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shadowofwar-goober · 11 months ago

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The Shaman and the Bard Ch. 19- To Khagukhôr

Hûra hasn't left his new clan for months, maybe years so when he was informed that he would be leaving for several months, he could only feel apprehension and dread as he wondered what exactly his Mystic elders wanted of him. Though it wasn't the only thing that Hûra dreaded, as traveling with the lead elder's favourite, Zog, was leading the caravan to the fort and Hûra didn't know if he could stand a weeks worth of travel around the uruk, let alone months of working side by side...

Warnings: Manipulation, Idk if what's going on between Zog and Hûra is Workplace Harassment or Bullying, Some Graphic Descriptions, Vomiting

xxx

Hûra stood uncomfortably before the Mystic elders. Most of them he had become… acquainted with long after he was brought to Seregost though there was one that he recognized from the day that he was sold to them in Cirith Ungol. Of them all, Hûra feared him the most, knowing that he was the one that picked him up and that he was the one that decided that his worth was only a few kegs of grog… He kept his head down and picked at his fingernails, chewing on the inside of his cheek as the elder looked him up and down.

“Whatever is the matter, my boy? Stand up straight so we can look at you.” He tilted Hûra’s chin up so he would face them. His orange-red eyes darted between them all, uncertain of where exactly he should look.

Instead of saying anything, Hûra held his tongue. As much as he wanted to ask why he was there, he feared punishment for speaking out of turn. Much like the Dark tribe, the Mystics ran on fear and if the young didn’t fear the old then the balance of the clan would be ruined. Or that is what the elders believe. The elder released Hûra’s chin, stepping back so the younger uruk was standing alone before the five of them. Hûra’s off white robes didn’t fit his thin frame very well. He was on the skinny side from never getting the rations he needed to grow but he had already grown used to having little to eat. He had to keep shrugging his shoulders to prevent his robes from slipping off his body.

“Do you know why we have called for you?” The elder’s voice was smooth but there was a hint of something sinister underneath his pleasant demeanor. Hûra could never place it and it made his skin crawl.

“No sir…” Hûra shook his head. His braided hair fell over one of his shoulders and he shrugged it off. He picked at his sore, cracked lips with his teeth.

“Do not fear, you are not in any trouble.” Hûra looked up at him, watching as he walked over to the hearth where a fire was burning hotly. The building where the elders reside is the warmest place in the covenant but most of the young pups and novice and intermediate necromancers weren’t allowed inside unless they were invited. Hûra was barely novice so it was very unusual that he was allowed in, much less requested by name from one of the highest ranking elders in the clan.

“Kûga- '' Another elder looked over to the hearth, looking slightly annoyed, if not completely aggravated, to be called in for a meeting before a mere pup. Kûga looked over to him, smiling slightly.

“What? Do you doubt the choice I have made?” Choice? What choice? The elder that spoke up closed his mouth and set his jaw. He crossed his arms and glared at Hûra as though he had done something to offend him.

“Hûra, I believe that we haven’t been terribly fair to you since you have become a part of our clan.” Kûga had taken Hûra completely aback. What…? Did- Did he really mean that? Hûra carefully watched the elder’s expression and body language, keeping his face purposefully blank as he did so.

“What do you mean, sir?” Hûra blinked as Kûga turned to face him fully, hands behind his back. Hûra didn’t waver as he stepped closer to him but he did prepare himself for a possible strike. It wouldn’t be the first time that it would happen for little reason and it wouldn’t be the last if it were the case. To his surprise, Kûga neither struck him nor invaded his personal space, though he did tower over the pup, making him feel small and anxious.

“You are a very gifted young uruk, Hûra. True, you may not be a gifted necromancer…” Kûga took a step closer and Hûra held his breath, almost flinching as the elder placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t bother to hide his disappointment from the boy, Hûra knowing full well that the Mystic prized necromancy over all other practices. He was still ambivalent towards the elder, not certain as to what the purpose of this meeting was.

