|
The Story of
Garobrin Orcslayer
by
Mikkel Fausing
Chapter
2: The elven court
We
reached the elven court without any more accidents, a fact I
was grateful for as my companion had said that he’d supplied
the wyvern with some of his own life energy, and I couldn’t
even begin to guess what it would mean for him if it was further
harmed. We landed on the ground, approaching a nearby cave.
Now this wasn’t your average cave, of course, it was a huge
cave, guarded by a small legion of noble elves clad in silver
armour, shining from the torches which lit the area, for
evening was approaching. My companion walked towards the cave,
then shouted in a loud voice: “Jakrid, Namuh Ellob”. “Jiczak,
Llonar” replied the elf which I assumed was captain of the guard.
“We can enter” he said to me, beckoning me to follow. We entered
the cave, and I couldn’t help gasping in awe at the sight of
it. The cave shone like silver and gold, though not in a way
that hurt the eye. When I recovered I looked forward to see
an old elf sitting on a throne made of the purest silver inlaid
with green and red gems. Though the elf was obviously ancient
he didn’t look frail in any way, and his hair was still jet-black
though stained with strips of silver. “Behold the Dercas Cave,
most holy shrine of the Wood elves” my companion said, with
awe evident in his voice. I looked on with astonishment, not
knowing whether it was the ceiling, the walls or just the whole
thing that looked so incredibly beautiful. “You return in good
time, Fegolit” said the ancient king, his voice holding great
wisdom, intelligence and power. “I do, my lord” replied my companion
“and I bring with me the human spoken of in the prophecy”. “You
do indeed!” said the king. He turned his head and addressed
me directly: “You are the human known as Garobrin Hrotgarf?”
he asked, continuing before I had time to reply “yes, of course
you are. My faithful Fegolit has assured that. Now, how much
has he told you already?”. Not knowing the customs of an elven
court I chose to play safe and bowed deep before kneeling before
the king. “Not much, lord, for we were attacked on the way here”.
“Yes, we saw that from the high tower” said a robed figure next
to the king “but we also saw that you managed to go on.” “He
has informed me that you were beset by most foul Orcs and driven
from your capital” I said “He has also hinted that some necromancer
is involved”. “That is the outline of the present events, yes.
He hasn’t told you why you were brought here in such an un-elven
way?” “No, my lord” I responded while pondering what he meant
by ‘un-elven’. “I sense you do not understand me” the king said,
but it was clearly no question - it was a statement. “Indeed,
my lord” I responded “I did not understand the meaning of ‘un-elven’”.
“No elf would ever ride a wyvern - and neither have any ever
done. What you rode today was a Pegasus, though disguised by
a powerful illusion cast by our High Priestess Ghondria. It
was meant to conceal you from the Necromancer, and I believe
it did - for though he discovered you, you almost escaped him
altogether - and luckily managed to get here, through a little
sacrifice on Fegolit’s side.” “Yes, my lord” said Fegolit “had
he discovered us earlier, I would not have been able to make
contact with the Spirit Stone. And then we had been at
the mercy of an Orc patrol - and we all know what that would
mean” he finished with a grim expression on his face, hinting
that we had been closer to failure than he liked. “Time will
not allow me to go into detail” the king continued “but suffice
to know, the Orcs have captured our most sacred artefact - the
Soul Healer. The Soul Healer is an ancient device, given to
the elves by The Old Ones, when the world was young and evil
didn’t exist. It is needed when an elf dies from old age, for
though elves have a lifespan more than ten times that of a human,
he will eventually die. We then use the Soul Healer to preserve
his soul so that we can continue to seek his counsel in times
of need. For what purpose the Necromancer has stolen it - if
not only to spite us - we haven’t been able to discern - yet.
We ask you to enter the capitol and search for the stone, as
no elf of the True Blood would be able to stay his anger at
the greenskins and the destruction they are surely wrecking
at our beautiful city. We will supply you with a suitable disguise
so that you can enter the palace - from there you’ll have to
fight. A suit of elven chain mail will also be yours to keep,
should you accept the task. Now, human, do you?”. I wasn’t sure
at my ability to fight my way through an entire palace of elite
orcs and their necromantic leader, but as I had set out with
nothing but the wish for glory, I readily accepted. After all,
who could resist the opportunity to curry the favour of the
elves? “I do, my lord. It will be an honour to aid you” I said.
