note: I am writing this all on libreoffice, then copy-pasting

Havirk walked home with the other slaves.

They all slept in a small hall on the west side of town, all crammed together into about fifty square meters. He grabbed one of the sweat-scented mats and went to the end of the hall, as far away as he could from Dergu.

Dergu was a large, burly orc with green skin and a brown tattoo curling from his waist, up his chest and neck, and around one eye. Havirk liked to think it was a tentacle from an Elder God about to kill Dergu, and had prayed many times for that to happen. It never did.

Havirk was trapped. The Dwarf hadn’t come. It never would. It probably spent the money he got for Havirk in a gritty tavern, the occupants roaring with laughter as the Dwarf recounted his tale of how he left a poor orphaned Wyrmblood to die as a slave in Westwind. Havirk could feel tears trickling down his cheeks. His only hope, that had gotten him through many hard days, was gone.

***

Havirk woke suddenly, to see two twinkling eyes staring at him in the darkness. He jerked back, slamming into a large rat Rodentrian. It snarled and stretched its claws, but didn’t wake.

Havirk looked back at the eyes. A long, broken nose was under them. Under the nose was an enormous braided red beard. The little figure stood maybe four feet tall, dressed in metal armor. A long battleaxe completed the picture.

The dwarf had returned.

Havirk stood silently staring for about thirty seconds, before he moved forward. His palm whistled through the air, and, with a force that surprised Havirk, it solidly hit the dwarf’s face with a satisfying smack. The dwarf howled and fell back; the mark of Havirk’s slap was already visible on his face.

“Where have you been?” Havirk hissed. “I’ve been waiting fifteen years for you. Why that long, and why are you here now?” He broke into a string of curses in Serpentine, the language of dragons. “Agshakt milimor, havarint htingktj! You should be glad you don’t feel my claws at your throat.” 

The dwarf had been patiently waiting for Havirk to finish, and now came forward, his hands resting on his knees.

“I wanted to come back,” he whispered. “All those years I wondered if I should have made you wait so long. Fifteen years has never been a longer time to me.” The dwarf passed his hands over his eyes.

“I can’t tell you here,” he said. “Come. You’re no longer a slave.” Havirk sat up.

“You mean you’ve bought me back again?’ he asked. Hope flared up in him, and he felt giddy.

“No,” said the dwarf. “I mean I’m taking you wether your owners like you or not. Besides,” he grinned. “Their money is much better with me. Do you have anything to take?”

Havirk indicated his clothing. “Nothing except the clothes on my back and the mouse in my pocket.”

‘Let’s go, then,” said the dwarf. “With luck the guards are still asleep.” He seized Havirk’s hand, and they both ran out of the hall.

***

Dergu had been listening.

The orc had sat still through the dwarf’s speech and Havirk’s loud whispers. Dergu smirked. The filthy wyrmblood would quickly learn to keep his voice down.

Now he listened, making sure that the dwarf and Havirk had both left before sitting up.

“Clawfist!” the orc called, not heeding his volume. The other slaves and the guards would leave him alone. Immediately the large Rodentrian Havirk had jostled sat up.

“Dergu?”

“You heard?” it was more a statement.

“Every word, Chief of the Tusked Shadows,” said Clawfist, using Dergu’s title.

“Go follow them, and kill the cursed Wyrmblood and that foolish dwarf. You hear?”

“I hear, Mighty Boar.”

“Then get to it!”

Clawfist rose. He was one of the more evil and fierce Rodentrians-a rat. There were three other species: mice, ferrets, and weasels, but Clawfist was a Rat. He was about as big as a human, with powerful muscles rippling under his tattered fur. His paws ended in long, curved claws, and his teeth were yellow and jagged. He had beady black eyes and a grey coat. He stood, stretched, and climbed up the wall and out a window.

“Dhovro!” Dergu called. “Dhovro Uzedrir!”

The head of a black-skinned elf popped up. Long white hair ran down his back, and his red eyes gleamed in the night. “Yes sir!” he cried back.

“Go and fetch us some weapons!”

The elf grinned. “Of course, sir, of course, of course!”

And like a shadow, he was gone.

Next Dergu called out in Serpentine. “Hassh fordu, ablamstia Onjigau,” he hissed. The reptilian head of a hartaxii came up. Hartaxii were lizard-people that lived in caves and marshes. Onjigau’s scales were colored like a gila monster’s. 

“Yesssss?” asked Onjigau.

“Get our things. We’re leaving tonight.”

The hartaxii nodded her head and slipped away. Dergu smiled. All was going according to plan.

***

The dwarf led Havirk to a small ramshackle house. Inside, a fire blazed merrily, lighting up the room. Two cots were at either end. A spare suit of armor and a longsword rested on one cot. 

“Have some rest.” said the dwarf. “It’s going to be a big day tomorrow.”

***

Clawfist had been watching the house for five hours.

He had crept after the dwarf and Havirk, and watched the house to make sure it was the right one. Finally, he made his move. He had seen the dwarf go outside to urinate, so now he was sure of where he was. The big rat crept across the street towards the house, and peeked through a crack in the boards. The dwarf was there, getting ready for bed. There was a slight creak of metal as he sat down in the cot, and a sigh of contentment. Clawfist crept through the door and stood over the wyrmblood. How pathetic it looked in sleep! Clawfist grinned. He picked up the sword by the side of the bed and moved it around. It was a beautiful weapon-obviously of Elvish make. He would keep it, Clawfist decided. He deserved a little reward for this endeavor. He tucked the sword into his belt and turned to the dwarf’s bed.

The dwarf was not there.

Clawfist raised his hand to scratch his head, but his head was not there.

It was on the floor, cut off by the dwarf’s axe.

The dwarf behind him snorted.

“Rats. All claws and teeth and muscle, thinking they’re so clever. Well,” he sighed. “It’s bedtime.”

He threw Clawfist’s body into the sewers and went back to bed.