| 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 Rangers as well as Amazonian warriors in general are 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 heart 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 boar….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 one 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)....
|