“Excellent. Recnamorcen, bring me the armour of Jelliath, and
the Sword of Ages.” As he said this, I looked up and though
I was then no expert on elven facial expressions, it seemed
to me that even though he replied “at once, my lord” the tall,
yellow- haired general looked resentfully at me when the king
named the items I was to receive - but perhaps it was merely
my imagination. He returned a while later, carrying a suit of
chain mail whose like I’d never seen. It was shining like silver,
yet it still had the hard, sturdy look of iron - without knowing,
I supposed that this was one of the few suits crafted of the
legendary metal Mithril. It looked like it was made to fit an
elf, but when the general presented it to me, and I took it
in my hands, it seemed to swell in size, until it was a perfect
fit, and it was strangely light-weight too, no more cumbersome
than my leather shirt yet still as protective as any human-made
plate mail. The other item he was carrying was equally impressive,
yet in a different manner. It was rather short, and its handle
made from simple bone wrought with leather. The blade was double-edged,
with a sharp point. When I lifted it, it was heavy too, as if
I was lifting far more than the short blade. “These items belonged
to my son, who commanded the city guard. He was the last elf
to leave the city - and he paid the price” said the old king.
“Honour his memory by using these items to slay orcs, and cleanse
our city.” “I will my lord. This sword won’t leave my hand till
I fall on the battlefield” I responded, caught up in the epic
story unrolling before me, determined to avenge the late owner
of this new equipment of mine. “You may leave at once - Fegolit
shall accompany you, and guide you to the entrance - for
I fear that the Necromancer is not far from unlocking the secret
of The Soul Healer, and should he acquire the wisdom and knowledge
of both our people and his own, I fear he would become mighty
indeed, and his power is already great.” I had expected more
courtesy at an elven court, but it seemed to me that the elves
were in great need, and that they therefore did not have the
time to show hospitality at all.
Chapter
3: Loren Forest
My
travelling companion and I left the cave during the night, with
the good wishes of the Wood elves but little else beyond our
weapons to aid our cause, which seemed rather hard from my point
of view, after all I was supposed to secretly enter an elven
city, filled with battle-crazed orcs, get into the cellar and
through an entire castle with elite guards of a corrupt sorcerer
who had one of the most potent artefacts ever owned in his possession.
Yet I did not shun my destiny, for destiny it would certainly
have to be, to be given such a chance to regain my honour. We
left by a small, barely discernible track through the
forest, leading into impenetrable darkness. The light of Morrslieb,
the moon, was shining on the forest, but little light was getting
through the canopy of trees overhead, for though the year was
nearing its end, the trees still bore many leaves, especially
here in Loren where the trees never stood in one place for long
- or so said the stories I had been told as a child, and on
a night like this it was easy to believe. In fact, many of the
trees really looked like they had faces and arms, and was merely
waiting for an unfortunate passer-by to entangle and consume.
When we had walked for about half an hour, my brain seemed to
finally have begun working again, or at least it came to me
that my companion had mentioned a prophesy when he presented
me with the king, and I now realized that I didn’t know what
he meant, for I was beginning to wonder what by Sigmar had made
the elves want me, as they undoubtedly had many finer warriors
themselves. I asked my companion at once, and he said that in
ancient times, before the power of evil was too great, the high
elves had many stargazers and prophets among them, and that
some of these occasionally visited the wood elves. On one such
occasion, a visiting prophet by the name of Iltgaroth had acquired
contact with a greater being, the nature of which was never
known. The creature possessed Iltgaroth’s body, and had the
Soul Healer not been near at hand his mind and body would have
been drained away, never to return. As it was, our king was
able to banish the alien presence from Iltgaroth’s body and,
for a short while, allow his mind to once again take control
of the body. When life returned to the body, the essence within
was surely Iltgaroth’s, but it had been warped somehow, and
he bade us to write down what he had to say. “In a far future,
when those of you who are now young will be old and frail, a
great danger will approach you, and you shall not be able to
withstand alone. Seek you aid within the empire of man, for
then will that race be the dominant one, short-lived though
they are. Your salvation shall come through one that is not
whole, yet neither is he apart. With him will he bring the man-born,
he is the one that is whole, yet still are trying to repair
a hole made not by strength but by weakness. He shall bear the
name of Jhartig, or “the Orcslayer”. His name will not be his
from birth, but like any true name it shall be earned and not
given. That is my prophecy, and those were my last words.” “so
saying,” continued my companion, “legend says that he burst
into flames, and though the Soul Healer absorbed his essence
no one has ever made contact with him. Still, he was a most
respected foreseer, and no one doubted his words, neither then
nor now. And his prophesy has proven true, for are you not a
man who is whole yet still are you trying to repair the hole
made by your weak father, in your heart, your soul and you honour?
