Amidst the darkness, a man awoke, skull ringing like the church bell every full hour.
Feeling the maddening itch gnawing on his face, the man's hand initiated an instinctive slapping motion to get rid of what could only be annoying flies besieging a honey-covered surface. Yet all Linlin came to realise was the undertaking being doomed from the start, all bound and gagged.
Some long minutes of serious contemplation passed as the true nature of said flies eventually became clear: A stimulant derived from uncomfortable dry blood smeared over every inch of skin. Plus some hook-like, irritating appendages rhythmically rocking against face and torso.
Whether crude appendices to simple garments or one hell of a muscular shoulder of ridiculous proportions he couldn’t tell just yet. Not with a stinky sweat cloth covering his eyes and hanging limp head down akin to bundled hay on a well-built farmer’s back.
'Smelly…' Prey in possession of a nose, was sure to suffer lasting damage. Linlin might even go mad after prolonged, heartless exposure to a literal breathtaking stench. Still, the awful situation had its perks too. If only the orc knew, he'd be livid...
Our hero discovered he needn’t fear any sudden interaction or other troublesome exchanges–––for as long as he continued playing dead. One plus point for this rather unbefitting change of pace.
And he got a free ride, cutting down on energy expenses if nothing else. A volunteer escort was protecting him as he took his time while probably heading straight to the orcs’ encampment.
Made that two… or was it four benefits? Two things, though, were less than desirable. The ride was as uncomfortable as it could get, and the fact he lacked any contingency plans to counter dangerous surprises that might spring in his face stung...
On top of all that, Linlin could neither move a muscle nor deal with his hospitable host head-on even in case the former had not been a constraint. That much had become crystal clear from the little recollection he managed to salvage from their brief encounter.
The last thing he recalled was being subjected to terribly blunt force. 'And...' Then there was the kidnapper's appearance. A scarred, angular face quite similar to that of primitive men surfaced in his messy memories.
Protruding forehead, deep-set, odd-angled eyes, giant zit-covered nose with savage mouth donning two magnificent tusks, sausage lips, shaved scalp sitting on brawns hardly ever seen on professional bodybuilders...
As the brown-green monstrous edition of mankind, tall two and a half metres (7') kept trekking through the forest, Linlin painfully felt each movement juggling with poor bones, mistreating also flesh and muscles.
Helpful too, that happenstance. In some ways. Kinda... But if seen from a certain warped angle only Linlin's mind was capable of. At least, that way he wouldn’t fall asleep to never wake up again. Linlin regulated his breath so as to not raise suspicion and started thinking some more out of necessity.
Besides waiting for his alter ego to wake up and spew lifesaving nonsense like a broken fountainhead, it wasn’t as if he had nothing else to do. So many thoughts still need sorting out. Previous times had helped him cope but with the peak of the iceberg that was the mess in his head.
All in all, the rugged, orcish taxi was considered a godsend. Better than the one before, give or take. As a matter of routine, even in his current situation, Linlin didn’t forget to take note of the minute changes he was able to grasp.
An attitude long years of service among the Bastards had carved in his bones. Whatever he discovered, be it useful or less so at first glance, Pansy had serious use for.
So he took notice: The orc’s breath, his steps’ undulations, the feedback of each impact suffered, the distinct smell of his surroundings that was potent enough to permeate through unobstructed...
As this went on for a while, our incapacitated hero got a rough idea of the local terrain and what to expect once the blindfold was taken care of. Somewhen, Linlin felt a tug at his consciousness, proof of Pansy’s recent awakening and browsing through shared memories.
Eventually, the step’s aftershocks grew in the hundreds as hill became flatland and flatland steep terrain. Yet instructions still eluded Linlin. 'Need I despair once more? Is this a wicked game or something?!' Pansy in his silence made him believe such.
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A rude kick in the butt sent the prisoner rolling across the dirty square. All around Linlin, many-voiced, heated grumblings were in the process of deciding his fate. Then a memorable, deep voice roared instructions, and even more people flocked together.
‘Young, old, man, woman... steps tell a village assembles. For what?’ ‘Skin, simmer, cut to pieces, roast or cure, it’s a work for many… before gotta lose the reins, lucky you. Then we shall see what end awaits us.’ ‘You’re alive after all.’
‘Stupid, was that ever a question?’ As if to validate what cynical Pansy foretold, someone soon came his way, then shackles were unbound and the blindfold ripped off with painful force. The young man didn’t immediately move, though.
While Linlin was still unsure whether it was better to wake up naturally or play dead for a bit longer to get the first impression right, a kettle’s worth of icy dirt water doused him from head to toe. ‘A cat fallen into the gutter. Charming.’
