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Azof and the Cult of the Scorpion Goddess	By : kspence Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 2995 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-1.
- 2-2.
- 3-3.
- 4-4.
- 5-5.
- 6-6.
- 7-7.
- 8-8.
- 9-9.
- 10-10.
- 11-11.
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In Khand, poxy Khand, there’s nuffink but sand....
Azof had never enjoyed much in the way of a formal education. This was something he had in common with most of his contemporaries, learning by doing being much more the Orcish style. They were in general a pretty hands-on lot.
But even little Orclings have the bare basic life-skills to pick up: key life-skills such as language for example; unquestioning obedience also. The best way to wield a knife. Self-reliance, ways of killing, how to come out on top in a ruck and –
Geography. That was important too, because every Orc had to understand its lowly place in the scheme of things; its utter insignificance when considering the extent of their dark master’s domain.
Orcs weren’t even so much as gnats upon the back of elephants, as microbes living off the parasites of parasites of flies that buzzed around those metaphorical elephants - but the point was well made in any case: his kind were an absolutely inconsequential form of life.
Now he was actually in Khand-poxy-Khand however, Azof was discovering that the various chants he’d had drilled into him by rote weren’t entirely accurate. Khand for example did have quite a few things in it besides sand.
There were abundant rocks and venomous plant-life. Rabid jackals....the occasional camel.
And at night the arid, hostile landscape would simply come alive with snakes and rats and desert scorpions.
Shortly after Azof’s company’s arrival, the old Orcish sergeant in charge of their in-country orientation got one of the smaller ones speared on the end of his dirk.
“Now, see these little bleeders,” he announced, holding the wriggling, sand-coloured specimen up to show them, “all these bloomin’ things want is ter crawl and ‘ide in the dark, squeezin’ themselves inter tight, narrow places. They’d like nothing bloody better’n to go squirming inter yer nose-‘ole – or right down deep through your lugs –“
“- or up yer bum!” Rugratz, the Orc standing next to Azof sniggered. Resolutely facing the front, Azof kept his face impassive and shuffled his feet sideways, putting a little bit of distance between them. He’d not known Rugratz long but it was already clear the fellow was such a prizewinning idiot that when he did fall he was undoubtedly also going to be taking down with him any innocent bystanders foolish enough to have allowed themselves to be tainted by association.
The sergeant stepped up in front of Rugratz and mugged at him, feigning deafness and cupping one hand behind his raggedy ear. “Didn’t catch that. Wot’s that you said?”
“Us lot’s come from the land of shadow,” Rugratz swaggered, with a vague wave of his hand that - to Azof’s annoyance - inclusively indicated himself, Azof, and about half of the new Orcish company. “See here Granddad – I reckon you been out ‘ere in Bongo-bongo land* too long if you’ve forgot we got them things in Mordor, too.”
The older Orc shook his head. “Nah. Not like this you ain’t.”
“Psssh! They bite c’her, s’only like getting a bee-sting, innit?”
The sergeant shook his head. “See that?” he said, tilting his blade so that the new recruits could see the oily slick of venom oozing down from the scorpion’s curved tail, “that stuff’ll only send you howling crazy before it drops you down stone dead.” He handed his knife – very carefully – to Azof.   “’Ere. Take a look an’ pass it on, there!”
Like a pillock the squaddie on Azof’s other side actually raised his hand then, asking for permission to speak.
This was, however, seemingly the exact right thing to do. “What’s on yer mind, son?” the sergeant said, regarding him with a benevolent eye.
Goodietwoshoes cleared his throat nervously. “I heard - is it true it’s only the little ‘uns you gots to watch out for like?”
“No!” the sergeant cried vehemently. “It’s bloody all of ‘em ennit! Big and small!” An’ -”
“How big do these things get, then?” Azof interrupted.
The sergeant turned slowly back to Azof, fixing him with a baleful, rheumy-eyed stare. He stood looking him up and down for so long that even the usually, unusually thick-skinned Azof began to feel a slight prickling sense of disconcert.
He found himself pointing at Rugratz and blurted - “we only ‘appen to be in the same company! I’m not wiv’ him or anything, you know.”
“But both of yer fink it’s awright to talk right over me, don’t c’her?” the sergeant replied, “an’ ‘ere you are, neither one wiv’ any clue when it’s best to keep yer bloomin’ trap shut! S’obvious to me you’ve been cut from the same cloth.”
“Wanna know how big these blighters get?” he continued softly, “well, I should think sooner or later a choice specimen like you’ll be sure to find they do get a wee bit bigger than this.” He glowered up and down the line. “Anyone else got anythink else they can’t wait to ask me? No? Now, as I was saying, before chubbychops ‘ere” – that was directed at Azof – “started playing twenty bloomin’ questions, the worst thing ‘bout being bit is that sometimes they creep up on you so quiet and soft, like, you don’t even realize till after it’s happened. And by that time it’s too late.”
“Brilliant. So what you expecting us to do about it then, eh?” Narkul muttered, from his place two Orcs down from Azof. Narkul and Azof were – Azof supposed you’d call it - mates. Or at least the two of them had kept step, more or less, through all of their long march out of Mordor.
The sergeant shrugged. “Check yer boots an’ ‘elmet of a morning f’you take my advice. Or don’t. S’all I’m saying.”
By that time the knife-skewered scorpion had reached the last of the Orcish troops. The sergeant took his knife back and flicked the scorpion onto the ground.
“What you gotta keep in mind,” he said, spitting on the writhing insect, “is always to show these bleeders the proper respect.” And with that he trampled it flat.
The briefing broke up shortly afterwards.
“Hey, you, greediguts,” the sergeant called after Azof, “and yeah-yeah, bring your pals Arfur’ an’ Martha” – he gestured irritably towards Narkul and Rugratz – “wiv’ you. You three lucky lads gonna be up first!   ‘Appens I’m in need of some fresh volunteers, tonight.”
“Volunteers?” Rugratz repeated doubtfully. “For what?”
“Why!” said the sergeant, with a nasty, yellow-toothed grin, “volunteers to guard the citadel, what else!”
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Azof and the Cult of the Scorpion Goddess