And lo, am I not the one who is not whole, for I am only partially
elven, yet neither am I apart? So as you see, Iltgaroth was
right, and his sacrifice was not wasted. But now we should rest,
as we have probably gotten outside the siege lines by now”.
“What siege lines?” I asked, as the elves had definitely not
appeared to be under siege. “The tactical movements of orc and
goblin troops in the region suggest that they have found the
cave and are now gathering troops for the assault. That is why
we had to leave the court so abruptly, as the necromancer and
his troops definitely aren’t going to let anyone out once the
cave is under siege - and the Royal Guard will have enough to
do protecting the king, and so will the High Priests. If things
go well, we’ll meet with the third member of our party early
tomorrow.” So saying, my companion sat sown on the ground and
began muttering another incantation. “A mere warding spell,
so that the enemy’s warlocks won’t be able to find us too easily”
he offered as explanation, then stretched on the forest floor,
appearing to be already sleeping. I figured there was little
else for me to do, so I put myself down as well, using some
large leaves as a bed. The night went surprisingly peaceful,
as I woke the next day, quite a few hours past dawn. My companion
was nowhere to be seen, but I figured he had his reasons for
disappearing and concentrated instead on studying the equipment
I’d been given more closely. The chainmail was not silvery in
colour as I had thought, it was actually green, and it was doing
a great job at disappearing if left on the forest floor for
long, which made sense as elves were relying more on stealth
than strength to win their wars. Little did I suspect the true
abilities of my amour at this time, but they were to prove useful
in the events to follow. The sword actually was as non-descriptive
as I had thought the night before, but it seemed to shimmer
slightly with an inner light, though not enough to light anything
up. This suggested that the sword was of more than ritual significance
to the elves. I therefore sat down to try and read the curved
signs embedded in the blade, as my father’s wealth had insured
that I was able to read both classical and common, as well as
some of the more simple of elven runes, discovered quite recently.
These were beyond me, though, but they seemed to hint something
of a danger within and of something vastly evil imprisoned somewhere.
I made a mental note to ask my companion when he returned, but
my train of thoughts was broken by the sound of a nearby battlecry,
and the guttural answer from many throats that only greenskins
could make. I looked around to try and see where the cry was
coming from, but I was unable to detect anything and had just
decided to stay put, so that I wouldn’t get lost, when my companion
returned, looking around wildly and, seeing me, beckoned me
to follow, then set off at a fast trot through the undergrowth.
I sped after him; entering a clearing to see a veritable horde
of greenskinned orcs clad in chain and leather, fighting a gigantic
man the size of a small bear. Even as I stopped my rush to try
and take up a better fighting position the man swung his gigantic
sword in an eye-blurring arc, severing the head of one of the
orcs he was fighting, the force of the blow sending him spinning.
Another opponent quickly assaulted him with an axe in each hand,
but was sent reeling backwards with his dark-red blood spurting
from the point where his left arm had been till very recently.
A dark-skinned monstrosity swung a cleaver at the barbarian,
its edge almost connecting when a spearpoint suddenly protruded
from its head, sending it straight back to the hellish pit where
it was spawned. I looked around and saw that it was no one else
that Fegolit who had thrown his staff, its tip suddenly a sharp
blade. He looked at me, then his face convulsed in pain as a
dark-green ray hit him straight in the back, coming from the
outstretched fingers of a small orc with an intricate headpiece,
a warlock of some kind. Realising that my companion was unable
to do anything and that the stranger was busily hacking up three
more opponents, I figured I had to do something about the shaman
before he slew my friend. I ran around the main battle, ending
face to face with the shaman’s bodyguard of six large orcs.