“...but you are a gifted osteomancer.” Kûga squeezed Hûra’s shoulder, his sharp nails digging into his skin. Hûra didn’t waver as he spoke though his heart did start pounding in his chest upon hearing the compliment. He knew better than to let it get to him but still he couldn’t help but to bask in the praise at least a little bit.

“And as a gifted osteomancer, it would be wrong to deprive you of your birth right.” Kûga released his shoulder and brought his arm back to his side. Hûra’s eyes followed his arm, feeling more on edge after so many nice things being said to him. There is something for the elders to gain by flattering him and Hûra wasn’t sure exactly what that would be. Did they want him to read his bones for them, or was it something else? Hûra said nothing, waiting for his elder to continue.

“We have all decided-” Kûga gestured to the older uruks around him. They all looked annoyed to a degree, some more so than others and even more looking dispassionate about the situation. Hûra doubted very much they had anything to do with this ‘decision’ but still he kept silent.

“-that you would benefit from some more… exploratory lessons.” Hûra was genuinely taken aback and unable to stay silent any longer.

“Excuse me, sir?” He blinked rapidly, struggling to keep his heart at bay. Kûga almost seemed pleased with this reaction, something that greatly set Hûra on edge.

“There is a group of experienced necromancers that will be traveling to Khagukhôr. You know where that is, yes?” Hûra nodded hesitantly.

“The… great fortress of Seregost.” Kûga nodded.

“And… who is the overlord of Khagukhôr?” Hûra blinked blankly and Kûga stared at him expectantly.

“I do not know, sir.” The elder quirked a brow.

“Oh? Is that so?” Hûra stared back at him, unwavering and unflinching.

“Yes, sir. I have never been taught who the overlord of the region is.” Hûra wasn’t lying when saying this. He blinked again as Kûga’s gaze lingered on him for an uncomfortable amount of time. When he still didn’t flinch he nodded and relaxed his posture.

“Very well. Your peers will inform you on this on your journey to the stronghold. Be sure to mind them well and treat them with the respect you show to us, your true elders.”

“Yes sir.”

Hûra was sweating by the time he was dismissed. It was easy to cover up, as he was so close to the fire and he was unaccustomed to the warmth it provided but he greatly disliked how Kûga kept a close eye on him up until he closed the door behind him. Hûra didn’t dislike lying, especially to elders, but what he truly disliked was being grilled by an elder that seemed to know much more than he let on.

Did he know that Hûra knew? How would he know that Hûra was a chronic eavesdropper, especially with how careful he was? Hûra didn’t believe that Kûga knew outright that he had a tendency to snoop but he likely didn’t trust him due to his origins in the Dark tribe. What if he chose him for that very reason? Hûra had to stop his thoughts from spiraling out of control. He hasn’t felt any excitement from the announcement that he would be traveling outside of the covenant for the first time in… what? Months? A year? Longer? Hûra couldn’t feel anything other than lingering dread and anxiety from the entire ordeal, though, his brothers would be the ones to make up for his lack of enthusiasm.

“You’re leavin’ the covenant, brother! Why do you look so fuckin’ miserable for?!” Skoth was playfully shaking and pushing Hûra, who couldn’t look more worried and uncertain if he put genuine effort into it.

“I-I don’t- OOF-!” Hûra was cut off as Mogg wrapped his arms around Hûra’s neck from behind.

“Can you at least try to be excited for this?! It looks like you’re starting to move up in the world-!”

“Don’t say that…”

“What?! Why?!” Hûra understood why Mogg and Skoth were happy for him but Hûra couldn’t feel anything other than sheer dread at the thought of catching that elder’s eye. He’s sure his brothers would understand why he feels this way if he explained it to them… but he doesn’t have any solid reason as to why he is paranoid. Not yet, anyway…

“I-I just- Ah, I don’t know…” Hûra was losing steam and he allowed his shoulders to sag. Mogg was leaning over him and nearly laying on top of his back, pouting as he looked at Hûra from the corners of his eyes.

