DORULL SAGA - SWAMP OF DEATH
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Two riders advanced slowly through
the narrow crag passage, to the south of mount Laorn. Large hoods made out of
bear fur, covered their faces. With full saddlebags, and armed to the teeth, it
was easy to see that they were equipped for quite a long journey. And one that
was nearing its end, as they could see the brink of a small field, just below
them. Coming down this steep road took more than half a day. But with the large
abyss on one, and sharp edged rocks on the other side, they couldn't risk any
faster descent. It was very hazardous, and yet the only road that led from
Chaygor to the Tanmar region.
Howling of cold, mountain winds,
followed by flat, loud kicks of horse's hooves, could be heard for miles.
Animals were exhausted. Their tired legs could not carry them for much longer.
Narrow canyon ended up turning slightly to the right, as soon as the road
flattened. Just over hundred yards further, they set their eyes upon the
opening, covered in green, lush grass. Still, clear river, cut right across the
meadow, surrounded by a large grove. Smell of the freshwater made horses pick
up their pace. Twenty minutes later, as the daylight began to fade, the first
flames of the campfire flickered across the small field.
“Fire will attract all the
creatures of this damned swamp.“
“That might be the truth boy, but
my old bones can't cope with the cold like before. Tend to the horses and make
us some food. I haven't meditated for over a week.“
The figure shook off the heavy
leather robe from his shoulders, stretching his strong arms. Flickering flames
against his dark green, weathered face, made him look almost demon-like. He was
an orc. A long and sharp, yellow tusks were almost reaching his eyes, making
two bulges on his lower lip. Three gruesome, black, thick scars, extended
across the entire left side of his body. It was a gift from an ancient beast,
he fought a long time ago. His strong, harsh, dark hair reached almost the
bottom half of his back. Slightly hunched, the orc had extremely broad
shoulders, and large, muscular arms, covered in crude writings of some sort of
weird symbols and signs. Old orc was a shaman. And he looked frightening.
He proceeded to take the roughly
stitched, leather pouch from his belt, before placing it right beside a warped
piece of branch, that seemed like an awkwardly made fife of some sorts. He then
gently stroked the branch, with the tips of his fingers, imbuing it with magical
energy. Pulsating, greenish light came out from the shamans fingertips, when
the branch suddenly began to grow. Wood wiggled and twisted like a snake, as it
expanded over three feet in length, forming a staff. In the last flash of
light, its knob-end transformed into the shape of the bear's head.
Shaman put his staff carefully to
the ground in front of him, just so he could sort about a dozen of round,
black, rock pieces, covered in strange, golden colored runes. Eager to begin,
the orc took the first of the stones, mumbling some sort of charm. In short,
red, flash of light, rock and wood fused together as one. Shaman was patient by
repeating the ritual for each of the stones, ending it just in time for the
meal.
“Delicious meat, Grodish:“ orc
growled as he sank his teeth into a fairly large piece of loin “This journey
made a fine cook out of you.“
“I am turning into a woman.“ a
young warrior retorted “For over a month now, my axe is hitting nothing but the
wood.“
“Don't you worry my boy. In this
place, danger has a habit of finding you sooner than later. And once you
finally meet the human, who took your mother and brother from you, you'll have
plenty of battles under your belt.“
“Are you certain that he is here?“
the warrior's eyes shone at the mere mention of a fight.
“Of course. But for now, don't
think too much about him. Long and painful road is ahead of us, and you still
have a lot to learn.“
They ate in silence, for the
remainder of the meal. Cracking of the wet wood engulfed in flames, with the murmur
of a nearby river, had a soothing effect. Not long after, as he covered himself
in the thick bear hide, shaman commenced with the meditation. Oblivious to the
surroundings, in this mystical trans, he was revitalizing his inner energy.
From time to time, his body would violently shake. His face would distort in
pain, showing all the severity of the process.
Grodish testified to shaman's
meditation on plenty of occasions, leaving him in wonder and awe every single
time. The mere concept of this unexplained power, this magic, was something
that shouldn't have existed in any mortal being. As he glanced one shy look
towards the orc, the young warrior put a couple of more logs onto the
fire. The ritual would last for the remainder of the night, and Grodish knew it
would be a long and lonely one. Just like many of them before. His thoughts
wandered far back, towards his childhood.
Grodish was half breed, part orc,
and part human. As such, for most of his life, he was treated as an outcast.
Everyone turned their backs on him, after he lost his family on that damned
night. Compelling him to wander aimlessly far from others, afraid and confused.
Often on the brink of existence, for almost one whole year, until fate brought
him and Roshnak together. He owed everything to shaman, that was something he
knew very well. In him, he found a teacher, a friend and a very powerful ally.
A tool, which will help him carry out his vengeance.
