INTO THE WEST
Alva was happy to leave Arendil and begin the journey west. She felt as though had gotten lost in its confusing corridors and the many chokepoints in its intricate design one too many times and longed to explore the world beyond the forest.
Since she would no longer be traveling among the large, white trunks of the gelvors or along the snowy passes of the Noriondir mountains, white would no longer be the appropriate colour for Alva to wear. Thus, Dassenar had ordered the few tailors and armourers of Arendil to provide her with a Skarian uniform that suitd her. In doing so, he also hoped to convince the skilled archer that she now belonged with the Skarians and should stay among them.
During her few days in the fortress, the skilled craftsmen had fashioned her a set of Skarian armour, using pieces of armour that had belonged to fallen warriors.
Alva now wore black pants and a black shirt with long sleeves. She had been given long, black, leather boots which she was still getting used to. She had soaked them and worn them a few days prior to shrink them to her size and mold them to the shape of her feet but they still didn’t feel fully broken in.
Alva’s outfit was completed with a black hood that she had asked the finest tailor in Arendil to make in the specific shape she preferred. Over her shoulder, she also wore a dark-red cape in the Simanorion style.
Even Alva’s white bow had been varnished in a dark-brown coat, the subtle, golden engravings remaining. Her arrows had also been varnished and dipped in dye, changing the colour of the fletching.
The armour they had found fit her fairly well as it had been worn by a woman with a similar physique to hers. She had been a captain and had requested less constricting armour that would allow her to be more agile.
The pauldrons too were ideal as they had been made to fit her slender shoulders, and the right one was shorter and lighter, so as not to affect her ability to shoot a bow. The only issue had been that, since it had belonged to an officer, the right pauldron had been decorated with a golden, winged lion, its wings rising and protruding above her shoulder. This symbol was used to differentiate the wearer from regular soldiers and was, thus, reserved for officers. For time’s sake, Dassenar had given them the order to leave it.
Dassenar simply said it would be dealt with when they arrived in Pellardor, a large, Skarian city on an island in the sea of Pellion, to which they were headed. For now, he chose to make an exception. They were already in a rush to complete the armour as the residents of the fortress were quickly packing for the journey. Dassenar urged them to hurry even more as he wanted to head west before word got out that they were on the move.
The evacuation had originally been planned a few months later, when Dassenar departed from Val Simanor, the large, Skarian city where he had been given orders to head east, but the events that took place in Firildor ha caused him to reconsider. Leaving this early meant they would be travelling through the Noriondir mountains during the winter, but he knew it was a risk worth taking.
The first one out of the gate was Dassenar, riding atop his ironclad, black unicorn, Daibelor. The magnificent creature trotted in a proud manner, its elegance rivaling that of the elves. Beside him was Alva, riding atop Syleta. She had quickly grown to like her brown and white mare and now felt perfectly comfortable riding atop her.
Following the two companions, was Henedral, whose role was now unclear as Dassenar took over command of the soldiers and citizens of Arendil. He was looking out in the distance, an expression of deep melancholy on his wrinkled face.
That morning, he had held a ceremony through which earldom of Arendil had been granted to the heirs when their fathers had chosen to retire from the position. The main part of the ceremony was the symbolic handing over of the shield and axe of the Arendil family, which had been the weapons of the settlement’s founder, Saergun of Arendil.
In this case, however, Henedral had not given the shield and axe to his son but had instead placed them against a large fountain in the main courtyard, which had a statue of a winged lion rampant atop it. He had first placed the shield, a tall, kite shield which was decorated with the coat of arms of House Arend, three, yellow tulips on a white background, held by an arm in Skarian armour. He then placed the axe against the shield, which was heavily bearded and had a very tall handle.
It was clear to Alva, who had observed the scene, that the weapons had been replaced by newer ones over the years, but they had been made in the ancient style, from which the current Skarian weapons had been designed, though they remained quite similar, even after a millennium.