Coughing and shuddering, he got rid of the curse on his tongue that would've sealed his fate and the greasy something stuck to his hair, took a shaky step forward and... fell to his knees.
This time he cursed aloud. How could he forget? What else was to be expected with muscles screaming for blood and oxygen? A catwalk? Surely anything but.
There was no feeling left in his limbs Linlin could've used to secure his balance. This made it so he remained seated on the ground of a dirty village square for the time being.
“Speak man, you who?” The same deep, gruff voice from before rang just beside his ears, albeit spitefully spitting broken words in what Pansy reasonably believed to be the common tongue of man in these primitive lands.
Linlin’s head popped up and Pansy sighed. 'Plan B and C are officially dead. Horseshite!' Openings and whatnot, to hell with it all. A single human agent could never tear through humanoid walls of steel and hope to get away soundly.
The orc in front was smaller than his kidnapper, around 2 metres (7') tall, and decisively better groomed. The green-brown skinned humanoid could've given the impression of a dandy by western Earth's standards if not for his excessive packs of steely muscles untamed by the clothes he wore.
With braided black hair falling to his hips, exposing one side of his scalp and covering the other in its entirety, a short moustache of the same colour, quality jacket, fitting breeches and billowing overcoat, as well as a pair of boots Linlin could have easily used as a backpack, he was beyond impressive.
Coupled with his straight stature, steely green eyes and mighty shoulders, the orc gave the impression of one prone to command. Though slightly hampered by his broken speech, arrogance nonetheless resounded in each word he spoke.
Nothing forced, really; only subtle arrogance belonging to a natural, weathered leader. It made everyone in his vicinity question their worth before hanging their heads low in self-depreciation.
‘Lemme have a go, don’t dare do shit, Jackass,’ Pansy did not wait for superfluous permission and speedily took control, lest Linlin’s understanding of charming diplomacy decides the villagers' next supper.
“I, Theo,” came his nervous reply, as Pansy let his gaze bereft of focus wander around aimlessly. There was a variety of details that sprung to his eyes. The agent's earlier guess had been spot on.
Their situation was only aggrieved by the villagers' torch-like eyes that felt like searing daggers on bare skin. They stared at him with unhidden enmity while holding a tight grip on your everyday utensils-turned-weapons.
‘Stone beater, hammer and gouge, giant tongs and spoons for dragons, wooden stakes only seen in mediaeval witch hunts... impressive.’ ‘Worse than maintained weaponry for sure. Make for grisly wounds.’
‘That’s for their enemies to worry about.’ ‘Do your magic or we are screwed.’ ‘Skewered, you surely mean.’ As his gaze darted from one corner to the other, Pansy painstakingly committed each and every detail to memory.
The Master Strategist couldn't be too obvious with his snooping, so he had to play the part of a nervous hillbilly in dire straits. The more information he got, the better the prospects, and thus, the easier his job would turn out to be.
In theory, though. Since for that to work, the orcs must undoubtedly be open to communication and not tear him apart the moment a wrong word crossed his lips. If they even gave him the chance to explain anything...
“You speak our tongue, Harbinger of Malady?” Noting the suspicion written all over the orc’s face Pansy sighed inaudibly. What he had feared came true after all. Translation was beyond his control, leaving only one way to go at the predicament.
In an attempt to look a proper Charlie, Pansy replied numbly in what he hoped were rugged yet understandable terms. “Language, difficult. Words, few.” ‘Ate that?’ ‘...sure. As I see it, another or your prized scheme is reserved for the scrapper.’ Gloom and suspicion never left the domineering orc’s expression.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
If anything, this reply only added a whole new layer of caution to the mix. While interpreting facial expressions was more like a guessing game for the duo, Linlin's accurate instincts came in handy.
“No cause for alarm, where was he caught again?” To diffuse the powder in the air was a dusty-sounding voice reeking of death and decay, speaking directly to everyone’s mind.
This obviously rhetorical question came out of nowhere, yet it did wonders; the stirred-up mob surrounding Linlin calmed down at remarkable speed–––even the hostile leader eased up a little.
‘What?’ Pansy almost screamed out loud, for their mind too had been affected by the mood it conveyed. ‘Shite, this wizardry impairs us too?!’ ‘Brainwashing?’ ‘Cut it out!’
Our nervous hero looked around in unspeakable terror–––for fear the last of his possessions was soon to be taken too. Even Azariah did not influence what he felt and thought.
His anxious gaze wandered over the wooden shacks sprouting like mushrooms from the ground that surrounded the plaza in a half-circle, the four equally wooden, crude watchtowers painted in pitch-black and standing tall in the near distance, over the temple-like construction that had soon piqued his interest–––yet the speaker was nowhere to be seen.
