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Swallowing one last mouthful of reindeer, you move over to the spot where Lamlûg landed and look him over. The brawny orc lies face down in the snow, clutching at his chest and struggling for shallow breaths, and so completely lost in the world of his own pain that he is unaware of your closeness. This quickly changes when you slip a claw beneath the orc and flip him onto his back. He wakes at once and violently from his stupor, his shriek launching flecks of hot blood into the cool air.
“Cursed worm!”
You stand back, waiting for him to quiet down, but frantically trying to escape from his own broken bones only pains him more. For a while he simply rolls and writhes in the snow until your patience wears thin, so you take the matter in hand. Pinching his face between two black talons, you clench his head in place and shove your face in front of his, forcing his eyes to lock with your own.
“Be Still.” Your eyes flash hot and the screams are stolen from Lamlûg’s lungs. He gapes silently at the fanged maw a hair’s breadth from his squashed nose. His breath is heavy with the smell of blood, his skin skin slick with sweat despite the cold.
You hold him for a moment longer both in body and in mind. Without any convenient distractions to aid his escape he is powerless to resist you, and he soon buckles under the weight of your natural authority over his kind. You let your iron grip on his mind loosen, though you hold his head steady, lines of black blood trickling from where your claws pierce his clammy, leathery flesh.
“Lamlûg of Gundabad. Hear me and listen well.” You pull your head back to strike a more imperious figure, black and terrible against the darkening sky. “I expect you are all too aware of the shattered bones and pooling blood within you, but know that my breaking of you was only a formality, for I am one who suffers no arms raised against him. Remember your fallen underling, guts strewn in the snow for the crime of striking me, and count yourself lucky that your blow went astray.”
Lamlûg’s teeth chatter as he rasps for breath, and inhales sharply when you withdraw your claws somewhat. You flare your nostrils at him, thin fingers of smoke brushing his face.
“But know too that while I am merciless to those that would make war upon me, so too am I merciful to those who serve my purposes. I have need of you, Lamlûg, and all that you know of your leader. Give me what I want and you shall live to tell the tale.”
Lamlûg stares at you with red eyes ringed with sickly bloodshot yellow. For a long moment he makes no effort to reply, but a light pressure against his mind is enough to work a resigned, though wordless, nod from him.
You offer him a thin, fanged grin. “Wise. Tell me, then, of Gajakt your chief and whatever plots he might be hatching. Mind you leave nothing out.”