“...I will be fine, Mogg. Don’t worry.” Hûra smiled a little, but it was a little disingenuous. They all certainly noticed this but they let it go. Hûra didn’t want to sour the mood but he couldn’t hide his anxieties well, either.

“Why’re you goin’ out there? What’d they want with you?” Skoth rocked back and forth on the rock he was seated on. The wind was cold and he found it difficult to sit still even warm and satisfied. Hûra shrugged a little, chewing on one of his nails nervously.

“They said… something about my osteomancy.” This piqued their interests. The Mystics only cared for necromancers for the most part. For them to show interest in anything else was unusual and never without particular, if not totally nefarious, reasons.

“Really? ‘s weird…” Mogg rested his chin on Hûra’s shoulder thoughtfully. Skoth nodded in agreement. The four of them were trapped in an uneasy silence until Fûbar spoke up.

“...perhaps it is for monetary reasons.” The three of them turn to face him, a little surprised but not towards the wisdom of his words, merely the suddenness of his observation.

“Y-Yeah… That makes sense…” Mogg sucked on his teeth and released Hûra. Hûra sighed softly as his shoulders sagged.

Of course it was only because they could get something out of him…

It was difficult not to be sour over this revelation. Hûra was already feeling dread since Kûga was the one that decided he was to go to Khagukhôr with more experienced necromancers. Not only that, Hûra was almost certain that he knew who would be the one to lead this group to the fortress, and if he was right, it would mean that the next few weeks of his life would be hell. Or at least a different variant of hell than it already was.

The dark black robe that wa\s slipped over his head by an older Mystic was nearly two sizes too big for him but he was shoved out of the way regardless. Hûra was surprised that they would allow him to wear the garb of an experienced Mystic, that they would want someone like him to be associated with their colours but maybe it was for yet another reason that was beyond his understanding. There was surely a grander scheme at play, though Hûra was largely ignorant to this at least for now. He knew to keep quiet and to simply follow whatever course of action was dictated for him by his superiors but it would be difficult, given that he was placed in charge.

“Hmph-” Yellow-green eyes glare at Hûra as he walks towards a group of uruks slightly older than he is.

They are all dressed in black, as he is, though their robes fit them much better and it’s clear that they were fitted to them specifically, unlike Hûra’s, whose robes were clearly loaned to him by a likely unwilling or ignorant uruk. Standing side by side with these older uruks, Hûra was close to many of them in height, some were taller than he was, some were shorter, their rank was apparent due to both their robes and the haughty air that was about them all as they turned their noses up at him with a sneer.

“So the little misfit finally decides to grace us with his presence.” There was no mistaking that voice for anyone else. It was grating on the ears and Hûra was already frowning and on edge from it.

Zog…

“If I had it my way, we would have left you and been a quarter of the way to Khagukhôr already.” He narrowed his eyes at Hûra.

“Dimwit.”

Hûra hopes that Zog’s face sticks on that stupid expression for the rest of his life. He was simply insufferable. Zog thinks he’s the greatest gift that has ever graced the land of Mordor but he was just like the rest of the Mystics that are in too deep, only he actually seems to believe the shrakh that he and that serpent Kûga spouts about during every morning and evening congregation.

The other Mystics snickered at Hûra as his ears began to darken. Some things always remain the same, even if the faces and voices mocking him are different. He only swallowed thickly and exhaled through his nose. Hûra set his jaw and stared at Zog expectantly, who merely glared right back at him.

