Lord of the Rings Fanatics Plaza

THE BREEDING DENS
Here are the breeding dams and their pups. The overseers mark the best bloodlines and match the finest Wargs together to ensure the strongest cubs... or they’ll let the alpha males fight to the death for the honour of being the next sire. Here the Warg trainers select the animals they wish to personally train...

THE TRAINING CIRCUIT
This is a wide space, floored with sand. A rickety shed holds a stack of equipment: whips, chains, saddles, harnesses, animal skins. A second, more robust structure has chum animals chained inside: rabbits, dogs... humans.

There is a large tunnel leading outside where there is a rough track for racing. As well as the naturally rugged terrain, there are some crudely built walls for the Wargs to practise jumping and leaping.

THE FEEDING GROUNDS
As much of a social area as the Wargs can have. Again, it has a track that leads to an outside area, fenced in by the terrain and by Mordor’s infamous thorns; here the Wargs can dust bathe, scent mark on the rocks, and socialise. There is a watering hole for thirsty Wargs. Sometimes animals are released up here for the Wargs to kill and eat at their leisure; or if not, there’s a huge, bloody trough below, where the Wargs frequently serve as convenient body disposal.

RECOVERY
Wounded? There are some quieter cells here where Wargs can be stitched up (if they’re considered worth saving, and not simply hurled into the feeding grounds).

SLEEPING AREAS
Lots of dark little books NOOKS so Wargs can keep their backs to the walls. Many sleep in packs, for safety.

THE FIGHTING PITS
This is where the real fun takes place. Wargs may pit themselves against each other (or their handlers may). Coin is oft exchanged. This deep, stonewalled circular pit is strewn with sand and spikes jut out from the walls.
IF YOU WISH TO FIGHT: you can just play this as RP or as a mini-game, in which case your stats will be important. See below.

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RULES
* You may use this thread for free RP. You may also choose to participate in Events and RP Prompts. Participation in this thread in any regard will earn you Army Renown.
* This thread is for Minion characters only. You may be a trainer, or a Warg. Any Free Persons who have ventured this far into Mordor had best be in HEAVY disguise: the Wargs have excellent noses.
* No godmoding without permission, double posting before 24hrs has elapsed, or posts in all bold or obnoxious colours.
* OOC to be whited out OR tagged into the main Mordor OOC thread.
* Please state your location and character/s at the top of your post

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EVENT

It‘s whelping time! Ah, how convenient. There are an array of pups for trainers to choose from. Will you go for the one that looks smart, the one that looks tough, the one that seems to be loyal...?

Each Warg Pup will have a base set of stats: points to divide between Strength, Cunning, Savagery and Endurance (and a bonus Luck). Pups will start out with 6. I will set tasks for Warg Pups if you wish to compete against each other and level up.

If you wish to participate in this and not just free RP, then RP choosing (or being!) a Warg cub and how your base stats are awarded. You will earn more points as you continue your training. Older Wargs may also participate, but no mauling the Cubs.

Sil in the Breeding Dens

Silendra -

Izlîn, whispered a tiny voice in her mind, faint as the pressure of butterfly wings. I am Izlîn.

All right.

Silizlîn was trailing her hand absently over the dark mouth of the pit. A wet, earthy stench thickened the air.

“Come on,” she said, coaxingly. She wriggled her fingers - long, slender, unbroken. How novel. There was a half-hearted growling noise, and a gleam of lambent eyes, but nobody snapped at her. Silizlîn smiled a little half-smile of satisfaction and slid down into the dank cavern, heedless of the streaks of grime that immediately muddied her thighs.

A cacophony of mewling and yipping greeted her, newly opened pup eyes blinking at her from the safety of their mother’s forelegs. The dam was clearly worn out from the incessant demands of her charges, but Silizlîn had also prudently taken the measure of dosing the Warg female with a nice juicy goat haunch: laced with valerian, poppy, and some potent Mordorian liquor. Pleasantly drugged up, the huge animal watched Silizlîn suspiciously but passively as she handled the cubs.

They were a good mixed bunch, and not even the only litter that had been whelped lately. Most of the litter were dark-furred, ranging from stone greys to deep black; but there were a couple of variegated pups and even one which was white, as though it had been rolled in ash. Silizlîn held out her hand to it, pulling back before the sharp little needle teeth could draw blood. It would not do for them to learn bad habits too soon.

“Come along, children,” she said merrily, grasping them by the scruffs of their necks and loading them into a thick hempen bag. “Time to transfer you to the pens. There’ll be trainers coming by to claim you, soon enough!”

