It being after sunup, Glomburz and Shargash, two Half-Orcs, half-trotted to the end of a thin dirt path, then through rattling brown knee-deep grass to meet the Butler. Glomburz slowed his pace to a ridiculously exaggerated buffoon-walk the closer they came, making the grass creak and crack as loud as he could at every step. “After all, he’s got all eternity to wait. I dunno why he wants us so quick.” Glomburz guffawed at his own ill-humored remark.
Shargash elbowed Glomburz in the ribs. “Garn now, he’ll hear you. Ghosts aren’t as deaf as you are dumb.”
Glomburz frowned, making a show of rubbing his ribs, though they hurt not at all. “And what of it? He needs us more than wot we needs him. They all needs us, them that’s cooped up in ole Malaise Dull Castle.”
The Butler let out another ear-cleaving shriek. Not because he needed to. Just to see the vermin flinch. And flinch they did. As well they should. “The prisoners you sent were not sufficient. A sickly lot, two are dead. Bring to me a new bunch, stronger and more durable, and quickly!”
“Oh ... and quickly? Or what? You’ll tell Lord Malaise Dull that there are Orcs on his land? And then what? That yerself, yer in cahoots with us?” Glomburz stooped down. Mimicking Maladil’s every gesture, he picked up a broken beer bottle, straightened, and flung the bottle right on through the Butler’s chest. The bottle went sailing out his shimmering back to tinkle into crumbled shards against the outer entryway gate. “Stronger ones put up more of a fight. What will yer pay?”
The Butler choked back his fuming temper and stood unblinking. “Bring them, and see.”
Shargash gazed at the Butler. “Don’t pay Glowering Glomburz here no mind. We’re agreeable, yer know. You want out of the Castle. We want in ... after yer out. Somehow, we just gotta figure out how. Curse the curse!”
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