His attention turned to Mizat, or as Bawzel called him. Vrikdarok took a step to him, the axe's tip dragging behind him on the ground. "You smell foul, creature."
The ghoul’s face seemed to crack beneath the orc’s words, lips twitching upon themselves into what resembled a smile. Mizat’s hands rested behind his back, moving as he stared at the orc before him, the action resembling that of wringing the neck of a chicken. “Oh?” The sound came as his fingers cracked invisible bone.
The sound was dry leaving Mizat’s throat, as if it was covered in a fine layer of dust. Swallowing spit before continuing “You shouldn’t throw stones in a glass house, pig” The last word was barely a breath that left his chest, leaving Vrikdarok as he strode into the darkness his master had just occupied.
However as the child peered into the hall, the Necromancer was gone – not a trace of Bawzel was left, not even that heavy presence that seemed to accompany him. Off, somewhere, deep in the belly of this palace of stone and blood Mizat could imagine the Necromancer scheming. That curled up smile, so plastered on his lips softened at the thought.
“Come” The small creature barked, waving with its left for Vrikdarok to follow him deeper into the heart of the Underkeep. He weaved along the wide hallway, seemingly drunk and about to topple over as it peered down each arch it passed. And then the child seemed to have disappeared, the sound of its feet hitting the stone floor the only clue as to which archway it had descended into.
"Careful," the orc hissed. "I eat pigs for breakfast." With that, the shrill whistle that echoed through the halls and outside of the keep found the wolf's ears and it darted in, coming to stand beside Vrikdarok. Its shoulders stood almost as tall as the orc lord did, its shaggy coat thick and hard to penetrate. The ghoul motioned for him to follow and he did. He was damned if he was going to leave his quick escape where it was of no use to him.
The orc hated games. This pint sized creature was toying and playing with him. With his axe still in one hand, the grip tightened. How angry would Bawzel be if he took only a foot or a hand. Maybe the head, which was obviously the most useless part of this shit sized creature. The wolf trotted beside Vrikdarok, his absent hand patting the side of the beast. It was whimpering.
"Calm yourself Ragnarok." The wolf was as uneasy as Vrikdarok. In a snap of his head, the helmet rose from its hinged position on the back of his armor and fell, clasped, over his face. His hand left Ragnarok's side and moved to the back of his cape. He lifted the pelt's head over the helmet, letting it rest, the horns of the helmet finding their slots and sticking out into the air. From beneath the fur covered iron, the glowing pools of crimson scoured the area.
He followed the ghoul's footsteps.
Celabrin rode down into the depths of the mountain which was much to cold and dark for her liking, she saw no reason why those of evil intent could not live under the sun. Maybe it decreased their evilness she mused as she rode over the bridge and round the keep to a side door. She dismounted and handed the reins to an orc on guard, not that guards were really needed. The ugly beast smiled at her and she resisted the urge to disembowel the lecherous beast.
She continued through the keep her bright red dress seemed out of place in a dark dwelling such as this. Her heels clicked on the cold damp floor as she strode towards her rooms. Later she would have to report to her master, but right now she knew he was not here. Finally she reached her suite and walked into a brightly lit room, unlike any other in the keep. It opened to a sitting room lavishly decorated in red and black hues. through another door lay her bed chamber, an immense four poster bed on display through the open door. The last was a plain door looking like that of a cupboard but in reality lead to her workshop.
She went into her bedroom and bathed quickly, washing off the stinking orc smell, then changed into attire more suitable to receive the kind of guests she was expecting, leather chest armour and tight leather leggings with soft orc-skin boots. She returned to the sitting room and went to the hearth where a fire was already roaring, She set a kettle to boil and prepared tea. By the time those she was expecting would arrive she was sitting with a cup of the steaming brew in the chair closest the fire.
That high whistle caught the ghoul’s attention, momentarily slowing down as its head turned to view the whimpering wolf that could to Mizat’s shock and horror easily maul him, perhaps even eat him whole. His gait returned quickly, eyes forward even as he felt some muscles in his face twitch. Some small voice screeched to tell the pig his pet wasn’t allowed but… of course such a creature thought similarly of a ghoul, of course it couldn’t understand the difference. If pigs weren’t good at the whole murdering and pillaging thing it was sure they’d be good for nothing, it earned some begrudging respect though that they could do something.