Arm clamped tightly over a large book, Reg ambled along toward the warg pits. He’d heard it was whelpin’ season and wanted to arrive early so as to get his pick of the litter. His huge, hairy face scrunched up in perplexed yet determined concentration as he peered into a likely cave.

He scratched idly at a glute before ambling in. He shifted the book to his other arm. The blasted thing was ponderous and heavy - and this was the lightest and shortest book Art had! What his foul brother had been thinking, teaching Reg to read, no one would ever know. Art did seem to think it was “for his own good” and would be a great “personal improvement” should he become literate. But Reg had done just fine all these years: he’d dug up some geodes, eaten some mushrooms, beaten up Fleeg, and even come up with a viable business scheme or two.

So why would Reg haul this mighty tome to the warg pits? Well, he didn’t like to admit it, but he did genuinely believe that reading and forging signatures might help him thwart some of Fleeg’s cleverer, sneakier schemes. But he despised reading aloud to his brother for practice. He, Regdûsh, proud and imbecilic orc, would never admit that Art was better than him at anything. And he certainly wasn't going to tell Fleeg what he was up to, let alone that Mig. And so he had decided that clandestine practice, perhaps reading to a warg pup nestled in its sleeping nook, would give him a leg up in his studies.

“Oi!” he bellowed into the depths of the cave. “Who’s there? I come to see about them wargs.”

Globuk

Globuk was a most unusual orc. Sure he had the cruelty and delighted in torture, but that was no different than any other orc. Globuk lacked the cunning intellect that was required to truly stand out. Everyone said it. The large uruks would taunt and use insults like ''Globuk is a fool. A stupid muck-raker." Of course, the uruks were always taunting orcs, but Globuk suspected members of his company would say the same. His commander, Burghash, certainly yelled enough. He was never put on patrol or sentry duty. One time Burghash told him "If this was war time, Globuk, you would make excellent warg fodder. The only reason I haven't killed you yet is you don't have the wits to disobey my orders." He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he understood enough to think that Burghash believed some orcs were too intelligent for their own good. So, at least he did not have to worry about that.

Globuk learned a good piece of news that he believed could change his lot in orc life. He heard about an opportunity to own and be a warg trainer. He didn't know the first thing about training wargs but it sounded like a prestigious line of work. It couldn't be that hard. He just had to get the biggest, meanest warg available. He even heard tales about orcs that would ride on the backs of wargs into battle. This was Globuk's chance to make a name for himself and afterall Burghash said he would be excellent warg fodder, whatever that meant. Maybe he was trying to help Globuk find his true calling?

It was decided Globuk would go to the warg breeding pits and purchase the fiercest warg he saw. "Hai! who do I need to speak with about being a warg fodder?"

Sil in the Breeding Dens... chatting to two dumb orcs

There’s a technique you use for getting the last drops of ketchup out of a bottle. You know what I mean. You turn it upside down, shake it hopefully, and you give it a couple of hefty whacks to get the tomato sludge out.

This was the technique Silizlîn was applying to her hemp sack in an attempt to dislodge the final Warg pups. The final cub fell out with a yelp. Well satisfied, she turned around to see a familiar, boorish face and an unfamiliar, vacant visage pop up at the mouth of the cavern.

“Oh great,” said Silizlîn, brightly and entirely falsely.

She strode over. It was Reg and another Orc: an orc she had never met before, but whose gawping expression made him look like the dumbest orc who had ever dum-dumbed, almost as though he had a silver nameplate with the words Dumb Orc on. She raised an eyebrow at Reg’s book. Who’d taught him to read?!

“Yes, here are the Wargs,” she began, slightly doubtfully, trying to catch a glimpse of the book title but failing due to Reg’s massive sausage fingers. “Go and pick one out if you want... wait there, buddy.

Did you say you want to be warg fodder?”

Silizlîn eyed Globuk with a much more speculative glance. She screwed up her lips. Suicidal, or stupid? Who cares?

“Not sure about that,” she continued, thoughtfully. “You look a little scrawny to me. I wouldn’t want them wearing down their puppy teeth on your stringy flesh. You can go stick an arm in and see if any of them fancy your taste, I expect.”

He inhaled. Immediately, he regretted it. The smell of warg was thick, so thick the air itself was heavy and sticky. He could taste the wargs. The smell of rotting meat, sweat, warg shire, and the void knew else. Why was he even here? Sarghêst had asked himself the question nigh on a dozen times on his trek from the barracks to the pits. The answer he came up with was always the same: to advance, you need resources. He was better than the seething mass of idiots in the barracks that deigned to call themselves the Black Host. Even though he had not been there long, he was embarrassed to be associated with such a group of uncoordinated fools. The faster he could rise through the ranks the better. If he had to cut down swathes of them to get there, all the better.

