|
The Story of
Garobrin Orcslayer
by
Mikkel Fausing
Introduction
My
story starts in the great city of Altdorf where I was bred,
born and raised. Ah yes, introductions. My name is Garobrin
Hrotgarf, but if you’ve heard of me it’ll probably be under
the name Garobrin Orcslayer. As you may, or may not, know the
Hrotgarf name is one of the minor noble families in Altdorf;
it’s residence near the harbour. My father was a notorious drunkard,
and he spent more time in the whorehouses and taverns than taking
care of his property - or family, for that matter. With
things being as they were, my family’s belongings were in the
hands of my father’s advocate, a man who fortunately had more
nobility in his heart than my father in his blood. Despite this,
the advocate was an elderly man even when I was born, and when
he died it fell on me to take over the actual if not official
leadership. I never wanted to be a noble, I was ever more interested
in physical endeavours and swordplay, and even though I contemplated
running away, I knew in my heart that I could never abandon
my mother and sister. So, I settled for the life of the noble,
though I still took the time to practice with my sword - the
one good thing I got from my father.
Even
as things looked like I would be bound to the boring, if easy,
life of a minor noble things took a drastic turn: my father
had, like many other minor nobles, invested a major amount of
his money in one of the larger mercantile cartels - and he had
chosen one that went bankrupt. With no money, the life of my
family quickly changed from being rather pleasant, despite my
father’s endeavours, to being downright horrible. My father
had to start working for some of the people he used to employ,
and I believe it was this that killed him, if it wasn’t the
fact that he could afford to drink nothing but cheap brandy.
So
it came to be, that at my 20th birthday I left my home and family
to try the life of an adventurer, armed with nothing but my
trusty sword, a suit of leather armour and provisions to last
for 3 days at best.
Chapter
1: The journey south
As
stated in the introduction, I left my home on my 20th Birthday,
setting out for the adventuring life in the hope to restore
some small amount of dignity to my family’s name. I left Altdorf
by the southward road, my aim to cross the river quickly, and
then wander into the depths of Loren Forest, to seek out adventure
and glory. First, though, I went to the temple of Sigmar to
donate a tithe for safe journey over the water, for Sigmar is
the patron deity of Altdorf (and the rest of the empire), and
no one in their right mind would attempt a major journey without
his guidance. I then went to The Bowlegged Basher, for I had
been told that I might find cheap passage with one of the sailors
who often frequented that tavern. I arrived at the Basher about
noon, for even though I was well trained in combat I did not
welcome a knife in the back, a fate suffered by so many others
visiting the Basher at night. I entered through the front door,
doing my best to look natural and scowl at the harsh glares
the patrons were throwing at me. A rough-looking man, about
seven feet tall and with broad shoulders, approached me. “Whot’s
a babyboy like yaself doin’ ‘ere?” he asked, paying not the
slightest attention to my hand, which was already moving towards
my sword’s hilt. I chose to remain silent, trying to look like
I didn’t care if I had to run him through. The man waited a
second, maybe two - and then he grasped my shirt, lifting me
off the floor like some doll. “I asked ya” he bellowed, spittle
flying from his mouth “whot’s a babyboy like ya doin’ in my
tavern?!?”. I quickly decided that I wouldn’t stand up to this,
and as none of the other patrons had shown interest in the matter
I used the only weapon available to me: my head. There was a
sickly crunch, followed by a howl of pain, and the sound of
a sturdy leather boot connecting with the one of the more tender
spots a man with no leg armour had - I leave the details to
your own imagination. The man, quite sensible, dropped me, and
with a speed greater than I had thought such a large man capable
of showing, he grasped a chair and swung at me. I ducked, but
he had probably expected that, and his other hand was fast moving
towards the spot I had put my head. I didn’t have time to move
aside, and his giant ham-fist hit me square on my chin. I fell
backwards, and hit my head at a table standing behind me. I
didn’t quite pass out, but for a few moments my limbs refused
to do as told, and the man approached, this time with a wine-bottle
from a nearby table. Just as he was about to hit me, probably
ending my adventure before it really began, I heard a stern,
cold voice say “I wouldn’t use my Berduskan ‘67 for hitting
anyone. Not if you plan on living, anyway.” There was a note
in the voice that hinted amusement, but still my opponent stopped
dead in his tracks, turning to see who it was that dared oppose
him so. I also looked up, seeing that it was a rather young
man, who definitely had elven ancestors. He looked at the big
brute with a grin, and I, lying rather close to the floor as
I was, could see that his hands were shimmering with a faint,
blue light. The brute moved closer, drawing a knife from his
belt behind his back. I was about to shout a warning when the
brute suddenly threw the knife with mind-stunning speed, impaling
the person on the chair. I looked in horror, trying to discern
why the fellow hadn’t done anything to stop the knife. Then
there was a humming, and the half-elf stepped into the room
through a portal behind the brute. He whistled, then began muttering
some ancient words, clearly chanting a spell, for the light
suddenly disappeared, only to come back less that an instant
later. But when I looked at the brute, he lay sleeping on the
floor, a stupid, happy smile on his big face. I looked around
to see my saviour, catching a glimpse of him disappearing through
the door. I got to my legs, running after him to thank him.
