Luk Goes Fourth

Luk Goes Fourth

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"Orc t'orc, I find what y'tryin' t'do reprehensible, irresponsible an' plain wrong. But Grom-damn if I ain't interested all the same," the first orc said. Clad in dark shadoweave garments, his face seemed like that of a wolf, save for the scraggly crimson beard protruding from beneath the well-worn mask.

"Mhm." The second orc chewed his lip over slowly, his mind elsewhere. Carrying a longstaff with a rune-etched focusing prism atop it, he wore reinforced blood-red armor with a poorly-fitting hood that left most of his face in shadow, save for the thick black beard that hung down his chest.

As the pair of cloth-clad arcanists continued their descent into the rocky depths, the second orc's thoughts returned to the present moment with a jolt, shaking his head. Slowly peering to his companion, the orc's lip curled slightly, as if mulling over exactly which words to use. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke:

"Oof. You know I'm trustin' ya, wolf-head. Word gets out to the Kor'kron and they'll have my head. Yours too, by association," he warned, tugging neurotically at the black-beard. "It be a cryin' shame. Think o'what Hellscream could achieve wit' what I have planned, eh?"

"I be sonorously cognizant o'th' exigencies that apprehension o'yer objectives might per-chance precipitate, Vileclaw," the first orc drawled. Beneath the hood, Vileclaw's eyes narrowed, as he spat out: "Even if ya told 'em, they wouldn't catch a word o'yer shit. Speak orcish, Slitherblade - I don't know about yer brand new wolf-tribe friends, but yer airs and graces ain't worth a damn wit' me."

An arrogant, lopsided smirk formed on Slitherblade's lips. "Cease yer obstreperous obloquy, an' I'll discontinue me garrulous loquaciousness," he said, cackling hoarsely. "Deal," Vileclaw muttered irritably.

The pair arrived at a seeming dead-end of the cavern, staring at the wall of igneous rock attentively. Vileclaw turned to look around furtively, before touching the end of his staff to the wall and mutter an incantation under his breath. A tall but narrow section of the wall began to glow a dull purple, slowly turning somewhat translucent. A self-satisfied expression crossing his face, Vileclaw motioned to Slitherblade furtively, and the orcs squeezed their way through the slender entry-way into a short, dark tunnel.

"What'd y'make this passage fer -- gnomes?" Slitherblade enquired, adjusting his spiked pauldrons as he struggled to move through the tunnel. Vileclaw, the bulkier of the two, seemed equally discomforted by the needle-thin passage, but barked: "Ya know the way it is, wolf-face. The narrower the way, the narrower the chance o'gettin' -chanced- upon. Oof, now quit bitchin' -- we're nearly there."

Finally emerging from the tunnel with a grunt of relief, the two orcs found themselves in a cave shrouded in utmost darkness. Slitherblade squinted his beady eyes, trying to look around to no avail. "Don't strain ya eyes, pup," the second orc snorted, drawing a torch from his satchel and lighting it with a quick cantrip.

At once, the surroundings around the orcs roared into view: crushed supply-boxes that hadn't weathered the slender passage well; an improvised bookshelf on a rocky outcropping, holding several tomes and apocryphal scrolls; and a low-standing but large table covered with a dusty sheet that obscured what was beneath -- something was certainly beneath, as evidenced by the lumps and bumps in the fabric.

Slitherblade eyed the table slowly up and down, folding his arms. His lips parted but said nothing, seemingly at a momentary loss for words. Vileclaw gave a hideous grin, assuring his companion: "Oof ya, it's underneath, wolf-face. An' it may be just early days, but I be very pleased with the results."

"Is it still alive?" Slitherblade asked, after a long pause. "Look closer, genius -- ya can figure it out," Vileclaw barked, moving the torch close to the table. The middle of the sheet seemed to slowly rise and fall with an awkward but regular rhythm, stretching the tattered covering ever-so slightly. Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall.

Clenching his fists tight at the sight, Slitherblade spoke in disbelief. "It's... breathing. It's still breathing. How old is this one?" Vileclaw seemed to grin ear to ear, yellowed fangs visible in the hood's shadow. "Seventy-two hours, ma friend. The longest yet. 'Em usually don't last a full -twelve- before givin' up da ghost," he gloated, peering down at the table with thinly-veiled pride.

Slitherblade was staring impassively at the table before him, utterly taken aback -- there was a momentary squirming beneath the sheet, and suddenly a spasming appendage kicked out from beneath its cover, exposing a gruesome disfigured foot, the skin covered in crude stitches and swollen tumors, with the bone beneath warped and brittle.

Slitherblade's jaw dropped, the color leaving his face instantly as he clapped his eyes upon the horrific sight. "Be that... a..." he gasped, his eyes growing wide. "Oof ya, it be me best one yet. Bone structure improvin' an' da pustules are barely noticeable, don't ya think? Ya should have -seen- my first attempt," he chuckled, wagging a mischievous finger towards his companion.

Vileclaw peered back towards Slitherblade, still silent. After a moment, he spoke again with assurance: "Ya want ta see the whole beauty? I'll just pull the sheet off -- stinks o'rot an' shit, but it's heavy 'nuff ta keep him pinned down. Don't want him goin' walkies, eh?" His cackling seemed to fill the cave, echoing off every wall.

Finally, Slitherblade spoke. "...No, I be fine. No, in fact, I think I be goin' now," he noted tonelessly, his face still pale and his hands clasped anxiously together. Vileclaw shrugged. "If ya say so, wolf-head. Ya were tha' one that wanted to see him so bad -- wasn't happy enough wid just tha' letters. Now you've gone all elf on me," he grinned.

"Let's just... go. Grom-damn, I didn't expect it'd be like -this-," Slitherblade muttered, turning his back on the table, the sheet still rising, falling and twitching irregularly. The pair of orcs squeezed their way back into the narrow tunnel, not speaking to one another. Before long, the torch-light in the cave slowly began to fade, until utter darkness once again filled the space.

Hours passed. A low muffled noise began to emerge from the table's occupant, the sound smothered by the thick dirt-ridden sheet. It wasn't speech. It couldn't speak. Was it laughing? Screaming? Sobbing?

Choking.