Uzul paws at his eyes, where Noche'Wa gouged at them. Blinking furiously, the fighter is unable to see. Roaring with rage, he charges ahead blinding, reaching out for Noche'Wa, clawed hands grasping for his prey.
But he misses, hitting nothing but air.
The crowd roars approval as Noche'Wa pivots away from the reaching arms. His triumphant fist rises above the fight, to screams of approval (and a few of disappointment).
Noche'Wa elbows the raging orc in the face, hitting him in the mouth. Foam and blood go flying from the hard blow, splashing onto the steel cage around them. Noche'Wa twirls his spear to the crowd.
The crowd roars in raucous approval, slamming tankards on the benches and stamping feet.
With a quick motion, the massive orc shakes his head. More blood and foam spray the little arena, but it clears Uzul's quick, dark eyes. They fix on the triumphant human and he growls like a bull.
He slams his mighty hands on the stone, slapping them several times. Noche'Wa can hear the ripping of the orc's flesh as he leaves bloody handprints ont he floor. The orc works himself into a rage, a rising torrent of anger.
The crowd is not as impressed however, with many shouting, 'Catch him already!" in frustration at their local champion. Ignoring them, Uzul charges like a bull, head down, hands outstretched, contemptuous of Noche'Wa's spear.
Noche'Wa spear slashes open the charging orc's shoulder, and a river of nearly black blood spills out, sheeting over the clan tattoos like a steaming dark river. It mingles with the old stains covering the pitted stone floor.
Apparently not feeling that attack, Uzul rushes through the defense. The black eyes dart around, trying to find the real Noche'Wa among the phantoms. With an old fighte'rs cunning, he lunges at the real human within, bringing his massive jaws to bear once again.
This time they find their mark, ripping into Noche'Wa's shoulder in an explosion of pain. The jagged ivories dig through his flesh, tearing muscle, tendons and skin. Red blood gushes and the raging orc seems tolap it up, as if it were mother's milk.
Uzul roars in triumph at finally having hit his elusive foe. The orc raises his head to the sky and lets loose a blood-curdling howl that shakes dust from the ancient roof.
The crowd cheers, overjoyed at the fight they are getting. Usually the fights are brutal affairs lasting seconds, but this one seems to be different. Had Uzul finally met someone who could contain him? No matter the case, it seemed to be pushing the cage fighter to new heights and the crowd loves it.
The gritty, gravelly dirt sticks in the massive orc's eyes, blinding the pit fighter. As he roars in rage, Noche'Wa steals off to the side, quiet as a mouse.
Noche'Wa nearly puts his back to the cage, watching Uzul thrash in rage, pawing at his eyes. The crowd lets out a combination of boos at Noche'Wa hiding and some cheers at his blinding the foe.
Then, over the crowd, Uzul speaks for the first time since he entered his rage.
'Where is he?" He roars in Orc, a wild feral sound in his voice. 'Where is the slave hiding?" Uzul wildly points a pale hand around him, circling.
The crowd, roaring in delight screams in reply, giving advice. No orc wants to reward a hiding fighter, especially a human.
Guided by the crowd, Uzul rushes at where he thinks Noche'Wa is.
In relfex Noche'Wa whips up his spear, trying to trip the oncoming rush.
The orc is too fast however, and overwhelms his defense. At a rough guess he bites toward the human fighter, still relying on the crowd.
Again though, Noche'wa is slippery as a snake and avoids the biting teeth of the larger orc.
Noche'Wa leans in, fists raised. He doesn't just blindly assail the slab-sided orc, whose shoulders are like boulders. Instead, the canny Shoanti times his strike to hit the kidneys of the pit fighter, slamming his fist deep into the flesh. Noche'Wa feels muscle and tendons move under his punch and is certain he has done damage.