So here he was, in the Warg Pits. Thus far, the kennels hadn’t shown him anything that looked promising. The creatures being kept here, or at least that he had seen thus far, were sad, decaying farces. Still, something within the large orc kept him moving, a voice in his head that told him something awaited him here in this fecund, poorly constructed labyrinth. What that something was, was anyone’s guess. “Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air,” he mused to himself.

The light was poor here. Long, languid shadows pooled around corners and reached out like greedy urchins. Sound seemed to disappear in those pools of shadow, eaten by something that did not belong in this world. He regarded the shadows as he passed them, his eyes lingering in the inky nothing, trying to see something within those depths. ““I think the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow.” The sound of his own voice was strange in this place. It was almost lost amidst the yips and barks, the howling and the yowling, the whines and the growling.

The further Sarghêst went through the kennels, the less the smell bothered him. He couldn’t tell if it was the smell was getting fainter or he was merely getting more used to it. He inhaled again, deeply. There were voices up ahead. None were voices he recognized, but they stood in stark contrast to the bestial verbiage he’d been subjected to on his way in.

Two orcs were up ahead, and a woman, or at least he thought it was a woman, the way they were wreathed in shadow and their voice made it unclear. She was a human, that much he could tell. That was a marvel in and of itself. Humans, while seemingly given preferential treatment in positions of power, were rarely seen or heard in the depths, both figuratively and literally. Either she was very special, or she was being punished.

Finally, the poorly lit walkway became a wide area with cages stacked high and deep, the breeding pits at last. The sounds of the wargs were loud here. Very loud. “The children of the night, what music they make.” He said with a sardonic grin.

Hoppla, in a cage

What was that? Hoppla sniffed the air and smacked his head on the top of his cage. Ow! That hurt! He yipped and narrowed his crossed eyes at the metal bars. His tongue hung out to the side, fitting nicely between his teeth. What was he doing again? Hoppla sniffed the air again. There were new people here. New people that might want to take him and train him. All his litter mates had been chosen already. He was the last one left. They had all been gone for quite some time. He was a little smaller than the rest of his litter, and knew he wasn’t the cleverest, but he knew he could make someone a good warg. What he lacked in size and strength, he made up for in loyalty and hard work. Would someone take him today? A line of clear, yellowish drool dripped from his tongue to the ground. Two orcs arrived. They looked promising. Then a woman appeared. She smelled interesting. No, that’s not right. She smelled different. She smelled like she had two smells. The poor warg couldn’t tell which of her smells was the real one. She seemed to be in charge. He licked the bars of his cage and yipped, hoping to gain their attention. Soon after the woman arrived, another orc arrived, one that looked annoyed. Maybe he could make this orc happy! He would be a very loyal warg to this orc! He bahred (something between a howl and a bark) and rubbed his face on the cage, clawing at it excitedly. He was going to be chosen today. He knew it. Another string of drool dropped from his tongue.

Globuk, in the Breeding Dens

Globuk did not know it yet, but fodder did not mean what he thought it meant. "Mouth-breather" was a nickname he was familiar with and fortunately he fell back into the habit of just looking stupid instead of speaking and removing all doubt. "Knuckle-dragger" was another, because when he was hunched over his long, lanky arms almost reached the ground. So, as Silizlîn spoke to him he stared with a blank expression, mouth agape, hands loosely hanging almost down to ankles, and nodding his head to show that he understood. The act probably wasn't fooling anyone, but when he told Silizlîn "Got it. Got it from here" he was allowed to continue into the cave and begin his search.

The first warg he noticed looked disappointingly small to him; tongue hanging out and globs of thick drool building up in its jowls. If Globuk had any idea what he was doing choosing this warg would have probably been the smartest decision he ever made in his life. A warg that looked eager to please and prove its loyalty to an owner, even if the owner was an idiot. As it was though, Globuk did not know what he was doing, and one look after hearing the pup yipping he determined the warg didn't look fierce at all. He would have to move on and look quickly if he wanted to get the best pick because other orcs were showing up.

A little further in, that's when Globuk caught it out of the shadows, two yellow-gold eyes looking at him. This place was so poorly lit he couldn't make out any shape or outline, just two eyes from the shadows and then a flash of a tiny red tongue. He approached the front of the pen and still couldn't make out much because the pup didn't move. It just stood, motionless, staring back. That's when Globuk remembered something Silizlîn had said about sticking an arm in. His arms were skinny enough to fit through the fencing. The pup misjudged Globuk's immense reach and quickness.

