Year 3043 AGD
Month: Ragnós
Fourth Secondday
Continent of Terroval
Southwest of Asylum
Blood Orc Encampment
Olivia awoke to the familiar cries of despair. However, those cries were not what had awakened her. There was some other sound echoing through the tunnels outside of their musty prison. She stood slowly, walking cautiously towards the cell door. She was glad to see the guard: he was the one thing down here that seemed solid.
When they had been captured—which had been about a month ago, by Olivia’s estimation—their captors didn’t care much about them. She knew that whoever was in charge had ordered that they not be killed, but that had left a lot of room in the minds of some of the orcs. Luckily for her and the other women, the massive guard who stood in front of their cage now didn’t care much for those thoughts.
It had been late in the night on the third day of their imprisonment. Two orcs had opened the door to the cell, quietly slinking in. From the slavering looks they were directing towards the women, the people knew what they were after. Olivia’s brother had tried to stop the brutes, but for his trouble he was thrown against one of the rock walls, falling into an unconscious heap.
Olivia remembered that clammy hand as it had closed around her wrist and lifted her easily to her feet. She also remembered his other hand probing lustily before she heard the other orc grunt behind her attacker. The offending orc dropped her and turned around to see what was happening to his companion. She grinned as she thought about what the orc saw in that moment, one of the largest fists she had ever seen, coming straight for his head. The orc that had been groping her flew past as she jumped out of the way, and he hit the wall twice as hard as her brother had.
She remembered the large orc’s apologetic look as he grabbed the other two orcs by the scruff of the neck and tossed them from the cell. On any of the other orc faces she had seen, it would have been an odd expression, but the large orc that had saved her had much softer features than his companions. She had found few occasions to converse with the large man when he was alone on guard duty, only managing to get a few words out of the orc. Now was one of those occasions where he was alone on duty, and she felt relieved as she moved up to the door.
“What’s going on?” Olivia asked quietly.
“Probably just some fight over something stupid,” the large orc said as he shrugged.
“You told me that you were different from the other orcs last time we spoke, what did you mean?”
“No,” he said. “I said I was nothing like these savages. Why is none of your business.” He looked at her as if she were trying to trick him into something, and he wasn’t going to bite.
“Well, if it is a sensitive subject, I withdraw my question,” Olivia apologized.
“It’s not sensitive,” the large man said softly. “It’s just not talked about.” He turned back toward the outer door to the cell and continued. “You know the three men that came to your camp before you were captured?” She nodded, and he went on. “Well, the only reason we captured you was to capture those three.”
“So, they are down here somewhere, too?” Olivia asked, sounding defeated.
“Yes, they were captured sometime after you. Do not fear, however—they are merely pawns, as are your people. From what I understand, you were the bait to catch them, so that we could use them to catch someone else.” The large orc’s face scrunched up in an expression of pain as he went through that thought.
“What does this have to do with you being different?” she asked, trying to bring him back on subject.
“I’m getting to that,” he said chidingly. “Well, the dwarf with them is named Dunnagan Stormhammer. He is something of a legend in my village.” When he saw that she didn’t know the name, he sighed and went on. “You see, when he was younger and in the Wardens that patrol the mountains of the north, his patrol happened upon a small town under siege. A blood orc tribe had decided that the town looked like easy pickings, and so the chief ordered the raid. They were not expecting a patrol of Wardens, however, and the resistance they met was more than they had planned for. The chief knew that even with the losses they had sustained, they were still winning, and he didn’t pull his men back. They would have razed that village, but the goddess Cypheria wouldn’t allow it that day. Her messenger came from the line of Wardens that was slowly faltering. His body pulsed with a glow of holy energy, and the axe he held in his hand soon ran red with the blood of my kin.”
The large orc wore a mask of reverence as he spoke of that day.
“Soon, the holy fires erupted amongst the orcs and the light of the gods came down upon the villagers, revitalizing and even resurrecting the fallen. Those orcs that came away from that fight were changed. No longer did they lust for the blood of the enemy, and no longer did they fall prey to their base instincts.” He looked down at Olivia and saw that she was spellbound in his story. “Over the years, we have gathered many worldly travelers and other orcs that thought as we did. We could not, however, allow the other tribes to know how we thought, so every year, some of us are sent to join in the battles.”