Cold gust of northern wind snapped
him out of the daydream, and just in time, to prevent their campfire from
getting extinguished. Couple of logs were just enough to rekindle the flames.
Half-orc made sure they would last until morning.
Sudden, barely audible clicking
sound, slightly to the left, came upon him from the darkness. Instinctively,
the warrior jumped sideways, just in time to dodge a couple of metal darts,
which struck that exact spot he was sitting on, not a moment ago. In an
instant, Grodish was up on his feet, with fully drawn axes in his hands. He
could now quite clearly hear the rattling of the blades, as footsteps draw
closer and closer. Silhouettes around the far edges of light revealed, to some
extent, the numbers of their attackers.
They were goblins. Those pesky,
little, annoying creatures. And there were a lot of them. Half-orc knew, they
were completely surrounded. He had to act, and act fast. Instinctively, Grodish
charged at the nearest attacker, lifting one axe above his head, whilst using
the other one to protect his chest. One precise, vicious swing led his blade deep
into the stunned goblin's shoulder. In two violent jerks, half orc tore the
entire chest open, as he simultaneously used his other axe to cut down another
goblin.
He was fast to approach the next,
swinging both of his axes in astounding precision. He was aiming for the
exposed neck. Goblin felt nothing, as the blade went cleanly through,
decapitating him in an instant. He blinked, trying to figure out why he wasn't
able to swing in defense, unaware that his body already fell down onto the
ground. Before his head even touched the soft, swampland soil, the fourth
goblin fell dead before Grodish's feet.
Half-orc was exceptionally agile,
regardless of his enormous stature. Always a couple of steps ahead of his
thrice smaller opponents. But goblins had numerical superiority, which annulled
their apparent physical disadvantage. They interchanged in vicious, continuous
attacks, as a pack of wild dogs. Without a single moment of taking a breather,
Grodish knew fatigue was bound to slow him down sooner than later. His strikes
weren't as frequent, nor strong as before, yet he still managed to parry or
evade those dangerous blades. And for the whole entirety of the battle, he
still managed to keep one eye on the asleep shaman. In a state of deep
meditation, Roshnak was unaware of any danger.
“Kill that half-breed. That cur.
Fast!“ growling voice came from the darkness.
Grodish flinched for a moment, when
an unusual, burly goblin stepped into the view, towards the light. He stood
proud, not even five feet from the shaman. Covered in decorative feathers and
bones of many small animals, he looked a bit like Roshnak. Goblin let a
somewhat evil grin at half-orc, slowly drawing his crude, wavy knife. And then
he took a step towards the shaman.
Grodish screamed in anger, as he
tried to plow through the surrounding goblins, but made a mistake. Not a moment
later, a couple of blades slashed deep into his body. This time, his scream was
made entirely out of anguish, to the satisfaction of howling goblins. Half-orc
lost his footing, and with that any hope of saving Roshnak. The goblin leader
was now on top of the shaman, ready to plunge his blade straight into the orc's
heart. But then, suddenly, he stopped. Ever so slight, gentle stream of energy
filled his entire body. Goblin immediately knew that right before him, sat a
very powerful shaman. He could barely suppress his emotions in the wake of this
unexpected discovery. And yet in an instant, he managed to devise a new plan.
“Wait! Don't kill him!“ he was
adamant to stop his soldiers, before they took that half-orc's life “Well, not
just yet. Tie them to the horses, we are taking them home with us.“
“Why is that, o mighty one?“ one of
the goblins dared to ask.
“Let's say I have a certain
celebration event in mind, in the wake of our recent victories. And these two
could serve their part in it. Now move!“ he was fast to start tying the legs
and arms of the orcish shaman, whilst others subdued the large half-orc.
Soon after, they catch up to the
caravan they've captured from the humans. Filled with all kinds of ores, golden
nuggets and precious, sparkling gems, they represented their glorious victory.
And now, with this surprising addition of prisoners, goblins became even more
ecstatic. Moorg couldn’t have asked for more. He just hoped that the majority
of goblins, back home, recognize the effort. For this could turn out to be a
crucial piece, in him challenging for Zuut’s crown.
“Sing lads, sing loudly!“ Moorg
yelled “Let the entire Tanmar know of the goblin's strength.“
Cheerful, yet heroic singing, began spreading ever so louder to the back of the caravan, as they upped the tempo in an attempt to reach their final destination, much quicker than they intended. Not far away from them, one silhouette carefully slid from the tree. Unnoticed, he managed to hurry along the bank, following the group. But after just a few hundred steps, he suddenly changed his mind, deciding to turn back, westward, across the swamp. Back home.
A minute later, smaller figure rose up from the tall grass, growing over river bank. He spend a few seconds assessing his options, before deciding to head after the man that was hiding above him in the tree.
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