Zog was unpleasant on the eyes, sharp, yellow eyes set into sharp, angular features that didn’t compliment a single aspect of himself. He was free of any scarring on his face or his hands, unlike Hûra and his own brothers, who all had lived hard lives before being sold to the Mystics. Zog was a favorite since birth and this was evident in how he addresses others and carries himself. His hair was well kept and shiny red though interlaced with heavy greying, always in a neat braid and tied with a fine, black fabric far nicer than Hûra has ever dreamed of having himself. Zog’s robes weren’t like the ones that Hûra wore, clearly new and tailored specifically for him and his abnormally long torso and thin, scrawny frame. It wasn’t threadbare nor was it patched together, almost as nice as the robes the elders, themselves, wear on a daily basis. He looked down at Hûra from behind his flattened nose, diverting his attention from the younger uruks to the other, older ones.

“If there are no more lollygaggers then we will take our leave.”

Unlike the other, older uruks, Hûra was responsible for his own pack. He carried it over his shoulders with little effort, as he had very little to take with him. Everything he owned was long since confiscated from him and everything he did take was loaned to him, not actually his own, personal belongings. They were all expected to ride on caragor back, Hûra included. The other uruks had fine beasts of varying sizes but similar heath states, other than Zog, of course, who had a beast that was dark of pelt and that had thick, wooly fur and a broad back. It was a handsome beast, unlike Hûra’s, who was a tiny, scrawny thing that had patchy fur and a wheeze that was accompanied by the occasional wet cough. Hûra knew all these beasts moderately well, since he and his brothers, especially Skoth, often spent time in and around the caragor pens as a means to both pass the time and to stay out of trouble. His Feral brother had been complaining about the beast’s ailing health for months but it was all discarded, just like everything else they had ever tried telling their seniors. The other uruks thought this to be a great slight to Hûra, that his vanity was as deep and rich as theirs was but unbeknownst to them, the beast recognized him and perked up as Hûra offered his hand for it to sniff.

“Here, take my pack-” Hûra flinched and fumbled as a bag was tossed towards him. He scowled and nudged it away with his foot.

“I won’t carry it.” The older uruk stared at him, almost shocked that he dared to speak to him at all, let alone to back talk to him.

“What did you just say?” Hûra made a face.

“I will not carry it nor will the beast.” His caragor was already winded and trembling from effort and he wasn’t even upon its back. The uruk again looked at Hûra, still surprised but visibly annoyed.

“You will take it.” Hûra curled his lip in irritation.

“If you do not take it back up, it will be left behind.” And with that, he climbed a top of his beast, careful to not put too much strain onto it at once and brought it to heel as it shifted awkwardly. Hûra made his way to the other Mystics that were already mounted onto their beasts, leaving behind the older uruk staring dumbly at the caragor’s dry and cracked feet as it hobbled away.

If they expected Hûra and his beast to carry all of their packs, they were mistaken. It would be physically possible and surely they knew this… It wouldn’t prevent the lot of them from becoming irritated with Hûra for denying them a chance to haze him but Hûra didn’t really care. He had to knot his fingers into his beast’s balding mane and hold on tightly to its sides with his legs as it trembled underneath his weight. The other uruks and caragors inched away from him and looked disgusted at the pathetic creature underneath him.

“Are you quite finished yet, dimwit?” Zog sneered at Hûra. He wasn’t even the one that was the last to join the group… Hûra kept his face neutral and relaxed his grip on the beast’s mangy hair, lest he accidentally rip out the little that remained on its withers.

“The journey to Khagukhôr will be arduous but we will not stop should one of you fall behind.” The way Zog stared at him made Hûra’s blood boil. He didn’t waver from Zog’s gaze and the older uruk didn’t take his eyes off of him as he continued to speak.

“We will arrive within the week.” Hûra narrowed his eyes.

This poor beast will be pushed to the brink of death… Hûra patted it on the side of its neck and it lifted its head at the contact. Without saying another word, Zog kicked his beast in the side and it took off at a brisk pace. All the Mystics followed Zog, pushing ahead of Hûra and his struggling beast. He expected that they would force him to the back but he was surprised they made him the last link in their caravan. The uruk that tried to force his bag onto Hûra glared at him as he passed him, spitting as others followed at his heels. Hûra curled his lip and settled into the back of the line.