He was forlorn, and Olivia knew then that he was truly different from the rest of the orcs in the camp.
“What is your name?” she asked unexpectedly.
The large orc looked at her with surprise.
“I am called Tha’tuk here, but my village knows me as Thaddius. Thaddius Relegaus,” he said proudly.
“Pleased to meet you, Thaddius. I am Olivia Little.” She held out her hand, and he took it, giving it a firm shake. Their conversation was cut short, however, as the fighting outside grew in intensity.
Shawnrik felt as if he was a new person. He lumbered down the hallway, throwing orcs around like they were ragdolls. His companions had no complaints with him leading the charge. It had only been a half an hour ago that Tallion, the Dracair Assassin, had come and unlocked their cage, telling them to give him a few minutes to leave himself before they broke out. Shawnrik’s first reaction had been to lunge for the man and throttle him, but Ashur changed his momentum enough so that he just hit the bars of the cage instead.
“This may be a trap, but that is no way to repay someone for lettin’ us out, Shawny,” Dunnagan had chided.
Shawnrik grasped the bars, and then walked back to the upraised rock in the back of the cell and sat down. He noticed that no one had moved, not even Tallion, and he followed the three men’s gazes: the metal of the bars had impressions of his hands in them.
Tallion let out a throaty hiss that must have been a laugh, and he tossed the keys into the cell. “Not that you need them,” the Dracairei said as he looked at Shawnrik with amazement before leaving the room.
It was that strength that he was using now to find their equipment and the other people he knew were trapped down here. They had searched a dozen rooms and gotten into twice that many fights. Shawnrik was clumsier than he remembered being and knew he would have to retrain himself to get used to his new size, but his strength more than made up for any lack of mobility.
He burst through another room and let out a sigh as he saw the huddled forms inside of one of the cells. Guarding the cell, however, was one of the biggest orcs he had seen thus far. He started to charge the beast, and the orc assumed a defensive crouch.
“Stop!” the girl at the door of the cell yelled.
Shawnrik’s footsteps faltered, but he caught himself before falling face first into the dirt. He looked to see who had spoken and recognized the girl he had gone on a walk with. Her hair was a mess and her clothes were beyond dirty, but he couldn’t mistake her for anyone else.
“Olivia?” Shawnrik asked, eyeing the orc warily.
She looked at him as if she had never seen him before, and then comprehension dawned upon her features.
“Shawnrik?” she asked. “Is that you?”
At that moment, he felt more than a little embarrassed as he looked upon the beautiful girl who was a year older than himself. Shawnrik realized that he was no longer a young street orphan; he would never be seen the same again. Shawnrik had been a boy of fourteen only a short while before, but now he was in the body of a young man who stood taller than most full-grown men. His look of abashment didn’t last long, however, as his companions came in the door behind him and reminded him of where they were.
“What are ye doin’, lad?” Dunnagan asked as he viewed the situation.
Shawnrik saw the orc’s posture change as Dunnagan came into the room, making him believe the stranger wasn’t an enemy. “Do you have the key?” Shawnrik asked.
“No, but I know where we can find it.” Thaddius started to move toward the door, but Shawnrik stopped him with his hand on the man’s chest.
“No need.” Shawnrik walked over to the cell door and motioned for Olivia to move back. He was surprised at how easy it was. The door seemed to want to come off its hinges, and he tossed it aside. From inside the cell, he heard the murmurs of amazement and fear. From behind him, he heard the orc’s intake of breath and Dunnagan laughing. The thing that hit him the most, though, was the fear the people in the cage had projected toward him. It did not bother Shawnrik long, however, as Olivia ran out of the cell and jumped, throwing her arms around his neck. His initial surprise wasn’t enough to keep him from catching her, nor to respond to the kiss that she planted on him a moment later.