I readied myself for the fight, not really believing that I
stood a chance but deciding to try anyway. When I swung the
first blow, the greenskinned warrior raised his saw-toothed
blade to meet mine, but to his horror and my delight my blade
passed right through it, searing off his arm at the elbow, causing
him to drop to his knees, clutching the stump. Even as this
happened, three of the bodyguards sprang down to help attacking
the bear-man, leaving me with only two opponents. They both
lunged at me simultaneously, hoping that either would be able
to strike me. Both did, in fact, but one rebounded off my armour
and the other merely nicked my arm, causing some discomfort
but little else. I drew my own blade with the left hand and
swung at both of them, both blades to my surprise hit home.
One struck the big brute in the neck, severing his artery and
ending his unholy life quickly, while the other - the Sword
of Ages - hit an arm, sticking fast to seemingly drain the blood
from my opponent, as his skin lost colour and life left his
eyes. I now faced the shaman, who had spent the entirety of
the combat locked in spiritual battle with Fegolit, and he was
now looking to have gained the upper hand. I launched myself
upon him, striking at his unprotected back with my own sword,
hitting him squarely in the spine. The blade was enveloped with
a green aura and I gave a loud yelp as excruciating pain bit
my arm. I let go of the blade and swung the Sword of Ages with
both hands instead. The sword bit home, and again the green
glow enveloped the blade, but this time the shaman was bitten,
crying out in pain even as his spine was cut in half, leaving
him dying on the ground. The mysterious glow that had enveloped
my companion now disappeared, and he sank down on the ground,
apparently exhausted. The barbarian had also finished his opponents,
and looked around for more prey, the bloodlust evident in his
every feature. Half expecting the big man to attack me, I approached
my companion and bowed down to see whether he was seriously
hurt or not. He was lying on his stomach, his head buried in
the ground. Fearing the worst, I turned him over but when I
did he was merely grinning at me, and the barbarian soon joined
him with a booming laughter that suggested great joy.
When
his laughing fit calmed down, my companion explained: “This
is Gurtask, once of Kislev” he said, pointing at the hulking
barbarian. “He has long been my friend, and he will be the third
member of our little party. Gurtask, this is Garobrin - the
prophesied”. “I am happy to meet you, Garobrin,” he said, with
a voice that was surprisingly cultivated and correct for such
a warrior. “And I to meet you” I answered, still not fully understanding
the little joke my two companions had made. “The best way to
break the ice is always a little greenskin-slaying,” said the
barbarian. “I suppose so”, I said. “Now, let us get going” said
Fegolit, beckoning us to follow “and thanks, Garobrin, by the
way”. We left the scene of carnage after assuring that all of
the greenskins were dead, having arranged them in positions
so that it looked like they had attacked each other, though
we knew that we had to be lucky to deceive the patrol that doubtlessly
would arrive soon enough, and that no matter what the necromancer
would not be fooled. I also noticed that the bear man cut off
the ears of the orc shaman, and then put them into a small leather
bag that looked very grisly. “Why do you collect his ears?”
I asked, not able to discern whether the man was a lunatic or
not. “Tribal tradition” he answered, though the tone of his
voice clearly said that no further explanation was to be given.
I chose not to press the matter, valuing my life more than my
curiosity. Following a small path for a few hours, I sensed
a change in the stances of my companions, their senses vastly
better than mine. Then, as if out of nowhere we reached a small
wall, made of stone. A guttural voice, though definitely not
the voice of an orc, told us to stop. We did so at once, and
I could see that my companions were as puzzled as I was at this
meeting. Then a helm appeared over the top of the wall, followed
by a head with rough skin and dark brown hair whose eyes squinted
at us through the complex targeting system on his crossbow.
The dwarf told us to remain still, then asked us what we were
doing here, trespassing his camp. Fearing treachery at any moment,
Fegolit chose to play safe, and began chanting a spell. “Stop
that” the dwarf said, loading a bolt into his crossbow. Fegolit
continued, then abruptly stopped when a bolt from the dwarf
impaled his hand to a nearby tree. “The next one will be in
yer heart” he said, obviously thinking that he was in control
of the situation. Fegolit’s actions had, however, diverted the
dwarf’s attention from the barbarian, who had tensed as soon
as Fegolit had begun chanting. He then sprang, his sword still
sheathed, at the dwarf, dragging the small figure to the ground.
