Frustrated, Astra stays where she is, though she feels that this would be a perfect time to attempt an escape. She could easily escape and evade capture while these new Orcs are bemoaning their fate....but she can't well do that without leaving behind her children....and she is NOT going to do THAT.
Instead, she watches what develops between the orc shaman, and the new orcs. There seems to be a lot of shouting....screaming....and general hostility! However, it's in Orc....a language that is a derivative of the common trade tongue.....and she can follow it after a fashion. She watches what is happening, and nods.
"Hmm," she mutters to herself. "Perhaps if I bide my time....encourage certain feelings...? I might be able to escape with my children...and live to see another day."
Aqualarian Ranger as well as Amazonian warriors in general aare taught that the best time to attempt escape is the time between the moment of capture and the time one arrives at the ultimate destination that your captors wish to bring you. The same lesson was pounded into the head of American military men who fought in a place called Vietnam. The hearrt of it is a captor does NOT expect you to make an escape attempt so soon after capture....and this is one of your few advantages.
Goodness knows that Astra could use a few!
The former dwarves give off one last cry of dismay as the final part of their transformation strikes. They groan and squirm as their still compact bodies expand and grow into the final shape of the disgusting humanoid race known as the Orc. Warts cover green faces and knobby, ham hands. Thick and lustrous beards fall out, leaving nothing behind but bare skin on malformed....lopsided faces. Bodies that stood at around four foot nothing enlarge and turn into hulking brutes that are a bit over six feet tall...and more built along the lines of knuckle dragging Neanderthals than anything else. Dwarven equipment, probably the best Terra can offer.....alter and mist in and out of existence. When the mist finally clears, the armor is still dwarven...but there are decided...orcen decorations and fetishes on it (small skulls of animals....chicken bones...etc). Now the new orcs look totally like their allies/brothers in body as well as dress!
Needless to say, the dwarves were less than thrilled with the whole deal, and they turned as one towards the orc shaman with a growl.
"Change us back," Thorin, leader of what had been the dwarven kidnappers. "Change us back you green piece of garbage....or by the.....the....."
Thorin was dismayed to find that what his mind had sent out as dwarven to his lips.....what had emerged was Orcish (which was actually good....considering that Dwarf sounded terrible coming from a mouth fomred into something like the muzzle of a bore....with tusks thrusting out of the lower jaw).
Thorin also found it impossible to say the name....even THINK the name of the patron god of the dwarven race!
Rage flashes and boils over, and Thorin succumbs to the horrible temper that all orcs possess! Without thought of consequence....Thrin screams and slams his sword through the surprised shaman's black heart...instantly killing the orcen high priest.
"Thorin...what should we?" asks on of his companions....afraid and lost.
"Don't just stand their you dumb #$^!#@," Thorin growls....feeling the wild impulses of the new orcen body he wears. "We've....had a bad time of it all on this expedition. I say....let's have a little...fun with our guest, eh?"
Thorin makes a little suggesting thrusting motion with his hips, and new orcen hearts race at the thought (for orcs are a randy lot)....
2/1/2000 8:02:47 AM
The Never Ending Quest Home
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