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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.
- 3
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- 5
Azof fell through darkness, fell for what seemed to be an inordinately long passage of time. He landed heavily on hands and knees, gasping and winded, and flailed backwards till his shoulders hit the tunnel wall behind him.
He was inside the mountain.
Silhouetted against a narrow rectangle of moonlit desert he could still see his companions crouching in the outer doorway, a little way away. They weren’t far from him and he could see them – could see Narkul’s lips moving and then Rugratz shouting back with some crass comment, but the sound of their voices wasn’t reaching him. Azof barely had time to register that before first Narkul and then Rugratz came barrelling down the corridor towards him. They arrived with surprisingly much momentum given the relatively short distance they’d just travelled.
“’kin’ ‘eck! How far we facking fall?” Rugratz exclaimed, shaking his head.
“Did’n look like much of a drop, did it?” Narkul wheezed.
“Lucky we had somethink soft to land on then, isn’it?” Rugratz said. “Oi, Azzles! Fat-twat! Still alive, are you?”
Azof struggled out from under them, bruised but otherwise unhurt.
Rugratz mimed out a quick, rude gesture - centred on his crotch. “Whoops-a-daisy! While you’re down there, son!”
Narkul shoved him aside. “Would you give it a facking rest!”
They were in a round-walled tunnel, more than tall enough to allow Azof and the others to stand upright. It was made of basalt, with uniformly rocky sides and roof and floor. The Orcs had no way of knowing it but the mountain had at one time been a volcano, and was riddled with cave-like passages just like the one they were standing in, formed when molten lava from an ancient series of eruptions cooled as it flowed towards the outside air.
At the near end of this lava tube or tunnel was the entranceway the Orcs had fallen through. In the other direction the passage stretched away, curving slightly up and to the side, so that whatever was at the other end of it was hidden out of sight. The rough walls ahead of them were faintly lit by warm, flickering reflections of lamplight or firelight and from round the curve a sweet-scented breeze was blowing steadily into their faces. Picking themselves up, the three Orcs set off towards it.
Just around the curve in the corridor the tunnel abruptly opened into a large open area – a gigantic, rock-walled cavern that had once formed the hollow heart of the mountain. This was the largest of a series of lava-chambers that had once held the now-extinct volcano’s reserve of liquid rock. Past ages ago the ceiling of the cavern had partially collapsed, leaving much of the centre open to the stars and sky. There were lamps burning in the still-roofed portion, and the space ahead of the Orcs was full of heavy, perfumed smoke that coiled and hugged near to the ground. The incense-smoke was fragrant and cloying - and also oddly reminiscent of the herbs in the cigarettes that Narkul had had pressed upon him in the marketplace earlier that day.
The funny-smelling smoke made Azof’s vision swim. His head was spinning and he shook it irritably, trying to get make sense of a disjointed series of ideas and impressions that were racing through his head:
He was standing straight and at the same time felt that he was pitching forwards – a subtle, drawing sensation pulling him as if the essential centre of his being was stretching; was being reeled irresistibly outwards, towards – something; out from somewhere in the region of the middle of his forehead.
His consciousness seemed weirdly expanded. He felt feverish all over, with limbs unendurably thick and heavy - and yet he also floated lightly, his body fragile and insubstantial as a bladder filled with gas. It was unbearable and yet simultaneously a almost unendurable delight, this sensation Azof had of no longer being correctly connected to his body; at that moment not entirely present in himself.
Strange knowledge came upon him as he reeled and pitched and floated, and suddenly he knew that they had strayed into a temple; an ancient, sacred sanctuary that was older than the hills. The temple’s vaulted walls were made of purple-black hued pillars, darkly iridescent as insect wings, that reared their glittering arms up as distant arches, stretching higher than the trees. They were not forged of metal, these pillars, nor were they grown from wood - or rock; and the sky between their (many-segmented, shining) branches swirled and pulsed in inky blackness that was at the same time rainbow-coloured, devoid of light - and yet also brilliantly back-lit.
Azof was filled with awe. He was faced with a power
Or an ancient entity
A presence – an ancient primordial presence
That was unutterably far beyond his ken and in perfect natural reaction he began to quake with fear. An ageless sense of terror shook him: a formless fear of dark places, of teeth and claws in the cruel night and at once the Orc fell to his knees and cowered, abasing himself on the smooth, black, shining chamber floor.
He was kneeling in a single square of glaring light, utterly exposed and surrounded by pitch darkness. No trace of the other Orcs was with him and yet Azof knew that he –
-was not alone. He could barely see beyond the blinding brightness, but knew with a sense outside his normal senses that seething in and out of focus, just beyond the edge of sight, vague, colossal figures were lurking – ghostly, glossy, multi-legged shapes that lay cramped together in the darkness, waiting, all purposefully waiting -
Quietly, shining in the darkness, he knew that through long ages they’d been waiting. Always had, and would be waiting, for Azof – or for some creature like him; soft in flesh and warm of breath, for there were ever others willing to stand instead -
And the sense of disconnect that had jolted him for a moment from his body suddenly released him, taking with it the vaguely-formed conceptions that had threatened to fill his thoughts to breaking, incising them all cleanly – neatly, and perfectly precisely – out of his head.
**
Azof came to himself standing on the threshold of a rock-walled, smoke-filled chamber breathing incense and strong perfume, with a pounding headache and retaining no memory of what he’d been thinking about less than a minute previously.
What with all the smoke it was difficult for him to make out much of what lay beyond, but at length he was able to focus on the three figures - three robed and human figures - who were approaching out of the gloom.
Azof blinked hard for a moment through the fierce pain in his head. His thoughts came sluggishly – still did not seem to be entirely his own and he panicked as he tried to remember his training. As he belatedly fell back into a fighting stance he saw that Narkul and Rugratz had already drawn their swords on either side of him.
The new people came nearer – nearer, and one of them began to speak. The Orcs realized then that they were women. They were desert tribeswomen, of whom their leader was the tallest of the three.
Slender and stately, she was dressed according to the fashion of her country, wearing many bracelets and bangles on her arms and a colourful, loosely-wrapped costume.
“If you are hungry,” the tall woman said, “you may eat.” Her voice was highly-accented but she spoke to them in the common tongue.
“And if you’re thirsty,” the second woman continued, “we’ll bring wine for you to drink.”
The third one added -“our honoured visitors are welcome.”
The women held their hands up to the Orcs and began beckoning them forwards, weaving an intricate series of trifold circles in the air. As Azof and his comrades drew closer, they closed their eyes and repeated the third woman’s chant –
“You are welcome. Our guests are welcome.”
“We three are priestesses of the citadel,” the tall woman told them, “and you are most welcome here.”
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Azof and the Cult of the Scorpion Goddess