even save myself?
”'Ey.” He looked up as an Orc with rings down his nose came up to him. ”Lookin' fer sumthin'?”
The warning bells set off in Graznikh's head. ”Recruitment office.”
”C'mon, I'll show ya.” the stranger beckoned.
”And why would you help me?” he asked.
”Oh, c'mon!” the stranger said with an almost toothless grin. ”There be tons of new ones 'ere, just like ya! And there's good pay in helpin' 'em out, settin' 'em straight.”
Graznikh frowned. This stinks of a trap. But he had nothing better to do, and maybe he could shake some directions out of the survivors afterward. Sure enough, as they rounded a corner, Graznikh found himself in a backalley with two big Orcs armed to the teeth. He heard footsteps behind and spotted three more from the corner of his eye. He gave his guide a lopsided grin.
”Thanks for showing the way,” he said merrily to the surprised Orc. ”I owe ya one!” With that, he drew his knives and spun into action. Zuzar wiggled out of the leash and went straight for the little Orc's throat. The fight was quick and bloody, just the way Graznikh liked it. He had taken a cut to his thigh, but it was not debilitating and the blade had not been poisoned. He slit the throats of the fallen to make sure that there would be no repercussions. One of the attackers was still awake, leaning against the wall and clutching his belly to keep the contents in. Graznikh squatted before him.
”Everything going according to plan?”
The other Orc bared his fangs weakly. ”Just finish it. Don't... Don't leave me like this.”
”I might,” Graznikh replied, ”if you gimme some info. If not, I'll let Zuzar here finish you off instead.” The warg pup sat down beside him, baring it's little fangs.
The Orc reeked of fear. ”I'll tell ya whatever ya want!”
”Where's the recruitment office?”
The other laughed weakly. ”Theres none. Whoever told ya that... pulled yer leg.” He coughed and gasped in pain.
”So where do I go to sign up?”
”No.. where. Ya get a number at th' Gates, or... in th' pits. No such thing... as signin' up. Oh shit, I can feel it slippin',” he squeaked. Graznikh growled. Bloody, cock-suckin', shit-riddled, karkû-bagurz kûrr-haurz flagîti!
”Last one then; where are the dungeons?”
”The... Tower!” the other managed to gasp. ”Main gate, but... you'll need... number!”
”Then give me yours. You won't need it anyway.”
But the Orc was now beyond speaking. He shook and sweat poured down his face. He stared at Graznikh with pleading eyes.
”Skai, golugob karkûz za ghâsh-ishi!!!” Graznikh roared and slit his throat. There was a glint of gratitude in the dying Orc's eyes, but Graznikh did not see it. He stormed out of the alley, so livid that he could barely see where he went. Zuzar trotted after him with a worried look.
Soon he found himself on the lower battlements, shaking with frustration, fury and helplessness. He forced himself to breathe deeply, burying his face in his hands and trying to get a grip on his temper. Zuzar let out a low 'wuf' and tried to get his attention but Graznikh ignored him. I don't want this. I didn't want any of this! Why couldn't things just stay nice and simple, when everything was going so well? Whin, âmbal-zemar... I'll never see ya again.

NOTES:
Agannâlô - Deathshadow (Adunâic)
Zuzar - pirate
Karkû-bagurz kûrr-haurz flagîti - cock-shitting, snot-eating morons
Golugob karkûz za ghâsh-ishi - elf-cocks in the fire
âmbal-zemar - sweet-heart
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Wolves And Shattered Shields