Noche'Wa nimbly dodges back, nearly running into the cage again. Blood drips down his back, making him feel weak. But for the first time he can see Uzul is hurt. Not fatally yet and the roaring orc looks as strong as ever, but his eyes seem a little glazed, his movements a little slower, the breaths a bit more labored. Noche'Wa was making progress against the orcish juggernaut.
Ignoring the growing pain and with the taste of blood in his mouth, Uzul charges again, daring the Shoanti to stop him.
Once, in the fighting pits of Varisia, Noche'Wa had seen an animal fight with a creature new to him, a massive gray beast with a single horn growing out of an armored head. The handlers had called the imposing monster a 'rhino' and Noche'wa had watched it thrown grown men 30 yards, out of the ring.
The oncoming Orc reminded him of that charging beast, blind with red hot rage. While such unthinking aggression was dangerous, it was clear Uzul relied on it to win his many fights.
But again, it proves his weakness. The human fighter, while keeping his head, is able to dodge the blind fury of his foe, nearly flattening hismelf against the rough steel cage to do so.
The crowd howls in frustration. Already the fight has been going on longer then they expected and while many admire the fight, some want quick blood and violent death.
Noche'Wa iron hard elbow hits Uzul on the back of the head like a battering ram and Noche'Wa can hear skull creak under the blow. Spit and blood fly forward, spraying the onlookers to their eager delight. Uzul weaves a bit under the blow, but Noche'Wa feels there are some untapped reserves left. The pit fighter was used to getting beat to within a inch of his life and his scarred hide showed the attacks of many others before him.
Punch drunk and eyes rolling, uzul lets that final reserve go in one final attack. The muscles bunch for one last effort and the jaws open in a roar one last time. The crowd lets out new screams, seeing what they think is the final attack.
One meaty fist hits Noche'Wa in the side of the head, and he can feel his cheek being ripped apart, and his jaw dislocating. As the pain explodes, the world starts to go dark and spin. As he falls, his last vision is Uzul, leaning heavily on the iron bars of the cage, wheezing and coughing up a mixture of teeth and blood. Then the hard stone floor rises up and swallows him.
Out of the blackness, comes pain. It was a feeling Noche'wa knew too well from his days in the fighting pits. That deep pulsing feeling of 'things were wrong'. Bones broken, organs ripped. Despite this, Noche'Wa slowly comes to himself.
He is lying on something soft and forgiving. It is quiet, and cool. So he isn't in the crowded tavern anymore. Then the stench hits him, the smell of rotting food and tossed waste. It makes even his battered and broken mouth gag.
Opening on blackened eye, he squints around him. It is dark, but he appears to be lying in a back alley somewhere, piled on a rubbish heap. Glancing down he sees his own blood oozing onto the heaped garbage and manure. He looked bad, worse then he feared.
Then he sees another figure squatting near him. Whoever it is, is dressed in thick robes, obscuring the face and the body.
At his slight movement, the figure speaks, "Nulgreth is an unforgiving god. How is the pain?" he asks conversationally. In his hand he holds a wand that Noche'Wa hopes is for healing magic.
There is a pause then, in the darkness, 'I am not Korz. Call me...your possible salvation."
There is a musing tone in the voice, 'You fought well, human. I was in the stands in the tavern. You lost, but Uzul is a formidable fighter. It was only because you nearly killed him that I was able to get you out alive in the confusion."
The figure taps the wand against his robe, as if deciding something, "You are close to death. Even if I just left you here, the scavengers would devour you."
A pause, as if the figure enjoys the image but then adds, "But you could be valuable. Why are you in the city? Don't give me the lies you poured into the ears of Grask Uldeth. I was there, as well, in the throne room. What really brings a Shoanti warrior to Urgir in the company of Korz Clean-Hands?"
The figure snorts rudely, "Peace. You mean idle gluttony and hiding behind the swords of others? Becoming like fat sheep? I hope, for both our races sake, your task fails."
The figure pauses again, and then glances upward, as if looking at the distant stars above as well. Then, slowly, "I can save your life, you know. Right here, I hold it in my hands. Do you wish to have it?"