As she had turned away, she had noticed a statue of a Skarian warrior holding three tulips. A nearby Skarian, named Tarlian, had noticed this and said: “That is Saergun of House Arend. He is the founder of this fortress. He came from a small village on the Coast of Belorgembrac, far to the west. He had nothing, then, but joined the Skarian army and ascended through the ranks. He made the three tulips, which he found in a nearby valley, the symbol of House Arend. The current Earl of Arendil is Commander Henedral, his direct descendant.”
Tarlian was a scholar in Arendil’s library. He had aspired to be the Head Magister of the school, but would need to find a place in a school across the Sea of Pellion.
He wore the armour of a warrior, but this was mainly for protection since all he knew of combat he had learned solely from books.
Alva had thanked the young man for sharing the story, which had only made her feel sadder. She had then watched the eastern gates of Arendil open as the ceremony came to a close, symbolizing that the fortress has been abandoned and those who wished to pass through or occupy it could do so. These were directly across from the winged lion rampant fountain, leading any visitors from the east straight to the set of weapons which had symbolized the earldom of Arendil.
As she rode out from the city, Alva looked back to see Tarlian, who walked amongst the scholars, discussing how these events ought to be recorded.
His long, wavy, black hair flowed down, partially covering the sides of his face and collecting the snowflakes which fell upon it. He wore a piece of dark-red cloth around his neck, protecting it from the cold. Many other soldiers wore these, some of which were made of animal pelts.
Further back, she spotted Hendedral, who had chosen to hang back and look upon the faces of those he had ruled over and cared for, for the majority of his life. He thus watched his life’s work coming undone, as per the orders of his superiors, who were hundreds of kilometres to the east, across the Sea of Pellion. Superiors who had never set foot in Arendil, nor seen it’s great ramparts and Saergun’s keep.
We could have held it. He thought to himself. We could have endured regardless of the challenges we faced. Arendil is our home.
Though she was far away from him, she could see tears forming in the old man’s eyes, sadness filling her own heart as she imagined the weight this situation had on his heart. To be the one to abandon the fortress after so many generations was likely devastating for the human.
Henedral was tall and broad shouldered, though his aging body had begun to shrink slightly, and his posture was less upright than it used to be. He had a slim and muscular body, which he had once maintained with vigorous training, but had now begun to reduce his efforts.
The aging man found some consolation in noting that the entire population of Arendil remained with him, making the journey west to safer lands. A latge portion were soldiers, marching in organized lines with a horse drawn wagon every so often. A small cavalry of just under a hundred knights followed just behind Dassenar, Alva and Henedral, while several eagle riders passed above, heading out to scout the road ahead.
To the rear of the line were the civilians who had helped run the fortress. They were approximately ninety and many were on wagons drawn by highland cows, oxen or horses, while the others walked alongside them. Among them were blacksmiths, bakers, cooks, butchers, tanners, masons, weavers, stable workers, maids, millers, and a larger number of farmers, who were still slowly trickling in from the mountains beyond, having left most of their herds behind. These were the people who had inhabited the winding, narrow streets of Arendil. They had given the city its liveliness, and, by leaving it, were now allowing it to perish.
Behind the civilians was a small group of foot soldiers then a few wagons and, finally, a cavalry of fifteen riders to close the line.
Leading this rear cavalry was Taldar, a warrior who had been chosen as part of Dassenar’s bodyguard, along with Alva. For now, however, his task was to manage the line and send riders ahead in order to report any concerns.
Taldar was Henedral’s son. He looked much like his father, but his hair was longer and blonde. His beard was also blonde but was much shorter than his father’s. With his blue eyes and chiseled jaw, his appearance was that of a typical Skarian man, from the original continent of Agradorion.
Taldar wore the standard Skarian helm, currently decorated with a white plume of horsehair, rather than the standard black, signifying his role as leader of the small, rear-guard cavalry. Like the rest of the cavalry, he held a long lance with a black flag attached at the top, the long piece of fabric often wrapping around the shaft of the lance. He rode a gypsy vanner with a white blaze on its face and a long mane. He had named him Erigeron, after the flowers which grew throughout the Noriondir Mountains.
