The priest frowns at Noche'Wa's words. "So your words are merely words? Such is the oath of men, I suppose. Not that I expected better. For orcs however, words are meant to be true, not merely tools to get what we desire."
He holds up a hand, and the Shoanti notices it is covered in shiny burns and calluses.[/b]"Now, as I said. Move. Aside."[/b] The air, already hot, seems to jump a degree, causing sweat to spring forth on Noche'Wa's face.
Noche'Wa realizes, first off, Korz would try to barge into an orc temple. Putting that aside, Noche'Wa has a feeling most orcs would foolishly stand their ground and then be vaporized. Noche'sWa gets the feeling the orc wizard expects this but is somewhat unsure due to Noche'Wa being a human. Retreating will lose face among orcs but probably less actual face.
Noche'Wa moves aside but locks eyes with the orc. The arcane orc, his skin covered in strange runes (which Noche'Wa is unsure of the meaning), returns the gaze. A heavy brow raises as he replies, "It was you that said your words were words, human. I merely repeat."
With that mocking remark he walks up to the doors. Without any apparent move or spell they swing open, letting out a blast of sweltering hit air. Noche'Wa squints, looking past the suddenly wavering air. he catches a glimpse of a large round chamber inside, before the doors close again.
Noche'Wa is alone outside, confronted by two guards, who seems slightly confused as what to do.
Noche'Wa walks with his head held high, looking for information. He wends out of the temple's area, searching for a bar that won't explode into an uproar at a human sitting down. As enjoyable as his romp with Uzul the Pit Fighter was, he doesn't want to repeat it.
He finds a run-down looking place that probably doesn't discriminate. It is a ragged wooden lean-to, huddled against an abandoned rock-pile, but there is a healthy crowd streaming in and out. Unlike his previous choice it seems a place of talk, not fighting.
As Noche'Wa moves toward the ramshackle bar, he spots an orc following him. Glancing carefully, he sees it is a thick bodied orc with a vague military bearing. While he only bears a rusty sword at his belt, Noche'Wa has the feeling he has trained with far better.
With sudden enhanced speed Noche'Wa bolts around the block, jumping over piles of garbage and skirting groups of orcs. Various others look at him with widen eyes as he sprints through rusty streets. Once or twice a few seem tempted to stick out a foot to trip him or some other petty maneuver but the Shoanti is imposing enough to prevent that.
Soon he has looped his prey. Noche'Wa looks at the orc from behind. His would-be tail is paused, looking confusedly up and down the alley, obviously wondering where Noche'Wa went. The orc lacks any sign or tribal colors, suspiciously. Only the criminals and very lowest lack such signs in this city.
The orc is obviously frustrated at losing his prey. he grunts a curse and kicks at a hungry dog in the gutter, making it yelp with pain. As the mutt runs off, the would-be tailer takes a final look around, curses again and slowly makes his way to the bar, probably to drink away his troubles. He seems quite defeated.
Noche'Wa watches and waits. Around him the city heats up under the noonday sun, rusted iron baking in the heat. Without organized garbage pick up, the garbage strewn streets begin to stink and the whine of flies and other creatures rises in the air. The Shoanti is comfortable enough in the shade, but even he starts to sweat a bit.
Finally his quarry leaves the bar after a few drinks and begins to head back, head still down and dispirited, back towards the more developed part of the city, back toward Grask's throne hall.
Noche'Wa follows the orc through twisting, dirty streets, staying safely behind.
A few times the orc looks back, as if expecting a tail but sees nothing. Noche'Wa gathers his quarry is inexperienced about such things. Soon they arrive at a strong iron building, that seems to have perhaps been a forge in a past age. His quarry slips in a back door, nervously looking around.
There are guards at this building, and they are wearing tribal marks. It takes a moment but Noch'Wa marks them as the Death's Head tribe, a close and recent ally of the Empty Hand (which is the tribe of Grask).