"I gotcha!" he said triumphantly and grabbed the pup on back of the neck. The pup hung in his strong grip, powerless, preparing to submit to his will. Even a fool gets things right once in a while. The problem with being a fool is you do not know when you get something right and you do not understand why it was the right thing to do. Globuk was a fool and he did not know that grabbing a pup by the back of the neck was precisely the right thing to do. What he did next was precisely what he should not have done.

Globuk got both hands around the pup's chest. The pup start wiggling uncomfortably but Globuk had a firm grip and was stronger than he appeared. He thought it was amusing watching the pup squirming and starting to fight to break away

"Oh. I've got a fierce one here" he laughed, pulling the pup closer to his face. At this point Globuk was practically laughing in the pup's face "Ha! Go on! Try to get away from Globuk! Ha! ACCCCHHHHH!"

There was a great howl that echoed throughout the den, but it was no warg howl. The pup clamped down on Globuk's nose until he gripped the scruff of its neck again. The pup released its grip, but took a chunk of Globuk's nose with it and possibly broke it. Globuk was laughing again, blood pouring out his nose, into his mouth and running down his neck. His black blood soaked into his shirt.

"Fierce!" He shouted. "Hai! What will you take for this fella?"

Silizlîn in the Breeding Pits

The dumb orc was back in no time at all. At least, Sil thought it was the dumb orc - his expression hadn’t been improved at all by the small chunk missing from his face and the unpleasant angle of his nose. Not that he’d been a spectacular beauty beforehand, not that Silizlîn was keeping a chart of goblin attractiveness or planning to host a goblin dating show, that would be a totally weird thing to do and it had never crossed Sil’s mind.

“Ah, you’re back,” she said, vaguely, detaching another pup’s claws from the front of her thick leather jerkin. She sniggered slightly at the incredible nosebleed Globuk was sporting. “Looks like you do make good Warg fodder after all; which is convenient, I suppose.

There’s no payment here: both you and your Warg are in the service of the great Eye, so take him - or her - and train it well, and go forth to glory!”

Silizlîn finished her rousing and incredibly inspiring speech and looked doubtfully at her audience. Black blood was coagulating at the tip of what she guessed was still his nose and dripping into his shirt. He looked incredibly deranged.

“Or... I guess, do the best you can,” she amended, hopefully.

This was all there was? He grimaced and sighed heavily. The creature in the cage, eyes crossed and tongue hanging to the side was hardly the picture of menace and terror he had hoped to find, or at least to cultivate, but that’s all there was down here for him. He eyed the other two orcs curiously, wandering what they’d do. To his bemusement, the smaller one picked up a pup and it promptly bit his nose off. The large orc guffaw and shook his head. “Take and eat, this is my body, shed just for you. I don’t know if that’s a sustainable food source for him,” he offered unhelpfully. The dimwit had let the pup get too close. He was not about the make the same mistake.

He looked back down at the cage in front of him and squatted so that he was nearly at eye level with the beast inside. “Not that I think I’d have that problem,” he said aloud with another heavy sigh. Was this really what he was going to have to work with? The beast yipped and howled excitedly. That makes one of us he thought. He stood back up, maneuvered around the hairy orc with the tusks and took a look at the barrels of reeking meat. Sarghêst was used to horrid smells, growing up in the Dead Marshes then living in the infantry barracks, but this putrid pile of putrescence was more than he was expecting. He smelled it coming in but standing face to face with it made his eyes water.

“Âsh! This stuff stinks,” he complained to no one in particular (likely because no one here much cared. “I’m supposed to get him to eat this?” He picked at the barrel, reluctantly dipping his hands into the slop. Wincing, he pulled out what looks like it might once have been a fish but had so rotted that a portion of it sloughed off and fell back into the barrel with a wet plop. He returned to the warg’s cage, squatting and holding out his hand for the beast to sniff and, hopefully, take the food. “I hope this smells better to you than it does to me. Down the hatch then. And watch the fingers!” he added quickly.

Hoppla
Strength - 2
Cunning - 1
Savagery - 1
Endurance - 1
Luck - 2

Reg shifted the book from one arm to the other once more. He walked forward and peered, dull-eyed, at the pups before him. The other orc who’d entered just after him had selected one with gleaming yellow eyes. Another dumber warg, with whom Reg immediately felt an inexplicable kinship, was selected by a rather more menacing orc.

The remaining wargs were wiggly, hairy, slobbery, and downright annoying. “Not you,” he said, passing an active little pup who spun in excited circles when Reg approached. Too much energy, that one. “Not you,” he repeated when another ran up to him and began begging for attention. Too needy. “Definitely not you,” he said to one with green eyes that reminded him of Fleeg, the sentient snot rag.

