Fallout:Blood and the Bull

Any opinion and comments are welcome

----------------

The crack of the whip echoed once more, slicing through the air like a blade. The orc continued his work, harvesting grapes with precise, methodical movements. He did not utter a sound, but I noticed how his lips pressed together—a subtle, almost imperceptible sign of pain, well-practiced and endured. His back was a map of scars, grotesque ridges telling a story of years under relentless punishment. Some wounds were still fresh, raw reminders of his position.

"Look at that, Konrad," said Hannes Grauheim, one of Freimarkt's most prominent leaders, lounging in a carved wooden chair on the terrace of his estate. He swirled a glass of wine in his hand, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the rim. "That's what I call a good slave. One who understands that any complaint, any mistake, only brings more lashes. That's the secret, you know? Discipline."

My eyes lingered on the orc a moment longer before turning to Hannes. His estate was opulent, surrounded by endless rows of sun-drenched vineyards. I had accepted his invitation knowing it was no simple gesture of courtesy. In recent weeks, my men, operating under Freimarkt's banner, had exceeded expectations. We had won swift battles, secured trade routes, and fulfilled every contract with unerring precision. This had caught the attention not only of Freimarkt but of other Free Cities eager to extend their own offers for my services.

Hannes regarded me with a mix of interest and caution, his friendly smile barely concealing the calculations behind his eyes. "You know, Konrad, I don't invite just anyone here. You're... intriguing. Your men are disciplined, effective, nearly relentless. I wonder, how do you do it? What promises do you make to keep them so loyal?"

"I give them what they need to fulfill their duty," I replied evenly, each word measured. It was a simple answer, yet vague enough to keep him guessing. Ambiguity often served better than clarity with men like Hannes.

"Ah, pragmatic as expected." Hannes chuckled softly, taking another sip of wine. "But let's be direct. I didn't bring you here just to discuss your skills. I know other cities have been sending you proposals... tempting offers to switch sides." He leaned forward, setting his glass on the table before him. "Hear this: Freimarkt is prepared to double the most generous offer you've received. Whatever they're offering—gold, equipment, land—we can outmatch it. Whatever you need."

The whip cracked again, and the orc let out a muted groan before resuming his task. Hannes didn't so much as flinch, his focus entirely on me. He awaited my response, but I let the silence stretch, allowing him to feel the weight of his own expectations. Finally, I spoke, my tone firm and leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"Freimarkt has been generous," I said carefully. "And my men have fulfilled our obligations. But there's something you need to understand, Hannes: my honor isn't for sale. I've signed a contract with this city, and as long as that contract stands, I'll see it through. Not for gold, not for offers that may arise, but because the reputation I'm building depends on it. I want everyone to know that when I sign a contract, it's upheld to the end."

Hannes watched me, his smile fading slightly as he processed my words. He wasn't used to hearing a refusal, especially not when gold was on the table. Yet he didn't show irritation; instead, he inclined his head slightly, as if pondering something.

"Honor," he said at last, a tone of both respect and skepticism in his voice. "A rarity these days. But you know what? Perhaps that's what makes you so effective. People need to believe they can trust someone—even if it means you're harder to sway."

"It's not about belief," I replied, holding his gaze. "It's about actions. My actions will speak for me, not my words."

Hannes chuckled again, more genuinely this time. "Well said, Konrad. Well said. I won't press further, but remember this: Freimarkt values allies like you. And if ever you decide that what we offer isn't enough, there's always room to renegotiate. The important thing is that we continue to benefit from each other."

As the sun set over the vineyards, Hannes returned his attention to his wineglass, signaling the end of our conversation. I rose, offering a slight nod in farewell. My stance was clear, but I knew this was merely one move in a much larger game.

On my way back, my gaze fell on the orc again. He wasn't just a broken tool. There was a spark in his eyes—something buried beneath layers of submission that might one day prove useful. Ultimately, Freimarkt and its leaders were temporary allies. I would honor my contract, build my reputation, and when the time came, decide if this city remained a useful asset or became an obstacle to overcome.

Before leaving, I turned to Hannes once more. "Is that slave for sale?"

Hannes arched a brow, clearly surprised. "The orc? That one? He's strong, yes, but not particularly obedient. We've disciplined him, but there's still a stubbornness in his eyes. Why would you want someone like him? There are better slaves on the estate."

"I want him," I said simply. "Name your price."

Hannes studied me briefly before chuckling softly. "Always direct, aren't you? Very well, Konrad. For you, a fair deal. Two hundred silver coins, and he's yours. Not because he's particularly valuable, but because I'm curious to see what you'll do with him."

Without a word, I pulled a small pouch of coins from my belt and placed it on the table. "Deal."

Hannes snapped his fingers, summoning an overseer. "Unshackle the orc. It seems he has a new master," he said with a sly grin.

The overseer retrieved a key and unlocked the heavy chains binding the orc. Slowly, the orc straightened, turning his head to look at me. His expression wasn't one of gratitude, but neither was it hostile. Gesturing for him to follow, I left the estate, the orc trailing silently behind.

As we reached a clearing far from the vineyards, I stopped and turned to face Tarn. The orc stared at me, his expression a mix of distrust and curiosity. For a moment, silence hung between us until I spoke.

"What's your name?"

"Tarn," he replied, his voice deep and rough from disuse. The fact that he spoke the human tongue fluently was an asset—it meant he had spent years in these lands, adapting.

