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[i]Gorosk.[/i]

Why that name didn’t rise to the forefront of her mind when it was uttered earlier, she did not know, but one thing was for sure, it was of no human, elven, or dwarven ancestry. How could the Goliath have been so numb to that which was so obvious? Perhaps it was the exhaustion that she felt, her mind wasn’t considering names at all. But in a moment of clarity, the last several years of slavery and harsh treatment weighed heavily on her mind, and every muscle in her large, ridgid frame tensed. The growls and taunts of the the creatures who ruled the Thraduum territories echoed in her head. The lashings with gnarled rope and shards of fastened, sharp stones, fresh in her mind. 

The name. The language. 

Vah’lux lifted both hands up to the bars, curling her thick fingers around the cold iron -knuckles cracking as her grip tightened- and leaned in closer to the cell door until her forehead touched the metal cross piece.

"Thaaval." She growled through clenched teeth in her native language, her tone threatening as the heat in her face slowly rose to the surface of her slate-colored skin. "Thaaval, ah'lek fhorad eh'lakt ooteka." Each syllable clearly carried anger with it, yet her voice did go beyond a normal speaking level. This was for the creature in the cell. Not to alert their captors.

“I thought I smelled the cowardly blood of an Orc…” She growled in the common tongue.