“Thank you,” she said, while his massive arms were still wrapped around her.
Shawnrik blinked, impressing himself that he had managed to regain some function of his body. He stood there looking at Olivia, and she at him, until he heard three throats clearing behind them. Looking embarrassed, he gently put her down and turned around. Olivia walked in front of him and brought him to Thaddius.
“This is Thaddius, Shawnrik. Thaddius, this is Shawnrik.” Olivia noted the air of mistrust between the two. “Thaddius protected us while we were down here, Shawnrik. If it wasn’t for him…”
Her voice trailed off, and Shawnrik saw the expression on the orc’s face and knew what she was talking about. Shawnrik put his hand out and the two men grasped hands.
“Ahh good, now that the introductions be nearly complete, ye think that we could get out of the encampment controlled by a lot of bloodthirsty orcs that want to kill us?” Dunnagan said, and then added, “No offense meant, Thaddius.”
“None taken, sir,” Thaddius said reverently.
“Some coming down the hall,” Ashur whispered from the doorway.
“I’ll be gettin’ these people ready, ye two can take care of the easy part,” Dunnagan said with a wink.
“I’ll help you, Mr. Stormhammer,” the large orc said, and the three men turned to him, surprised that he knew Dunnagan’s name. Noticing the looks the men were giving him, Thaddius said, “I’ll explain later.”
The subject was dropped when Shawnrik and Ashur ran out the door to meet the charge.
Nim ran through the dark tunnels with Zander at his side, and he heard the footsteps of more of their men behind them. The light had been coming up as they reached the entrance to the cave. The morning had been bloody, and it wasn’t over yet. The chaos of battle always annoyed Nim, but he also thrived on it. The first part had gone simply, and many of the orcs had died before they had a chance to wake up, but it had been one unusually alert orc who ruined the morning.
With the yell raised, the hundreds of orcs still in their beds awoke. From that point on, it had been a life-or-death struggle every step of the way. He came out of his thoughts as a blade came whirring around the corner. He ducked just in time, but he was sure that he had gotten an impromptu haircut. There was a bright flash beside him from Zander, and his attacker went flying.
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Nim was ready for the rest that came around the corner and parried the first blow, making a riposte to the creature’s arm. His other blade came up to strike the orc’s companion, and the battle was on in full once more. There was not much room for maneuvering in these tight quarters, so the rest of the squad behind him could do nothing but watch. Every once in a while, an arrow would whiz past his head and strike one of the brutes coming up the tunnel or running back down it.
He wasn’t sure how many had fallen earlier in the day, nor how many were behind him. He was sure that some had been lost—there were always losses. They came to a point, however, where the defense seemed to have run out. The lower levels seemed to have been drained of the bloodthirsty orcs. It was only when they ran across the first room full of bodies that they realized they weren’t alone.
Nim was poised to attack when he heard many footsteps around the corner, but as he rounded the corner, he realized that it was Ashur and Dunnagan, along with two large fellows and some ragged-looking humans.
“Nim!” Ashur said surprised. “What are you doing here!?”
“We came to get you,” Nim said, his nerves calming. “Victor insisted.”
“Victor is here?” The big man behind Ashur said in an odd voice that squeaked at the end of the question. Noticing Nim’s lack of recognition, Shawnrik sighed. “It’s me, Nim. Shawnrik.”
After a moment of examination, Nim’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“By the gods! It is you!” Nim looked at Ashur seriously. “What have you been feeding him?”
“Whole cows, mostly,” Ashur said with a shrug, which made the area erupt in soft laughter, to Shawnrik’s chagrin.
“Where is Victor?” Shawnrik asked again.
“He is here somewhere,” Nim assured him, while turning to the people behind him. “Victor!” Nim yelled, and when there was no response, he raised his voice. “Victor? Has anyone seen Victor?” There were too many no’s and not since we came in’s to fit Nim’s taste. “He’s got to be around here somewhere.”
“What about the dracair assassins?” Zander asked Dunnagan. “Have you seen any of them?”