His crows were the only true company that Hûra had during that long journey. And the caragor, of course. It was such an ugly little thing but Hûra preferred it over any of these uruks without a doubt. They pretended as though he didn’t exist, leaving him out of their discussions and not answering any of his questions whenever he posed them.

“What do you think I am? A vatkeeper? I will not be your wetnurse, dimwit!” And when Hûra asked him what a ‘wetnurse’ was, Zog curled his lip at him and shoved him out of the way.

Full of shrakh bastard…

A week has never felt so long and grueling… Even in the harsh, wet chill of Cirith Ungol, Hûra was able to entertain himself and find at least a fleeting measure of comfort in her caves but here, surrounded by Mystics that couldn’t give less of a damn about him? It was difficult… He didn’t have his brothers at his side, always making sure that he was okay, that he was eating enough ,that he was sleeping in spite of not taking the draught that made them all sleep long and deep at night, that he wasn’t sad and that he smiled at least once throughout the day… All Hûra had were his crows and the caragor and even then, the other Mystics found reason to be gravely annoyed with Hûra.

“Stop-! Stop it-!” One of his seniors, Flogg, seemed to particularly hate the crows that followed them throughout their journey. While they all swatted the birds away and occasionally threw something at them, Flogg became more and more incensed as the crows slowly began to realize that most of the Mystics generally bluffed when they tried to do them harm.

Not Flogg, though.

He had his spear in hand and he was contemplating on which bird looked to be the easiest target. To say he was shocked when Hûra grabbed the butt of his spear and yanked it out of his hand would be an understatement. The pup had been a wallflower since he arrived in Seregost those few years ago and he had never spoken out against anyone in the clan, especially those that held even a trace of power in their grasp. But now? He threw Flogg’s spear to the ground, gritting his teeth and glaring at him with enough intensity to make the older uruk shrink away before he had the mind to square his shoulders against his junior.

“Do not lay a finger on my crows!” Hûra’s tone dripped with venom and he took a step towards the older uruk. Older… but not bigger. Hûra had grown substantially since his arrival in Seregost and he stood taller than many in their Mystic clan and this was true for Flogg as well. When standing straight, he could only look at Hûra’s neckline and even then, when he wishes, the younger uruk could make himself even bigger and more intimidating from the sheer weight of his gaze alone.

“W-Wha-? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, pup-!” Flogg’s body twitched as Hûra leaned over him.

“Don’t fucking touch my crows.”

They were less than a day’s ride from Khagukhôr but they were all ready to tear each other’s heads off. Or, at least it was Hûra wanting to maul his companions to death and vice versa. They couldn’t stand each other as it was and tempers were running higher than ever, especially now that Hûra was no longer feeling pressured to behave in a docile fashion since his precious crows were threatened.

“They are just fucking birds! Pests-!” Flogg raised an arm and Hûra swatted it away before he had the opportunity to strike first.

“They are mine-!” Hûra was grabbed from behind and pulled backwards onto the ground.

“Shut the fuck up you dimwits!” Zog brushed his hand on his cloak as though touching Hûra was offensive and dirty. He looked disgusted at not just Hûra, but Flogg as well.

“Have you forgotten that the crebain are precious servants to our Dark Lord.” Hûra growled under his breath and locked his jaw.

Not his flock-

“And have you-” Zog turned to look at Hûra, still seated on the ground with his arm pulled over his mouth to hide the growing aggression that was becoming apparent on his face.

“-forgotten your place as a junior and a novice?” Zog narrowed his eyes and Hûra glared up at him. When he tried to rise to his feet, Zog shoved him back down with the flat of his boot.

“Well?” Hûra narrowed his eyes.

“I have not forgotten.” Zog lowers his foot.

“Good.”

Zog leaves Hûra on the snow-covered ground, seething and gritting his teeth with enough force that he feared they would crack. He took several deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth, until he became steady once more. The crows now kept their distance but they did not abandon him like Flogg had wished them to.

