"I say we grind n' boil them! Nothin like a big soup to go around." One voice exclaimed, a rumble of laughter following after his words.
"Aye, but only one of em is soft. The other will be too stringy." Another said, distaste in his tone.
Another laugh erupted from the first voice. "Too stringy? You don't have to eat it if you don't like it. You can eat the soft one and the rest can have the other!" He exclaimed.
A woman's voice, this time, cut through their conversation. "Where'd we get these damned cattle anyways? Nothin' of the sorts be native in this here forest."
Arcius scoffed a bit. For a moment, he had wondered if they stumbled upon a tribe so desperate that they'd eat man. Torheng had been silent since they arrived at the Orc Village. Carved into the side of the mountain, the village consisted of a series of caves with a few outside buildings. A large wooden wall cascaded around the village, the ends of each log as sharp and pointed as a metal blade. The pair had been taken inside the mountain and thrown into one of many prison cells. The only thing separating them from orcish traitors and captured pillagers were thin iron bars. Their things had been confiscated, but not yet gone through. If they were to live, they could only wonder what might be stolen from them.
"Arcius," Torheng finally spoke up, his voice strained. "Tell me about these orcs."
The adventurer thought for a moment. Torheng didn't seem to know a thing about the world around him. These orcs would have been on the mountain longer than he ever was. It was likely that the farthest he'd ever gone was Grauknok's hall, and only following the road which led there. Though, guessing that the wizard wasn't at all an adventurer like himself was hardly a difficult chore.
"They be territorial n' cruel. Stronger than anythin' I've ever seen." Arcius explained. "Outsiders be unwelcome 'n their territory. If they go 'n anyways, they be fair game to 'hunt'. Violent as they be, they honest too. We might be off free if they be understandin'." He reassured. They could hardly see, even with lamplight. The smoke had consumed the mountain. The orcish territory is typically identified by the green-wood trees and warnings carved into them.
"And if they aren't understanding?" The wizard asked flatly.
"They be honest folk. We have excuses, 'n if they don't work, a lie, or story, might. Orcs be awful superstitious."
Loud footsteps echoed throughout the cave tunnels as one of the orcs approached their cell. Removing a ring of keys from his belt, he unlocked the cell door and swung it open wide for the two to exit. "Start forward. If you try to escape, you'll lose your heads." He threatened, slamming the door shut once the pair had shuffled out.
They were led to a room filled with orcs. In the center, back towards the wall on an elevated floor was a throne. Arcius and Torheng were pushed to stand in front of the staircase that led up to the throne. In it was seated a large orcish woman - likely the clan leader. She looked as dangerous as she was, clothed in heavy armor, dented and stained from battles of the past. A broad sword rested at her side, unsheathed, her hand naturally caressing its hilt as though it was simply an extension of herself.
"I've been told that you've ever so carelessly wandered into my territory. What excuses do you have?" She said plainly. The orcish leader made it out as though people wandered into her territory blindly every day.
Arcius cleared his throat and stepped forward. Torheng nearly grabbed the male's arm to stop him, though backed down. He knew he didn't know what to say, but Arcius had gotten them into this mess. Why should he trust him to get them out of it.
"Me name is Arcius! Come from Levarth'dol, to this here mountain. Me friend 'ere be my guide to Grauknok's hall, but me took 'em a bit off course." The adventurer admitted. "It be dark n' our sight been clouded! Me friend here don't know much about ye'r kind, n if 'e did see the tree's 'e wouldn't o' known." Arcius explained to the crowd of orcs and their leader.
The woman's expression didn't at all change as Arcius told his story. Despite this, she appeared annoyed. "You're tall. You're a man, and yet you speak like a dwarf from the mountains." She observed.
The adventurer nodded, appearing pleased that his heritage had been recognized. "Been raised about them! It'd be worryin' if I didn't talk like 'em."
Her pushed out lips curved up in the slightest smile. "Raised amongst them? Tell me, of what age are you?" she asked him, her fingers rapping against the hilt of her blade.
"Thirty-six years of age, I be."
"Then you must know of the wondrous relationship us orcs have with the orcs, yes?" She asked him, sounding smug.
Arcius fell silent, now. He knew, but he had forgotten. He wasn't a dwarf himself, so he never figured such history to be important. The mountain dwarves weren't like those who dwelled in Grauknok's hall. Rather, they submitted to more conniving deities. Arcius himself had no such beliefs, and through his own bias, didn't view the dwarves as creatures of darker forces.
Both being dwellers of the mountains and territorial, dwarves and orcs were at constant battle with one another. However, a war was soon to erupt between the races. Orcish tribes were forced to flee the mountains in which they lived. They were driven to new lands, lands that were often barren and overused. This war wasn't at all ancient history, as it happened nearly twenty-five years prior. If Arcius had been a little older, and held a honorable reputation amongst the dwarves, he would have fought in the war.
"Enough has been said. Take them to the lower chambers. I do hope you're not afraid of blood-walkers, my dear dwarf-kin. Oh but do not worry, this will be a good death, for you shall die with a blade in your hands! If you're so lucky as to survive, you may walk free." She practically sang out, seeming pleased with her decision.
Two orcs rose from the crowd and approached the pair, taking their arms and securing them behind their backs. Before they could drag them off, Torheng managed to wiggle his arms out of the orc's grasp and quickly darted half way up the stairs.
There was little he could do at this point. He couldn't blame Arcius for the orc leader's choice and still heavily relied on him. A wizard was more than someone who possessed magical prowess, but oftentimes they were seen as a messenger between man and deity. Oftentimes in supposed history, they were.
"But without us, will you be spared?" Torheng cried out, hoping to inspire a sense of restiveness between the woman and her subjects.
Before a guard could apprehend the frail wizard, her hand rose to halt them.
"Smoke consumes the mountains and the sun's warmth can no longer reach us! Being without storm for days, none can claim this to be a natural occurrence! You wish to kill a messenger of the gods.When the flames engulf the mountain, who's to say they won't turn their backs to you!" He vehemently preached.
Arcius was quick to notice that the wizard was not only buying them time, but potentially saving them. Regardless, he needed to figure out their next step if the plan did not succeed. Unfortunately, he found there wasn't much he could do. Even if they spare Torheng for his new, self-proclaimed title, there was a high probability that Arcius would be the long awaited meal for a ravenous group of blood-walkers.
As Torheng opened his mouth to speak, the ground began to shake. The booming echo of explosives could be heard outside the cave. The leader jumped to her feet almost immediately. The rugged broad-sword known as 'Timor' was swiftly lifted with ease and swung over her shoulders.
"On your feet!" Her strident voice commanded.
The whole mountainside seemed to shake as numerous explosives collided with the rocks and pulled the roots of trees. A sudden wave of dust consumed the room as the entrance of the cave collapsed into rubble. All fell silent as they waited to view the intruders. Blackened smog began to pour in through the entrance as though it were water. A dwarvish man stood atop the rubble of the collapsed doorway, a small army of skeletal monsters behind him. Their eyes flared red and their ancient blades were drawn. The dwarf's lips curled into a roguish smirk, and his voice bellowed out a message he waited ever so long to deliver!
"Der be 'n announcement for ye all! Let it be known in ye'r final hour dat Lord Ifer be returned! Defend 'im 'n join 'is army, or bathe in ye'r blood like da priest's of Sharan'en!"