He then ripped the crossbow from the dwarf’s hands, grapping
him around the neck with both hands. “Now, stuntie” he asked,
his anger barely held in check, “what are YOU doing here, trespassing
the sacred lands of the wood elves?” The dwarf only managed
a mumbling gurgle, until Gurtask loosened his grip a little.
“Let me go! Let me go!” said the dwarf, massive arm muscles
bulging with effort as he tried to shift the massive barbarian
off. To my surprise the barbarian stood up, leaving the dwarf
on the ground after taking his axe. “Now, my name is Durgin
Barrelchest” the dwarf said, panting. “I was sent forth by the
dwarf king under the mountain to investigate the movements of
orcs in this area. Last night I was assaulted by what looked
like elves, until we had killed them - then they reverted to
their foul forms. Warriors of chaos they were, and their armour
bore the mark of Khorne, cursed be his name. They slew all of
my companions, old Jerald died this morning. That is why I am
a bit vary of strangers” he ended, looking with regret at his
huge axe, which the barbarian had thrown at a nearby tree, driving
the blade almost through the trunk. Meanwhile, Fegolit had cut
off the bolt’s head, then muttered a short incantation and removed
the shaft. The wound miraculously closed, not even leaving a
scratch on his palm. He grinned at me, then cast another spell.
The dwarf was enveloped by white light, slowly fading in colour
until he again looked normal. All the while, Fegolit concentrated
very hard on the dwarf, then when the glow had faded said “he
speaks the truth”, as if surprised. The dwarf turned bright
red in the face, then launched himself at Fegolit, yelling curses
and threats like I had never heard before. Fegolit merely twisted
his fingers, and the dwarf calmed down, a stupid smile on his
face. Fegolit then apologised his actions, begging forgiveness
from the dwarf. Had he not been under the influence of this
spell, he would probably rather have cut off Fegolit’s head.
As it was, however, he accepted the apology, and Fegolit then
countered his spell. The dwarf was still angry, though now he
controlled his temper. Gurtask still held his ready-to-strike
stance, however, and the dwarf didn’t fail to see this. “You
don‘t have to keep so ready, meathead, if I wished to harm you,
I would have shot you already” he said, pointing at the weird
instrument at his belt, which I recognised as a pistol, one
of the blackpowder weapons only made by dwarfs. Now we all knew
that the dwarf absolutely wasn’t in a position to threaten,
let alone kill, any of us, but - not wanting to enrage him any
more, Fegolit agreed, then asked him “well, then, sir Dwarf,
how come you and your late companions made camp in the middle
of the forest of Loren?” “As I said, we were sent by the king
under the mountain to investigate the orcs and goblins” the
dwarf began, toying with pistol “I left there with 5 sworn companions”
he pointed at a newly-raised cairn “and we tracked down their
hiding-place to be somewhere in the forest of Loren”. “We sent
out runners to scout out the area, and they told us that the
elves had abandoned the city, and that the orcs had taken it
over. We decided to establish an outpost here, and then dispatched
a runner to reach the king. This is a far as we got before the
cursed ones struck” said the dwarf, pointing at the solitary
wall he was standing against. “The powers of Chaos must be gathering.
Never before have I heard of the foul ones being able to disguise
themselves as elves in our sacred forest!” Fegolit said, apparently
shocked. “You are welcome to join with us if you wish to avenge
your brethren” Gurtask said, absentmindedly removing the axe
from the tree, a task many men wouldn’t have been able to accomplish
at all. “Aye, I will,” exclaimed Durgin, accepting the axe “my
friends can take care of themselves now”. As he said this, the
cairn stirred, and an arm protruded through the roof “what in
the burning hells” exclaimed Gurtask, drawing his sword. The
arm fumbled round for a moment, then grasped hold of something
and pulled itself up along with the rest of Old Jerald, or his
body at least. The old dwarf whirred his head, but his eyes
didn’t fixate on us, instead it started digging the ground,
helping three more dwarf corpses rise. They then opened their
mouths, though no sound came from their throats. Then, almost
as one, our minds began working, as Fegolit chanted a spell
- not like any of the other I had heard him use before - Durgin
drew his pistol, aiming at Old Jerald’s skull. Gurtask had already
drawn his sword, and now he charged the monstrosities. I drew
my swords, noticing that the Sword of Ages was almost humming
with power, the faint light I had seen before now so bright
it was hurting the eye. I moved towards the monsters, even as
Durgin discharged his pistol and Fegolit launched his spell.
