[piosenniel]

Encaitare's post


Kharn was pinned to the snow-dusted ground, still holding onto his sword but unable to use it. He glared up at Grimkul, being careful not to move too much lest the blade cut him.

"Get off me, you stinkin' rat. You'll make the captain angry, and then you'll have more to worry about than whether your useless friend over there can keep up." Grimkul did not move, and Kharn actually feared for his life. He was careful, however, to let his face betray nothing but arrogance. "Didn't you hear me? Or are you deaf as well as daft?"

There was silence as the two fiercely stared at one another, neither moving; the orcs nearby looked on, wondering if they were going to witness the second killing of their own in two days. Another shout was heard, louder than the first, from Glûtkask up ahead. Kharn had no doubt that the captain would not hesitate to kill Grimkul on the spot.

"Grimkul," the orc on the ground said, twisting his head in the direction of the noise. Grimkul turned to look at his friend, and Kharn seized the moment to deliver a punch to his assailant's throat. As Grimkul gasped for breath, Kharn was able to push him off and climb to his feet. Grimkul tried to get up, but Kharn kicked him and he stayed down, catching his breath.

"No need to fret about your friend," Kharn said cruelly. "I think I can help him move along. Now get up." He waited for Grimkul to pull himself up and move in front of him, casting anrgy, resentful glances his way. Kharn wasn't about to let some crazed, murderous soldier behind him -- that was an invitation to get your back cloven or your throat cut. Why was he so protective of the injured one, anyway?

He took a whip that hung at his belt and let it roll out. He cracked it, watching with relish as some of the orcs flinched at the sound and what it forbode. "Here's some motivation for you slugs," he grinned, looking evilly at Grimkul and Ulwakh. "And especially for you two. Now move!"