Noche'Wa judges he could probably get in, by crawling up a wall into one of the lower windows. He would have to use his invisibility and he may end up in a different part of the building. Sneaking into the main door is just not doable with the various orcs coming and going.
Noche'aWa, magically disguised darts to the window. With easy athletic skill he silently vaults through the window, avoiding the notice of the guards. In fact, Noche'Wa guesses he could have simply walked up and stepped in, judging by the attentiveness of the watchers.
Noche'Wa finds himself in a long, low room made of iron. It is filled with about half a dozen ratfolk, hunched over piles of parchment and paper, noses bent down in concentration. Ink bottles and other writing equipment litter the tables and floor, mixed with old food and empty tankards.
Then one glances up, spots Noche'Wa and nearly falls out of his chair. Instantly there is chaos as some of the ratfolk shout questions, while others rush around, grabbing papers. Finally, one notes his tribal colors and says, more calmly, "Why did you come in the window?" Noche'Wa notes he is wearing a robe that is marked with tribal colors but in a strange, more subdued way.
Noche'Wa harsh words easily cow the ratfolk, who scatter back to their seats. The Shonati has a feeling though that they are very curious about who he is exactly.
The disguised human ignores them and bursts into the hall beyond. It is dingy and made of iron, with old rust stains on the leaking walls. At one end there is a stout iron door, with two orcs talking outside of it. When Noche'Wa steps out, they glance up.
"Who goes there?" One asks, frowning slightly at not recognizing Noche'Wa. "Who disturbs the chieftain of the Death's Head?"
Noche'Wa turns casually away from the door guards, not looking to engage. He sees a side corridor he can use that seems to lead to a dusty armory. As he takes a step toward it, he hears steps coming up the wall, toward the guarded door.
Out of a stairwell stomps the man who had been following Noche'Wa. He looks ragged, dissapointed, fearful and a bit drunk. It is a powerful combination and he sweeps back the disguised Shoanti without seeing him, obviously headed for the guarded room.
The orc, without even looking up says, "That human I was supposed to follow. He gave me the slip and the Chief is going to tear off my hide...." he trails off and glances up, frowning. "Who in the Hells are you, anyway?"
At first the orc's face is easy to read. He really is afraid of his failure and what the consequences is, mixed with embarrassment that a mere human gave him the slip in Urgir. However, when Noche'Wa finishes, his entire expression changes. He becomes wary, suspicious.
"He will kill me?" The orc says, voice harsh, undistracted. "What do you mean by that?" he takes a step forward, hand going for his weapon.
The two door guards look curiously, growing attentive.
Noche'Wa's blizzard of lies seems to confuse the orc but at least he doesn't draw his weapon. He does stop moving and looks carefully at Noche'Wa.
"Enough!" he shouts, "Who in the name of Verex are you? Answer me plainly or I'll pull the answers from your corpse."
There is a moment of total silence, as the orc freezes. He tilts his head to the side, as if unsure. Then he shouts, 'Intruder!" And draws the sword at his side.
From the door up the hall the two guards rush down, holding out their spears. The shout rings throughout the building and Noche'Wa hears answering cries and thundering boots on iron.
Noche'Wa flickers out of existence just as the other orc lunges for him. Presumably he hits nothing but air as Noche'Wa re-materializes on the street below and quickly dons a new guise. No one notices him on the streets, but even as he watches the doors tot he iron building burst open and orc pour into the street, presumably looking for him.
As Noche'Wa starts his escape, an orc moves into the middle of the street and shouts, 'Noche'Wa of the Shoanti!" His bellowing voice makes nearly everyone freeze and turn. It is obviously the speaker has no idea where Noch'eWa is and just hoping he can be heard.
He takes a deep breath and bellows, "The Chief of the Death's Head wishes to speak with you. You will not be harmed!" Silence reigns as every passerby cranes their neck, wondering if they will see a Shoanti warrior materialize.