The shot impacted on the dwarf corpse, removing an eye and half
the chin. Yet despite the gushing blood, the corpse still came
on. The zombie next to Old Jerald wasn’t so lucky, however,
as divine light streamed from the sky, focusing on Fegolit who
then directed the holy ray at a shambling dwarf, enveloping
the obscenity of life in bright light, causing it to crumble,
wither and die it’s final death. By now, Gurtask had reached
his first enemy, his guillotine-like blade slicing through bone
and sinew, hacking a zombie in two. The section with the head
on obviously didn’t recognize it’s own demise, as it remaining
arm clawed the ground, trying to reach it’s legs, who was lying
several yards away, so hard had Gurtask’s sword hit them. The
hulking barbarian didn’t wait a second, however, as he followed
up his charge, stomping down hard on the neck of his fallen
foe, vertebrae snapping under his hob-nailed boot. Two more
corpses still remained, however, and one of them had reached
me, his skin almost pure white, as all blood had left his body
the first time he had died. The dwarf sported a great beard,
bright red, and his appearance wasn’t less fearsome as he wielded
an axe in each hand, both the size of a small cleaver. He swung
at me, but though death and rigor mortis had made the dwarf’s
far tougher, it had also made them slower, and by the time the
axes would have connected, I had already stepped out of their
reach, my own swords glittering in the light as I threw them
both at the corpse. One hit the dwarf’s ample stomach, which
happened to be clad in chain-mail and plate. The other, however,
impaled the dwarf against a nearby tree, the hilt protruding
from his chest. The light which had once been in the eyes of
this dwarf was now but a shadow of the light of life, though
even that small spark now flickered and died, the unholy un-death
of the poor creature finally coming to an end. I was now weaponless,
facing a dwarf who had been summoned from the halls of his fathers
by some unholy power to fight his former friends. My companions
was temporarily busy, Gurtask was heaving his sword out of the
tree-trunk it had stuck in during his swing, Durgin was re-loading
his pistol and Fegolit was apparently occupied in prayer, his
hands folded and his eyes closed. A wheezing voice filled my
head, and though the corpse’s lips didn’t move, I was positively
sure that it was the dwarf corpse speaking. “I shall be free,”
the voice said, it’s tone chilling me to the very bones “I shall
be free…” at this, Gurtask’s sword impacted on the dwarf corpse,
cleaving it’s already desecrated head in two.
After
this, we all sat down. I had just had my first encounter with
dead persons, and these weren’t even staying down! Fegolit appeared
troubled, his brow creased while he was pondering the situation.
Gurtask didn’t appear to be bothered, though just beneath his
carefree appearance, chaos and doubt lurked. Durgin was shocked;
apparently he hadn’t expected his companions to rise, even though
a necromancer was reportedly seen nearby. After about ten minutes,
he exclaimed a long sigh, then said in a low tone “How could
they rise? I sealed the cairn with the proper runes, I sprinkled
the ground with holy water! How could they rise?”. Fegolit answered,
his voice a low murmur, as if he was speaking to himself and
not to us: “Something - or more probably someone - summoned
them. But who could wrench a dwarf back from the ancestral boundary?
The evil forces we are facing are definitely mighty!” and with
that he shook, as if casting off some foreboding. Durgin chose
to remain in our company after that, apparently shaken by the
rising of his brethren.
After
a little while, we continued on, eager to leave the clearing
and it’s depressing effect behind us. We left by a small trail
that led in the direction we supposed the elven city to lie
in, and Durgin reassured us that it would certainly take us
there - even though he’d never been to the city. I wondered
at this, but neither Gurtask nor Fegolit seemed to take notice,
and so I ignored it for now.
After
several hours of walking the small trail, which was covered
in shadows from the surrounding trees, I began wondering where
the elven city had got to - after all, it was supposed to be
nearby. I asked Fegolit, who hadn’t said a word since our encounter
with the dwarfen zombies. “We shall not reach it today, I am
afraid” he said. I wondered at this answer, for though we had
walked for quite some time, the time couldn’t be past midday
yet… and though I was the one with the least training and stamina,
not even I felt tired. As I was about to ask him to elaborate
on this rather mystical statement, the sky suddenly blackened,
as if the trees had moved to block out the scarce light they
had let in till now. I looked up to see that the trees hadn’t
moved - but above us, some mystical sphere had enveloped the
forest, the edges stretching towards the horizon. The colours
were constantly changing, the spectre ranging from dark purple
to bright pink. Soon, however, the colours stopped changing
as the sphere turned pure black, and a deep voice filled all
of our ears, as if it came from every tree and even the ground
itself. It recited something, and though I would swear that
the words weren’t a language I understood, they seemed to translate
themselves in my head. “And all the world shall love the night,
and pay no worship to garish light” the voice intoned, and as
the words died down, so did the last sparkles of light. “I sensed
it coming” Fegolit said, his voice not sounding very troubled.
