Ruler of the Underclan

"I'm glad you could make it, Sharog Rocksmasher." Demze smiled, as she sat on a highback chair looking down her nose.

Sharog Rocksmasher stood within the Clan Princess's palace. A home built for the three sisters by the current Blacktongue Chieftain. A gift to his adopted daughters. She wore a yellow one-strap top, that was frayed just above her mid-riff showing her abs. Below that, she wore a heavy belt and a skirt that was cut sharp in the front but exposed her upper thighs.

"Nothing to say, after deciding to come to this side of the arena?" Demze goaded. She knew why Sharog Rocksmasher was there... She was the one that invited her.

"What is it that you want me to say? Have I not come to be another dog?" Sharog spat onto the stone floor.

Demze smiled sweetly, in response.

"Is that what you think this is? That I want a lap dog? Do tell, Sharog Rocksmasher... I have to know, what made you think you could open a business in this city, without my backing?" Demze reached over and picked up a cup of cool fruit juice and sipped.

"..." Sharog gritted her teeth.

"Go on, I can wait here all day, if necessary." Demze chimed, knowing that Xa'Gun wasn't to return to his burrow until late.

"This isn't fair!" Sharog stomped and shouted. The shout could only be heard by Demze... As she had instructed the servants to leave the grounds during this meeting.

"That's quite the show, and lacking in thought, but... I'll entertain you... What again, Sharog Rocksmasher, is unfair?" Demze placed her emptied cup back on her side table.

"I paid my dues to the Chieftain already! I shouldn't have to pay dues again to you! Your just the Chieftain's daughter." Sharog tightened up her fists.

Demze's expression finally fell.

"That wasn't very smart, Sharog. But then again, you haven't been very smart all along." Demze scalded.

"Are you any better?! Your betrothed is a slave!" Sharog declared in anger.

Demze began to clap her hands. The echoing of her sole appreciation fell on deaf ears.

Demze spoke with an edge in her voice, "my Xa'Gun will tear the arena in two, prove his worth, and obtain his freedom. At that time, I will be marrying a self-made orc… Unlike your mate, Sharog."

"Heh, I didn't know the underworld princess was so mouthy." Sharog smiled in triumph.

Demze raised a brow. A placid lake could describe the monstrous anger that hid just underneath the surface.

"Sharog…"

Demze spoke cooly.

Sharog winced, as she heard Demze's voice. Her plan of impressing her had fallen short. Instead of showing that she wasn't a pushover, she had pissed off the ruler of the underclan.

"I thought I would save you the trouble, and dispose of your soon-to-be heartache. See… I take care of my things and people… But, I will give this task to you." Demze finished and propped her head on her right hand.

"What do you mean?" Sharog asked uncertainly.

"Before I proceed to destroy your happiness, let's finish the business that brought you to me." Demze now seemed bored.

Sharog wilted. This meeting did not go as she had hoped. She then pulled out a scroll that detailed the ownership of the Peon's Sty Bar. She bit her thumb and placed a bloody thumbprint as the seller.

"Good. You may put that deed scroll on the table to your right…"

"And this clears all my and my tribe's debts to the underworld princess???"

"To the last copper." Demze smiled coldly.

Sharog relaxed slightly.

"Now… Let's talk about your mate, Dranar." Demze tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear cuff.

"I paid up. Leave my mate out of this!" Sharog shouted.

"No, no. You misunderstand. I do not wish to take a mate of infidelity," Demze laughed, as she picked back up her cup for another sip of juice.

"Exactly what are you implying!?" Sharog knew exactly what Demze implied, but refused to believe it.

Demze laughed again, "You should ask your mate who 'Bekna of the Darkdagger tribe' is..."

"Darkdagger!" Sharog shrieked, as she turn to leave in a fury.

It was widely rumored within the clan that anyone of the Darkdagger clan was not to be trusted. A group of thieves, beggars, and whores... At least that was the rumor.

Demze called out from behind Sharog, "You'll find Dranar currently in the lower district, and you know why."

Sharog stopped as she spoke with her back to Demze, "I will not thank you for this."

"I told you that I would destroy your happiness… But I take care of my own. I will have my cleaners ready if you need them." Demze soothed in a rare case of compassion.

"..." Sharog looked over her shoulder to meet Demze's eyes. Slowly Sharog nodded her head and left.

[Bekna, I didn't tell you to lay with Dranar…] Demze shook her head, as she left her guest hall.

She walked into her personal room full of books and dusty tomes, and sat at her desk, as she opened a book to a page that showed information on the Batslammer clan.

[The raids on the neighboring tribes have been much more curious and more frequent than before…] Demze thought, while she thumbed through the pages of the old book.

After some thought, she reached over to the left leg of the desk. She grabbed the desk's leg and rotated it twenty-five degrees. A clicking sound was issued, and a larger sound of turning gears erupted behind her.

Demze rose from her desk, as she turned to see her bed full of books slid to the side, pivoting at its top left corner, revealing a set of steps that led down into the darkness below.

[I'll send little miss Bekna to the Jackjaw Clan in the 'Silent Morass' for a time to gather more information for me on the Batslammers... Let's hope she doesn't get herself killed.] Demze shook her head as she disappeared into the darkness, and the bed slid back to its' original position.