The shadow moves as the wand is preferred, "If so, you must do a thing for me. I want you to visit a temple of Sezelrian. That is all I ask in exchange to keep you from the Abyss. Not a bad price, even a human could see that."
A watchful pause. The alley is dead silent, with no breath of air or breeze, but Noche'Wa feels a strange, electric feeling int he air, like the pent up energy before a thunderstorm. Overhead, the air is clear however.
The figure laughs at Noche'Wa's words, obviously amused at some secret joke. 'Then live, you shall. For now, at least. Who knows what Fate has in store for you?"
Looking up, Noche'Wa tries to get a good look at his 'savior'. The cowled robe is held close, throwing the face into deep shadow.
But the Shaonti is used to being in dark places, and manages to see quite clearly.
What he glimpses, in a nightmare. It is an orc face, the heavy flat face, jutting jaws, strong eyebrows and glowering dark eyes but one horribly wounded.
Fully half of the face is melted slag, ruined beyond all repair, with skin, muscles and tendons burned and blurred together. Bare white bone is revealed in places, pitted and dry. The left eye is merely a crusted pit of dried blood and pus, long empty. The jaw, though in place, is melted away, revealing the bone and the sockets of yellowing teeth.
This is a face that has known some pain beyond anything Noche'Wa can imagine, even if his current, dying state.
The orc loosk startled as Noche'Wa leans in, then smiles a horrific grin, that shows a blackened tongue and charred throat.
"I have been blessed, indeed, human. May you one day be so lucky."
Then he taps Noche'Wa's chest with the wand. Instantly a pulse of healing magic fills the Shoanti warrior, binding his cracked ribs, healing his tattered flesh, re-filling him with blood. Once, twice, three times the wand is tapped, letting the Shaonti recover fully. Not only that, he feels invigorated beyond normal,a s if he could jump a mountain.
Then, just as that heady feeling subsides, there is movement at the end of the alley. The orc glances back, grunts, then mutters, 'We may yet meet again, human." A blackened, burned claw of a hand rests on his bare shoulder for a moment, cold and dead to the touch. Then the figure is gone, moving away from the sound at the end of the alley, vanishing out of sight.
Noche'Wa barely has an instant alone when he sees a ratfolk coming up the alley, obviously the one who made the noise.
The small creature is wearing a dark robe, trimmed with deep green, obviously a sign of rank or station. He picks his way carefully among the piled garbage and refuse. Dark liquid eyes shine in the dim light as the ratfolk says, "You would do well to be wary of such allies, human. The priests of Rull are a strange group, and their plans do not always proceed as others might expect."
The ratfolk shrinks back slightly, keeping out of reach. From this somewhat safer vantage he says, "I come bearing greetings and a message from Izec Khagmet, a powerful orc in this city. She has sent me to find you. Do you refuse to hear her message?"
The ratfolk seems unperturbed by Noche'Wa shifting mood. The brawler has an idea that working with orcs tends to get one used to volatility.
The little figure looks around as if for a chair, sees nothing but garbage and sighs slightly. Turning back, it says, "My master would prefer to remain secret for now, but let us say they were impressed by your display in court. In addition your choice to fight the current pit champion at Bolkas Carcass shows your true character."
A pause then, "My master needs a favor, one that is suited to your outsider status. Your discretion is required however. If you accept it, you must keep it solely to yourself. My master's vengeance if you betray that trust...will not be pretty. So the terms are simple. You hear this task, preform it quietly and quickly, and receive a new and powerful ally. Do you agree?"
The ratfolk shrugged, unconcerned. 'Very well. Enjoy your time among the onions." The ratfolk quickly vanishes down the side alley, doing his best to avoid stepping in the noxious piles of sludge.
