The coins jingled dully in the dwarfs stout fingers as he separated out three large platnium cogs. His muted brown cloak shifted as he outstretched his arm, a loose fitting black sleeve beneath. He handed the cogs stoically to the Mind Flayer's writhing appendage.
The dwarf said nothing, and concentrated on the exchange rates of various items in Sigil. Purchased Mechanus Cogs for one thousand twenty. A two percent rate. The buyer could exchange back for a further two percent fee, totaling four percent. Fourty jink times three is 120... sixty paid by himself, sixty paid by the flayer.
The exchanges were simple, the exercise routine. He executed the math precisely again and again, a mental kata. Each repetition was a layer of bricks added to the tower in his mind. An impenetrable fortress. He felt a tingle in his forehead, the flayers mental probe gently caressing. Mind Flayers in general were seldom swindled.. they could almost always glean the buyers true desires and willingness to pay, and always asked for as much as their psychic trespassing allowed them.
The flayer gained nothing from the dwarf. The dwarf was no simple buyer. He had spent a lifetime taming his mind, training it like a muscle to obey his intentions. He would not think about why he was purchasing the ogre slave, nor what the ogre's true value was to him. The dwarf would not contemplate how he had overcome the years of torture he endured under a witche's curse, a prisoner in his own mind. He would not reveal the mercy he felt towards the sad looking ogre, who seemed to be enduring its own crucible. He would not betray his personal feelings, lest they be a weapon against him in negotiation.
The dwarf said nothing as the flayer leaned in and stared hard at him, milky white eyes piercing deep. The tentacles surrounding the flayers mouth reached longingly. The psychic caress became a more insistent knocking. The dwarf's computations iterated a twentieth time, his mind a single track with no opening for deviation.
After a moment of fruitless prying, the flayer relented, his appendages twitching in mild irritation. He motioned to his side, then continued staring at the dwarf while workers opened the ogres cage and roused the giant. Chains rattled as the ogre rose slowly and came out peacefully, a forlorn look on his shaggy face. The dwarf took the chain and the flayer turned his back and glided slowly away.
[I suggest you eat him quickly. This one is shrinking every day, and is unwilling to eat.] The voice was wet and haunting as it echoed through the dwarfs mind. [And no refunds. When you realize he is too dumb for labor and too tough for good digestion...] The flayer paused and glanced back over his shoulder, his look shifting from annoyed to sly, [.. I hear the dustmen dispose of corpses for a reasonable price.]
The dwarf held the chain firmly and walked through the bazzar quietly, the ogre's large uncovered feet thudding softly behind him. When they had arrived at the dwarfs room at the inn he slowly removed the chains from around the ogre's wrist. The hairy forearms were matted with sweat and red with irritation. The ogres arms hung limply, their miserable owner not even bothering to tend his own wound. The ogre stared blankly towards the wall of the room.
The dwarf slowly leaned forward and began chanting a prayer. Tenderly he took up the ogres arm and rubbed his wrists, his own dwarven hands glowing with faint light. He massaged the light into the ogres hulking wrists and cleared his throat. It hurt him to speak, but hope welled within him as he ogre looked down into his eyes. The dwarf spoke in a soft raspy voice, "I am Grashak, servant of Helm. You are free. With Helm's love I will feed you, heal you and protect you. You are safe." It was more words than Grashak had used in the last week.
The ogre looked into Grashaks earnest eyes and knew this was no trick. Hope radiated from the dwarf like warmth from a fire, teasing to life a spark of hope within the ogres broken heart. In a deep and rumbling voice the ogre finally spoke one word. "Godor?"
Godor
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*DamienKnight
- Posts: 4
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Grashak woke with a groan, every muscle burning. The fur that covered his body was matted with blood. He was fairly certain his leg and possibly his paw were broken. He convulsed and retched, swollen eyes leaking tears and blood.
He could not see, but a swaying motion made him think he was being carried. He shifted his canine ears as he listened to the crunch of footsteps... and immediately regretted it. The cartilage in right ear made painful popping noises at the motion.
He retched a third and final time, but his dry mouth did not even regurgitate saliva. He hadn't eaten in days, and was dehydrated after spending hours fleeing for his life. The scared and angry townsfolk were easy enough to escape... his enlongated arms allowed him to lope like a wolf. But then the mounted soldiers and their hunting dogs found his trail. He ran through rocky forests near the base of a mountain ridge, eluding capture for hours. He had killed or maimed all four of the hunting dogs, and escaped after being briefly captured by nets. His teeth and claws were sharper than any natural animals, and the nets had only slowed him. The beating he took while ripping free had cost him though, and as his lope became limp, he had been forced to throw himself into a ravine to evade pursuit.
Intense pain shot through his neck as Grashak turned to see who was carrying him. He saw a bearded face, probably human, hooded in a muddy green cloak. The man looked down and whispered, "Rest, you are safe." Grashak wanted to believe him. His instincts said this was an earnest person. But the last few weeks had taught him that mankind did not tolerate strange beasts, and that is what he had been turned into. No, worse than a beast, an abberation.
