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Prince Love Flyer
44e2be
Conversing with Concubines: Rolled 7-2=5
+2, Deception, -2, Hostility, -2, Language Barrier
[Moderate Failure]
Drawing on years of experience, you give an innocent smile and say in Orcish, "My name is Nyalla, what is yours?" Most of the slaves don't seem to understand, so you repeat yourself in Elvish and frown as the High Elf scowls. Her grasp of the language is perfect and her voice sounds like the wind chimes outside of your old chieftain's tent. It would be beautiful, if it weren't twisted in self-justified disdain.
> "Filthy mongrel, do not insult the eldest of tongues with your wretched keening! You are nothing more than vermin, twisted into the shape of an elf! A disgrace to the ancients, valued only by the lowliest of scum and crudest of brutes! May Uruk break you over his knee, you worthless gutterborn half-goblin harlot!"
At that, she crosses her slender arms, turns her nose up at you, and walks to sit on the far side of the tent, as far from you as possible. You're almost hurt, and when you attempt to repeat yourself in Orcish, one of the Dark Elves interrupts you. Her Elvish isn't much better than yours, but it's legible enough to grasp.
> "It amuses me to see beauty in the lesser races, goblins, humans, even gnomes. It's a delight, to know that one day old age will claim you, and in time, the only thing separating you from any other idiot koira will be an empty memory. Granted, you're of Elven stock and age will come slowly, but remember, its swiftness is of no importance, one day it will reach you. Ha. Enjoy your beauty while it lasts, goblin."
She smiles with lips that've seen the dawn and dusk of centuries and turns to speak to the other Drow in their flowery, hissing language. The second Dark Elf glares at you in incandescent spite, then glowers and does her best to ignore you. They chatter back and forth between themselves, occasionally displaying cruel smiles at your expense, and you do your best to ignore them.
So much for your Elvish. There are four Goblins here, and while you don't know much of the language, maybe one knows enough Orcish to communicate? They're reclining on cushions by themselves, and you invite yourself to sit beside them and slowly say in Goblin, pointing to yourself and to each in turn,
> "Me, Nyalla. Who, you?"
Three glare in disgust, then continue like you're not there. The fourth giggles, points at her ample chest, and speaks in a slow, patient tone.
> "Me, Jabyth. You, in for HARD time. Uruk is BIG, if he take you, it HURTS. Soon, it gets not so bad, but tonight? Hnn."
She holds her hands so her palms face each other, then moves until a foot of space is between them. You stare, dreading the thought, and in morbid curiosity ask,
> "How did he... You?"
Jabyth smirks, gestures toward a clump of gold-threaded pillows five feet high, and pantomimes being bent over.
> "Uruk is BIG, he used to take me every night, leave me sore in every hole, but he no care. He is rough, can get tent-full of Goblins if he want and he knows it, so he no care if he HURTS one or two. But Jabyth no complain, she keep Uruk happy, so now, Jabyth's tribe gets good swamplands."
She beams in pride, appraises you from head to toe, and nods.
> "You goblin AND elf, Uruk can't get tent-full of you and he knows it, so he be gentle. Easy. He is BIG and it will hurt, but he will be careful not to HURT. If Jabyth can take Uruk, Nyalla can."
That's somewhat... reassuring, and even if the rest won't speak to you, this Goblin seems friendly enough. Perhaps being Uruk's slave won't be so bad after all. You have nothing else to do, so you keep talking to Jabyth and she's all too happy to chit-chat.
> Apparently, most of Uruk's slaves, Jabyth included, are tributes that have been offered within the last month.
> The slaves in the tent aren't Uruk's only lovers, only his favorites. He keeps a kennel of less attractive slaves and those he's grown bored of he often visits, and free women seeking strong sons have intercourse with him on a regular basis.
> Uruk has a stamina that matches his stature, and often exhausts several slaves in a single night before he feels the need to rest, though just as often, he'll pleasure himself with a single slave for hours on end.
> Jabyth is worried Uruk might gift her to a lieutenant soon, and says she'll teach you Goblin if you'll teach her Orcish.
Despite the lingual issues she's a good conversationalist, and you think you've begun to kindle a platonic relationship with the Goblin. Of course, the rest of the slaves seem to hate you, but you're sure they'll come around. It's getting darker in the tent, and while that's not a problem for most of you, one of the Humans lights a scented candle. Once you've caught a whiff, you realize Uruk'll be arriving to vent his lusts any moment now, and the suspense is killing you.
You sit and wait, and as the hours pass and he doesn't arrive, you begin to think that maybe, just maybe, he'll be sleeping in another tent tonight. Your hopes are shattered when the tent flap flies open and in steps the behemoth. His chainmail is covered in blood, his axe is caked in gore, and his horrible smile hasn't abated in the slightest.
The warlord flings his chainmail shirt to the side, tosses his legendary axe onto a pile of lesser weapons, and reclines upon his throne. Immediately, the slaves scurry to polish his arms and armor, strip him from his clothes and leggings, and clean the viscera from his body. One of the Goblins moves to recline against his chest then squeals as he twerks her breasts and flings her aside. He grins at you, and pats the empty space on his lap.
> His intentions are obvious, but what do you intend to do?
> Take your place on his legs and allow him to grope, fondle, and stroke you to his heart's content.
> Turn the tables on the half-giant, and put your hard-learned skills as a masseuse to good use.
> Take a sponge and bucket, and do your best to clean his bloody filth alongside the others.
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