As the final eagle passed over the convoy, Dassenar turned to Henedral and said: “You will oversee the convoy, Henedral. Maintain a fast pace so that we make good progress but do not tire out the troops too much. I would rather travel a bit slower and reserve some energy for any conflict arise. Alva and I will ride on faster and scout the road ahead. I have faith in the eagles, but they don’t see everything from up there.”
“Yes, commander, I will work with my son to keep a good pace.” Said Henedral, bowing his head slightly.
“The eagles have been instructed to scout out the few kilometers ahead in an organized manner and report back every hour or so.” Said Dassenar. “Alva and I will be travelling further ahead. Do not expect us to return everyday as we will sometimes make camp ourselves. If we have not returned when nightfall is nearing, have the eagles find a place to camp.”
“Commander, I’m not sure about this elf.” Said Henedral, taking the opportunity to voice his concerns as she had ridden a bit further ahead. “We cannot know what she truly wants. We cannot trust her.”
“I believe awarding her a bit of trust now could go a long way, Henedral.” Answered Dassenar in a calm tone. “Mistrusting her and treating her as a threat would likely result in a self-fulfilling prophecy. Besides, I don’t see how she might benefit from betraying us.”
“Who can say?” Said Henedral. “We know so little of her and her people.”
“Which is precisely why we should suspend our judgement and allow her to gain our trust.” Said Dassenar. “This is the first contact we have with the Nildurans in five hundred years. This may very well set the tone for our dealings with the Nildurans in this new age.”
Henedral simply bowed his head in agreement, a very typical reply for the stern, Skarian commander.
“We have a chance to learn much about the situation in the great forest, from her.” Added Dassenar. “Despite what this evacuation may suggest, Skaria has not given up on Eastern Simanor. I believe it to be in our interest to re-establish contact with our ancient allies.”
“You know far more than I do of the plans of our Daetarus.” Said Henedral, referring to the Skarian generals. “I trust your judgement, but it would also be wise not to give her your full trust just yet. As you said, we know little of what has transpired in Nilduras over the many years that we have not had contact with its residents.”
“She will remain with me, where I can keep a close eye on her.” Answered Dassenar, bowing his head and tilting it slightly as he looked into Henedral’s dark eyes.
“If we do not return at all, go on without us.” Continued Dassenar as he pulled on the rains, urging Daibelor to increase his speed and catch up to Alva, who had slowed down to wait for him. “Travel north to the Gorodim Marsh and find Jomori, the platykryn. He has accepted to guide us through the marsh and to Beladros, where we should be able to find passage across the Sea of Pellion.”
“Understood.” Answered Henedral in a grim tone, raising his voice as Dassenar sped forward.
As Dassenar reached Alva, he gazed into her pale grey eyes, a drastic change from Henedral’s, which were dark and tormented. The elven ranger simply nodded and pulled on the reigns, urging Syleta to pick up the pace.
The two scouts rode off along the mountain road, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of trouble.
*****
The first day of travel was uneventful and both Alva and Dassenar remained fairly quiet. Alva looked around at the beautiful mountain landscape, excited to head west and explore a new part of the world.
As expected, the two companions stayed far ahead of the others and made camp alone that night. They set up a small, white tent and wrapped themselves in blankets to ward off the mountain cold.
Alva felt uncomfortable sleeping so close to an elf she knew so little about, but she was tired from the day’s ride and fell asleep fairly easily.
In the morning, they were awakened by the bright light of the sunrise, peaking above the eastern peaks. They packed up the camp and saddled up within a few minutes, eating a light breakfast as they rode out.
The morning was quiet, as the day before, but in the afternoon, they arrived at a large camp on the side of the road. It was an orc camp, which had recently been built to guard the road into their newly acquired lands.
Dassenar and Alva decided to back-track, leaving their mounts hidden in a nearby forest and hiking up the cliffs and get a better look at the camp from a high vantage point.
As they made their way along the rocky terrain, Dassenar explained the situation with the orcs to Alva. They were mainly in the northwestern portion of the Noriondir Mountains, and she had seldom run into them as she travelled along the mountains.