"Good, Tarn," I said, folding my arms as I studied him closely. His posture was still rigid, his eyes simmering with restrained fury. This was not a broken orc, not yet. There was a fire in his gaze that spoke of resilience and hatred, not submission.

"Let me make this clear," I continued. "You're still a slave. I bought you because I see utility in you, not because I intend to give you a better life. But you won't be harvesting grapes or hauling stones for me. I need your strength, and I need to know if you're capable of using it when I command."

Tarn watched me in silence for a moment, his head tilting slightly, almost involuntarily, as if he were weighing my words.

"Strength for what?" he finally asked, his tone heavy but not defiant. "To be another tool for humans? To be used and discarded when I'm no longer useful?"

"To kill humans," I said bluntly. His eyes widened slightly at my response, his body tensing as if the words struck him like a physical blow. "Do you have a problem with that, Tarn? If you do, say so now. There are plenty like you who only want to survive. But I'm not looking for survivors. I need soldiers."

The orc let out a low growl, and a dark, ironic smile spread across his lips. It was a smile he hadn't shown Hannes or his overseer—a hint of the beast lurking beneath his scarred exterior.

"Problems killing humans?" he repeated, his tone laced with bitter amusement. His gaze hardened as he took a step closer, stopping just short of insolence. "No, human. Killing humans is all I want. Every lash, every blow, every insult... everything I've suffered, everything they've taken from me, was because of them. You want me to kill? I'll kill. But not because you command it. I'll do it because it's the only thing this species deserves."

His response was exactly what I had anticipated, though I showed no emotion. Tarn wasn't a submissive slave, nor was he a warrior seeking honor. He was a weapon honed by hatred, a blade that could easily turn on me if mishandled.

"Then we have an understanding," I said firmly. "But listen carefully: you won't kill whoever you want, whenever you want. If you choose to follow me, it will be under my orders. Every life you take will serve a purpose. If you can't accept that, I'll leave you here or send you back to the vineyard. Decide now."

Tarn stared at me, his eyes burning with resentment and resolve. He didn't trust me, but he had no better options.

"I'll follow your orders," he said at last, his voice dripping with disdain. "As long as those orders lead me to killing humans, I'll obey."

When we returned to camp, Tarn walked behind me in silence. My men's reactions were immediate: surprise, suspicion, and unease. An unchained orc, walking freely among them, was an anomaly none of them expected. Some tensed, their hands drifting instinctively toward their weapons, while others simply stared, unsure whether Tarn would lash out or remain docile.

At the camp's center, I stopped at a wooden table and gestured toward a steaming plate of food left by one of the men. Without hesitation, Tarn sat and began to eat—no, devour would be more accurate. He cleared entire plates with an urgency that spoke of prolonged hunger. My men watched, murmuring among themselves, their gazes flicking between Tarn and me. They couldn't fathom why someone of his size and strength wasn't chained, let alone why he wasn't trying to kill us all.

I said nothing, letting them observe as Tarn finished the last of the food with a guttural noise of satisfaction. Finally, I raised my hand, signaling the end of the spectacle.

"This is Tarn," I announced, my tone firm and devoid of embellishment. "He will fight with us under my command. If anyone has a problem with that, speak now."

The silence that followed was thick, but no one spoke. They knew that any objection would be met with swift and decisive action.

Later that night, I ordered an armor set to be crafted for Tarn. It was leather reinforced with chainmail, strong enough to protect him in battle but also designed to conceal his green skin. The goal wasn't just protection but anonymity. To our enemies, Tarn wouldn't be an orc—he would be another faceless soldier under my command.

When the armor was ready, the first piece was a helmet. Simple yet effective, it came with a bandana to cover his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. As Tarn donned the armor, his movements were deliberate, almost ceremonial. For the first time, he looked less like a slave and more like a warrior.

"From now on, Tarn, you are one of us," I told him as he adjusted the helm. "But remember this: your rage is your weapon, not your master. These men," I gestured to my legionaries, "are your allies. They will help you direct that rage. You need them alive, just as they need you. If you can't understand that, you have no place here."

Tarn nodded slowly, saying nothing, but his eyes showed understanding.

At dawn, training began. My men, accustomed to discipline and rigor, watched with interest as I brought Tarn to the field. Instead of pitting him against seasoned soldiers, I set him against a group of human slaves still in training—men who were on their way to becoming legionaries. Not because they were weak, but because their inexperience made them ideal opponents for Tarn, who needed more than an enemy; he needed to channel his fury.

Tarn charged into them like a storm. Despite the armor he now wore, his raw strength was evident in every movement. Each of his blows landed with the force of a hammer. Yet it wasn't just his strength that impressed—it was his resilience, his ability to endure attacks without faltering. As the trainees tried to bring him down, Tarn learned, adapting quickly to their movements and retaliating with brutal precision.

My men watched from a distance, some with surprise, others with growing respect. Though distrust lingered in their eyes, they recognized that Tarn was not someone to underestimate.

When the training ended, Tarn stood tall, breathing heavily but unshaken. He looked at me, his eyes burning with an intensity I hadn't seen before. It wasn't just hatred anymore; it was purpose.

"You're learning," I said. "Keep this up, and one day you won't just be a force in my army. You'll be a force my enemies will fear before they ever see you."

----------------

Any opinion and comments are welcome