“But it was undoubtedly Drakzifw himself that cast this spell,
and I could not counter it - even though I tried. This means,
however, that we’ll have to find a defensible position soon
- for now he will know that there is a wizard here. Still, we
should be safe though, as he cannot know of you, Garobrin. So
he’ll probably just dispatch an orc patrol.” Once more I felt
that everyone but myself had a great understanding of the situation,
but decided to remain silent. “Ach, there’ll be an old dwarf
stronghold one and a half hour’s march to the east and to the
north” Durgin said, consulting a map. “Yes, I know of that one
too” Gurtask said, “I once stood off six beastmen there - it’ll
be Karak Nem, right?” “True” Durgin confirmed, “It was abandoned
after the Great War, King Mjolnir slain by the demon Kholbane.
Though we later cleared it out, high runemaster Garm slaying
the demon, it was never re-settled, the stain and desecrations
of the demonic armies were too great. Its walls will still be
defensible, though.” “We’re heading for Karak Nem, then” Fegolit
said, pointing into the dark, a small flicker of flamed enveloping
his arm, lighting up a small area around us.
We
left the trail we had been following so far, and though it had
been a rough, dirty strip of beaten forest floor, it soon seemed
like a paved road in comparison to the undergrowth of the forest
we were following now. After a short while, Durgin - who was
walking first due to his map and knowledge of the stronghold
- stopped abruptly, forcing a curse from Gurtask. “I sense movement
in front of us and to the left, too” he whispered, drawing his
pistol. Gurtask drew his sword too, and Fegolit readied his
spear, manipulating the switch that caused the spear point to
appear. I drew my swords, noticing that the Sword of Ages didn’t
shine at all - perhaps the magic of Drakzifw had affected it
too. As soon as we were all ready, Fegolit chanted a spell that
pushed the ring of light his burning arm was producing outwards
and upwards, lighting up a dozen orcs and at least twice as
many goblins hiding in the trees. The sudden light blinded the
attackers, their arrows going wide. As the blinding flash died
down, we had taken up position to repel the charge of the orcs,
the goblins still not able to see us, many of them running off
in panic. The orcs charged from three sides, five of them closing
in on Durgin and the remaining seven split three towards Fegolit
and four towards me, entirely avoiding the barbarian. This didn’t
help them, however, as Gurtask bellowed his battlecry, shouted
“get down!” and leaped over Fegolit’s head, bringing his heavy
form down on three very startled orcs. Even as this happened,
Durgin discharged his pistol at the foremost orc, the bullet
burying itself in the creature’s brain ending its life. The
other orcs didn’t even slow down, their iron-shod boots crushing
the body of their late companion to a bloody pulp on the forest
floor. Durgin drew his axe, gripping the handle with both hands
after putting away his beloved firearm. Our chances went from
bad to worse when, out of the shadows, two goblins on giant
wolves entered the scene. Fegolit had risen after throwing himself
down to avoid the barbarian, and now discharged a bolt of fire
from his fingertips, frying a wolf in mid-leap to let it die
writhing on the ground. The goblin on it’s back had time to
throw itself clear, brandishing a rusty scimitar in each hand.