The orcs had originally lived in the Karst of Ramdur, sharing the land amongst their tribes and leaving a large portion to the north and east to human tribes, who had also resided in Ramdur for generations.
As with many orcish societies, tribes were constantly in conflict with one another, and they often fought the human tribes as well. Nevertheless, despite the rising and falling of different tribes and the control of certain regions constantly switching from one warlord to another, the karst remained a prosperous region for the orcs.
When the Skarians arrived, the human tribes chose war rather than a treaty. They fought the Skarian invasion for a few years, leading to their near extinction. Many orc tribes too chose to try and repel the invading armies, uniting their forces.
As more and more orcish tribes banded together, it seemed as though they might have had a chance to defeat the Skarians. All hope was crushed, however, as the elves of Nilduras came out of their great forest to assist their new allies and open up a new front in the conflict. Within a few weeks, the flames of resistance had been extinguished and the Skarian Empire gained full control of the karst.
The Skarians left large regions to the orcish tribes who had accepted their treaties, doing everything they could to ensure they could thrive in their new lands and forming a defensive alliance with them. Unfortunately, when the Eshgirs and Vargals took hold of the karst, the remaining Skarians were too few to aid their orcish allies, their small force unable to protect their own strongholds from the invaders.
The orcish tribes fought valiantly to retain control of their lands, but they were greatly outnumbered and the Vargals eventually drove them out of the karst. The orcs were forced to flee to the east, into the Noriondir Mountains, where they once again began anew.
The coalition they had formed to fight off the Eshgirs and Vargals was dissolved, and each tribe found a different corner of the mountain range to build their new homes.
A few generations later, many of the tribes had thrived and regained much of their might. They had now grown to control large regions in the Noriondir Mountain range. The old alliances had been broken and orcs often raided Skarian settlements or ambushed Skarian forces as they travelled through the mountains. The orcs still felt betrayed by the Skarians as they hadn’t helped them in their hour of need, seeking revenge for their fallen comrades and the loss of their lands in the Karst of Ramdur.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The southernmost tribe, known as Odronak’s Eradicators, had grown to become one of the biggest and most powerful tribes, raiding many of the settlements near their borders. They often travelled in large hordes to raid, travelling further and further south to reach new settlements.
Dassenar was aware of this but didn’t realize they had travelled so far south. They were two days march from Arendil, threatening the many villages the Skarians had been protecting for so many years. Unfortunately, the Skarians would not be there to protect these small specks of civilization as the wild hordes of orcs descended upon them. There was little hope for them now.
The orc camp was protected by large cliffs on the back and a simple, wooden palisade along the road. A smaller camp had been built in a large field on the other side of the road. The orcs had had to expand their camp as there was no room left across the road. A palisade had been built in a large oval around this camp, large, wooden bridges spanning over the road to connect it to the other one. These elaborate fortifications showed Dassenar that this was no temporary raiding camp, but a new orcish settlement to guard the road north.
Dassenar had not seen this camp on his way to Arendil a few weeks earlier, during his escape from the Eshgirs, as he had taken a different road, further west. Had he known of this camp, he would have chosen a different route for the evacuation.
Arendil had been built southeast of a series of large peaks, which were very difficult to cross. Few would have survived that route. This left Dassenar with two good options.
He could have taken the road that led north from Arendil, crossing through the prairies in the north and re-entering the mountains near the border with Ambelaras, but he feared that this would be a difficult route. Winter was slowly setting in and the snowy passes would be challenging for the wagons to cross. Alva had just come down from that region and, though she took a faster and far more challenging route, she confirmed that the snowfall had already been great, and wagons and horses wouldn’t be able to make it through.
Dassenar had, thus, chosen the road west, passing south of some of the great peaks and taking a reliable road north that followed a large canyon.
This majestic canyon, which had been carved by thousands of snowmelts, growing every spring, was once controlled by lizardkryn, who killed any who tried to cross it. In his youth, however, Henedral had led one of the last Skarian campaigns, driving the lizardkryn out of the canyon and making it neutral territory, available to any who chose to travel through it. The canyon was then named Henedral’s Pass and the few Skarian forces that still travelled on foot over the years often used it to travel to and from Arendil.
