Against the Orcs 3

From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki

Title: Against the Orcs Pt III

Author: Garrett Granth

Part III: The Challenge

I was buying a few fish steaks wrapped in oiled cloth from one of the seedy tillermen that sat up shop on the Cove docks when my communications crystal began to hum in the pouch on my belt.

"Aye, I han’t heard one o’ them in the years since the days of Dayel Stormcrow.” The old man said. He was hunched over a gutted fish swarming with flies.

I unwrapped my food and opened a corked bottle of the local swill that passed for ale. It was overly foamy, tasted of sourdough bread, and had all the subtle hints of an orc axe. I had set everything down on a bit of oiled cloth and I finally took out the crystal.

"Garrett! Thank the virtues you answered!” Gonick’s voice echoed through the ether.

“I'm at the gate to town being threatened by a vicious man with red hair and some sort of pole axe.”

“Ge-heh-heh!” The old man cackled a bit. I thought he was going to choke on phlegm. "You three are gonna go into the Cove orc fort, eh?”

“Yes.” I said, bundling everything back into the oil cloth. I took a big swig of beer, emptying the bottle, save for the cloudy mess that had settled at the bottom, and threw the bottle into the sea.

I recognized the old man.

When the orcs had attacked the bar, he was the one who'd hidden behind a table while the scurvy louts all trampled one another in terror.

“Well you'll need a tiller-man! And a fast boat!” He crawed.

“She's fast enough for you, old man.” I sneered. “Look, unless you're also ready for a hell of a fight, I'll find someone with more of a pulse to pilot the ship.

Wouldn't want the man at the rudder to die of a heart attack.”

I headed for the gate, where Syleo had stopped Gonick, who was patiently explaining who he was, the purpose of his visit, and who he was coming to visit.

It was the last bit that seemed a sore sticking part for Syleo.

“Granth, eh? Told me some bits about him being involved in the war of Light and Dark, about how necromancers and orcs didn't kill him when they should have. Doesn't seem to fit the picture of the man.”

“Garrett is a quester of knowledge and lore above all. He would be loath to turn a place like Cove over to the orcs. Orcs burn books, sir.” Gonick said.

Syleo considered the point. I considered the last time I had seen orcs up close.

YEARS AGO:

“But he hummie. Pink and weak. We smash!” The orc guard confered to his compatriot.

“No. Boss man tell us to look out for this one!” The other orc growled. This orc was some sort of shaman, not one of the tribal elders I had come to speak with, but a powerful mage nonetheless. My feeble magical skills were no match for the spell of paralysis he had used to hold me.

“But how you know it him?” The hatchet-and-shield wielding orc asked.

“Funny hat with funny feather. Shinies armor. Silly axe on stick.” He said, referencing my custom-crafted exceptional feather hat, my platemail armor, and my halberd.

While countless hours of the art of the forge had gone into the crafting of these war clothes, the vicious and primitive weapons of the orcs seemed, at the moment, far more dangerous.

“Gah!” The junior orc wailed. “Just smashes and be done with!” “We wait like chief say!” The other orc said. “Vas flam!” He spat the orcish version of the words of power, and the small fireball lept up and burned the other orc. The smell was awful, and the peon spent a few seconds rolling on the ground while the shaman laughed.

“You laugh too, hummie!

Or maybe we clump you even though chief say no!” He demanded, pointing a wand at me. The wand was made of bone, clutching a chicken skull.

More nervous than usual, I laughed, even though the paralysis crushed at my cheek bones when I tried.

“Good! He laugh! Maybe pink fleshy hummie not so bad.” The shaman said. “But too shiny! Too clean!”

“First time I've ever heard THAT.” I managed to grit out.

“SILENCE!” A booming voice echoed. “Bring him before me!”

Atop the crudely carved wooden tower stood a huge orc in a smoldering mask, wrapped in a wraith-like cloak. He held a crooked staff to the afternoon sky and then pointed it at me. His English was smooth, learned, and that terrified me. But this was the orc I was looking for.

“Why do you come here, human? To hunt and kill our kind and be called a hero in your own lands?”

I swallowed hard. “No. I come here to learn, elder shaman. I come here to preserve the history of your tribes and people.”“Orcs preserve the history! Orcs know the people!” He shouted. The other orcs around me shrank back, formed a gauntlet between me and the tower.

“And yours is a life of war, shaman!” I said. “And all things die. What happens, then, when your tribe is no more? What happens, then?”“If our tribe is no more, then our history is not worth saving for those who come after us.” The shaman said.

“Many who fall are yet strong.” I countered. “You learn from the skulls and bones of the fallen. If you are dust, and fires consume that which you have written, then those who come after us will know nothing. They will be forced to start over. They will have to relearn the strength and honor and violence you know now.”

"They must earn it through BLOOD!” The shaman shouted. He intoned a guttural orcish spell designed to poison me, but I stood strong. “There is strength that can be learned.” I said, red in the face, attempting not to gasp for air. “But you are greater than those who came before you, and that is why you tread on their bones. And those who come after you will be greater still, should you preserve their lore.

And if this lore comes into human lands, and human hands, your enemies will be stronger still. They will force you to be stronger, orc. That is your way. Strength, and the power it gives, are the paths to more power.”

“What do you think you know of the ways of orcs?” He said, slowly. “Very little. But grant me the right, and I will know much. Humans will know much. New foes will exploit weaknesses you did not know you had, and new allies will arise, that you never knew existed. That is the way of knowledge. It must be free to roam to the ends of Sosaria, shaman.”

“So be it.” He said.

“But nothing in this world is free, human. You must face the deamon. Toe to toe. No magic. No crossbows. Steel yourself, weakling." I drew my sword and my shield. I was ready to learn.

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