“Come ‘ere you steaming pile of bird shit!” The door creaks open and old looking orc steps out clad in a thick, furred coat, a ragged tunic with the right side emptily dangling. The beige pants’ left side similarly flailing around while Orh-Ghouth stepped out with firm step by step. Their arms locked together, muscle bulging under the clothes before they patted each other on the back, the force of the hit creating waves in their clothes accompanied by loud thuds following the rhythm of their laughter.
“It’s good to see you too Orh! How is life here in the capital?” Vro-Ghahk says with a wide smile, the worries in his soul alleviated. “Can’t complain. The food the Bál-Su’urthr makes here is amazing, there are quite a few places I’d like to show you around. But we can talk inside.” Orh-Ghouth stands aside, two servants appearing after he snaps his fingers, one a moon elf girl relatively young from what they can tell, the other a human boy both in good shape compared to other slaves.
“Still as brash as ever Vhar!” Orh-Ghouth greets each member, a quicky ruffle to Eywindur, a hug to Yho-Zhul and Gha-Rhol, and the same locking arms and pat to the back for the rest. “The scars we carry are our crest my old friend.” Vhar-Thurg says while showing his fleshy bauble hanging from his belt with a childish smile.
“That, I agree with. But best keep it to a minimum.” Orh-Ghouth adds as he walks in behind, tossing a bag of coins to the slave boy before closing the door.
“Welcome to my humble residence. Please feel yourselves at home.” The group stops in their tracks inside the enormous chamber that once served as the entrance hall to the mage’s guild. A few of the furniture remains that survived the black flames, while the walls and pillars are reconstructed by the enslaved Earth-Shapers of the fallen kingdom, the Bál-Su’urthr’s adding a bit of their style to it with the rough, almost jagged like surface resembling the scaled body of a dragon.
A large thick carpet laid out in the middle, depicting the sack of the ravaged capital with large silhouettes depicting the warriors of the Horde storming it, facing them the smaller, slender silhouettes are the remnants of the defenders still holding out, hope slowly dwindling in their hearts shown as a fiery heart that slowly snuffs out the further silhouettes stand in the back, far from the charging warriors.
The pillars themselves are wrapped in sheets with draconic motifs and bones connected with slim white ropes processed from spider web the Dhau-Íssz brought back from the Upper Stratum.
“Aasta, Glib bring some beverages to the guest room!” Orh-Ghouth orders the two slaves waiting silently at a doorway in a gentle manner. “You’ve changed old friend.” Vhar-Thurg notes after stopping in his spiralling, taking a short peek at each segment of the room.
“Better to be kind to them. Less chance that they try to slit your throat while dreaming.” Orh-Ghouth says with a chuckle as he pats his shoulders and walks through the group. “Follow me.” Each of them stops in looking around and their steps echo through the building as they follow one by one in the narrow corridor.
“Here take this!” Orh-Ghouth enters last then points out a gaudy looking chair, or throne if you would ask Vro-Ghahk with clean silver frame with myriad-coloured jewels embedded into it and soft burgundy red seating and back. “Are you…Oh blessed Scales of the Night!” At first, he tries to resist a little, but as he sits into it, the combination of soft seating and back gently reaches through his armour, his eyes almost roll back as his muscles and even bones loosen up.
“What’s happening to him?” Eywindur asks as he sits besides Yho-Zhul and Rielk on the large daybed facing a bookshelf filled with various historical tomes, and a few books teaching reading Orh-Ghouth collected through the years. “Experiences real comfort!” Orh-Ghouth states with a proud look on his scar riddled face.
“Seems... dangerous a little.” Bjartur adds while stroking his beard sitting on the other daybed in front of the bookshelf with Gha-Rhol and Vhar-Thurg on both of his sides, looking at Vro-Ghahk seemingly entering a peaceful trance. “Do not worry, the chair itself is made of the best materials of the north, and enchanted to ease the mind and to kneed the tensed-up muscles.” Orh-Ghourth says while noticing the slaves enter, he snaps his finger and points at the table in the middle. He thanks them before they leave as he sits down in a similarly looking chair, letting out a deep sigh.
“So, what are the news the Pentarch called us for?” Rielk reaches for the large keg and pours into all eight of them before Bjartur speaks up first as he sees Vro-Ghahk closing his eyes slowly drifting towards dreams. “Has his corpse been found?” Before Orh-Ghourth could answer, Vro-Ghahk forces himself up while taking the last cup on the table.
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“No.” A short silence later, he answers meekly as he solemnly looks into his reflection in the drink. “I sent some of ours with Ruadr-Vargrs as you asked, but the number of hostile undead grew in number the past weeks.” He continues after his face contorts slightly, harsh wrinkles forming as the strong beverage burns his throat and lungs on its way down.