This time, however, it seemed Henedral’s Pass would no longer be a safe route north. Knowing the roads further west would likely be even more dangerous, Dassenar saw only one option. They would have to turn back and take the eastern route, crossing over the prairies.
It wasn’t the ideal route, but it seemed to be their only option. They couldn’t take on the orcish camp and there would likely be many more along Henedral’s Pass.
Dassenar and Alva were about to return to their mounts, after observing the camp for a few minutes, when Dassenar spotted five large, wooden cages, suspended from the cliffs near the edge of the camp. They were far, but Dassenar could see the outlines of prisoners in four of the cages, which were hanging ten meters above the ground. He mentioned this to Alva, who immediately said that were was little the two of them could do to save them, but Dassenar wasn’t convinced.
“It’s a large camp.” He pointed out. “There might be a way for us to sneak in there and free them.”
“Is it really worth the risk?” Asked the elven ranger. “Shouldn’t we go warn the others?”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Answered Dassenar. “But could you really just leave these people to their fates?”
“Well, of course, I wish I could help them.” Answered Alva, feeling a bit attacked by the question. “But the risk is too great, and many will likely die if we don’t warn the others. We can sneak back to the west unnoticed, the large convoy will not have that luxury.”
Dassenar nodded in agreement. “Then I’ll go in alone.” He said, starring down at the camp.
Alva was unsure why he was so set on freeing these prisoners given that he didn’t even know who they were, but she accepted that she couldn’t deter him from this goal.
“You can stay here on the cliffs and turn back to warn the others if I fail.” He ordered Alva. “I’ll sneak in during the night.”
Alva thought for a moment then said: “There’s a good ledge on the cliff just above. I’ll watch from there and provide cover from above if things go wrong.”
“Thank you.” Said Dassenar. “I know this may seem strange, but I simply feel that this is something I must try.”
“Perhaps your gods are what guides you.” Answered Alva. “Perhaps your feeling is just an illusion. We’ll see when you free them.”
The duo decided to find a better place to hide their mounts and make camp for the night. They went to sleep early and woke up as the night was nearing its end, giving Dassenar the cover of dark to sneak in but also providing some light for Alva to aim her arrows as the sun rose. They devised a very simple plan to coordinate their attack when Dassenar gave the signal.
Dassenar stealthily walked along the palisade, approaching the eastern entrance with Dark Horizon, his scimitar, drawn at his side. The three orcish guards posted at the small gate were quietly starring at the ground in silence, the temptation of sleep growing strong in their minds as they had been awake the whole night.
Their tired eyes were further blinded to the shadows as they were accustomed to the light of their torches, making it easier for Dassenar to creep to the edge of the lighted area. The elven warrior waited silently, starring at the orcs as he waited for the perfect moment.
Orcs were large, brutish beasts which varied in height but were a bit taller than humans on average. Their bodies were usually burlier, and their pale skin varied from greens, yellows, oranges, browns, and greys to rare tones, such as light blue or red.
A defining feature of certain orcs were the large tusks that protruded from their mouths. These were often on the bottom jaw but could also be on the top one, resembling large fangs. They had plump faces with large noses, their oversized nostrils flaring when they were angry.
Orcish fashion varied between tribes. Some grew bears while others were clean shaven. Some believed in personal hygiene, washing and braiding their long hair while others let it get tangled and dirty, basking in their filth. Some decorated their entire bodies with tattoos while others weaved bones throughout their clothes, donning large skulls as helmets.
Much like in elven culture, female orcs were as equally likely to become warriors as males, having the same opportunities in most sectors of their society and being considered equally strong and worthy. They often dressed much like the males and, were it not for their breasts and finer facial features, they could easily be mistaken for male orcs.
Odronak’s Eradicators were among the tribes who wore bones within their clothes and had beautiful tattoos, composed of thick, black lines, covering their bodies. It was often surprising to outsiders that the brutish orcs were capable of such beautiful artistry.