I was now face-to-face with the first orc, its ugly green-skinned
face grinning at me as his huge, sinew-bound stone axe descended
towards me. Even as I parried, he swung again, and I noticed
that he was frothing at the mouth and, unlike the other orcs
we had encountered, didn’t wear armour but instead was covered
in crude tattoos. The blow was aimed at my legs, and I wasn’t
prepared for such a fast retaliation. I managed to avoid the
head, but the large handle of the axe still swept my legs away,
and I fell to ground. Ripping upwards with my swords, I managed
to hit the orc squarely in the chest with my blade, but the
tattoos glowed, and the sword was repelled. The second time,
he wasn’t so lucky however as his triumphant howl turned into
a yelp of pain, his hand severed at the wrist. I slid between
his legs to get behind him, ending his misery with a quick slash
at the neck. Facing three huge orcs and their pet goblin, I
prayed for Sigmar to guide my hand, the orcs grinning evilly
at me as they approached. Then the orcs howled their war cry
and charged towards me, their weapons raised. They reached me
almost at the same time, two of the armed with crude but effective
stone axes in each hand, the third apparently some sort of shaman
armed with a huge bone he was using as a club. The first two
swung at me, my swords flickering to and fro to parry the flurry
of attacks these savage orcs were directing at me. I was only
partially successful, one of the axes was aimed at my head and
time seemed to slow down as I saw the axe descend. Then something
strange happened, the armour of Jelliath seemed to hum and then
formed a helm around my head the same second as the axe struck.
It gave a ringing sound, then the helm was gone again and the
orc who had hit me lay dead, his hand and forearm a colour like
grey stone. I didn’t even pause to contemplate this, my years
of training kicking in to allow me to block the combined attacks
of the shaman and the other orc. I batted their weapons aside
and ran them both through, using both swords. I looked around
for the goblin when a sharp pain in my leg told me that he was
below me. Fortunately my scabbard was made of solid, black leather
and though it was cut through it absorbed most of the weak creature’s
blow. I let myself fall sideways to get out of the goblin’s
reach then threw my katana, impaling the little bugger on a
tree. Looking around me, I saw that Durgin apparently had fallen
beneath the orcs, the last of which was being chopped down by
Gurtask while Fegolit knelt beside a prone form. I pried my
blade free from the goblin and the tree, fighting down the urge
to chop the small creature into little pieces. I walked across
the clearing, the Sword of Ages scabbarded while keeping my
now scabbard-less katana ready. This showed to be a good idea,
for as I neared the others, the second goblin jumped from beneath
the corpse of his wolf, about to strike at Fegolit’s unprotected
back. I acted instinctively, using a small throwing star I received
from my master when I was initiated as a true warrior. I had
never used the star before, and the throw was far from accurate.
Still, it fulfilled its purpose of distracting the goblin nicely,
and Fegolit blasted it with an electric surge from his staff.
I plucked
the throwing star out of the goblin’s shoulder, once more tucking
it into its pouch. I approached Fegolit and the prone form of
Durgin slowly, fearing that he was permanently hurt. It didn’t
appear too good, a rusty sabre covered in blood and an unhealthy-looking
green substance was lying beside the dwarf, a great gash was
in his stomach and his face was covered in blood from numerous
wounds, some of them still leaking blood. The dwarf wasn’t dead,
though, as he was constantly swearing and cursing. Fegolit was
apparently deep in prayer, a deep red glow around his hands.
He was pressing a clean, white piece of linen down on the wound
in the dwarf’s stomach. Gurtask stood nearby, gulping down some
liquor from a clay bottle, the strength of which was shown by
his sour expressions. “I think he needs a drink!” the barbarian
exclaimed, tilting down some more of his foul brew. “He needs
rest and time, that’s what he needs” Fegolit said, concerned.
“We’ll have to find Karak Nam soon, after that I don’t know
- we can’t leave him, but our mission doesn’t allow much delay
either” the elf said, before continuing “Gurtask, find some
strong sticks to make a stretcher… Garobrin, find some smaller
ones to make a net in the middle of it. I’ll bandage him up
as well as I can here. Come the night, I shall be able to call
upon my healing powers once more”. So saying, we set out to
make Durgin ready for the journey.
Chapter 4:
Karak Nem
Read more when the novel gets
published! Don’t know when that’ll be, though! Please e-mail
the author (Mikkel Fausing) with comments, criticism or anything
else at techcore@wanadoo.dk
THIS DOCUMENT MAY NOT BE PUBLISHED
ANYWHERE WITHOUT PRIOR, WRITTEN CONSENT FROM THE AUTHOR. IF
THIS WAS NOT DOWNLOADED FROM EITHER “The Flame” or “RollespilCentralen”,
please report it to techcore@wanadoo.dk!
If you wish to download this
story in a .doc file, you can do so here.
(right-click)
Tilbage til Hovedsiden
|
