Khillgarath's brazen eye met D'Artagne's as the rabbitman spoke. Throughout the whole ordeal, the dragon's unblinking stare might have been metaphorically burning holes in the little one.
"Your band of mercenaries? Your company?" he echoed back, having caught those subtle cues.
"So you have revealed that you do not come alone, and that you intend to march through my mountains. But to what ends? You will find nothing beyond save ash and ruin, for that country has already fallen to the shadow of another warlord. Surely you would not be so foolish as to offer your hire to that brute? Yes, I can already see your foolhardy plan: you plan nothing less than an attack on his stronghold, for that is the only possible place that you might strike. Nonetheless, to do so is suicidal."The orcs' king did not even need an answer; he could smell that his guess had been true. He had a way of extracting information, especially from terrified beings much smaller than himself.
"I could burn you all upon these rocky highlands to spare you the trouble of marching so far to your own deaths. Fortunately for your 'company', it has been far too long since I have smelt blood and my orcs have had a worthy battle. The toll through my mountains is that your 'company' will march along the orcs beneath the shadow of my winds, and together we will sack the lands beyond. Not even the warlord of those lands will be able to withstand my might; so you may stand a chance at survival yet..."Just then the flaming green body of one of the master's demons could be seen rounding the slopes of the mountain above, its keen eyes catching sight of both D'Artagne and the dragon. A hundred more vanguards came, preceding the Horde's arrival an hour later. Throughout the whole time, Khilgarrath's confusion only increased. He had not expected such demons to be a part of this one's 'company', and indeed he already wanted to swat the flies out of his sky before their acrid stench permeated his mountains with an infernal smell for years to come. Alas, he had already struck a deal and felt bound by it.
--=~=--
Faeles had half expected a sour reaction from Torrens, maybe being chided for having not done more. It was good to see some recognition from a fellow demon, albeit one that seemed rather...impulsive. In his dealings Faeles had come across a fair many brutish devils with even less intelligence, so Torrens was at least tolerable. Perhaps he could even be useful.
"I think you will have a chance to repay me," he answered Torrens' greetings low to his breath, immediately moving onto business. It was hard to always muster a false, jovial tone.
"I like to collect trinkets," he went on, casually flicking out that twisted knife he had earlier unleashed upon the shaman and brushing his enchanted cloak.
"...and I am always seeking new ones. Like maybe your Master's staff."The Arch-thief instantly cocked his eyes to bore them straight into Torrens, gauging the demon's reaction. If this one went along, then all would be well. If not, he had spoken low enough to not be heard by any of the others. This one had no proof, even if he was foolish enough to try warning anybody else.
--=~=--
When the rest of the Horde at last arrived, Khillgarath was even more distraught. The one called D'Artagne had made a fool of him; this was no band of mercenaries or simple 'company', it was more like a legion from hell. The main body seemed to be freshly summoned demons, but mixed throughout was a menagerie of all other sorts of dark individuals. Now the dragon understood why these strangers had been intent upon crossing the mountains: they were looking to eliminate a rival.
As if it were nothing out of the ordinary, the Master met with the orcs' king and spoke to the dragon as an equal. The Horde remained stopped while they two brokered a mutually advantageous deal. After all, both wanted their share of the spoils that were sure to come.
--=~=--
Gormlag lived on. His every fiber of being was wracked by agony, and yet he suffered on. Suicide was dishonorable and would revoke his place in the afterlife, and so he would have to live even though his heart burned with rage and his body with the blistering fire of a dragon.
'Who is to blame for this? Whose death will bring me vengeance?' he thought to himself as he watched uselessly to the side as his king brokered with these invaders and the Horde made their way into his home. The fiery one that he had first fought had been a treacherous snake, but he was not the worst of them. Indeed, now the shaman was not sure if he could defeat Torrens a second time; his form was that of a magmatic, burning humanoid and he suspected that at this point their powers were one and the same. They were equals. How could fire kill fire?
There were two that were truly to blame. The first one was D'Artagne, the tiny rabbit. The deceiver. The two-faced liar that had been associated with these invaders the whole time, who had pleaded peace while his comrades butchered the defenders at the village's gate. The second one was the coward that had Gormlag's doom: Faeles. Though the shaman did not know which coward had stabbed him from behind and had been deprived the chance to even witness the retreat of his would-be killer, he would find out. The king had committed no act of mercy by prolonging Gormlag's suffering, but he had given the shaman one gift: more time. The chance for vengeance.
Gormlag would march for Khillgarath again and serve the king as ever, but he would also exact his revenge. And he would start with D'Artagne.
Orcs were not ones for subtlety and even the shaman was no exception. Some few hours after the Horde had arrived, when the Master and Khillgarath were still holding their meeting, Gormlag emerged from his village. The baleful orcs had remained inside, refusing to commingle with the assortment of demons and monsters that had only earlier left dozens of orcs dead at the gates.
It certainly drew attention when Gormlag alone trudged out from the village gates and towards the Horde, but none moved to stop him. He had an air about him that let them all know to be afraid. Quickly he blended into the Horde, for at this point he did not even look so different from some of the demons. He wandered and wandered, looking for D'Artagne. His plan was simple: approach the rabbitman and slay him. Right in front of all these other demons. Gormlag did not care what happened after that, though he was correct in his suspicion that most of the Horde wouldn't even care should one of their own be killed. It happened on an almost daily basis.
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