Squib Ep.9 - Bleak Prospects

(Start at the beginning here)

Word spread quickly in the Orc camp, which was fortunate for Herule given he couldn't speak the tongue. His brash action that had lead to the demise of the whip master had certainly done its job at instilling a sense of notoriety. Something Herule felt he was rightfully owed. The elevated status, in its duty, certainly had its perks. Gone were his days of menial slave labor, hauling rocks, and being subject to the whip masters ill will. But a slave he still was, and despite the obvious benefits, his new position came with a fresh set of dangers.

Guarding Gizelle required a tireless effort. Had Herule been willing to admit it, it wasn't something he could do alone. Despite the warning issued by Lur, the orcs of the camp were forever watching, and constantly circling. Herule knew them for an impulsive, savage breed, and despite the threat of their leader he expected conflict as an inevitability.

A smarter orc might heed the warning, but the restriction only seemed to single her out to the greater pack. Herule could understand the draw, though his interest lay solely in Gizelle’s ability to communicate with the Lizardman. Something he obviously shared with Lur.

More concerning was that every orc worth his weight in muscle, or ambition, now had it in for Herule, and he had lost count of the number of sharp edges he’d seen being sharpened while their owners eyes had followed him.

His duty was endless. His warriors wits were sharpened to a peak. It had become a daily wonder just how long he’d be able to keep it all up.

“Herule will die before he gives them the chance.” Herule muttered to himself as he stood guard at the deepest room of the mine.

The latest dig had been going for days with the entire workforce thrown into the effort. The orcs had been extracting a special mineral from the earth, something they referred to as blood-metal. Gizelle had helped the Lizardman make more sense out of his surroundings and as he had come to learn, the blood metal was intended to make many fine weapons and armor.

The particular properties of the blood metal were something of a mystery even to the orcs, but as far as anyone could tell the name was somehow tied to the uncanny amount of bones that filled the earth here. At times it seemed that for every shipment of earth and rock, there was a shipment of bone that went along with it.

Herule was a young Lizardman of a long standing tribe. To his knowledge no peoples in the land of the Orcs, or in his swamp to the west resided during living memory. But he knew enough to know that at least the swamps held a history beyond his. The ancient runes the Lizardfolk resided in were a mystery and a marvel, works beyond the skill of the scale.

Remnants of ancient art, or the occasional technological mystery were sometimes discovered, emerging from time to time much like a bubble of swamp gas rising up from the mud.

When Herule saw the bones of whole bodies, broken and worn with age, pulled from the earth and shipped to the surface, he couldn't help but draw a comparison between the two. He didn't know the history, but he was fairly certain of one thing,

“This land is cursed.” He hissed.

This time, Gizelle heard him.

“Hmm?” The girl murmured, looking up as she went about her duties tending to the miners.

The shaft they’d dug had opened into a sizeable underground cavern, one that had now been further mined into a much larger space. Still more bones had been found here, though in fewer quantities than when delving along the veins of blood metal.

Herule scanned the area, awash with firelight and teeming with gaunt, sweaty bodies. Men and women, goblins and orcs, the lowest of the low chipping away at rock as it chipped away at their lives.

“The land is like a burial mound. The metal is tainted with death. Our very sslaving is like a portent to a dark omen.” Herule hissed behind folded arms and a straight, sentineal back.

Gizelle finished her task, handing a ration to an older gentleman before turning her whole attention back to Herule. “I think you have a lot more time to think now you’re not hauling rock.”

Herule didn't lower himself to her condescension, instead keeping his eyes ever cast outward, looking this way and that for that which he might see. Of course she wouldn't understand, despite speaking his tongue. Just because they could exchange words did not mean they could see the same way. It would be foolish to expect a human to understand, just as it would be foolish to expect Herule to learn the humans, or even the orcs tongue. It just wasn't within him.

“Belittle me as you will, but Herule knows. Herule ssees.” He met her gaze and narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not belittling you. I just think it would be hard to see anything but curses when all you’re doing is standing around watching. Come on.”

Gizelle moved further around the cavern and Herule with her. While the maid managed a basket filled with supplies for various needs, Herule doubled his jobs by carrying along two water filled pales that he set down whenever they stopped. The chains, still bound to his ankles to limit his movements, clattered along behind.

Despite their predicament, Gizelle had managed to leverage her position to make things easier on the captives. Something they seemed ever grateful to acknowledge, even if it was only for meeting their most trivial of needs.

Herule didn't understand their words, but he could read the looks on their faces, and understand the pleasantries in their body language. It was a wonder to see hope inspired amongst such a downtrodden bunch, but it only made Herule yearn to see such morale stirred amongst a willing group of warriors.

“You lighten these peoples load, but what end will there be to their burden?” Herule asked, standing stern again with his folded arms.

Gizelle looked up with a glare, considering Herule before responding. “You’re in a right shit of a mood today.”

Once again, Herule resigned himself to silence instead of lowering himself to the challenge. The two seemed as strong headed as one another, and Herule couldn't help but think that had Gizelle been born a buck amongst his tribe, she’d of made a worthy brother in arms. Instead the two seemed destined to bunt heads like rams for as long as one could outlast the other in this desolate place.

Gizelle seemed ready to go on the offensive- step up to his arms and chew him out with some of her more pointed words. But just as she opened her mouth to speak, a yelling echoed around the walls.

There came a commotion from the depths of the cavern as a number of workers and slave drivers shuffled to better see. Gizelle and Herule’s conflict was quickly forgotten as the two joined with the herd. One section of the wall had cracked, a fissure opening where a chunk of rock had fallen away. Two men were now working at it with sledgehammers, cracking off large chunks of rock that toppled and expanded the opening.

Beyond, another cavern loomed ominously, shrouded by a darkness that seemed to seep forth into the larger room.

Orc whip masters barked orders for the men to keep going, and torches were drawn forth to shed light into where none seemed willing to go.

A whisper and a dread creeped faintly on the air, and Herule felt what could only be described as a wintery frost etch over his scales. All around, slave and slave master alike began to shrink away.

Gizelle and Herule exchanged a look.

“Dark omen, did you say?” Gizelle spoke in a small voice, suddenly seeming more willing to listen.

“Herule just in sshit mood, we sshould go now.” He nodded, suddenly willing to drop the subject entirely.

(Continue to Ep.10)

(Episode Directory)

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