He still isn’t alone…

Hûra already wished he was back in the covenant, with his brothers, where his crows could be at peace… Anger and shame burned his cheeks as they continued on caragor back, his beast beginning to struggle to the point that Hûra was nearly on the cusp of jumping off its back to save it the strain of his weight.

It’s only a little further, right…?

A rancid smell hit Hûra’s nose before they entered an uruk-hewn valley. He curled his lip as his nose twitched, the smell at first a possible carcass that has been long dead and on the side of the trail or in one of the many outposts that dotted the way to the stronghold, but when a light breeze suddenly picked up, Hûra instantly doubled over and began to gag.

“URK-”

He nearly fell off his caragor as he leaned over, vomiting up the little rations that he had for the remaining day’s trek. It was a swift onset that left him gagging and dry heaving even long after his stomach was emptied of its meager contents. Hûra’s traveling companions all turn on their beasts and stop, their faces all a mix of disgust and sympathetically nauseous as they watch the younger uruk struggle to right his position on his mangy caragor’s back.

“U-Ugh- O-Ouug-”

“What the fuck’s your problem?” One of the older members of their caravan asked as Hûra tried and failed to stop himself from gagging repeatedly.”

“S-Smeee- E-Ehhh-” Speaking was difficult and his stomach was now cramping involuntarily. Zog scowled at him and snapped at him when he didn’t collect himself quickly enough for his liking.

“What’s that? Speak up! What the hell’s wrong with you?!” Hûra tried to pinch his nose but it did nothing to lessen the smell of fresh and decaying gore that assaulted his sense of smell. He could taste it in his mouth and Hûra’s eyes were watering as he spat a mouthful of sick onto the dirtied snow.

“...’ell. T-The… s-smell…” The uruks looked at him, annoyed and confused. Hûra was beginning to get annoyed, himself.

“...you lot cannot smell that?!” Hûra nearly forgot that his nose was special and a rarity in Mordor. Even if he could smell a carcass from over a mile away, surely something that overpowering couldn’t be missed, even to dull-noses like them. But they all looked around, some tasting the air intentionally, something that made Hûra’s body ache with disgust but Zog just stared at him with that aggravating look that he always wore.

“What are you talking about? There is nothing on the wind!” Hûra couldn't stop his eyes from watering.

“Yes, there is. What is in the surrounding outposts? The fortress? Death in all stages surrounds this place.” Hûra stated it as a fact because it was. He was never told who was the overlord of Khagukhôr, or what going-ons happened there or in any of the surrounding outposts. Whenever he asked, he was turned away and ridiculed for his ignorance, or his stupidity, rather. Zog’s face didn’t waver as he stared at Hûra, almost testing to see if he would doubt his own senses when a senior uruk tells him otherwise. When Hûra doesn’t back down, when he asks, again, what tribe was in control of the fortress Zog tells him curtly-

“Hoshgrish the Scar-Artist, of the Terror tribe holds Khagukhôr.” Ahh…

Yes, things make sense now.

Hûra has only heard terrible things about the Terrors, most of which have come from Mogg, having been born into the tribe. Perhaps most of it was due to his gift, hemomancy, and being surrounded by so much blood had him reeling, much like how Hûra reeled during and after dinner while he was surrounded by bones. Mogg, like him and his other brothers, weren’t typical uruks and they all struggled to fit into the roles that have already been defined for them since before they were born. A tribe so focused on pain and suffering, of others and oneself, made Hûra nauseous to even consider but now that he has truly caught a whiff of it?

He is dreading coming any closer to that dreaded fortress.

“If you are quite finished with the… theatrics.” Zog’s voice cut through Hûra’s thoughts and grated on his already frayed nerves. Zog kicked his caragor’s side and the beast snarled as it turned on its heel. The other uruks were following suit, with only one Mystic allowing his gaze to linger on Hûra’s pained face before he turned around as well.

