The Crab-claw Market sprawled as far as the eye could see, and everywhere that Borgut looked, he saw chaos. Whatever had happened outside the city had clearly happened within, sections of it were still on fire, bodies could still be found in small clumps, moved out of the way, but not disposed of yet, and people either ran to and fro, or walked aimlessly as if in a daze. The edges of the city were the most hurt, there, the bodies lay everywhere, and soldiers still patrolled around like cats on the hunt. Still, it was largely over, and those sections of the markets not affected, or affected little were attempting to get back to everyday business. Men, elves, and duardin could be found everywhere, selling everything imaginable. Grots ran around underneath, carrying goods, playing tricks for cash, or simply stealing from unaware shoppers. Orruks stood behind stalls of meat and/or weapons, the group even saw an odd-looking troggoth selling moon-shaped totems. The air held a hundred smells, herbs, perfumes, smoke, sweat and the iron of blood. It was loud as a battle, almost unbearable, a dozen different tongues in hearing distance could be heard over the throng of noise that seemed to ebb and flow throughout the market.
Borgut, a handful of his new friends, and the skaven they had found roamed around, following the rat’s nose. They were heading east, towards the docks, carpenters, and mechanics. But in order to do so, they had to pass through the food section, and because an orruk is a hungry orruk, it had not taken long to find out that most of the lovely little humans were only too happy to give away all their free samples when the orruks protested that one was simply unacceptable.
Still, they were there for a reason, and Borgut had eventually forced them to move on, bellies now very much full.
‘This way yes-yes!’ the skaven said, pointing down a wide street, lined with all manner of works, ‘I can smells them yes-yes! I can smell their beards and their sweat and their beer!’
It was not hard to miss where the skaven was pointing, even the orruks could here the low chanting of duardin singing as they hammered away at their work. The small band rounded another corner, and before them rose a crescendo of duardin tongue. On both sides of a massive street they swarmed over a hundred projects, statues littered the runway, ships of all sizes and shapes, and the whole thing bristled with weaponry; from huge war machines to tiny handguns. It came to Borgut’s mind that if a stray ember were to fall here a whole section of city would be blown to smithereens.
‘Wouldn’t that be somefin’….’ he mumbled to himself.
The skaven eyed him nervously, as if he knew what the orruk had said, ‘This-this way, near we are!’
——
The technique that had worked on the merchants before did not work with the duardin.
‘Uuuuuhh, okay, yeah. So, it’s not free… that’s… that’s understood yeah? We gets it.’ Borgut said, nervously looking down the barrel of two dozen drakeguns. And Borgut would sooner take his chances with the guns then with the duardin carrying them he thought to himself.
‘That’s what I thought laddie…’ the nearest one grumbled, ‘I’d hate to add yet another name to my grudge notebook, the ink isn’t yet dry from the last one…’
‘Yes-yes, not good at all!’ the skaven squeaked.
‘Now then. The price is set for this here hull,’ the stout duardin said holstering his weapon. The rest of the duardin did so too, and continued on with their work. Eyeing one of the more eager orruks that had followed Borgut into the yard the smith added; ‘and you won’t get it any cheaper son, so pay up, or be gone with you!’
Borgut had no idea what to do, he had not anticipated actually needing anything to trade with, he simply hadn’t thought it important when he had arms like his.
‘Look ‘ere’ he growled at those around him, ’empty your pockets, I needs all ya got…’
The orruks emptied their pockets, resulting in three copper coins, nine pieces of meat, four bones, and a small paddle with a ball attached to it with string.
‘I get bored sometimes….’ the young orruk who pulled it out replied sheepishly.
The rat had emptied a single silver coin into the pile and Borgut eyed the haul wearily.
‘That won’t do… ya weapons too!’ Appalled, the orruks stared at him until he wacked one around the head. Turning to the smith he motioned to the pile now full of weapons.
”Ere then, is that enuf?’ he asked. The short fellow just laughed, slapping his knee as if he had told the funniest joke all day. ‘Okay, okay! Enough your yabberin’! ‘Ere, have my rat as well then!
The skaven’s eyes bulged in surprise, as his mouth let out a squeal so high-pitched a dog whimpered in the yard.
‘No-no! Not good-good! Not me, no-no!’ and seemingly out of a handful of hidden pockets the skaven came up with two small piles of shining gold coins.