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Story Hour
Of Fey and Shadow - A Midnight story hour (Restored 14 May 2006)
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<blockquote data-quote="Emiricol" data-source="post: 1937302" data-attributes="member: 469"><p>The great Oruk grunted, then spoke to his Orc warriors in the fluid language of their kind, full of whistles and nasal grunts that were impossible to reproduce accurately without the tusks and nasal construction unique to their black kind.</p><p> </p><p> <span style="color: red">"Second Tusk! Where are we now? If you have led us south, I will cut off your left arm and add it to the Blades' rations!"</span> he said, using the Master inflection that showed his dominant position.</p><p> </p><p> An Orc, this one larger than his fellows and wearing two brutally distinct hashmark-like scars on his shoulders, broke from his run and allowed himself to draw even with the Oruk. <span style="color: red">"My flesh is yours, Third Tusk."</span> The Orc supressed his glee at the clear discomfort this title caused their so-called master, even though he'd used the Inferior inflection their relative ranks demanded. In their tongue it was impossible not to know who felt themselves master in any conversation, but it was still possible to strike back in the Inferior. Second Tusk was very good at that.</p><p> </p><p> The "Third Tusk" Oruk had four hashmark scars, but one had been dyed the same mottled tan/green of his skin, a badge of shame that not many Oruk would have survived carrying. Leading "mere" Orcs was probably the only way this arrogant <em>Fakil</em> could avoid a blood challenge from another Oruk. Much to his and his men's regret.</p><p> </p><p> <span style="color: red">"But I have not led us astray,"</span> he continued in his submissive inflection. <span style="color: Red">"My sense of direction remains unshamed."</span> Ha! Another dig. Although the flaring of the Oruk leader's nostrils told Second Tusk he'd better not push his luck further. </p><p> </p><p> <span style="color: red">"We have headed west ever since our Spear Master led us into the Fey trap. As he brilliantly deduced, it gave us the opportunity we needed to infiltrate through their lines. We have seen neither Fey nor Sidhe nor Men in two days."</span></p><p> </p><p> Third Tusk grunted once more, then said in the harsh, abrasive sounds of the Master inflection of their tongue, <span style="color: red">"The Legate has just informed me that we are to turn North now. We will find a pond within hours, and must taint it for the Shadow. Only then may we find our way to Izrador."</span></p><p> </p><p> The Orc nodded. <span style="color: red">"Yes, Third Tusk."</span> Within moments he had the five Blades under his command turned and running North. <em>Let some Fey try to keep up with my troop! They are well disciplined compared to those point-ears.</em></p><p> </p><p> -------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p> Carith stepped out from behind the tree he had used for cover and watched as the orcs passed out of his sight into the forest. <span style="color: orange">"Well this all makes sense now, Whisper. The vision last night of Orcs desecrating a pool, after a fierce battle with Men and a Fey - and now a troop of Orcs race towards the same place I have been drawn to for days..."</span> </p><p> </p><p> The hawk on a near by tree looked down on him and gave a slight bob of its head, one that looked far to much like a human nod. </p><p> </p><p> <span style="color: orange">"We have to stop them. I don't know how or why, but that pool is important. It must be kept from their hands. We can't let its power fall to the Shadow."</span> The Man shouldered his bow and grabbed his pack up from the ground. <span style="color: orange">"Let's move my friend. The orcs do not know these woods half as well and I dom and maybe, just maybe, we can beat them to the pond of my Vision! But we must hurry."</span> </p><p> </p><p> Without a sound the hawk extended its wings and soared off the tree into the grace of flight, Carith in a light jog not far behind.</p><p> </p><p> -------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p> It was nearly nightfall by the time the woods took on a distinctively Fey overtone. Thrayn knew instinctively that he approached a place of immense, if subtle, power. The energy of it thrummed in his ears, almost audible but felt more than heard. It was a welcoming sensation to him. The humans with him kept tight together and their knuckles were white with the unconscious tension of their hands upon their spear hafts, eyes darting back and forth.</p><p> </p><p> Closing his eyes and reaching out his mind, Thrayn felt the small waves of energy wash over him, until his own rhythms were in time with those of the glen. So far, all was well - the Orcs were not yet here. But this was a large place, with many approaches.</p><p> </p><p> They were on the northern border of the Glen of Norana, named after the fey Elder who, millenia ago, had tamed the raw energy of this place of primordial power, bent it to her will and made it useable to all the Fey.</p><p> </p><p> Further in, the forest was dense enough that movement would be slowed and visibility extremely limited. Some hundred yards deeper would be the preternaturally still pond in the center of the Glen, with waters so pure that those who carried not the Fey gift of sorcery would be burned by the power of the magic that permeated it.</p><p> </p><p> To the west of the pond would be a small hill networked with caves, the home of the Great Bear of the Glen - a mythical creature that was bear in name and shape only, for those who saw it said with a straight face that it stood three times the height of a normal bear if it stood an inch, with unnatural ridges and protrusions about the muzzle and shoulders that could only be a result of its prolonged exposure to the Glen. It was well known for attacking with speed and surprise any who approached who were not themselves Fey or under the protection of one of the Elves.</p><p> </p><p> South of the pond would be the place of crafting - a series of workstations that enabled the Fey to build all manner of magically endowed weaponry, armor, and more mundane gear as well. The Elves said that any such item created and enchanted here would bear a greater power than the crafter alone could have accounted for.</p><p> </p><p> East of the wondrous Glen lay the Alter of Norana's Dirge, an ancient stone tablet from before the First Age of Men, upon which Norana had allowed her circle of sorcerers to sacrifice her for the purposes of enabling a terrible ritual. That potent magic is what had tamed this Elder Fey place for future use by their kind - mere decades before Izrador's first thrust to the south, by happy coincidence.