Reg finally found a pup curled up in a ball, looking up at him shyly through eyes glowing red like hot coals. He crouched down and showed the warg his book. “Whatcha think?” he asked. The pup lifted its head from its front paws and sniffed. Its mouth dropped open and its tongue lolled out in a wargish smile. “Perfect!” Reg said. He lifted up the pup and carried it beneath his free arm back to the keeper. “I wan’ this one,” he grunted. The little warg was still panting happily.

Reg set the pup down on the ground and plucked what looked like a sizable femur bone from the barrels nearby. He sat down heavily next to the warg and offered it the bone. “Now listen here, you,” he began seriously as the pup gnawed contentedly on the bone, peeling off lingering scraps of muscle with sharp baby teeth. The pup kept one red eye on Reg all the while. “We’re gonna train an’ all that, but I mostly come down here to read. So when the time comes, you just sit and listen. I ain’ gonna take no sass from you, and that’s that.”

The wargling paused in its chewing and looked at Reg curiously, head tilted as if in understanding.

“Maybe I’ll call you Érnié,” Reg said. That was the name of his favorite character in the book he was holding, after all. The little warg growled softly and resumed chewing its bone.

Érnié’s Stats
Strength - 1
Cunning - 2
Savagery - 1
Endurance - 1
Luck - 2

Globuk, in the Breeding Dens

Globuk had visions of riding his new warg into battle. That would show the big uruks and big bosses what he could do. He would be the first orc in his company to have a warg. What would Borghash say about that? Maybe he would be put on advanced scouting missions and get himself an orc bow to carry. Of course there were two big problems with his plans: one he didn't know how to shoot a bow and secondly he didn't know how to ride a warg. But Globuk wasn't going to let what were insignificant details (to him!) ruin his grand vision.

Globuk determined the first step was his warg had to get much bigger before he could ride it. And the sooner the better. He looked at the food options and there were some bones with strips of muscle and tendons still on them. They've hardly left any of the meat on them, he thought. Globuk hated the smell of fish. He couldn't smell much of anything at the moment, thanks to his warg, but he remembered the taste and gagged. Fish, yuck. There was another barrel that had scraps from unknown origins. Globuk pulled out what looked to be the tongue from some type of animal.

"Tough meat makes for tough warg." he said to his pup. Globuk was satisfied that he chose a quiet beast. It wasn't yipping, or panting or jumping around like some of the others. The warg just stared back at him.

"You look like you could take another bite out of me. Well, I won't make that mistake again. You'll have to outsmart me if you want another bite out of Globuk!" He was wagging a finger in the warg's face. Without so much as a whisper and with the speed of a striking snake the pup bit down on Globuk's finger and didn't let go. There was another howl that echoed through the cave.

That's when he remembered he held the piece of meat in his other hand and held it near the warg's snout. Fortunately, his pup thought chewing on some animal's tongue was more appetizing than his master's bony fingers and let go. "I name you, Gripper. Globuk the Strong, and Gripper his warg" he laughed, sucking his injured and bleeding pointer finger. The kind of stupid laugh someone makes when they are proud they came up with an idea all on their own.

Gripper's stats:
Strength - 2
Cunning - 1
Savagery - 2
Endurance - 1
Luck - 1

Silizlîn looked on, bemused, as the goblins set about feeding the pups. They were mostly messy eaters. A wet globule of flesh flew across the cave and hit Sil in the face, sliding sloppily down her cheekbone. A moment later, Silizlîn was hit in the face herself by one of the remaining warg pups, licking her cheek clean of food debris with a raspy tongue.

“I see you’ve given them all names,” she said, picking up the entrepreneurial scavenger by the scruff of its neck and holding it out at arm’s length. Perhaps she’d keep it.

“You’ll have to teach them to respond to their names and to trust you - I suggest keeping them close by you for a few days, away from their mother, feeding them regularly and calling them by their names.”

---

With Hoppla bouncing a few steps ahead of him, Sarghêst returned to the malodorous, festering Warg Pits, both parties confident that the task with which they had been set out with had been achieved. The wargling recognized and responded to his name being called.

Hoppla, though, believed his mission had been something entirely different from that of his orcish new best friend. He believed the mission had been to play fetch (even if Sarghêst didn’t understand the rules and nuances of the game) and get something tasty to eat. Success on both fronts! He licked his chops, savoring the memory of the dead chicken and drool a little. What? Were they supposed to get Sarghêst something to eat too? Well he just have to go back and….

“Don’t you dare turn around,” Sarghêst was behind him with his arms crossed.

Hoppla woofed. Sarghêst didn’t move.

He woofed again and tilted his head. Still Sarghêst didn’t move aside.

“No, we have work to do. You have work do.” The orc's tone was flat and boring. He didn’t want to play right now. He slurped his tongue and whimpered before turning back around and bouncing down the hall to where the nice lady was standing. It looked like they were the first ones back! Hoppla barked in excitement.

