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The orc laid his huge and weary body into the grass, withered arms and legs spread out as if he aimed to drift away with the tide, and closed his eyes with a long deep exhale.
“Gods of the Underside, cursed tendrils of decay, your existence is eternal, your life sustained by death and corruption, devour my flesh, drink from my blood. Let me sink into the moss and lend this writhing meat a spec of power your undying mass possesses,” he chanted and as he opened his eyes again, they were shining with a deeply green light.
The four bandits, who were on the verge of laughter as they watched this dumb-brained sack of old sagging meat and bones who lost one of his tusks to old age and the other to a sect of mage-hunters many years ago, flop in dirt and flowers, suddenly stopped and watched in horror as large rippling muscles grew again where there was nothing but loose skin a mere moments ago. The old orc stood up, towering high above the men, growling under his breath, his arms readying to rip them apart, his legs like tree trunks.
“Wh-what is that?” One of the men cowered, barely holding his sword, when he noticed the old druid was breathing in and out some kind of orange dust that was descending on his lips and trickling down the corners of his mouth with saliva.
“What’s happening?” The other screeched in panic, noticing small clouds of that orange dust floating towards them, entering their lungs and sticking to their faces.
“I am an ambassador of decay! The emissary of the Undying! I am a vessel for eternal gods of chaos and oblivion! I give my flesh to satiate my masters but you stirred them and now they hunger after you. It’s your time to quench their thirst for blood!” The orc bellowed and watched the four men crumble before him as he ripped off their limbs and tore away their heads and scattered them across the forest, drenching the grass and fungi in their entrails. Then he lost consciousness.
When he woke up again, his back was sore and most of his body was covered in mud and dried blood. He sighed, picked up his robe and walked towards a nearby pond. This time he at least managed to disrobe before the carnage started.
He rested his clothes on the ground and bent over the pond to clean his face before he would venture deeper into the water. Looking back at him was again the well known visage of wrinkles and scars with the last few greying hair adorning his temples and very bushy eyebrows that created half of his expressions. His tusks were missing for a long time and the only thing left was his saging lip that hung loosely in the corners of his mouth where the tusks were supposed to be.
The old druid growled morously and walked deeper into the stagnant waters of the pond to submerge himself and clean up his itching skin. He may have gotten used to their physical absence but every time he saw his own reflection, he fell victim to disgruntledness again.
"Hello, my friend!"
The orc lifted his gaze from his own body and stared towards the trees on the other side of the pond. The voice came from behind his back and its familiarity was infuriating and painful. He thought about replying but then just grunted and, bending his knees, he disappeared under the water surface.
"Alright then, I will be waiting here," the voice added, not entirely surprised by that reaction.
It took about half an hour for the old druid to rise above water again and to his dismay, the spy was still waiting. She was sitting by the white willow, chewing on some dried meat, her gaze patient and disinterested. She didn't seem to acknowledge his presence at first.
As he marched towards the shallows, slowly emerging, until he stood by her side, water dripping from his skin, a piece of greenery resting on his scalp, he repaid her disregard with his own.
She then reached for a piece of cloth he left on one of the lower branches of his willow and gave it to him.
"What do you want?" He sighed and started drying himself.
"I need a muscle," the spy smiled.
"A muscle?" He pointed with his shaking arms to his sagging titts and fat belly.
She started to laugh. "And who says neither of us has a sense of humour?"
The orc, however, didn't seem amused.
“Very well, then,” she just clicked her tongue in a gesture that almost mimicked disappointment. "I need your help to find something."
"No you don't. You need somebody's help."
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I need somebody's help and your skills and abilities fit perfectly with what I need."
"No," he folded the wet piece of cloth and put a robe over his head.
"Aren't you even going to ask what I'm offering in exchange?"
"You have nothing I need."
"And that's where you're wrong," she leaned in closer to him, her smile wide and dangerous.
The orc didn't bother disputing her. He picked two fresh pieces of moss and put them into corners of his mouth where his tusks would be to stop saliva from dripping down his chin.
She, however, wasn't discouraged. "You need this place."
He lifted his gaze and his dark eyes pierced her face with hate and disgust.
"You wouldn't dare!" he growled, whispering of his gods running through his old wrinkled skin.
His reaction filled her with glee and she didn't even bother hiding it.
"Oh trust me, we would. It's actually a matter of a month or two. Unless you help me."
"No, you brat, you wouldn't dare to interrupt us again."
"Let us go! Let us feed! Our roots hunger! Our heads need to grow!" He listened to the billions of voices that circulated through his veins and without any willful movement on his part he lifted a hand, watched the skin of his palm break into tiniest specs of pollen and as he exhaled into them, they enveloped the spy's face and flew into her eyes and ears and nostrils and mouth. The gods grew desperately insatiable with such vulnerable and such hated prey this close to them.
She watched him blow the mind controlling pollen, as their alchemists called it, into her face and just sat there as calmly as she could, hoping, needing, for this to work out. Of course they tested it beforehand, the life of not only her boss but of the whole kingdom depended on it but how much trust did she actually place into the people that came up with it? It didn’t matter anymore, she was already gambling with her life.
At first she tasted dirt and mud on her tongue and after that she smelled mushrooms so strongly she could swear they were growing in her nose. Terror slowly gripped her body when she started to realize that up until this point nothing has changed from the last time she went through this. She might have overplayed herself! She might be royally screwed! But then those notions passed and she realised there were no voices this time. No other than her own.
Her face went blank, all emotion erased from it as she raised her eyes to the orc.
"What does the mighty Saffron wish?" She asked.
His brow furrowed when he gained full control over his body again. She might have been playing the game well but the myriads of voices in his head could hardly be wrong.
"Stop. Very well, what can you offer me?"
"It's a gesture of goodwill from my boss. A land owner's deed for this swampy forest of yours," she spread her arms and shed the disconcerting empty expression.
"And what do you want from me?"
"Right now I just need you to pack your things and meet us in Badger's Ass at dusk three days from now."
"Us?"
"Yes but the rest is a surprise. Be there and whatever happens from there, this forest is as good as yours."
"Very well," he sighed, turned his hunched back to her, and on his wobbly feet marched towards his old cabin.
She watched the ancient orc with disgust but it was hard to hate him. As he was limping away, she couldn't but notice a certain pressure in his stance and it wasn't only her that caused it, he was listening to new orders from those supposed gods of the Underside. She wouldn't expect anything else from him.
Saffron heard their voices loud and clear as they vailed in terror and hatred. They wanted her ripped apart, scattered around the woods and then, in a proclamation of power that, according to them was now needed more than ever, the insolence of those mortals who dared to challenge the writhing masses of Underside, would prove once again they truly are not to be trifled with. He soothed them for now, appeasing them with an image of devouring and decay because sooner or later they were all bound to feast on the corpse of this world like they already did on so many others.