The colour they had chosen to represent their tribe, along with bones, was an ochre orange. It wasn’t a rich or bright colour, but it matched the skin colour many of them had, which was pleasing to them. The camp was filled with banners and flags of this colour, while many of its warriors wore it as part of their garments.
Odranak’s Eradicators had chosen their name as they completely destroyed three of their rival tribes, claiming their lands and their civilian population. Odronak, a large, mustard-yellow skinned orc, had established several new settlements, which had thrived over his lifetime, growing the population of his tribe as orcs felt comfortable raising children within them and members of different tribes chose to join the Eradicators.
With his large army, Odronak saw the south as a perfect opportunity to expand his territory and avoid the powerful northern tribes. As he grew old, his last wish was to secure the great canyon pass to the south, which they called Girish Bimdar, the road to prosperity.
As he observed the guards, Dassenar noticed that one of them, a short, grey-skinned orc with long brown braids, was dosing off. The other two, who were both larger and had brown skin, were having a calm conversation and didn’t notice he had fallen asleep, leaning against the open door.
The brown skinned orcs had large helmets made of the skulls of bison. Dassenar figured that these had likely been hunted in the Grasslands of Daradeth, large plains between the Noriondir mountains and the sea of Pellion, just south of the Karst of Ramdur. This revealed to him that the orcs were starting to venture into these lands as well as the herds of animals slowly grew back to a healthy size, years after the departure of the Eshgirs.
Dassenar finally saw his opportunity as one of the brown-skinned orcs turned to the grey-skinned one and noticed he was asleep. He let out an angry grunt before walking over to wake him up. The third orc sighed in disappointment as he noticed the smaller one had fallen asleep. His back turned to Dassenar, he only felt the elf’s presence when a scimitar drove through his heart.
Dassenar caught the orc as he fell, setting him down and grabbing the torch he had been holding before it hit the ground. He then moved forward slowly as the other brown skinned orc shook his comrade in an attempt to wake him, the warrior’s yells rendering him oblivious to the noise his companion had made as Dassenar struck him down. The grey-skinned orc slowly came to, a large, brown hand slapping him across the face as his eyes opened.
As the brown-skinned orc turned to the third guard, laughing, Dassenar leaped forward, slashing his scimitar across his throat before sidestepping around him driving it through the grey one’s chest. The orc was still in shock after his rough awakening and didn’t have time to react.
The only sounds that were heard were the gurgles made by the orcs as they attempted to call for help, their mouths filled with blood. Both died seconds later, falling to the ground.
Dassenar quickly pulled their bodies against the palisade, doing his best to make it seem as though they were simply leaning against it, if seen from afar. He even managed to prop the grey skinned orc against the door, leaving him fairly upright before entering the camp.
Within the camp, Dassenar was able to sneak by the few orcs who were awake, travelling through the many dark corners and swiftly running through any well-lit areas, his elven agility allowing him to do so quietly.
Most of the orcs who were awake at this time were walking back to their huts or tents after a night of drinking the strange, black liquid they called grog. Orcs had an incredible tolerance for alcohol but could still be very affected by it, especially given the amount they often drank. This gave Dassenar even more of an advantage as their unfocused minds had little chance of spotting the elf as he slipped passed them in the shadows.
There were a few difficult spots where the road through the camp was narrow or the only way through was well-lit. However, Dassenar managed to sneak through these areas unnoticed as well, waiting for the opportune moment and choosing the most promising route.
Eventually, he made it to the prisoners’ cages but couldn’t approach them as they were heavily guarded. Dassenar hid behind one of many large piles of logs, which were stockpiled in the area to provide for the large huts that were being built near the cliffs. He crouched, slowly moving between the different piles in the lumberyard in order to get a good view of the area.
Dassenar took his time, observing the orcs guarding the cages. He counted seven in total. He knew he could easily best them in combat, but they would undoubtedly raise the alarm before he could kill all of them. Knowing he couldn’t handle them alone, he looked up to the cliffs, hoping Alva was in place.
It was still very dark, but he managed to spot the elven ranger’s figure, crouched over the edge, her bow in hand. He held out his hand, hoping she could see him, gesturing for her to hold.