As Noche'Wa sheds his illusions, a rumor runs through the crowd of orcs. Most, of course, have no idea what is going on but the sudden appearance of a human on the street of Urgir was worth of note. Doubly so for a such a strong, warrior like one. Noche'Wa did not look like the humans often found here, the sniveling, sickly looking slaves.
The speaker eyes Noche'Wa carefully, resting on the brawler's various weapons. Slowly he speaks in rough Common,"I heard you fought in the ring last night. I would love to test myself against you." then, obviously saddened, goes on, "But duty."
Without saying anything else, he leads Noche'Wa back inside the iron fortress looking building. This time every eye is on him as the Shonati strides through the passages, passing dozens of wide-eyed orcs. A few curse and spit at how he made them look like fools, but no one does anything worth a challenge. If anything, it raises his stature. Korz would be proud....he hoped.
He is led back to that same hallway he was in before, in front of the guarded iron door. This time it stands open, and Noche'Wa is waved inside.
The room inside is large and round, with a massive skylight above, streaked and stained with rust. The little sunlight that trickles down reveals a heavy room decorated in orc fashion. Furs, hides, bones, dark metal. Hangings and war banners cover the walls, relics of past victories or memories of defeat.
Seated on an imposing oak carved throne is an orc woman, of older years. Her greenish skin is pitted and lined with age, showing a hard lifetime of scars, burns and gouges. Her tusks are small and carved, an ivory yellow. She wears the functional leathers of the warrior, but look unused and new. It has been long since this woman has taken the field, but he green eyes are bright and sharp.
Hanging directly above the chair is a large banner with the symbol of the Death's head tribe, and a smaller one of the Empty Hand.
"So, you decided to come. I was not sure you would." her voice is a rough purr, but her Common is good, apparently much used.
Noche'wa knows the Death's Head is Grask's greatest tribal ally. They almost fully live inside Urgir at this point, but once roamed the fruitful land to the south, that Noche'Wa trekked through recently.They often man the walls, gates and other areas that need standing guard. This gives them considerable influence and power in the city, which they have leveraged to great effect.
Noche'Wa knows this must be Dihida Helmspiltter. It was her husband, Urgmont who raised the tribe to where it is today, but he died several years ago. Dihida managed to hold power through her cunning, ability and allying every strong with the Empty Hand. Korz spoke highly of her.
Dihida inclines her head at the compliment then grins, revealing many cracked and broken teeth. It reveals a life of eating hard bones and getting hit in the mouth. Despite being a chieftain, life is still violent for an orc.
"You did not speak so pleasantly to my servant." She waves a hand and a ratfolk steps out of the gloom. Noche'Wa recognizes it as the creature that met him in the garbage strewn alley.
'I should have known better then to send such a creature to you." Dihidia pauses, speculatively then adds, 'I have heard you are formidable in a fight. Uzul is not to be taken lightly. I'm surprised you lived, to be honest, he often kills the losers in such fights."
Dihidia actually laughs but says, "Daring the gods once is bravery, but daring them twice is foolish."
She shakes her head, then moves on saying, 'What do you think of our city, human? Few travel here as free men and even fewer speak their mind as you do. It would interest me. My tribe is tied closely to Urgir these days and I take my responsibilities seriously. How do you rate us?"
Noche'Wa notes, out of the corner of his eye, that most of the guards and other lackeys are slowly leaving the room, taking care not to make much noise. Shortly they will be alone.
Dihidi nods but adds, "I would not dismiss caves so quickly. They are strong, easy to defend and hold many secrets." She settles into her rough throne like chair before going on.
"You have said as much. As far as I can tell you wish to become a power in Urgir. A high enough goal for any human, where survival is often enough a challenge. But no, you stand here and tell me how we should shift our culture....impressive."
She narrows her eyes, 'What would you do to earn my favor, one of Grask's more trusted chiefs?"