Realm of The Forgotten Gods

Divine Intervention

As the days went by, Malcolm didn't get much sleep. It wasn't easy to get comfortable with his arms being shackled with heavy iron chains behind his back. Though, that wasn't the real reason that kept him from slumber. No, what bothered him the most were the screams.

It turned out that the orcs liked to get a taste of their products before selling them off. More than once Malcolm had to squeeze his eyes shut and try to shout away the inevitable sounds that occurred whenever an orc dragged a crying slave into their tent for the night.

Of course, when he had first witnessed this, he had thrown quite the fit, he'd basically been foaming at the mouth with anger. The obscenities that he shouted at the orcs even made them halt in surprise. But they didn't stay halted for long, for a second time that week Malcolm understood how a punching bag felt. Thankfully they stopped just short of breaking his bones, apparently Barolo didn't want him too badly injured.

After the orcs were done reminding Malcolm just how hopeless his situation had become, they sent over an older female slave to treat his most severe wounds. The old slave was at first hesitant to speak but he managed to get her to engage in small talk.

This slave looked a tad cleaner than the rest, she wore deep brown slightly sullied robes. And when Malcolm managed to look at her wrinkled face through the shadowed hood, he saw deep sorrow in her pale blue irises.

"My name is Malcolm and yours?... This is when you reply with your own name."

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed. "My name is Saria, though that doesn't really matter anymore..." Her voice was soft but held a slight rasp to its edge.

She was gentle as she worked, every now and then she'd whisper in words of what Malcolm assumed was magic and a cooling sensation would wash over him. His worst looking wounds would either stop bleeding or close entirely, he'd watch in amazement as the life bar at the corner of his vision would steadily increase.

"What do you mean?" Malcolm frowned. "Of course, it matters, it's your name!" he snapped. "They can't take your name."

Saria shook her head slowly, a pained look on her face. "Can't they? They've taken everything else."

Malcolm just gritted his teeth and glared at the orcs milling about in front of him. It might have been the heat of the desert sun, but he was beginning to see strange symbols floating above their heads. "Hey, do you see that?"

He turned to see Saria watching him, her cloudy blue eyes seemed to cut right through him.

"What is it?"

"You," She said after a moment. "You are a strange one."

Malcolm rolled his eyes with a huff. "Is it strange to not want to be someone's slave?"

Saria sighed as she rose to her feet, shaking her head. "No, but you-"

Just then a clay pot crashed against Saria's head, causing her to crumple to the ground.

"No talking!" One of the orcs shouted in their direction. "Healing wench, get back to your kennel! Don't make me come over there." The orc waved the spiked club in his hand threateningly. "Unless you want me to show that dusty bum of, you're a good time!"

Malcolm was about to explode, but Saria placed a hand on his shoulder as she slowly picked herself back up. She locked eyes with him and gave a quick shake of her head, then she nodded to the orc and left without a word.

Malcolm scowled at the club wielding Orc and mentally added him to his shit list. Again, a strange line of symbols appeared above the orcs head. Malcolm focused on them until finally they arranged themselves and he was able to read them.