“We're back, he seems to understand his name, if nothing else right now.”

Globuk, in the Breeding Pits

Globuk and Gripper made their way back to the warg pits. He saw an orc who had been there earlier and picked out the annoyingly yippee warg, already returned. "Now, see Grip, you made us late. I wanted to be back hours ago." Gripper still had the rotting Leg-O’-Las firmly in his mouth. Globuk had given up trying to get it off him, but he was quite upset because being first was very important to Globuk. He got first pick of his warg and he wanted to get back here first.

"Hello" he said to Silizlîn. He gave a quick wave to Sarghêst, merely as a polite nothing, because he needed to interrupt. "Sorry, yes sorry, but this is important. I think my warg's a mute." All of them looked at Gripper, still with the leg in his mouth. "I was thrilled at first, because he wasn't like this slobbery yappy one here" he pointed at Sarghêst's warg. "But I would have bet everything that Gripper would have said something by now. Not one peep from when I first spotted him to right here and now as you see him. It's not natural."

Globuk began telling the entire story at Uhhhh Spa, and trying to teach Gripper the first duty of guarding the entrance. He filled the others in about how his warg let someone walk straight into the room to disturb his rest without making any sound at all. "When I came to, I yelled Gripper! Gripper! I didn't know where he was, come to find him still laying at the entrance! He wasn't asleep, mind you, he was..." Globuk saw the barrel of offal. He suddently remembered why he wanted to come back in the first place, but decided not to tell them the full truth. Yeah, instead of guarding the door, your warg swiped all the meat outta your pockets and was chowing down on it! They'll really think you're an idiot if you tell them that, he thought.

"Well, he just didn't alert me, was all." Globuk started stuffing his pockets with food for his warg again. "Like I told ya, I think he's a mute." Gripper who had been watching and listening to his master, suddenly dropped the Rotting Leg-O’-Las and began yapping like a crazy warg. It now sounded like the warg wasn't going to shut up.

"What the -?" Globuk was stunned. He did not want to see Silizlîn's and Sarghêst's reactions. He simply could not believe it and was mumbling under his breath, that's just like you. Oh he's a mute. He hasn't made a sound. Now you're woofing and carrying on. "Come on then, Gripper. Now that you've gone and made me look like a fool, maybe you'll be clever enough to catch the thief who stole that leg."

Gripper bounded after his master, but it remains unknown if he actually has learned his name or just where Globuk keeps all the food.

The hairy orc and his hairy wargling ambled back to the Warg Pits after quite an extensive tour of the Uhhhhhhhh Spa. Reg was excited to show Silizlîn the progress Érnié had made! If only Reg himself was making as much progress with his reading.

Mother of Phlegm! Reading! Books! His book! Reg had left it on the counter of the spa’s café. He stomped his hairy feet and turned around, Érnié following happily in his wake. “We better hurry up,” Reg said to the pup. “Don’t wanna be TOO late, or we’ll miss the rest of the trainin’.”

And so the two rushed back to the spa, retrieved the ponderous tome, and made their way to the cave in which their adventure together had begun. It seemed they were the last to arrive. Reg narrowed his eyes at the Dumb Orc, whom he’d definitely seen in the spa, perhaps trying to make off with his, Reg’s, very own pink tricycle. He’d be keeping an eye on this one, and no mistake.

“I dunno how he done it, but this pup’s learned his name an’ everything,” Reg reported, once the Dumb Orc had finished his recap. “Faster’n anyone I ever seen in my life. Took me a good half decade to learn mine,” Reg said bluntly and without shame (no one had ever told him that this was an unusually long amount of time).

“See? Here we go, lemme show yeh,” Reg said, putting a hand into a grimy pocket and retrieving one last bit of meat. “We practiced all over the spa, and this here pup learned his name like it was nothin! Érnié!” he said sternly. The pup tilted his head and wagged his brushy tail. “C’mere, Érnié.” The pup’s tongue lolled out and he padded up to Reg, eyeing the meat expectantly. Reg tossed it to him, and Érnié caught it.

“So that’s us, then. We toured the spa and he learned his name. When can I start readin’ to him??”

Silizlin had dozed off in the warm stink of the pits, using the Warg dam as a pillow. The poor beast looked quite relieved to be rid of her yowling brood; she had eaten a vast quantity of meat and gone to sleep, and so had Silizîn.

The yapping of the returning cubs and their handlers woke them both. Silizlîn yawned, her hand dropping to her thigh... alas, no hip flask. How could she have forgotten? In lieu of a bracing draught, she vaulted out and stuck her head in the Warg drinking trough, something she immediately regretted.