‘Voice’s near, that's for sure. Must be one of the orcs here.’ ‘Fucking genius. The masses lack one that old! And what makes you believe a conversation to one’s mind follows the same old rules? Mikaantyar and Azariah are one thing, but this is a different story altogether. A much more serious and dangerous story!’
Suddenly, as if the culprit felt amused by their uneasiness, light particles shifted in Linlin’s field of vision, swirling round in a cycle at an ever-increasing pace till a chair was revealed, throne to an especially ancient orc.
A greenish collection of skin and bones with a potbelly smiled benevolently, and if Pansy didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that grin was meant for him. ‘Dangerous…’ ‘Can’t argue on that one.’ Pansy forcefully suppressed the dread rising in his chest, but with less success than desired.
Nervous sweat wasn’t that easy to hold back... The old orc must have sensed something, as he imperceptibly tilted his head, seeking direct eye contact.
Bbbbboooooommmmm!!!!!!!
It was as if a bomb went off in their shared consciousness, threatening to kill the last embers of sanity while also forcing the Master Strategist to hurriedly avert his gaze.
Any more power than that would’ve fractured their connection and killed them both on the spot, leaving behind only an empty, breathing shell.
Given the dire straits they were in, it truly was no wonder Pansy missed the knowing smile reflecting on the orc’s wrinkly lips before he retracted both pressure and attention alike.
‘What now?!’ “Tell that young whippersnapper I’m harmless,” the old orc gestured slowly with both hands at his blanket-covered feet. “Time’s past.” The younger orc nodded quietly.
After a brief pause of contemplation, he took off his beautiful fur coat, walked some steps back and laid it lovingly over the elderly. “No need,” despite his words of denial, the ancient orc could not resist a satisfying growl rising from the depths of his slightly exposed, wrinkled potbelly.
Pansy then listened attentively to the younger orc’s brief explanation, so attentively he later wouldn’t recall a word of their conversation. Now he no longer desired knowledge, only to get the hell out of here as soon as possible, alive, if possible.
But his wish obviously wouldn't be realised this fast. “Why did you come?” The steel within these words brought the think-tanker back to his current situation and made him think carefully about how to proceed. “Gather grass, chase fish, boom head.
Theo here.” ‘That thing’s senses–’ ‘Shaddap! Don’t know if it perceives us also, Stupid! Play dead, hurry!' At some distance, the old orc’s smile grew increasingly cryptic, a pained flash crossing his wise eyes.
Even though Pansy was speaking to the younger devil, the older orc had his full attention. This somehow served to only deepen his confusion because their instincts were continuously screaming incomprehensible gibberish they could not interpret at all:
Extreme sense of danger, a seemingly helpless situation coupled with feelings of residing within a safe haven. 'Who the hell can manage this mess? Pansy, any idea?' '...silence.'
Meanwhile, the younger orc nodded for the umpteenth time, then, as if remembering something extraordinary, his eyes widened and he came over in big strides like one that sought confirmation.
This undoubtedly brought trouble to Pansy, as haphephobic Linlin, once triggered, was not someone he could suppress for long if he fancied control over his body. The conspiracy theorist within him only made matters worse.
As the orc tapped on Linlin's shoulder, something warm entered their fleshy home and... that was it. Nothing else. Nada. Confused, he looked up and saw an entirely new emotion reflecting in the leader’s eyes. Gone was the steely mask.
All that remained was... respect, could it be? ‘Great… what's this? ’ His state of mind must have been too obvious, for the orc answered calmly in a manner that was decisive enough both instinctively understood that further digging would ruin their chances entirely, “Bhewtis-Dhghomōn.”
‘…why’s translation not working? It's supposed to be fool-proof.’ ‘Beats me.’ It must have meant something important because the crowd immediately held their breath and suddenly glanced at Linlin in worship, much to Pansy's disarray. ‘What is this BewDogoSomething?’
Pansy felt a headache incoming. Shortly after, as if to not make him wait for long, the orc made some gestures and the villagers dispersed, going back to wherever they came from, leaving the three of them alone in a jiffy.
The orc, on the other hand, accompanied Linlin for a forced walk while finally loosening his lips. “Situation’s difficult, man comes, man sees, man desires… man destroys.”
Pansy followed right behind, taken aback by the swift change of pace–––where had all that enmity gone to? 'Why's he talking the other tongue? It's much harder for him, no?' 'Beats me.'
Just what did he miss?! A mere couple of seconds passed since then and it made no sense at all! “Go east. Stonemen gone. East safe, west not. Lamias. South is… worse. Home to men.”
