Butcher
#4 of Incomplete ideas relating to orcs
I've decided to get these bits/vignettes written and submitted. I'm hoping they will build into a single working story/world.
But right now, this is all I have now.
Another day, another delivery. Another corpse to flay and prepare.
How long had I been here? How many orcs could there be? But what choice did I have?
It was all just routine now. A body arrived (sometimes headless, sometimes hanged), I took up the glassy black blade and removed the skin from front, back, and limbs. As my fingers moved the heavy bodies around, I would feel the scars from punishments or combat. Whoever these orcs were, they had suffered like me. It had been a long time since I had made an error, since I had damaged or slit the skin - or left it too fatty, or cut it too thin. Each time my back had been flogged until the blood soaked my legs. But that was long ago. So long ago that I couldn't remember how long it has been since my last punishment. It was so hard to tell time...
Removing the skin took the longest part of the time. Once removed, it went into the chute on the right. I could hear it landing with a splash, so I assume there was someone to clean it down there. But there was more work to be done.
Two large stones, carved into sharp edges along the top like an axe, were used to break and sheer the forearms and shins from the body. If the head was present, I had a smaller blade and mallet to remove the tusks before decapitating the body. Head, hands and feet all went into the chute on the right. I never heard them land or tumble, never heard anything from that side.
The next step was to remove the organs. The black blades were useful for this, but I had to take care not to puncture anything. The smells and ichors could make me dizzy, and care was needed even in this task. Bones could dull or shatter the blades, and that meant a worse punishment for me. But I was careful. I had learned exactly where to place the blade and how to guide it through muscle and sinew. The guts and stomach were removed in one part. The liver, kidneys and lungs came next. They were all dumped out the left chute. The heart was different. It was placed in an iron container, a curved... thing. Like a teardrop in shape, small opening at the top. Runes all around its surface. As soon as I dropped a heart inside, they would glow. They hurt to look at, and I could never convince myself to touch them. It was like my soul knew they would kill me, or worse. My hands would shake and refuse to raise.
And then my job was done. I would walk back to my cot, the chain around my ankle making the groove on the floor a little deeper as it dragged behind me. And someone would come and drag the carcass away. And a new one would be on the table, waiting for me to start.
How many orcs had I processed today? How many since I last slept?
Another day, another delivery. Another corpse to - wait...
Markings are rare in orcs, but they can happen. One of my children had one, a lighter shade of skin under one arm. Shaped like an O. But, my son would be barely grown. We don't live long, and I was still strong and fit - barely older than the headless body before me. The body with a pale O under their right arm.
My body shook, my hands trembled. It couldn't be. How could an orc smaller than my knees have grown so large so quickly? It COULDN'T be my son! I would be dead long before he grew to my size.
...how long have I been here?!
The door behind me opened, white light blazing into the room and blinding me. I turned, cowering as I saw one of my captors - a dark silhouette against the glare. They were laughing, holding a head that still dripped blood.
"...how...?" my voice was barely a whisper.