“I thought the undead on that layer is under the Dhau-Íssz.’ Gha-Rhol speaks up next as she looks at Orh.
“That was the case, but the surviving members of the retrievers reported that a vile darkness inhibited the undead, their groans sounded warped, more than usual and an eerie coldness chilling even the soul accompanying them.” Orh-Ghourth stops when he notices Vro-Ghahk tightening his grip around his keg, gulping down the whole thing in one go.
“Even fighting them is different. Compared to the undead of the Dhau-Íssz these seem to possess a calmness making them far deadlier.” He continues while keeping his remaining good eye on Vro-Ghahk silently staring at the jug, his expression faintly changing between dreadful and relaxed.
“So, when do we depart?” Vhar-Thurg speaks up not waiting for further explanation. “We won’t. Am I right Orh?” Vro-Ghahk turns to his old friend.
“That is correct. Even the Ruadr-Vargrs gave up the search, his son decided to hold a ceremonial held for those forever lost to the mountain.” As he finishes a solemn silence falls on the room, no one even drinks.
“Horse dick!” Vhar-Thurg curses while breaking the keg between his large hand. “Vhar, there is more to it.” Vro-Ghahk yells at him, his presence pushing him back to the seat.
“Are those undead the vampires’ minions?” Gha-Rhol drops the question before Orh could continue. “No. In actuality there were survivors from Olog’s group. In their report they mentioned seeing vampiric zombies mixed in. There is another party at play from what we deduced so far.” Orh continues as silence falls on the room once more.
“Could it not be just simply a monster dwelling in the mountain?” After a few moments of contemplation plastered on Gha-Rhol’s face she speaks up. “We thought of that, but then the events going down in Téllnat and this makes us think that a Nightmare from the Void Between Worlds entered our reality.” Vro-Ghahk’s face shows clear dread that not even the enchanted chair could dissipate as horrifying images flash in his mind.
“I’m sorry Vro!” Orh quickly grabs his crutch resting on the wall as he jolts up, almost losing his balance. “It’s fine. Better to know what that was than being terrorized by the unknown.” He says offering a smile to him while he gets his empty keg up, breathing slowly in and out to calm his nerves as an unnatural chill runs down his whole body.
“What exactly is a Nightmare… from beyond this world?” Vhar-Thurg asks carefully as they all sit back down as Vro-Ghahk holds his right hand out showing he is fine.
“Nightmares, just like every living being, is a creation of the Great Crafter.” Orh starts while sitting back down, scratching his chin as he recalls the tales the old shaman of their clan told them when they were little. “But in their case, they are not intended, more like his fears manifesting in various shapes, some we can recognize, others too weird to be described.” Gha-Rhol adds in as she notices the old orc failing to recall what the shaman taught about the Nightmares.
“So even the Great Crafter feels fear?” Rielk blurts out softly, yet still loud enough for the others to hear. “Yes, even though I wouldn’t recommend say it to one of their clergymen.”
“Would a Nightmare use undead as servants like we would?” Eywindur brings up the next question after the though bothered him. “Possible. But there is also the possibility that it’s the moon elf Vro chased. Didn’t someone mentioned seeing him praying?” Gha-Rhol turns to Vro for confirmation, and after calming down he thinks and confirms it with a nod.
“That still doesn’t answer the question: why can’t we go down to get at least revenge for Olog?” Vhar-Thurg asks as he pushes his hulking index finger in his last remaining ear.
“Because the moon elf or the Nightmare isn’t in the Upper Layer anymore.” Orh-Ghouth states. “Then where they are?” The question comes from Vro-Ghahk while suspecting the answer in his heart.
“A few days ago, the Dhau-Íssz occupied border town at the Upper Stratum got taken over by the same undead. No scout returned yet though to report. But undead with similar descriptions stalking the wastes were reported. Some even appeared at outposts as if scouting themselves.” Orh starts his explanation after asking for more of the beverage.
“So, we will go down, just not the usual route.” Vhar-Thurg speaks up surprising everyone around him. “Perhaps. It is not decided yet, but you have been called here just in case the dark elf fail.” He continues after freshening his throat. “The Pentarch doesn’t believe in him?” Yho-Zhul asks as Eywindur pours her another.
“You could say that. I myself can see that, as he is not really an official member of our Horde. But that’s not important right now. For now, let me show you to your rooms. We can continue this later.” Orh-Ghouth stands up and walks to the windows, pushing the sheet in front out of the way, letting the light of the early noon in.