“Hrmm…”

Hûra had nothing left to vomit by the time they arrived at Khagukhôr’s gates. He had thought that the Terrors were in control of the fortress but Hûra wasn’t sure if they were still in control when he was summoned in front of his elders. Overlords change like the violent weather in Mordor and there’s no telling if this Hoshgrish has been in power very long at all, especially given that Zog and his gang was on their way to flatter him as a means to gain more power for the Mystics.

Gods, that fort-

To say it was garish would be an understatement. Hûra never fully believed Mogg whenever he told stories about the terrible living conditions under the Terrors and how utterly disgusting they were in keeping the dying and long dead on display in all manner and fashion of pain and suffering. The gates had scarcely closed behind him and already he was totally overwhelmed with the smell, sound and sight of torture. Hûra was on edge as the Mystics pulled their caragors to a halt. He did not know what he was expected to do after they arrived at the fortress. The elder, Kûga, merely said that this was an ‘exploratory lesson’, whatever that was supposed to mean. Zog and the older Mystics in his caravan all made a point to ignore any questions he posed, taking great pleasure in seeing him grow more and more uncomfortable as they drew closer to the fort. Now that they were at their intended destination, Hûra awkwardly followed their lead as they dismounted, standing beside his poor beast that was trembling so violently that he nearly thought it would keel over at a mildly strong breeze.

“We are departing for the keep.” Zog’s tone was matter of fact and Hûra didn’t know if he was speaking to him directly or to the group as a whole.

The other Mystics followed Zog as he walked away from his beasts, several uruks hurrying over to take them to their pens. All of them looked beyond annoyed and they glared at Hûra. Though… the more he observed him, the less he believed they were targeting him solely. They all made a face as they watched the black-clad Mystics walk away and they viewed Hûra with weary suspicion, being a stranger and one from a group that they had every right to be distrustful of anyone wearing the colours of Sauron’s devotees.

“Not you, pup.” Hûra scowled.

“What.” He wasn’t asking. Hûra couldn’t demand anything of his seniors but it wouldn’t stop him from dancing along that thin line. Zog looked over his shoulder, not quite irate but he was bordering on incensed.

“Do you seriously believe that someone like you would ever be welcomed inside the fortress proper?” Hûra’s face fell though he wasn’t quite frowning. He was annoyed but said nothing else.

“Go do whatever it is that ‘osteomancy’ requires of you. Play with carcasses or whatever the hell it is you do in your spare time.” Hûra could feel his blood rising in his neck.

“You already know the reason for your presence. Just don’t forget that anything you collect is not yours but the covenant’s.” Hûra was left standing in the snowy, muddy entrance where the caragors still stood, some bristling slightly as strange uruks approached them while the sickly one that Hûra rode in on hobbled over to him and nudged him with his balding muzzle. Instead of feeling anger for being left behind, Hûra felt a small amount of relief.

“Come-” He tapped his caragor on the nose and it followed on his heels, the other beasts filing in behind the others with a little sharp encouragement on Hûra’s part.

“Where?” One of the uruks that came to take the beasts looked a little surprised that Hûra was addressing him.

“E-Eh?” Hûra turned to look at him. Instantly, all of their faces became weary as they looked into his eyes, but they seemed to hesitate as they weren’t sure what he was asking of them.

“The beasts. Where do they go?” One of the uruk’s eyes lit up in recognition.

“I-It’s… I’ll show you-” Hûra nodded and waited for him to take the lead. He didn’t move immediately, but when Hûra remained silent and waiting, he awkwardly shuffled forward. Hûra followed behind him, flanked by the beasts that seemed to be more loyal to him than their original riders.

@space-arsonist, @elvenmoans, @sinick, @dirtymeanuruk, @boozy-dwarf

#lotr #middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #shadow of mordor #shadow of war #uruks #my ocs #some graphic description #vomiting #Zog and Hûra have something going on and it's toxic af #spacearsonist's oc

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