“Aye, the Dracairei left a few hours ago. He didn’t say why, but he just came along with a key and gave it to us. He said they were leaving,” Dunnagan responded.
“Well, we need to get out of here, no matter what is going on. He is probably waiting for us outside. He’s a smart kid—he’d know better than to wander around down here by himself,” Ashur assured everyone. With nods of agreement, the party turned and started their trek back out the tunnels.
Year 3043 AGD
Month: Ragnós
Fourth Seventhday
Continent of Terroval
Southwest of Asylum
Near the Blood Orc Ravine
“You see, your friends are safe,” Yandarian said to Victor as they stood over the basin, watching the morning unfold before them.
Victor nodded, happy that his friends were making it out safely. Some had been lost, he knew. A handful from Zander’s squad had been lost, and from Nim’s, Drake the human scout and Bredwin the dwarven cleric were staring up at the sky hollowly. It would have been much worse, however, and Victor knew it. He had done what he thought was best, and now he would accept whatever was to come.
“What now?” Victor asked.
“Now,” Temendri said, “we hand you over to those of a different art.” He smiled as Victor stared into the pool, absorbing every image.
“Do not fear, Victor,” Yandarian said, coming over to the boy. Victor looked up at him in confusion. “You will not worry about them, nor fear for their safety. In the morning, they will be nothing more than a fleeting thought.”
Festival of the Sun
(Day between Ragnós and New Generals)
Blood Orc Encampment
They had spent two days searching through the caves and in the area around the ravine, to no avail. The arcane and divine sights revealed nothing. Victor Deus had vanished: no body, and no trace. It was with a heavy heart that Nim canceled the search. Shawnrik had been adamant about continuing, but when Zander had explained to him about the war, his protests had lessened. Nim knew that Shawnrik still wanted to look for Victor—he did too—but they also knew that there were other, more pressing matters to take care of.
So it was that last night in the ravine that Nim had found the notes. He had been packing his gear and checking his supplies when he happened upon them. They were at the bottom of his saddle bags, tucked into the very corner and folded into tight squares. Slowly, he reached into the bag and pulled them out. He recognized the fold, because it was the one he used when passing messages, the one he had taught Victor.
Nim walked towards the campfire to get a better look at the papers. Coming into the light, he knew by the writing that it was Victor who had left the notes there. Examining the paper, he realized that Victor had taken them from the sheaf of papers that he kept in his bags.
“What’s wrong, Nim? You look like you just saw a wraith.”
Nim looked up from his thoughts and saw his longtime friend sitting at the other end of the campfire. Next to Ashur sat the young man, Shawnrik, and another longtime companion, Dunnagan. No matter how good it was to see these strong allies and even better friends, Nim couldn’t help but feel like he had failed. He had come here with the hopes of freeing his friends from their confinement, and in the process, six soldiers had been lost. Every one of them had known the risks involved, but it was still a high price to pay. A price, Nim mused, that he would pay again if he had to. His friends were important to Nim, but they were also important to the Protectorate.
Nim held up his hands, showing the notes. The first note had his name on it, and the second had Shawnrik’s. The three men across the fire from him stood quickly. They knew Nim, and they knew what those notes must mean for him to be so out of sorts over them.
“Are those…?” Ashur asked quietly.
“Yes,” Nim said, nodding. “There is one for me and one for Shawnrik.”
Shawnrik came around the fire quickly, and almost fell for his effort. He was still not used to his larger form, and it would take time for him to be completely familiar with it. Nim handed Shawnrik the note with his name on it and watched as he stood in front of the fire holding the paper reverently, much as Nim was holding his own. Nim turned his note over, unfolding the paper, glancing at those gathered around the fire before he began to read the note to himself.
