[Malkaer Andares]

Acknowledging that he could not force his way out against such overwhelming odds, the swordmaster surrendered to the greenskins. Aside from the longsword, the orcs would also find a dagger hidden in Malkaer’s right boot, if they bothered to search him thoroughly. Somehow he had develop a real knack for having his freedom robbed from him. Subsequently the esh’lahier had been prisoner of New Coldmoon, Malice, the Aelyrian Empire and now his fate lay in the hands of the orcs of Orckon. Compared to his other jailors it was certainly not the worst company, Ogabe and the lightborns from the elven town ranking far below the orcs.

While he was being led through the fortress Malkaer branded the layout of the place in his mind. The benefit of having been imprisoned so many times meant that the esh’lahier also had developed a talent for memorizing blueprints of elaborate dungeons and escaping from the most precarious situations.

The smell in the Great Hall was even worse than outside, no doubt due to the fact that the biggest orcs roamed this place. Apparently he was taken to one of the important orcs, which did not surprise or impress Malkaer, for he was an important man himself outside the fortress, although it might not be best to stress that in the current environment.

After sending a prayer to Ioannes, the shadow elf started to do with what his race had natural affinity to: lying. “Vedui, mighty tusked Gothmog Kitot of Orckon.” Malkaer bowed to the big orc to show his respect, but not so deep to lose him out of his eyesight. Knowing that the orcs were but simple creatures that respected only strength, the elf tried to show through body language that he respected Grogan Thrag, but did not fear him. To show fear here was to sign your own death. “I am Veltrak, warrior from Vortex and I have come here to join your great horde.”

The lie was not that far fetched. Even though he was retired from any professional military for some eras Malkaer still carried himself as a warrior. The long vertical scar over his left eye showed he had seen battle. Luckily he was not wearing his regalia or his richest attire, but wore a grey tunic with a silver girdle and soft leather boots. Sturdy leather gloves hid his skeleton claw from vision. Whilst his clothing was still expensive, the nobleman could probably pass through for a well to do mercenary. In orcish society the best warriors also had the richest assets, though their taste differed substantially from Malkaer’s. What spoke against his claim was that he lacked any armour. Then again, even the heaviest armour the elf could don probably looked pansy in the eyes of orcs.