DORULL SAGA - SWAMP OF DEATH
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Tender rays of late morning sun peeked timidly through the
narrow opening of the lair, in which Moorg and his wolf crawled in the night
before. Dark and dry hole made goblin feel safe, as he overslept quite a
bit. And he certainly needed the rest. Wolf yawned loudly, jumping to his feet.
He licked his master’s face, happy to see him waking up. He was hungry, and he
could smell more meat from the goblin’s sack.
They ate fast, and in no time they
were back on the road. He let the wolf lead him towards the Zhinnaeg, reclining
in his saddle. A dream he had last night was all he could think about. It was a
hint of the things to come, once these visions turn to reality. As an absolute
conqueror of Tanmar, Moorg was ruling from his castle, built in gold. Large
numbers of human, orcish, elven and many other slaves, served only him. Goblin
was rich beyond his wildest dreams. He was leading a huge army, soon strong
enough to overrun the entire Dorull.
In his daydream, the goblin
completely missed to see, they’ve changed the course. Still following the
river, the wolf veered towards east, and straight into the village of Gaaran.
This was an isolated place of a militant, berserker orc tribe, estranged even
from their own kind. With their weird practices and obscure beliefs, they were
certainly unique. As other tribes avoided them, Gaaran orcs lost the trust in
anyone outside their small society.
They reached the edge of the
village, when the wolf suddenly stopped, smelling the danger. Low growl
startled Moorg, but it was a bit too late to react. Three half naked, scrawny
looking orcs, covered in warpaint, surrounded them in an instant. Tips of their
sharp, long spears, were aimed towards the goblin, ridiculing his odd arrival.
Ridiculing his incompetence. Although angry, he wasn’t blaming the wolf for the
situation they were in. His dreaming was what got them captured. They walked
straight into the orc's hands because of him. He should’ve known better. He
allowed himself to be captured.
Orcs pulled him from the wolf,
tying his limbs onto one of the spears. They then proceed to carry him towards
the center of the village, while loudly yelling. What a strange turn of events,
not so long ago, he was the one having the two orcs in a similar position.
Villagers approached the goblin, smiling and cheering, while pinching his
cheeks, arms and legs. And then leaving promptly, yelling loudly in approval
and excitement. Moorg found it to be quite strange behavior, but once he saw a
large cauldron in the middle of the village, he understood the meaning of it.
On the ground, around the cauldron were heaps of various, different bones and skulls.
Mostly humanoid in kind.
Fearing for his life, Moorg was
starting to panic, looking for a way out. And once he saw the orcs were
preparing the fires around the pot, he realized he was out of time. Loud songs
spread out, as everyone gathered around cheered for this sudden gift. Tall,
lean orc stuck his nose in the goblin's face, sniffing and licking him. He then
turned around, gesticulating a tasty meal, to everyone’s approval. Moorg
shuddered, horrified by the thought of such an ending.
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