</p><p> </p><p> The Glen of Norana held her name to this day, and had served the Erunsil well. And Orcs were likely coming to despoil it.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Emiricol, post: 1937302, member: 469"] The great Oruk grunted, then spoke to his Orc warriors in the fluid language of their kind, full of whistles and nasal grunts that were impossible to reproduce accurately without the tusks and nasal construction unique to their black kind. [Color=red]"Second Tusk! Where are we now? If you have led us south, I will cut off your left arm and add it to the Blades' rations!"[/color] he said, using the Master inflection that showed his dominant position. An Orc, this one larger than his fellows and wearing two brutally distinct hashmark-like scars on his shoulders, broke from his run and allowed himself to draw even with the Oruk. [Color=red]"My flesh is yours, Third Tusk."[/color] The Orc supressed his glee at the clear discomfort this title caused their so-called master, even though he'd used the Inferior inflection their relative ranks demanded. In their tongue it was impossible not to know who felt themselves master in any conversation, but it was still possible to strike back in the Inferior. Second Tusk was very good at that. The "Third Tusk" Oruk had four hashmark scars, but one had been dyed the same mottled tan/green of his skin, a badge of shame that not many Oruk would have survived carrying. Leading "mere" Orcs was probably the only way this arrogant [i]Fakil[/i] could avoid a blood challenge from another Oruk. Much to his and his men's regret. [Color=red]"But I have not led us astray,"[/color] he continued in his submissive inflection. [Color=Red]"My sense of direction remains unshamed."[/color] Ha! Another dig. Although the flaring of the Oruk leader's nostrils told Second Tusk he'd better not push his luck further. [Color=red]"We have headed west ever since our Spear Master led us into the Fey trap. As he brilliantly deduced, it gave us the opportunity we needed to infiltrate through their lines. We have seen neither Fey nor Sidhe nor Men in two days."[/color] Third Tusk grunted once more, then said in the harsh, abrasive sounds of the Master inflection of their tongue, [Color=red]"The Legate has just informed me that we are to turn North now. We will find a pond within hours, and must taint it for the Shadow. Only then may we find our way to Izrador."[/color] The Orc nodded. [Color=red]"Yes, Third Tusk."[/color] Within moments he had the five Blades under his command turned and running North. [i]Let some Fey try to keep up with my troop! They are well disciplined compared to those point-ears.[/i] ------------------------------------- Carith stepped out from behind the tree he had used for cover and watched as the orcs passed out of his sight into the forest. [color=orange]"Well this all makes sense now, Whisper. The vision last night of Orcs desecrating a pool, after a fierce battle with Men and a Fey - and now a troop of Orcs race towards the same place I have been drawn to for days..."[/color] The hawk on a near by tree looked down on him and gave a slight bob of its head, one that looked far to much like a human nod. [color=orange]"We have to stop them. I don't know how or why, but that pool is important. It must be kept from their hands. We can't let its power fall to the Shadow."[/color] The Man shouldered his bow and grabbed his pack up from the ground. [color=orange]"Let's move my friend. The orcs do not know these woods half as well and I dom and maybe, just maybe, we can beat them to the pond of my Vision! But we must hurry."[/color] Without a sound the hawk extended its wings and soared off the tree into the grace of flight, Carith in a light jog not far behind. ------------------------------------- It was nearly nightfall by the time the woods took on a distinctively Fey overtone. Thrayn knew instinctively that he approached a place of immense, if subtle, power. The energy of it thrummed in his ears, almost audible but felt more than heard. It was a welcoming sensation to him. The humans with him kept tight together and their knuckles were white with the unconscious tension of their hands upon their spear hafts, eyes darting back and forth. Closing his eyes and reaching out his mind, Thrayn felt the small waves of energy wash over him, until his own rhythms were in time with those of the glen. So far, all was well - the Orcs were not yet here. But this was a large place, with many approaches. They were on the northern border of the Glen of Norana, named after the fey Elder who, millenia ago, had tamed the raw energy of this place of primordial power, bent it to her will and made it useable to all the Fey. Further in, the forest was dense enough that movement would be slowed and visibility extremely limited. Some hundred yards deeper would be the preternaturally still pond in the center of the Glen, with waters so pure that those who carried not the Fey gift of sorcery would be burned by the power of the magic that permeated it. To the west of the pond would be a small hill networked with caves, the home of the Great Bear of the Glen - a mythical creature that was bear in name and shape only, for those who saw it said with a straight face that it stood three times the height of a normal bear if it stood an inch, with unnatural ridges and protrusions about the muzzle and shoulders that could only be a result of its prolonged exposure to the Glen. It was well known for attacking with speed and surprise any who approached who were not themselves Fey or under the protection of one of the Elves. South of the pond would be the place of crafting - a series of workstations that enabled the Fey to build all manner of magically endowed weaponry, armor, and more mundane gear as well. The Elves said that any such item created and enchanted here would bear a greater power than the crafter alone could have accounted for. East of the wondrous Glen lay the Alter of Norana's Dirge, an ancient stone tablet from before the First Age of Men, upon which Norana had allowed her circle of sorcerers to sacrifice her for the purposes of enabling a terrible ritual. That potent magic is what had tamed this Elder Fey place for future use by their kind - mere decades before Izrador's first thrust to the south, by happy coincidence. The Glen of Norana held her name to this day, and had served the Erunsil well. And Orcs were likely coming to despoil it. [/QUOTE]
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