Just a brainfart, not quite finished, but I got to the punchline :smiley: Warning, written during Writer’s Block, inspired by a certain Northrend quest.

Also, heavily AU. Sarah and Dor’ash never go to Northrend, so this could never happen.

The people stationed on Amber Ledge could definitely be said to be pretty nervous. The increasingly worrisome reports about the ground breaking up, and constant attacks by blue dragons and their servants turned everyone’s nerves as brittle as glass.

So when there was a new, sudden element of disruption, people reacted as their taut-as-bowstring minds dictated.

“You want me to what?”

The furious snarl caused several already nervous mages all through the tower to jump, and drop whatever they were carrying. The sound of shattering glass and swearing came from the upper level, where various liquids now spread out over the floor – some of them sizzling. 

Guards came running and started shouting, though still a little perplexed, at the sight of a very pale Librarian Normantis balking under the onslaught of furious ranting pouring from an orc’s mouth. The orc menaced the researcher with nothing more than a green finger continuously jabbed into the man’s chest. Still, that was a big finger.

When the guards drew nearer, a skeletal woman stepped up from the orc’s shadow and waved her hand in a somewhat placating way. It didn’t make anyone feel any better that her stained robe indicated her being a mage – one of them, in a way. Yet her flesh was rotting on her very bones, and she watched them steadily with no eyes. 

“Don’t worry, gentlemen,” she said, “we’re just having a minor disagreement.”

The orc looked up for a moment, rising the guards’ hackles even more with his enraged stare.

“Your pretty little moral code forbids you to torture prisoners? Good!” he snapped, then turned back to the recoiling Normantis. “But just because I’m an orc, you think I’m fine with it?”

The guards hesitated, and an uneasy silence fell amongst everyone else peeking around corners and down stairs to find out what was going on. Desperate situation call for desperate measures, but beneath the surface guilt simmered. And to have an orc lay it bare made many a mage of the Kirin Tor feel ill. 

“Please forgive me…” Normantis finally managed. He straightened, nervously brushing his violet tabard. “I understand that it’s a foul business, but we’re desperate to save Lady Evanor…”

The orc snorted and shook his head.

“There has to be some other way,” he grunted, raising his other hand and glaring at it. In his grip was what looked like a smooth wand, with a heavy grip and a red button on it. Suffice to say, Dor’ash had not been pleased when the Librarian explained what it did, and what it was to be used for.

He glared at Normantis, then at the nervous guards and the pale faces visible from various corners of the tower. They were scared, he understood that. This whole business made his stomach knot in dread too. In a longer perspective, it was a disaster in the making. Right now, he hardly got a wink of sleep worrying about dragons swooping down to dig their claws into-

“This is the might of the Horde?” a new voice spoke up, sneer lacing every syllable. “Soft-hearted warriors faltering at the idea of blood?”

Dor’ash turned to glare at the man sitting on a chair by the wall. Magical chains twisted around his arms and legs, but his stony, hateful expression had cracked into a manically gleeful one. His face was an unhealthy shade of grey, eyes burning with desperate fanaticism. One of the Kirin Tor, who had sworn allegiance to Malygos in a mad hope to keep his own powers.

There was not a nerve in Dor’ash’s body that thought that the wretch deserved mercy. But what Normantis had asked of him disgusted the shaman even more.

“I’d have expected more from one of your kind,” the prisoner said and spat on the floor.

Dor’ash’s temper flared, but Sarah stepped in between.

“Racists, all of you!” she snapped, rolling her head. “Just because he’s huge and green. Seriously, people, aren’t you supposed to be the enlightened ones?” She turned to Normantis, raising what remained of her eyebrows.

The Librarian started to speak, then faltered and looked away, obviously disturbed by having been lectured about morality by an undead. Dor’ash looked down at Sarah, her arms crossed in a huff, and he smiled. 

Then her scowl turned to a smirk and she straightened.

“Give me that,” she said and reached for the neural needler in Dor’ash’s grip. “I’ll do it!”

“No!” He only had to raise his hand the slightest bit to get his hand out of her reach. She made a disappointed noise and folded her arms again.

“You’re no fun,” she complained.

Dor’ash just sighed and shook his head. 

An uneasy silence settled. Normantis stepped forwards, hesitated and stopped. Dor’ash frowned, thinking. Then suddenly, a hoarse chuckle broke the peace.

“You’ll need better allies than this,” the prisoner snickered. Normantis glared at him, clenching his fists. “Your dear Evanor is lost! I only regret I can’t spread the word on how meek the orcs have become under their fool of a Warchief.”

Dor’ash’s eyes narrowed to slits and he turned slowly towards the prisoner. The man smirked back at him.  

“I didn’t say that you’re off the hook,” Dor’ash icily said. He turned his head. “Sarah.”

“Yes?” she said.

“Seduce the truth out of him.”

One could have heard a needle fall. Actually, one heard a lot of new test tubes hit the floor and shatter. It was difficult to tell whose eyes bulged the more, the prisoner’s or Normantis’. 

Sarah clasped her hands against the sagging bags of rotting fat that was her breasts.

“Dor’ash!” she gasped. “I’m not that kind of girl!”

He put his massive hands on her shoulders and looked at her gravely.

“I know, Sarah, but think about Jonathan. Every minute we waste here is another minute he suffers in the clutches of the blue dragonflight.”

“Oh…” she sighed, then raised her skeletal hands to her face. “My cheeks are blossoming with a youthful blush. Really.”

When she lowered her sharp fingertips, something oozed from the pinpricks left on her skin. He removed his hands, and she turned to the prisoner. He sat stock still, absolute terror frozen on his face.

“I’m doing this for the sake of my lover,” Sarah said, lowering her voice to a croaking murmur as she reached out and tipped the man’s chin up. She gave him a sweet smile and leaned closer. “I’ll do an-y-thing for him…”

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”

Heh. Heheh. That racists!-part was also good. I’d like to reread the beginning if I have time before leaving tomorrow.

that her stained indicated her

Her stained what?

edit: Sarah gets the ball rolling through the writer’s block, no?

OMG there are so many errors in this one XD I wrote it down and posted it late at night, not really thinking straight.

Her stained robe. I made some other minor changes.

Oh, and I just read the Conan story “Red Nails”, so now I know where the quote in your sig is from. Man, that was a crazy one. Though the one with the city that is perfectly cool with all the slaves being cannibals slaughtering unsuspecting tourists was pretty damn nutty too.
And the one with a city where all the inhabitants are constantly so high that they don’t care that they’re being plucked off one by one by a man-eating tentacle monster.
That whole world is insane.

I’m so proud of you. Truth be told, thanks for reminding me just which Howard story that was from.

My first -I think- Conan story was the one where he teams up with the princess of the eastern land, hunted by two armies and then invades the tower to inflict necromancer-death (so classic Conan).

But I also like the ones set in more “exotic” locales. And the pirate one. And the one at the frontier city where the citizens are being decimated and Conan shines through, while still getting his behind handed to him.

Yeah, doesn’t it show Howard was Lovecraft’s pal? Only at the stories where Conan has a proper foil or two, he’s more frightening (when not thinking how will Conan disentangle his arm from the Lizardman, obviously).

It’s also interesting to notice later in Howard’s writing life which stories are meant to bring him some easy $$, compared to the others of that era. It’d be interesting to see what he’d have written later on -if he continued working with Conan.