When I got out he was waiting, stopping my torrent of “thank
you” s and “how can I repay you” with a gesture. Then he said,
“Am I correct in assuming that you are Garobrin Hrotgarf?” I
was startled that he knew my name, but managed to stutter a
yes. “Then I am lucky. Please follow me, I’ll fill you in on
the details during the trip”. I tried to ask him what he meant,
but he just turned on his heel and started walking. I ran after
him, determined to at least listen to him, deciding that if
it turned out that he was crazy, I could just leave. “What is
this all about then?” I asked, trying not to sound like I had
just run a mile chased by wolves. “I will go straight to business,”
he said. “It all began a month ago. The Orcs invaded our forest,
slaying left and right and capturing our capital, Llivegiif.
We have had peace for hundreds of years, apart from the occasional
skirmish with the goblins” he continued, but my mind was still
reeling from the information I had just had: The Wood Elves
were invaded; they send an agent - to fetch me? “Will you help
us?” he finished, looking at me. “Of course” I replied, thinking
that, after all, this fellow had just saved my life and if need
be I could slip away before we reached the elven court. “Great!
Off we go” he said, and before I could act he chanted a short
spell, and a giant Wyvern approached us, whipping dust into
my face. I was already running away from the monster, thinking
that our city was under siege by the Orcs as well, when he called
out to me. “Don’t worry,” he said, “this is my pet wyvern, Vodrath.
He’ll carry us to my king”. “Great” I said, still not exactly
happy at the prospect of riding a wyvern to a place I’d never
been, and when there faced with the task of routing an enemy
that an army of Wood Elves had not been able to beat, “let’s
get going”.
The
wyvern was amazingly calm, and to my surprise entirely cold
to the touch - as is fit for a reptile, I guess, but still odd
for such a large creature. I was wondering how I was going to
stay on the animal, for if it was the favoured mount of an elf
in haste it had to be fast indeed. My benefactor must have guessed
my train of thoughts, and said, “don’t worry. I’ll summon a
saddle for you. He muttered a short incantation, and a brown
saddle appeared at the wyvern’s back. I noticed that he himself
didn’t use one - but then again, I suppose he was used to riding
it. “Mount up!” he said, swinging himself over the wyvern’s
wing and unto its back. I waited a moment, then decided I’d
try like if it were a horse. I took a step backwards, then ran
forward and jumped. I landed with the saddle-knot uncomfortably
close to my groin, but managed to wriggle into position and
grab the handle. “Ust Nazahd. Jahir Klakad” the elf said, and
the wyvern took off. The wyvern was even faster than I had expected,
and carried us over the startled guards at the First Gate. In
no time we had crossed the river and was heading for Loren.
The trip went peacefully until we were almost there, we were
nearing the Esiredul Mountain when I looked down and saw a strange
gathering of light in a tunnel entrance near the top of the
mountain. I was about to ask if my companion knew what it was,
when he yanked the wyvern’s collar hard to make it dive hard
to the left and down. It wasn’t a second too late, for the next
moment I saw a green arm extract from the cavern and a multi-coloured
ray strike out in our direction. It passed straight over my
head, but with the next one we weren’t so lucky. The ray hit
the wyvern square in the chest, causing it to give an unearthly
scream and begin a heart-stopping descent towards the earth.
My companion looked worried, but he still managed to begin a
spell. He was cut short, however, as another ray shot out and
singed his hair. The wyvern, even though it was dying, managed
to slow down our descent and land relatively softly. Still,
I fell off and banged my head against a rock, causing me to
black out.
When
I came through again my companion stood by the wyvern’s corpse,
muttering in a low voice. I thought he was saying goodbye to
an old friend, when suddenly a thundercrack sounded and he fell
to the ground as if struck by lightning. A moment later he stood
up again, and I saw that a kindle of light had returned to the
wyvern’s eyes. “He will not live for long, for I fear it was
Drakzifw the Necromancer who assaulted us up there, and no one
survive that. I have supplied him with some of my own life energy,
however, and he should be able to reach the king’s council.
Mount up, we must leave immediately.”
Onward
to Chapters 2 and 3... (videre
:-))
Tilbage til Hovedsiden
|