He was exhausted but did not sleep, his weary heart unable to accept peace. He must be ready for when the man realized what Grashak was and turned on him. Broken leg or not, he would flee.
It may have been hours, Grashak was not sure. Eventually they came to a part of the forest that was so thick with trees and brush that they blocked out the sun. They seemed to give way as the man walked through, and even thorny branches did not snag them. Grashak heard the sound of a pully cranking... he had used pullys like that when loading produce onto carts in the past. He realized they were rising up, some sort of elevator pulling them into the high branches of the trees. They came across a wooden rope bridge and finally to a canvas roofed treehouse.
The man gently set Grashak on a mat and brought him water in a wineskin. He cleaned Grashak and bound his wounds, and eventually brought him meat. He sniffed it and guessed it was wild game, probably a day old. He ate it ravenously, a broken tooth crunching as it came loose. His own blood mixed with the meat, but he did not stop.. he ate through the pain, feeding his ravenous hunger.
When Grashak did not sleep, the man began talking to him. Grashak could understand him, although the meaning of words seemed fuzzy to him. Distant... as though the longer he had this animalistic form, the more his mind transformed away from his dwarven sensibilities. Food, terrain, actions.. these made sense. The names of towns, peoples names, these became harder and harder to understand.
Finally, Grashak attempted to reply, but only came out with a strange 'Grrraaaaa' noise. The man smiled and said, 'I know you are not an animal. You look almost humaniod to me. I thought maybe you could talk. What is your name?'
Grashak struggled to say his name, Rasiak. What came out was a groaning 'GrrraaaashhhaaaaK.'
***
Grashak snapped out of the memory his eyes focusing back onto the Ogre before him. Godor was huge... close to ten feet from foot to haunching shoulders. Even sitting, in a pathetic droop, he was three times as tall as Grashak. Grashak motioned to the food before him, "Eat Godor. It is good food, and you need it. I promise, you may still be sad after eating, but you WILL feel better."
The Ogre had so much in common with Grashak's past. Grashak had been a pathetic beast, incapable of saying anything more than his own name. But his situation was vastly different too. Part of the Witches Curse that had turned Grashak into a beast had been and insatiable hunger. Even injured and forlorn, he had eaten ravenously. Even after Grashak's curse had been lifted and he became a dwarf once again, the memory of so great a hunger would linger with him forever. Once you have lived only to eat, once you had known a need so primal and strong, you did not ever forget it.
But the Ogre was sad. Grashak did not know why, Godor could not tell him. The Illithid slave masters often broke their slave's minds in order to train them. The weak ones often faired better... the more likely they were to obey on their own, the more of themselves the brainwashing Mind Flayers would allow them to keep. Its possible Godor had always been dumb... incapable of saying more than his name. But Grashak believed otherwise. He saw something in the Ogre that made him believe there was much more going on in that Ogre's mind.
After all, weren't true fools usually happy? In fact, in Dwarven, the word for the mentally incapable translated to literally 'Carefree One'. Wouldn't a mindless ogre tear into juicy food before him? No, to possess so deep a sadness, one must care about something. One must care deeply for something and lose it. To be so sad suggested Godor had cared VERY deeply for something or someone. That is what intrigued Grashak and gave him hope. A heart capable of such deep care could be mended, and taught to care again. Grashak would find what Godor was Passionate about, and he would use that to pull this Ogre out of his stupor.
That is why Grashak thought that the simplicity in Godor's speech was likely related to damage from the Illithids Mind flaying. Likely Godor's passion had made him strong willed, and they had punished that with destructive telepathic powers, corrupting the part of Godor's mind that facilitated speech.
Godor pushed the Mutton away and sighed. Grashak stood and went to his kitchen, cleaning his own plate. Perhaps he needed to try something different... maybe fruit? He finally went to take Godor's untouched plate away when he saw it and froze. There had been a leafy garnish on the mutton plate before. But it was gone.
"You dont eat meat!" Grashak's raspy voice cracked as he said it. Amazing, he thought. The ogre was so big he would need special plants to build his muscle. Grashak would check with his elven friend for advice on preparing vegetarian cuisine in Sigil.
Grashak smiled. This would work. Godor will be saved.
He could not see, but a swaying motion made him think he was being carried. He shifted his canine ears as he listened to the crunch of footsteps... and immediately regretted it. The cartilage in right ear made painful popping noises at the motion.
He retched a third and final time, but his dry mouth did not even regurgitate saliva. He hadn't eaten in days, and was dehydrated after spending hours fleeing for his life. The scared and angry townsfolk were easy enough to escape... his enlongated arms allowed him to lope like a wolf. But then the mounted soldiers and their hunting dogs found his trail. He ran through rocky forests near the base of a mountain ridge, eluding capture for hours. He had killed or maimed all four of the hunting dogs, and escaped after being briefly captured by nets. His teeth and claws were sharper than any natural animals, and the nets had only slowed him. The beating he took while ripping free had cost him though, and as his lope became limp, he had been forced to throw himself into a ravine to evade pursuit.
