Gems in the Wastes (Exalted/Warhammer Fantasy/CK2)

[Vehrec]

Where dere'z a Whip​

Zeggrud stumbled, and had time time think 'ah Zog, not again' before the whip came down on his shoulders. The harsh treatment of dark elves was an old friend by now, and even if he'd still harbored hope of slaughtering the elves and running off back into the wild country, it was hopeless with his legs fettered and the huge yoke around his wrists and neck. Nuffin for it but to stagger back up to his feet, even as the blows fell. One way being Zeggrud Da Boi had it better than some of the other slaves-he was tough enough to take a lashing and get back to work, pulling the cart. Across this rough and broken ground, horses and oxen were in some ways, less effective than slaves. But most of the carts had slave teams of two to Many pulling them, while Zeggrud pulled his alone. He was 'da boy' after all, in his head. The only greenskin in the slavepens here, Zeggrud had been singled out by the slaves and the masters.

And it wasn't the good kind of singling out dat got ya a pat on the back and a 'good doin'. Or even a decent scrap. Scrappin' in the slavepens just got ya krumped for 'damagin da material'. He'd seen some good orcs go that way, better boys than him. Yet here he was, still stumbling along. They weren't even feeding him enough, so he was almost skinny enough to pass for a green humie at this point. He wasn't long for da world, not as hungry and battle-starved as he was. But he was holding on, cuz dat was what da boiz did. Fighting and winning was best, running off the regroup and have another go was fine, but if you couldn't win and you couldn't run...you could bear it up. He'd heard about Orcs who'd been pinned to mountains by Druchii lances, left to die and instead stubbornly lived through it all, but unable to pull the spears out without killing themselves, lived on whatever they could reach and shove into their mouths for years. Of course, it was more sensible to take your lumps and just pull da spear out, or yourself up and over. But he supposed like him, they had their reasons for waiting.

Though, he didn't have much of a reason. He just didn't want to get krumped without a good story to tell Gork and Mork. When he stood before the gods o' cunnin' and brutality, he wanted a yarn that would make them roar in triumph, or shake with laughter, and spit him back out as a boy again instead of a some runt or squig. Dat was only fair, right? And who knew when a chance like that would come along. Just had to be watchin'.