Nim,
If you are reading this, then it means that my leaving was not in vain. I cannot tell you why I left, only that it was for a good reason. I will see you all later in life; I am sure of it. For now, there are more important things going on. You must go to Asylum—I have a bad feeling about what is going to happen. Gather as many allies as you can on your way. Shawnrik will have to leave you along the way. He must go, or all is lost. I have known this day was coming for a while now, and I do not fear it. Shaylyn told me that it would come, and so far, nothing she has told me has been wrong. Tell Ashur to be careful, and Dunnagan that I’m sorry I never got the chance to meet him. Tell them both that they need to finish the important parts of Shawnrik’s training this week. I know you had hoped to shape me into a tool for your spying and to follow in your footsteps, but that cannot be. I will learn many things, and I do not think I will be the same person when next we meet. Know that I am grateful for your generosity, training, and most of all, your friendship. Take care of everyone and find Lia—I’m afraid she might be doing something dangerous. When Cantel makes you an offer, do not refuse it. It may not be what you want, but it is what you need to do to keep the Protectorate whole. Most importantly, though, forget about me; not completely, of course, but do not bother to search, for you will not find me. When the time is right, we shall meet again. Until then, you all need to focus on the things that you can change.
Your Friend, Your Student, Your Son,
Victor Deus
P.S. Do not read this part aloud. You may wonder how I know these things, and I do not know myself. My dreams are of people that are not myself, and yet they are a part of me.
Last night I was contacted while we slept, and it is with those people that I now reside. I knew that someone would contact me; I just did not know when. There is a long road ahead of all of us, so take care of everyone. Shawnrik must leave with those you meet that want him. Make him go, by force if you need to; if you don’t, he will die.
May Cypheria give you strength and Ragnós guide your blade.
As Zander entered the circle, the firelight licking across their stark frames, Nim read the first part of the letter aloud. He left out the parts that had to do with himself, and instead of the very personal ending, he added the one at the end of the postscript. “May Cypheria give you strength and Ragnós guide your blades.” Slowly, he lowered the note and began folding it again. He noticed the faraway looks in his companions’ eyes, and he nodded to himself. Looking over, he saw that Shawnrik was still staring down at his unopened letter. “Aren’t you going to read your note?” Nim asked him, which seemed to bring the young man back to his senses.
“Wha…?” He said looking at Nim. “Oh, yes, but you see…” holding up the back side of his note, Nim saw that it said in clear letters, Do not open for eight days after you leave the ravine.
“Oh,” Nim said, as he slid the note into his coat pocket.
“Well, the boy has a point,” Dunnagan said slowly. “If’n he’s right about the other things, he’s probably right about the war. Which means we need allies.”
“All of our troops are there; we can’t pull any more away from the city,” Zander said hopelessly.
“Ah, but yer forgettin’ the Wardens.” Dunnagan held up his finger. “Also, an even better ally, though I hate to admit it, being a warden m’self ye know, is the Order of the Griffon,” he added ruefully.
“You trained with the Order for a while, didn’t you, Zander?” Ashur said, looking at his friend.
“Yes,” Zander nodded. “But they don’t interfere in wars often. They do not like to fight orcs and goblins—they think that it is too easy. The Grandmaster is very old, and he may be wary of a fight.”
“Bah, monks!” Dunnagan snorted. “They train fourteen hours a day every day of their lives, and they are too afraid to fight.”
“Nay, my friend,” Zander said sharply. “They are not afraid, but it takes a long time to train members of their Order, and though there are many more now than there ever has been, a loss would be wasteful for when they are needed. Should a full-scale invasion occur, they would be our major line of defense. Every member above initiate can kill three Dracairei with their bare hands without taking a mark.”
“Nim and Ashur can do that too, and they are still fighting,” Dunnagan added, but he was running out of steam.
“Yes, but we fight because it is what we do. They are all servants of Cypheria, just like you, Dunnagan. Their precept states that they are to only engage in conflicts the level of the Dracair or greater,” Nim interjected, and Zander nodded in appreciation. “Not that I agree,” Nim added quickly, which turned Zander’s nod into a sigh.
“Yeah,” Ashur said surprising everyone. “I heard that one of ‘em took part in killing a goddess a while back. Goddess of torture and betrayal, I believe—one of the old ones. Only followers were some dark priests, and a few blood mages.”