Intense pain shot through his neck as Grashak turned to see who was carrying him. He saw a bearded face, probably human, hooded in a muddy green cloak. The man looked down and whispered, "Rest, you are safe." Grashak wanted to believe him. His instincts said this was an earnest person. But the last few weeks had taught him that mankind did not tolerate strange beasts, and that is what he had been turned into. No, worse than a beast, an abberation.
He was exhausted but did not sleep, his weary heart unable to accept peace. He must be ready for when the man realized what Grashak was and turned on him. Broken leg or not, he would flee.
It may have been hours, Grashak was not sure. Eventually they came to a part of the forest that was so thick with trees and brush that they blocked out the sun. They seemed to give way as the man walked through, and even thorny branches did not snag them. Grashak heard the sound of a pully cranking... he had used pullys like that when loading produce onto carts in the past. He realized they were rising up, some sort of elevator pulling them into the high branches of the trees. They came across a wooden rope bridge and finally to a canvas roofed treehouse.
The man gently set Grashak on a mat and brought him water in a wineskin. He cleaned Grashak and bound his wounds, and eventually brought him meat. He sniffed it and guessed it was wild game, probably a day old. He ate it ravenously, a broken tooth crunching as it came loose. His own blood mixed with the meat, but he did not stop.. he ate through the pain, feeding his ravenous hunger.
When Grashak did not sleep, the man began talking to him. Grashak could understand him, although the meaning of words seemed fuzzy to him. Distant... as though the longer he had this animalistic form, the more his mind transformed away from his dwarven sensibilities. Food, terrain, actions.. these made sense. The names of towns, peoples names, these became harder and harder to understand.
Finally, Grashak attempted to reply, but only came out with a strange 'Grrraaaaa' noise. The man smiled and said, 'I know you are not an animal. You look almost humaniod to me. I thought maybe you could talk. What is your name?'
Grashak struggled to say his name, Rasiak. What came out was a groaning 'GrrraaaashhhaaaaK.'
***
Grashak snapped out of the memory his eyes focusing back onto the Ogre before him. Godor was huge... close to ten feet from foot to haunching shoulders. Even sitting, in a pathetic droop, he was three times as tall as Grashak. Grashak motioned to the food before him, "Eat Godor. It is good food, and you need it. I promise, you may still be sad after eating, but you WILL feel better."
The Ogre had so much in common with Grashak's past. Grashak had been a pathetic beast, incapable of saying anything more than his own name. But his situation was vastly different too. Part of the Witches Curse that had turned Grashak into a beast had been and insatiable hunger. Even injured and forlorn, he had eaten ravenously. Even after Grashak's curse had been lifted and he became a dwarf once again, the memory of so great a hunger would linger with him forever. Once you have lived only to eat, once you had known a need so primal and strong, you did not ever forget it.
But the Ogre was sad. Grashak did not know why, Godor could not tell him. The Illithid slave masters often broke their slave's minds in order to train them. The weak ones often faired better... the more likely they were to obey on their own, the more of themselves the brainwashing Mind Flayers would allow them to keep. Its possible Godor had always been dumb... incapable of saying more than his name. But Grashak believed otherwise. He saw something in the Ogre that made him believe there was much more going on in that Ogre's mind.
After all, weren't true fools usually happy? In fact, in Dwarven, the word for the mentally incapable translated to literally 'Carefree One'. Wouldn't a mindless ogre tear into juicy food before him? No, to possess so deep a sadness, one must care about something. One must care deeply for something and lose it. To be so sad suggested Godor had cared VERY deeply for something or someone. That is what intrigued Grashak and gave him hope. A heart capable of such deep care could be mended, and taught to care again. Grashak would find what Godor was Passionate about, and he would use that to pull this Ogre out of his stupor.
That is why Grashak thought that the simplicity in Godor's speech was likely related to damage from the Illithids Mind flaying. Likely Godor's passion had made him strong willed, and they had punished that with destructive telepathic powers, corrupting the part of Godor's mind that facilitated speech.
Godor pushed the Mutton away and sighed. Grashak stood and went to his kitchen, cleaning his own plate. Perhaps he needed to try something different... maybe fruit? He finally went to take Godor's untouched plate away when he saw it and froze. There had been a leafy garnish on the mutton plate before. But it was gone.
"You dont eat meat!" Grashak's raspy voice cracked as he said it. Amazing, he thought. The ogre was so big he would need special plants to build his muscle. Grashak would check with his elven friend for advice on preparing vegetarian cuisine in Sigil.
Grashak smiled. This would work. Godor will be saved.