Shaking the noisome water out of her thick hair, Silizlîn paused. It sounded distinctly like one of the Wargs was WOOFING. How unusual!

She staggered out to the returning company, wringing out her braids. “Oh... good job,” she said vaguely. “You’ve all done tremendously well. What did you say you’d named them?” Indeed, when Silizlîn repeated the names the Cubs had been given, their ears pricked up attentively.

“How strangely impressive. Must be a clever bunch,” she remarked, even as she stared doubtfully at Globuk.

PROMPT! Time to teach your Warg some simple commands! Please attempt to reach your Warg to Fetch, Sit, Read...and any other command you think is appropriate. There will be a little test at the end of this - let’s see how your Wargs do... and if any points are earned!

Test will be in a week! RP here or anywhere else you please to practise learning your commands.

@Boromir88 @Skwovet @Jorgy Underash - OPEN TO NEWCOMERS AND CASUAL RP

“Arr, this one’s mighty clever,” Reg agreed with Silizlîn. “Knows more’n any pup his size ought to.” Apparently, though, it was time for the little warg to learn even MORE. So Reg fetched some scraps of raw meat from a nearby barrel of random bits and pieces, whistled for Érnié, and trundled off into a corner where he and his pup could get in some practice away from the others.

“Hmmm,” Reg mused, considering the options. “Sit” seemed as good a place to start as any. The warg would have to sit still next to him if he was going to be read to, at any rate. Plus, sitting would come in handy on long days at the spa - this way, the warg wouldn’t get up to trouble as Reg puttered about, cultivating mushrooms. “Arright, let’s start with SIT, Érnié.” The warg looked at Reg and wagged its unkempt tail. “Sit!”

Érnié spun in a circle and then yowled loudly.

“SIT!” Reg said, more loudly this time. His voice echoed unnervingly throughout the pits. Several unclaimed wargs began to howl in response. Érnié’s tongue lolled out of his mouth, but he did not sit.

Reg put his hands in his pockets (a true thinking posture) and recoiled. “ICK!” He’d touched the bits of raw meat he’d put in there earlier and then promptly forgotten. “Oh, right,” he mumbled. “Mebbe I can bribe you!” He held out a bit of meat. Érnié sniffed eagerly.

“Sit!”

Nothing. Érnié chomped at the meat, which Reg retracted quickly. The wargling’s sharp teeth closed on air. “No treat for you, yeh naughty hairball,” Reg admonished. “Not till yeh’ve learned to SIT! Here, I’ll show yeh.”

Reg mimicked the posture of a warg, crawling about the pits on all fours. He then said “SIT!” nice and loud, and plunked his bum down on the ground. He repeated this process several times.

“See?” he said at last, standing upright once more. Érnié yipped to acknowledge that he had, in fact, seen the whole spectacle.

“Now let’s practice together,” Reg suggested. He took off on all fours again, and Érnié followed. Every now and then, Reg would shout, “SIT!” and the two of them would sit down. Each time, the little warg got a small scrap of meat to reward his good behavior.

“Good boy,” Reg said after at least an hour of this exercise. He stood and took a few steps back from Érnié, then said, “C’mere!” Érnié stood and padded over to him. He stood there expectantly, almost certainly waiting for his next treat. Reg stuck a hand in his pocket once more. “Sit!” he commanded.

Érnié sat.

"Yeh're smarter'n Fleeg! Yeh might even be smarter’n me!" Reg exclaimed, beaming. “Art’d be proud,” he admitted. “Freddin’ Art. Him an’ his readin’ are the reason I’m even here! Okay, you,” the hairy orc continued, “Next up, we’ll learn to read.”

Sarghêst sighed. He was getting more and more used to that and that notion annoyed him. His gaze went from Silizlîn to Hoppla. The latter licking their chops with a frustratingly upbeat smile on his cross-eyed face. “Teach him commands? Well that’ll be fun.” He tried not to sound too sarcastic but he had a feeling the only person he was fooling was Hoppla, who seemed eager to learn. Sarghêst arched a skeptical brow at the wagging tail at the end of the warg. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago this beast had savaged a chicken beyond recognition. There were still feather, matted with blood, sticking to his forepaws.

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more. Alright Hoppla,” he took a step back from the warg and sat in a crouch. The warg started to bound over to the orc but he held up a hand, palm out and shouted “No, stay!” Confused, the warg stumbled and tilted his head to the side, but at least he stopped moving.

Sarghêst lowered his hand. “Come.”

Once again, full of eager, boundless energy, Hoppla bounded to his orc master, tongue flapping in his wake. Sarghêst produced a bit of chicken meat, raw and bloody and held it out for the warg to chomp on. With careful but eager enthusiasm, Hoppla wolfed down the treat.

