Darkness: Chapter 11 - Ambition

He growled deeply. Inconvenient was not the word, irritating barely covered it, infuriating just about did the deed. The Orc was long over-due, late by far and picked the worst time for wanting an audience.

He picks now to show up? Bah!

Mala’kal lumbered down the tunnel he himself had carved into this mountain, the clank of his mail chiming with each foot-step. The spirits, agonized by the runes he had burned into the bones of this peak and by the presence of his chained totem on his hip, fled before him as he turned down every corridor. Their terrified whispers pleased him, proving his power and supremacy over them.

Fear and obedience, as it should be.

As he turned right and descended down a final corridor he considered the warm furs he had to leave behind, complete with Teshka left bathed in their combined sweat upon them. She had fallen for the boon he had gifted her like a bitch in heat, providing much needed satisfaction and a loyal lieutenant, and spirits subdued... soon another son too.

She will yield great use.

Reaching the end of the flame torch lit corridor he came to a large wooden door, and slammed it open with his powerful, muscled hands. Within was a dark gloom that sat nervously about the place, the spirits kept their distance long before he arrived, giving clue to the presence of another.

Where are you...?

With a waft of his hands, like a slap to an unwitting child, the brazier at the side of the room ignited through the intimidation of the fire spirit. With the illumination came clarity, the large chamber had been filled with crates, a dozen of them while a figure clad and hooded in red robes stood by the brazier.

Been waiting for me eh?

The figure, its face shrouded in shadows under that crimson hood, gestured to the crates with a gloved hand.

“Oh? A gift for me? How ‘kind’ of you to keep up your end of the bargain...” Rebuked the dark shaman, with a pinch of sincerity and glee. He had been waiting a long time to get his hands on this.

At last, the tools I need to make them all pay!

He strode over to the nearest crate, half as tall as an Orc and twice as wide, grabbing the loose wooden lid with his massive bare hands. With a forceful push and pull, it was soon removed. What lay within made him hunger, not for sustenance, but for its use.

”you have done well by us indeed.” Mala’kal mused while the robed figure remained eerie silent. He placed a hand into the crate and raised part of its contents, turning it in his hand, examining it closely.

Dynamite. We will make their bastions crumble, and the traitors cower in fear!

He dropped the wrapped group of explosive sticks back into the box without a second thought, fixing his gaze on the robed Orc who stalked around the edge of the dark room inspecting the boxes.

He will be pleased to know our end of the bargain is fulfilled. Such a small deed, in exchange for so much!

”I have kept my word, the Blademaster is dealt with.” Mala’kal smiled as he spoke, the figure tilted its hooded head then nodded, satisfied.

”He will suffer in our little prison before he gets torn apart or rips himself apart in madness!” He boasted, it felt good. A Triumph over the traitor who betrayed Hellscream.

Slam!

The strange Orc slammed a fist on the edge of a crate, his dissatisfaction clear at the prospect of the Blademaster still being alive, sharp and to the point.

Blah, fel dammed nit-picker wanted him dead out-right, too good for that ‘Orc’.

”He will die down there. Do not worry. None escape from that place, it is impossible. He will suffer, horribly, then die in despair...” He cracked a wicked smile, at the triumph.

The robed Orc tapped a finger on the crate, then raised the hand and lowered his hood. It always struck Mala’kal how frightening those eyes were, how they seemed lifeless yet full of narrowed, beaded malice. The blank menacing expression, turning to that dumbfounded grin...

”Oof, as lung as snoopy Orc taken cure of, Luk nut care an’ will moof un Rud bladez. Deal iz deal.”