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[Thrax]

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"That little speech of his was quite the riot, eh Fatima?" Harvey chuckled as he sat at a table, counting the pile of gold coins he had picked up in the middle of the street. Harvey and Fatima owned "The Tanned Hide," of Yew, Felucca; Harvey working as fur trader and proprietor, and his wife, Fatima, as tanner. Their skills and work complemented one another, and they made a decent living with it. This newly-found wealth, however, was from a sizeable sum thrown into the streets of the town by William of Jhelom.

Fatima continued scraping down the fleshy underside of the fur she had stretched out on another, larger, table on the other side of the room. She shook her head. "I wish they would just leave us alone! First, that Tharx person says the orcs will be running things here, but *that* hasn't happened. Not seen an orc in quite some time in here..."

"It's Thrax, dear... Lord Thrax," Harvey corrected her. "Not Tharx."

"Thrax, Tharx, who gives a rat's arse? Tell you what I think...," she stopped to turn and look at her husband. He ignored her and kept counting coins, smiling as each one "clinked" on top of the next. She went on. "I think that old Thrax died a long time ago and someone else took up shop in his house! He's lived there for years and we never heard one peep out of him around here. Now, all's a sudden... we starts hearin' from him about the orcs needing land, being run out... all that gibberish." She turned her attention back on the fur. "Maybe that William kook is Tharx in disguise! Maybe they're both in league together!" She announced, as if she had hit upon the greatest secret of all time.

Harvey shook his head, and laughed. "It's Thrax, dear... Thrax, and I am sure one has nothing to do with the other! Just two "kooks" as you call them, each grasping for attention... that's all."

The door to the shop flew open and in stepped what appeared to be an orc. He wore the typical ringmail shirt, thigh boots, and orc helm of an orcish lord or captain. Odd thing was, his helmet was dyed coal black. Harvey dropped his coins and stood up. Fatima stopped her work and stared.

The orc said nothing, but he held out a leather bag and pointed a finger at Harvey, then at the gold coins, then at the bag.

Harvey caught on quick. "You... want me to give you my gold here?"

The orc nodded. He moved over to the table where Harvey stood and opened the leather bag for him to put the coins inside. Even after sizing up his opponent, whose muscles bulged, far surpassing his own hefty physique, Harvey balked. "You must be out of your god-cursed mind!! If this is that so-called "tax" you brokered with Thrax, forget it... it's too soon! We still have over a week to decide if we want to go along with it... but even if it were today, you would not get a coin from me, or anyone else for that matter! Nobody is afraid of you anymore... so get going, orc, before I call for help!"

The orc stood, staring at Harvey, eyes locked for a moment. Harvey then pulled his coins toward him and put them in a bag of his own. He put both hands on the table and leaned forward. "I said... get going, orc!" and he put on the nastiest scowl he could muster.

The orc nodded, closed the bag and tied it to the belt of his ringmail tunic. He opened his backpack and took out a large piece of parchment and a thin sliver of charcoal. He scrutinized Harvey's face and began drawing.

"Listen here, you...," Fatima started, reaching for her broom. Harvey raised his hand to stop her. "Wait dear, he's drawing something. This is fascinating. I never knew orcs could do that so good! Look at this!" he yelled to her. She walked over and looked at the picture. The orc's hands moved fluidly, with an almost elvish grace. He had outlined the shape of a man's head, then began adding facial features. They both watched intently for a while.

The dawn of realization lit upon Fatima's face. "He drew you, dear! Will you look at that!" she exclaimed.

Within moments, the drawing was complete. It was, indeed, a very good likeness of Harvey's face, down to the thin scar across the left side of his jaw, and included the pock marks left by a youth's losing battle against skin problems. The orc folded up the paper and tucked it into his backpack. "What are you going to do with that?" Harvey inquired. "I will buy it from you... for... for ten gold pieces!" he said, fumbling for the bag of coins he had hidden behind him. He threw them out on the table. The orc just shook his head and pushed the coins back at him. Harvey scowled, angry that his generous offer was brushed aside so thoughtlessly. "There's a lot of gold... errr... shinies... yes, shinies there, orc! Enough for you to buy lots of food and things you need, like Master Thrax says you need. Fair trade, eh?"

The orc made a grunting sound, quite unlike anything either of the humans had heard before. It repelled them, for the sound was not formed in any way by tongue or mouth, but came from deep within, a gurgling, rasping sound. He pointed a dirty finger at the coins, then to Harvey, shook the finger in the man's face and then, with his thumb, drew a line across his own throat. Harvey got the message clearly. He drew back, shocked, horrified, then fearful. "What?! Are you threatening me? Is that it?!"

Ignoring him completely and never once looking back, the orc walked briskly to the door and was gone.

(to be continued)

[Thrax]

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At the orc's appearance at the dining room teleporter, Thrax dropped the leg of lamb he had been eating onto his plate. He took a goblet of wine and drank deeply before setting it back down on the table. With his left hand, he waved the orc to step forward. The orc complied. "Well, how did you fare on your first foray," Thrax asked.

The reply came in the form of a bag of gold coins, barely half-full, poured out onto the table. A few rolled off, but the orc collected them quickly.

"Is *that* all?" Thrax inquired, his voice betraying his unhappiness. "We will have to do better than that... much better."

Without being asked, the orc reached into his tunic and withdrew a small stack of parchments, each one a portrait of someone. He placed them right in front of his master. Thrax wiped his greasy hands on a napkin before picking them up to look through them. He nodded once. "Good work, Durthagg. Most impressive. I am pleased your craftsmanship includes more than mere servile skills. Where did you learn to draw so beautifully... from your human mother, I'd wager?"

Durthagg nodded and then grunted to show affirmation.

Thrax sighed, putting the pictures down. "I wish you could talk again. You were getting so very good at it. My temper gets the best of me sometimes and tongues do not grow back, sadly. At least you know how poorly I accept failure," he remarked, then went back to eating. "And losing Max was a severe blow to my ego."

The half-orc pointed to the pictures and then made the sign of a throat being cut. He pointed to himself and then shook his head vigorously.

Thrax looked up at him. "Oh no, my good servant. You are only my factor and tax-collector. I would never ask you to do my killing. I have others who live just for that purpose," he stated, coldly. "And it would appear by the looks of things, they have a job to do." With a hand he waved his servant away.

Across from the table, Ivan Blackhands sat, finishing his own supper. He had been listening and watching quietly. "A job for me, m'lord?"

Thrax nodded. "Aye, let me see," he said, thumbing through the pictures. He singled out the portrait of Harvey and tossed it to him. Ivan looked at the picture, taking it all in. "From the symbol at the top, he is the fur trader in Yew. Pay him a little visit soon, if you will," Thrax ordered. "Do not kill him, but make him know that his attitude is entirely unacceptable. Leave a good *impression* on him," he said, smiling. "Show him the fallacy in his reasoning. Perhaps we shall only have to do this once."

Ivan smiled. "It will be a pleasure, m'lord."