Noche'Wa makes his way back to the front door of the building. Just outside he spots Korz, speaking with the tavern keeper. Noche'Wa's 'friend' looks agitated then calms when he sees Noche'Wa round a corner. Waving a dismissive hand to the fat innkeeper, he turns to Noche'Wa.
"I hear you found a suitable way to pass the time, pinkskin. Fighting Uzul in the ring? He's been a legend for years." Then he narrows his eyes, "They said he nearly killed you but you look better then I left you, if anything."
Then he hands Noche'Wa a bundle of painted human fingers, the token of protection from Grask. "Here, you left this on the bar."
Korz shrugs, 'I am of the tribe of the Empty-Hand and Grask is pleased with me. There are rooms in the palace for us, if you wish to take them. It would not be an insult either way but it would put you further in Grask's court and faction." he grunts, 'I despise these political games."
He raises a bristling eyebrow, 'You impressed the Chief with your stories, Shoanti. That is good. For both of us."
Togetehr, they thread the winding orc streets, heading back to the Palace. Noche'Wa notes the streets are just as busy during the night as during the day, maybe more so. Dozens of shadows flitter on the edge of his sight, orcs hiding from passing torches. Whole gangs of them roam the back streets but no one accosts the pair of them.
"Sezelrian, god of fire and magic." Korz says, shrugging, "Not one I follow much. Why do you ask? Do you find yourself feeling pious? Our gods must seem strange to you, human. Few of your kind feel the call."
Korz grunts, "How much do you need? I suppose it is the least I can do, after surviving a fight with Uzul. With that performance, you could probably become a pit fighter. It pays well, from what I have heard."
At Noche'Wa's next question Korz grins, "You would never get in. You are not a member and have no one to vouch for you. Unless you have made some powerful political allies while also getting your bones broken?"
Korz spits on the ground and grumbles. It does pull out a purse and begins counting coins, "Consider it your winnings from surviving the fight. Don't ask for any more." As he hands it to Noche'Wa he adds, 'Don't expect to be able to spend it easily in the market. Most will only take favors or prestige from others, even pinkskins."
Korz snorts, "Yes, probably, but I have some in our rooms. A gift from Grask and I was expressly told to share it with you." he seems a trace dissapointed by this. "Besides, thing things you speak of should be kept private, for now."
They reach the palace without incident, and Korz leads Noche'Wa deep into the bowels of the imposing and aged structure. The Shoanti notices many sleeping chambers, a number of barracks, armories and even forges and food storage. Despite the lack of walls, it reminds Noche'Wa of a fortress, prepared for siege. They are recent signs of activity too. Rooms recently packed with supplies, door repaired, piles of garbage as new corridors are repaired and cleaned. Even in the middle of the night, Noche'Wa spots orcs (and human slaves) working busily.
Finally Noche'Wa is lead up a flight of stairs and into a large stone room. "My home, when I am in the city."
It is total blackness as Korz fails to light a lamp or fire.
Korz merely grunts, the orc going through some things in a corner.
Noche'Wa dancing lights flicker into being little globes of blue light circling his head. While the illumination is dim, it reveals a wall covered with metal artwork. Thin steel bars, warped and twisted into fascinating shapes cascades down a wall, like a metal waterfall. Intricate links and grooves gives it the illusion of movement, like a fire frozen into steel. Art...in an orc home?
Meanwhile, Korz heaves up a cask onto a round stone that acts as a table. Noche'Wa can hear sloshing inside as the orc opens the tap.
'Grask wasn't sure if you'd like orc liqor so this is man drink, captured on a raid. I think you'll like it." As he opens it, the scent of a sweet but strong drink feels the room. With a shock, Noche'Wa recognizes it instantly. It is a Shoanti drink, one he has not tasted since his youth. Fermented from wild honey, it is very potent but rarely sold to outsiders.
Korz pours the thick yellow-ish liquid into a rough pewter cup. "So, what are you plans for the city? Other then fighting random pit champions and borrowing my money?"