Sarghêst stood up and walked several paces back in the direction of the cages and again squatted. Hoppla, beginning to have a tiny bit of an inkling of what might possibly going on, only took a tentative step forward before his master put up his hand, palm out again. “Hoppla, stay!” The warg froze, a line of yellowish drool dripping onto the ground. The orc dropped his hand. “Hoppla, come!” With that command, the derpy warg bounded to his owner. Another chicken piece was produced and gulped down with gusto.

“Alright, you seem to have that one down at least,” the orc sound impressed, only mildly skeptical of this derpy beast. “Let’s try this one. Lay down.” The warg was already in a sitting position so Sarghêst merely pushed on the warg’s shoulders until he laid down on the dirt. He removed his hand, and the warg immediately tried to get up. “No. Hoppla. Lay down.” Again he pushed the warg’s shoulders down until the warg seemed to understand that he was supposed to lay down. Sarghêst fed the beast another chicken piece. He repeated the process a few more times until he was satisfied that Hoppla understood the general concept of “lay down”.

“Hoppla, jump!” He tossed a chicken piece high in the air. The warg bounced up, caught it, and devoured it in one motion. “Good. Again. Jump!” he tossed another chicken piece up in the air and again, Hoppla bounced and caught it. The third time Sarghêst said the command, he didn’t throw a piece of chicken in the air but Hoppla jumped anyway, chumping down on… nothing. When he landed, he bahred at his owner with a look of total betrayal (if such a look is possible with crossed eyes and a bleped tongue). “What? I said jump, not treat. Come.” The warg, understanding the last command skipped to his master and took the outstretched treat, forgetting the earlier betrayal.

“Jump!” The warg bounded up and, upon again not receiving a midair snack, looked at the orc askance, his crossed eyes narrowing slightly. “Come.” Sarghêst held out a treat and again the warg forgot the betrayal and took the treat.

“Would you look at that. Soon you’ll be savaging strawheads and eating their chickens.” An impossible ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

(forgot the stats last time, sorry!)

Hoppla’s Stats:
Strength - 2
Cunning - 1
Savagery - 1
Endurance - 1
Luck - 2

Hoppla, doing the best he could, watched Sarghêst while the lady talked to him. He had no idea what the very stern lady (he had begged for a treat before his orc friend came and she ignored him) was saying, but given Sarghêst’s concerned expression, it was not something he had wanted to hear. Hoppla watched him attentively, not noticing the thin line of greenish drool drip from his open mouth. He panted, it was very hot and stuffy in here, and thwapped his tail on the ground. Everyone was ignoring him again! He whined and yipped, hoping to gain the orc’s attention once more. Had he done something wrong? Why did he look so frustrated and annoyed? Hoppla was certain he’d been doing everything he was supposed to. Was he not supposed to have eaten that chicken in the Black Market? He thought it was okay. Was he not supposed to have peed on that lady with the ink and needles? That was an accident, Hoppla had been startled by her and lost control for a moment. Surely his new friend Sarghêst could forgive him, right? Finally, the lady stopped talking him and the orc nodded brusquely and folded his arms. Hoppla yipped and thwapped his tail on the ground again, the drool loosened from his lip and plopped on the ground in front of him. Sarghêst walked several paces away, Hoppla was about to follow him but the orc gave the young warg a look and Hoppla knew that look meant “stay there or no supper” so he stayed right were he was.

He was nearly twenty paces away now and Hoppla was concerned. He whined, stood up, and pawed at the ground. Something was off here, but Hoppla had no idea what it might be. He heard the orc say something that sounded like the word “strum”. Strum? What did that mean? He tilted his head quizzically. Had he meant “come”? Hoppla whined and stamped his feet. He was very confused. That was not the right word though. He said strum, not come. He didn’t know a “strum” command. Was this a new lesson? He took a step forward, then remembered the orc’s very stern face before he walked away from him. It was a very stern face, like it had been made out of granite. Hoppla was confused. Had Sarghêst meant come but accidently said the wrong word? No, no he was a very smart orc who always said what he meant. He even said things that made no sense to the warg but he was willing to trust his friend. Hoppla whined again and stood still. He had not said come, so Hoppla was going to be a good boy and not come. He didn’t know what strum meant, but he was sure he was going to learn it soon. He looked to the stern lady and squinted. Did she have something to do with this? He sniffed the air, that other orc, the hairy one, smelled good, like mushrooms. Hoppla began to drool again.

Hoppla’s Stats:
Strength - 2
Cunning - 1
Savagery - 1
Endurance - 1
Luck - 2