His fingers curled around cold cast iron, stopping as it listened to the orc and his companion near. One hand quickly left, as if it had forgotten something, knocking hard against the door and listening for any protests. One couldn’t be too careful dealing with a whore. The hand still clutching iron pushed in, letting the shining light within seep into the hall and momentarily blind both the creatures within it. Celabrin seemed to like light a bit too much, Mizat couldn’t recall a visit that didn’t start with his pupils burning. He left the door ajar, walking in at a slow pace as his curled up fists rubbed at his eyes. “I’d take a cup, with honey.” His voice was strained as it sucked in that sweet perfume that filled the room, stinging with each new breath drawn in. The ghoul continued to blink as it made its way toward and into the chair the left of the elven woman, pushing itself up and into the back of it, letting its body sink into the plush. Its toes scraped the floor, feet not quite able to be planted firmly so instead he pushed his knees to his chest, feet now gripping the edge.
The clank of metal rung through the hall beside the scrape of claws and the thump of the giant wolf's steps. Light flooded the corridor in front of the two and the shadowed figure of the ghoul disappeared within. The grotesque face was illuminated by the light for a moment, perfectly exhibiting each stitch of the patchwork, before Mizat dove into the room. They were here to meet Celabrin, a name unfamiliar to the orc. Vrikdarok came to the threshold, his eyes taking a moment to adjust. He blinked several times before entering, axe still in hand. Looking over his shoulder, he spoke to Ragnarok, "Wait."
The wolf fell to it's hind haunches and extended its paws out before it, laying with its body halfway through the door, tail wrapped around to the left of his hind legs. Inside there was an Elven woman drinking tea, wearing leather, and looking quite cozy. The ghoul sat with its legs dangling, looking like the impotent child it was. "I would burn that chair," the orc spoke to Celabrin, his face concealed behind the mask of wolf's fur and iron.
If Vrikdarok found things beautiful, or delved in attraction, the elf would be rather beautiful. But, as it were, neither applied to the lord. She was a bag of bones and guts covered in fair flesh, easily flayed and made into a chew toy for Ragnarok. The orc did not sit, not out of respect for the furniture but because he wasn't certain yet if he was going to have to kill one of them. This was their territory. And, while the two were aligned, until Bawzel made true to his claims, they were still enemies.
Celabrin smiled warmly as the ghoul entered followed by the orc and his wolf who he order to stay by the door. She took in the orcs wolf mask, and red glowing eyes. Quite scary if she was one to scare easily, she could imagine townsfolk fleeing from the very sight of him. Mizat she was more famlilar with, despite his grotesque look he was a child at heart, if he had such a thing. She leaned forward to the kettle over the fire lifting it out her gloves protecting her skin moving over to the coffee table and poured the tea into a cup for Mizat. She then reached over for the honey pot and put a great dolp of it into the cup stirring it with the spoon.
She then handed the cup to Mizat and looked up at the still standing orc, wondering if he was waiting for permission. She smiled sweetly again as she worked her subtle magic on him. "Please take a seat, we're all enemies here," she said gesturing to the seat on the opposite side of the warm fire. "Besides if any of us wanted to kill each other then we would all be dead by now."
She nodded to the wolf at the door, he's welcome too, right by the nice warm fire, no need for a beloved pet to sit outside in the cold." Celabrin sat smiling waiting for the orc to concede to her will, making it clear she wouldn't discuss anything else until he did.
One leg dropped to hang from the chair as the child leaned forward “Thank you” It spoke softly, wrapping both of his hands around the cup before leaning back, crossing its legs as it slumped into the velvet embrace of the chair. His fingers fumbled with the cup, seeming to ignore the other twos introductions. Finally, his left hand held the cup alone and his right began to pull at the fabric wrapped around the creature’s throat, each pull out and downwards showed more of the striking scars stitched upon its skin. “Well” It spoke after a large gulp, letting the honey coat its voice “You two would be dead, not I” Its large grey eyes stared at the two adults before looking back into the amber liquid, seeming to be chuckling to itself.
The orc looked at the chairs, sizing each one up and looking for one that would hold the weight of his armor. While manners were thin among the Orcish, Vrikdarok knew how to use them, especially when threatening a person, "I do want to kill you, miss. I will always want to kill you. But, as we find ourselves and it," Vrikdarok looked to the ghoul with disdain and disgust, "blood must not be shed."