Korz tips his own glass and drinks the Shoanti ale, then makes a face. 'Too sweet." Despite his words though, he continues to sip at it.
At Noche'Wa's words he says, 'But what does that mean exactly? Are you going to join a faction at court? If you do not join one, you will upset others." He pauses, then says, 'Respect you can earn. Peace..." The orc trader snorts, "Unlikely."
He rubs his chin and leans back, face lost in shadow, 'Grask mentioned he might have a task for you. He asked me how you would take an order from him, if it was something dangerous. I wasn't sure what to say."
'And what are you going to ask for in return?" Korz says, 'I hope it isn't something foolish like an end to raiding the Shoanti. We will never give that up."
As for the other question Korz barks a laugh, 'Every orc is his own faction. We follow others, if we think they are strong and will achieve a greatness that increases our own." Korz sneers slightly, "We do not have the courts of your kind, but we have our share of toadies and those who bend to every passing breezes."
'A stronger orc nation..." The phrase seems to make Korz pensive for some reason, thoughtful. "An interesting ideal in any time..."
He swirls the Shoanti drink and then downs it in one swift gulp. "I am tired, it has been along day. Not all of us have had the chance to take naps in back alleys. Sleep were you like, Shoanti. My rooms are yours."
Korz staggers through a shadowy door, presumably to sleep.
Noche'Wa sends the next two days exploring Urgir. What strikes his first is the vast complexity of it. While he would never have admitted it, when thinking about a city of orcs, Noche'Wa had a certain expectation of crude simplicity, like that of an overgrown war camp perhaps. But no, urgir was a fully functioning city, with districts, law (after a fashion), infrastructure, customs and commerce.
Noche'Wa roamed the markets, especially the grand Bazaar that he and Korz had traveled to on the first day. Curious, he finds that money is little exchanged among orcs, that most prefer to trade favors or prestige from each other for goods. Orc salesmen do not cry their wares, flogging them desperately like human shopkeeps, but instead merely wait for buyers to come to them. It is a strange marketplace where cheats and lies are combined with a rigid sense of honor and pride. An orc would happily cheat a lower ranking servant but would give above fair pricing to a warrior of esteem. Fights are common, blood not an unusual sight. Slights are taken very personally here.
The back alleys are a hive of criminals of all stripes, although the border between law and criminals is vague here. Noche'Wa gets the sense that orcs feel, if someone is strong (or clever) enough to rob you, they should generally be allowed to get away with it. The gangs that rove the back streets and ruined buildings are a form of economic leveling, keeping the rich from getting too rich, and invigorating the poor. The dirty, smelly streets are not kind however. There are no beggars in Urgir.
Noche'Wa is hardly the only non-orc in the city. He frequently sees humans among the marketplace, either as merchants and traders, or as slaves. Half-orcs are also common, with varying degrees of 'orc-ish' appearance. Some appear to be living normal lives of status in the city, while some appear to be outcasts, barely surviving. The ratfolk are ever present, sidling this way and that, delivering messages between orcs or serving as scribes to the richest merchants and landowners. It is a strange place.
Another thing that strikes the Shoanti, is how constantly busy it is. These rust-laden streets are always full of orcs, coming and going. Unlike a human city, which has natural rhythms of day and night that rise and falls, Urgir is always a hectic scramble. Day or night, orcs push past each other in the streets, ignoring the natural 'personal space' common in human cities. They crowd together like blowflies on a carcass at busy corners, nearly crawling over each to push past. Only during violence does a natural bubble of space appear, a sign of both respect and wariness for drawn blades.
There is a crude guard called the Closed Fist. Operating directly under Ardax White-hair (one of Grask's lieutenants), they patrol the major markets and streets, preventing riots and major disruptions. They rarely stop fights, but prevent them spiraling out of control. They also control fires and other sources of mayhem.