“That would be Cypherious,” Zander said. “The order found him on their doorstep when he was a baby. They named him after the goddess Cypheria, and they have trained him since he could walk. He is only nineteen, and he has gone through all four schools of training.” He held up a finger for each as he named them off. He was far enough away from the fire that he blended in with the night, his fingers nearly indistinguishable from the shadows that fought against the light of the fire. “Martial, Metaphysical, Spiritual, and Assassination. Each school, men have devoted most of their lives to perfecting. Like many of us, however, he has not mastered any except the Martial, but he has excelled in the rest.”
“Jack of all trades,” Nim said. “My kind of guy.”
Everyone at the fire snickered at that comment. They were all from backgrounds that started out on a solitary path and then branched out to many. None of them was a master of their intended profession, but they had become skilled in many disciplines. Learning to adapt to any situation seemed to be the secret to survival in these harsh lands. It was the rare individual who was an exception to that rule.
Shawnrik had moved away from the rest of the group, and Nim had noted his slow departure. The rest of those around the fire noted his line of sight, and when he looked back to them, each nodded to him in understanding. Nim wasn’t quite sure why it had to be him; Ashur had spent the most time with the lad, but he didn’t think twice about it as he walked in the direction Shawnrik had headed.
Shawnrik only half-listened to the fading voices around the fire as he walked farther into the deep recesses of night. So much had changed since he had left Safeharbor, and he had so much he wanted to tell his friend. He knew there were other things to do and that they had searched for Victor, but he still didn’t like it. Why am I going to have to leave on the trip to Asylum? He fingered the note in his pocket, wondering at its contents. He would not open it until eight days from tomorrow, however. Victor trusted him, and Shawnrik would not break that trust, whether Victor would know of it or not. “Where have you gone, Victor?” he asked the night, hoping its vast expanse could tell him.
“That, I’m afraid, is a question that only a few can answer, including the gods themselves.” Shawnrik nearly drew the axe he now wore strapped across his back before he recognized the voice.
“Nim, where do you think he is?” Shawnrik asked as he regained his composure. He watched as Nim lost his coalescence with the darkness around him. “Do you really think he is safe?”
Shawnrik could see Nim shrug. The twin moons made no show this night, and that only re-affirmed Shawnrik’s ill mood. Stars winked at him from the dark recesses that they inhabited, but their light this night was not enough to hold back the shroud that enveloped the land. He walked until his feet felt the coolness from the small brook that ran to the west across the valley. Something about the water trickling past was calming. When he had lived in the city, the only flowing waters had been the ocean and the river that flowed from the base of the cliff into the that endless body of water. That water had never calmed him, though. The Docks District had been the toughest in the city, and the harbor was no safer than the city. For the most part, the creatures of the ocean that surrounded Terroval stayed out of the harbor. However, the ocean was not called death’s gate for no reason, and Shawnrik had once seen one of those monstrous beasts tear apart a ship as it was sailing towards the exit of the harbor. No, that water had not been comforting.
“I am sure that whoever has him will not harm him… much.” Nim’s glance told him that he wasn’t going to lie, and sugar-coating things was nonsense. “The truth is, I think the Siniquitans have him, which means the blood mages, or the Dracair. I am not sure what they will do to him, but we must stand strong. We will get him back. But I am afraid this won’t come to pass until whatever needs to happen there happens.” Nim tossed a small stone into the shallow brook, and the plunk it made as it hit the water was the only sound heard. Shawnrik was getting ready to turn back to the camp, but Nim spoke a moment before he turned. “You know, it was only an eightday ago that I sat next to a stream talking to Victor like this.”
“Really?” Shawnrik wanted to know what Nim and Victor had done during their time apart.
“Yeah, it was only a few hours after he rather precisely removed the head of a Magnus Dracani,” Nim said with a laugh.
“A Dreadnaught! What in the light was he doing that for?”
As the fire crackled to a low burn, those around it could hear Nim talking about something excitedly, and then the sound of laughter. They eyed each other and nodded. Everything would be alright—they would survive, and life would go on. They always had, and it always would. Each of them took to their bedrolls as Nim and Shawnrik talked on into the night.