As he walked to a large arm chair with thick legs, he whistled and pointed with his free hand toward the fireplace. Ragnarok rose and stretched before making his way to the soothing flames of the fireplace. He took care to be far enough away that the airborne embers would not char his fur. He turned once and then twice, before collapsing to the floor with a slight thud. He laid his maw over his front legs, his amber orbs washing over the three.
Sitting, Vrikdarok moved his hand to his head, pulling back the hood of the cape and the armored helmet beneath, letting both fall to his back. His face was marked with the scars that Ragnarok delivered, stress lines marking his brow and cheeks. Stubbledd marred his chin and cheeks. The orc leaned forward, the point of his massive axe resting on the floor, his hands on end of the haft. "Enough of your tea and cakes. Why am I here?" Vrikdarok spoke gruffly. Something so sweet as honey smelled horrible to the orc. Perhaps it was because he had never had any. More likely, he was just a sour being with no sense of taste.
“We don’t have cakes” The liquid sloshed as his hand swirled the cup around, seemingly displeased at his own comment. The child sipped slowly,staring at the orc’s features. Scars. Vrikdarok really had a lot of them, probably more hidden under that armor – to Mizat, it could only conclude that scars were a badge that one was alive and had overcome many troubles, that the bearer had received them and won. Though, it had no thoughts on the lines that covered the orc’s face for it itself had none and was likely to never have such a thing. Now, it occurred to him as those grey orbs drifted to the elf to wonder whether she held such a badge.
“It’s a funny concept…” it muttered to itself, sloshing the words down with the last drops of its drink.
Celabrin listened to Vrikdarok as he took a seat and the wolf got comfy, she all but ignored Mizat's side comments although next time there would be cakes, she found it quite funny that Mizat was drinking tea from a known poisoner. She noted that Vridarok did not partake, he was a smart one for an orc. She smiled once again before turning serious and saying. "You're right orc," She moved the tea set off the table and walked into her 'cupboard"'returning a moment later with a map."You and your men are yet untested, That shall change now. Listen well Mizat, Master has ordered you to come too."
She explained to them the mission she had devised over the course of an hour, when she finally finished she asked the pair "Understood?" To Mizat she said, "You can do that right? I'm sure it will be no problem for a master wizard like yourself," grooming his big ego so he would not be mad. Addressing Vridarok she said " Of course we'll need your best men for this, remember we are leaving at dusk tomorrow."
Without giving them time to question her she walked into her cupboard and began preparing the various things she would need for the trip.
It was a long pause after the sound of the door shutting so gently. Mizat sat, staring at the place the woman had just occupied. He sighed, obviously grumpy. This would not be easy. The ghoul was a competent magic user, truly what was asked of him wasn’t too difficult but… at this scale was another story. He could do it, in theory…
His confidence was wavering despite the certainty in his voice “Of course.” He slid from the chair, meeting Vrikdarok’s eyes as he did so “I will see you tomorrow, sleep well.” It turned, making a beeline to that odd cupboard the woman always retreated to.
The ghoul was such a serious fellow when it came to refreshments. If there were cake, it would have been laid out. The orc snorted at his comment and listened to Celabrin as she spoke. When she stood and returned with the maps, he lifted his ass and scooted the chair forward with his free hand. Returning to listening, Vrikdarok nodded along to the plans that were laid out before him, taking into note the strategic points laid out by the map's cartographer. His fingers clasped together over the end of the axe, thinking to himself.
When addressed, he looked to Celabrin. "Very well." As she stood, so did he. There wasn't a doubt in his mind as he turned, lifting the axe and letting it fall onto his shoulder, that he wouldn't be bringing his best men. He would never risk that loss for Bawzel. Not until the spoils of war were in his grasp. Vrikdarok wouldn't even risk his second best men for the necromancer's plan. His third, yes. He looked back to Mizat, snorting again. "Sleep is a cousin of death and I have no time for dying. Even for a night." The orc whistled and Ragnarok, who dozed quietly in the warmth of the fire, awoke and jumped to his paws. They left the room before Vrikdarok clambered up onto the wolf's back and dove into the complex halls of the Underkeep.
When he returned to Vish'Kar, the orc lord called to counsel his commanders. He told them what they needed to know. A party would be coming with him. Each of the fifteen were to choose their three best warriors and send them to the throne room before the dawn's coming. From there, they would return and regroup with Celabrin and Mizat.
Instead of sleeping, Vrikdarok prayed to Dúv until the first hints of red began to clasp the cusp of the horizon.