Noche'Wa gets a sense of the city, but detects some sources of unease. Wagon loads of weapons and foods pour into the city everyday, and soldiers can be spotted drilling in remote plazas. In a human city this would be a sign of war, or preperation but Noche'Wa is unsure of that here. Perhaps an orc city is always ready for war?
Noche'Wa explores the temples and holy sites of the city, careful to ask questions before sticking his neck out. After talking with others, it appears there has been a recent influx of shamans, priests and other holy men of late. No one is quite sure why, but it seems to make everyone uncomfortable.
The human finds the temple of Sezelrian with ease. It resides in what seems to have been a former fort of the dwarves, a strong square building with turrets and a grand gate. There are no windows or other entrances Noche'Wa can see. There are guards at all times, and orcs are constantly passing in and out. A strange shimmering heat seems to rise from the whole building, distorting the air around it.
If being a human made Noche'Wa stick out, writing stuff done made him a flaming beacon. As far as the Shoanti can tell none of the orcs are literate, and don't use written records. He guesses the ratfolk act as scribes for the upper classes, but even he largest merchants in the bazaar don't use ledgers.
After a few close calls, Noche'Wa learns to write only when alone, if only to avoid picking a fight with every orc who walks past. Even Korz, whom Noche'Wa suspects is brighter then he lets on, sneers at the idea of writing down ideas.
While the temple is a large and imposing structure, busy with people, he finds information secretive. Unlike in human lands where finding people to talk about religion is easy (often tooeasy), here the worshipers are close-mouthed and evasive. There is a mystic bent to the faiths here, that does not enjoy casual investigation.
The temple is made, like much of the rest of the city, of old, pitted iron. Long rivers of rust streak the square blank walls, pooling along the base of it, running into the street. As Noche'Wa approaches, the smell of hot metal fills the air, putting him in mind of a very busy ironwork or blacksmith shop. The Shoanti can actually feel the air heating up as he gets closer.
The front doors stand out, because instead of crude iron, they are of shining brass, inlaid with scenes of battling orcs. Unlike most orc artwork though, the fights seem to be based around balls of fire and other arcane attacks instead of simply hacking with axes or clubs.
In front of the doors are two hulking guards, both staring into a brightly burning braizer. Noche'Wa sees nothing among the dancing flames but they watch with furrowed brows, seemingly frustrated.
When the human approaches they stand up straight and bar the doors. They take him in with raised eyebrows and obvious confusion. He notes their eyes linger on Grask's symbol of safe passage, but that seems to increase their confusion and doubt, not lessen it. Both are armed with heavy spears but are unarmored.
They are silent and wait for him to speak first.
Even as Noche'Wa mentions the god Rull, the burning brazier flares in intensity, letting out a pulse of angry heat, crackling loudly. Indeed, the air itself seems to heat up in reactions to Noche'Wa's words.
The two orcs change from somewhat bemused frustration to outright hostility. Both heft their heavy spears and take a step forward, one saying harshly, "That's going to cost you, pinkskin."
Noche'Wa is about to either fight or flee, when he hears a calm voice behind him, "I usually let them kill those who disrespect our temple. It gives me great pleasure."
Turning, Noche'Wa sees a tall, older orc standing behind him. The orc is wearing voluminous red robes, trimmed with glittering yellow. However, he didn't have that bookish, academic feel that Noche'Wa noted among wizards and priests in Varisia. No, this orc radiated power and command, like a candle gave out heat.
Behind him trails a small entourage of guards, porters and even a ratfolk scribe, eyeing Noche'Wa carefully.
The orc, whose face was long and lean (and with a number of intricate tattoos), goes on, 'But sadly I do have to take....political considerations in mind." he glances at the bundle of fingers that is Grask's symbol of favor. 'These are strange and unsettled times and it does not do to offend those in power."
Then his voice hardens with threat, "That said, my patience has limits. If you try to enter this temple again, and proclaim the name of a rival god, I will personally feed you your own melting fat, boiled from your bones, favored with Grask or not. Now, move aside, human."