Dassenar waited a few more minutes, the sunlight slowly creeping over the mountains and allowing the two elves to see more and more clearly. Three of the cages had markhorkryn captives, their spiraling horns forcing them to be seated as they were too tall to stand in their cages. They wore dark, leather armour which was in poor condition.
The fourth cage had a dark figure that resembled a man, but it was still too dark for Dassenar to tell if it truly was a human.
To the elf’s surprise, there was also someone in the fifth cage. A small figure with long, red hair sat in the corner of the cage, their back against the corner pillar. The fiery red hair was a coppery red colour, the orange strands shining in the light of the torch held by a nearby guard. Dassenar was unsure of this creature’s race as well, but his guess was that it was a dwarf, gnome or halfling.
As more and more light illuminated the scene, Dassenar decided it was time for action. He knew he was unlikely to escape with the prisoners without alerting the orcs and hoped to do so as early as possible, maximizing the number of orcs who were still sleeping. Remaining in a crouched position, he made his way to a place where he would have cover from the orcs, but Alva would be able to see him clearly. He then looked up and saw that she was looking down at him, the locks of white hair that protruded from her hood gently flowing in the wind.
Dassenar then signalled that he was about to advance, pointing in the direction he would be heading in order to give Alva time to choose her first target.
Still moving in a crouched position, Dassenar snuck up on the first orc, slicing his throat open as he popped out of the shadows. A second orc, behind the first one, saw this happen but an arrow struck him in the side of the head as he tried yell in order to alarm the others. His mouth opened, but no sound came out as he fell to the side, Dassenar swiftly moving past him.
Dassenar then made his way along the cliff’s edge, passing behind the hanging cages, below the large beams to which the cages had been suspended using chains. Holding up the beams was scaffolding that reached ten meters into the air. As Dassenar walked by, he climbed onto the scaffolding holding up the central beam, hoping to sneak up on the orc who was standing on a platform halfway up it.
It was at this moment that Alva thought of a plan to assist Dassenar. She shot an arrow directly below the central cage, caching the attention of the guard top of the tower as well as one of the guards below. As Dassenar reached the top of the scaffolding, he snuck up behind the orc and stabbed him from behind, dragging him back and dropping the lifeless body on the platform.
The orc below slowly approached the arrow below the cage, having heard a noise and seen some movement, yet being unsure of what had caused it. As the orc looked down to see an arrow, Dassenar leaped down from the scaffolding, sinking Dark Horizon and a short dagger into either side of the orc’s neck.
The two remaining orcs were female warriors. One had very pale skin, which had a cream-white colour, while the other had dark-grey skin. The white-skinned one had red hair in a long braid, which made her look even more strange, while the grey haired one had shaggy hair with dreadlocks mixed in. Both held spears and torches and were approaching the cages, having heard the commotion.
Dassenar only had time to run back toward the scaffolding, quickly climbing it in hopes of freeing the prisoners. It seemed as though this would inevitably alert the camp. The two orcs were headed straight for the dead bodies and the daylight was getting stronger and stronger, making it easier for them to discern the orcish body, lying beneath the cage.
The orcs didn’t sound the alarm right away, however, walking closer to check on their comrade. Dassenar figured they were likely assuming he’d been drinking during his patrol and passed out.
Dassenar hurried, quickly reaching the top of the scaffolding, and climbing up onto the wooden beam in order to walk along it in a crouched position.
The orcs below reached the body and the grey-skinned one kneeled beside the body, lifting it off the ground and shaking it. She gasped as she saw the blood flowing from large gashes just above his collarbone.
As she turned to the second orc, planning to tell her to blow the large horn around her waist in order to sound the alarm, she heard the sound of metal unravelling above her. She looked up, but she was crushed before she could even see the cage falling from above.
The white-skinned orc jumped back, dodging the falling cage. As the cage fell, however, an arrow struck her in the chest. She pulled the horn to her lips but the markhorkryn who had been in the falling cage leaped out and wrapped his large hands around her neck. His goat legs had allowed him to land unscathed as the falling cage broke open, and leap at the orc’s throat.