The orc waved both arms as one would in absolute denial as if he was trying to deflect angry ghosts greedy for his flesh. “Plague he is. On two feet, kills all that differs. You exception!”
The whole situation became clearer to Pansy as he continued listening to the various explanations. Both suddenly understood. The reason why they had been kidnapped, the rough handling on their way here, the interrogation that followed, a powder keg-like atmosphere...
Summarised in one word: War. That was what they readied themselves for. And in their eyes, Linlin had been but the unlucky bystander dubbed a spy–––or worse.
Not far from the plaza, our hero walked past the draconian sized shrine he wanted to check out from the beginning and casually observed the surrounding young orcs in brown robes meticulously fulfilling their cleaning duty.
‘Pansy…’ ‘Noted. Lemme think ‘bout it. This might work...’ Following the peaceful hill's peak and its paths came the descent. Pansy left behind simple huts, totem-like wooden stakes besmeared with sacrifices’ blood, males and females, old and young preparing together for the inevitable.
Linlin stopped for a moment, furrowed his brows, and looked at a family of four–––three kids and one woman–––stirring a cauldron as they laughed and chatted a bit. The grown-up orc reeked of fear, yet her kind face betrayed none of her inner turmoil. Instead, she radiantly smiled at her offspring.
As he caught up with the dandy, neither of the two understood where their saddened mood came from. It made no sense. Also, it did not matter, given their mission. Yet the impression left some bad aftertaste nonetheless.
Eventually arriving at the edge of the deforested hill, the young leader pointed one last time eastwards, said some more lines, gave a couple of advice and explanations, wished him luck and long life and walked back, his steps heavy and spine inclined from the burden on his shoulders.
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Someplace far enough that gave Linlin sufficient assurance he didn't need to fear any unwanted followers, our hero took cover amidst the undergrowth under a giant spruce, unmoving.
He didn't even dare light a cigar. 'Plan A is 'bout silent infiltration, assassination if need be, and destruction. B starts with infiltration at night and ends with a set-up that makes them do our bidding. C demands that we play the part of a traveller and ask questions to decide on the next course of action.
D is an all-out war, a folly I must add. So... the most difficult and accident-prone remains, which is E. Any alternative?' 'Yes... plan F. Go back at night, infiltrate the home of that family of four, kill the boy similarly in stature, dispose of the corpse, disguise accordingly, steal the smallest kettle in that open kitchen, synthesise explosives in secret, infiltrate the shrine, place them under the target and make for a beeline as the countdown starts.
Looking like an orc kid should help us hide and fend off stray glances. Of course, we cannot come close to the adults or–' 'As if. Too many loose ends. A thousand things can go wrong with such an unnecessarily layered plan. If just one part goes wrong, we're compromised and dead! Are you drugged or something?
It's the worst you've ever proposed.' 'Might have been a bit impractical...' 'That's taking it lightly. In other words, we're stuck with plan E.' 'That one's connected to a hypothesis. But it seems it's the one with the highest non-zero chance of success.' 'There exists success with zero chance?'
'Yes. God's intervention and the like. Things like that. Anyway. By reverse logic, the next countdown for [Gluttony] happens to be set at more or less 56 earthly hours.’ ‘Aha... so we have little time, is what you want to say.’ ‘Even less than you think. So get going.
Quit being stiff, nobody’s gonna follow us if entangled with the gears of war themselves.’ ‘You never know.’ ‘Ridiculous… what are we compared to what’s at stake? Any one grown orc chosen at random can easily do us in! Listen, Stupid, plan E is really the most promising.
War’s a great opportunity, and...’ Linlin listened to Pansy’s explanations with furrowed brows for a second time. There were only a few changes made. The more he heard–––the further into detail Pansy went–––the less Linlin liked the option. ‘You sure there’s no wet grave awaiting us?’
‘What?! Scuse me, buddy. Compared to strolling in the boonies doing nothing as time tickles by, my idea is worth a shot.’ ‘To the head. Our head. What’s your take on success?’ ‘...’
‘Pansy–’ ‘Got an alternative?’ ‘…no’ ‘It's decided then. Gotta go, the road’s far and treacherous. Time’s limited, and rest’s far off! If things go south, there are a couple of less desirable contingency plans in place.
Yet it's hard to gauge what's worse, the contingency plans or the latent danger...’ ‘Sigh. Whatever you say, Pansy, whatever you say.’ Shortly after, Linlin embarked on an arduous journey through the dense brushwood, silently lamenting over future sleepless nights ahead.
Now that he had to ration his consumption of Cores more, he might not get enough energy intake even while smoking non-stop. Then again, cigars were plentiful as of now, yet even they were a finite good. 'Really, think less, smoke more.' '...'
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End of Part III