The orc struggled to push him off and managed to swat his arms away, but the markhorkryn violently twisted his neck, moving his head down and striking her with his horns. The orc fell back, and an arrow struck her in the head as she reached the ground. The markhorkryn looked up to see Alva, standing proud, bow in hand, at the edge of the cliff.
Alerted by the sound of the falling cage, several orcs came running toward the prisoner. Dassenar freed another markhorkryn by opening a door in the front of the cage, the prisoner thanking him and leaping to the following cage in order to free the third.
“Get down there and help!” Yelled the markhorkryn in a deep, cavernous voice. “We’ll free the others.”
Dassenar jumped back onto the scaffolding, running on top of it, then jumping down to the lower platform. He then jumped off of the platform, leaping at an oncoming orc. The elf swung his scimitar out as he landed, striking across the unsuspecting orc’s chest, and stopping him dead in his tracks.
The first markhorkryn to be freed had picked up a large axe from a dead orc below the cage and had already slain an orc. More were coming, however.
Horns were being blown all around, alerting the entire camp of the intruders. Dassenar wished he had thought of a better escape plan than simply running out the same way he had entered, but it was too late. Now, he was unsure if they had any chance of making it out of the camp alive.
As enemies charged towards him from all sides, Dassenar no longer had time to think of the impending doom. His every thought would now need to be on surviving the onslaught of orcs.
Dassenar swung Dark Horizon wildly, striking at the oncoming orcs and killing them an incredible speed. He managed to kill a dozen orcs in just a few minutes as he tried to move toward the piles of logs.
Alva’s black arrows whizzed past all the while, most of them hitting their mark. The elf jumped along the rocky landscape, working tirelessly to give her newfound ally a chance to survive. His situation, however, only seemed to be getting worse.
The three markhorkryn were now fighting alongside him, their dark, beastly figures leaping around the battlefield. Their strong, goat legs allowed them to jump much further and higher than any human or elf. This briefly reminded Dassenar of the bighorn sheepkryn, ibexkryn and goatkryn who had flanked the Skarian forces as they defended Firildor.
The other prisoner, whom Dassenar had barely had a chance to see, was fighting further back, toward the scaffolding. The few glances Dassenar had taken that way had revealed that he was a human of dark complexion. His dark, brown skin was typical of those who lived in the southern continent of Relodorion.
Relodorion was directly south of the gulf of Neleris. Few travellers from this strange land, where the sun was warmer and struck at the skin of foreigners, ever ventured this far north, but Dassenar had met a few who had joined the Skarian military and had even become good friends with one of them.
The elven warrior wondered for a few moments if it might be that same man, a warrior named Drisdaru. They had fought together years before in a city far to the west called Val Siladair, and Dassenar had not heard of him since. He had similar, long dreadlocks and wore dark armour, which resembled Skarian armour. Dassenar didn’t have much time to examine it, however, for his attention quickly returned to the fight as two orcs charged him simultaneously, axes striking down towards him.
Dassenar dodged the attacks by lunging forward, putting his body between the two orcs who, surprised by the elf’s reaction, stepped back and tried to swing their axes at his exposed back. Dassenar continued forward, using his speed to his advantage by stepping behind the orc on the right and striking at the back of his legs with his scimitar.
As the orc fell to his knees, Dassenar swung his blade horizontally at his neck. The injury wasn’t fatal, but the orc was unlikely to rejoin the fight. He fell forward and Dassenar stepped onto his back, jumping at the other orc before he could react. The elf landed beside the orc, his scimitar swinging across his body from left to right and striking the orc diagonally along his side. This too was not a fatal wound but would be enough to allow the elf to move on to the next set of orcs.
Dassenar moved toward his next target but suddenly stopped as the orc was struck by a white arrow, the fletching shining in the thick rays of sunlight, which were now peaking above the mountains. The elf moved on, thankful for Alva’s help. What he realized moments later, however, was that this was not one of Alva’s arrows as hers had been dyed black back in Arendil.