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Story Hour
Another Bastard Child of Tolkien - Litany for a Dead Campaign (The End)
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<blockquote data-quote="Paka" data-source="post: 1299284" data-attributes="member: 100"><p><strong>Chapter VI</strong></p><p><em>Black Stories</em></p><p></p><p>The Orcs in Ladymist live on the Orc Step, or as the humans call it, the Orcish Ghetto. It is hard telling you about our step. It is hard to make you understand. My word-hoard isn’t filled with gold or magic but I will do my best. </p><p></p><p>The Black Stories are made of 63 of Orc blood. 42 are of fighting age, the rest being uninked or old, all of their words written.</p><p></p><p>I am honored to be among them. The only words written on me are above the empty socket where my eye was. Above it, in black Orcish runes, is the word Gren, in human tongue that means Gone.</p><p></p><p>My father had many words upon him. His right hand, letters in a black swirl in the middle of the palm was marked Ellik-Kaz, Elf-Slayer and his left hand, along the fingers was Honice Katcha, Steady Death, a reference to his ability with a bow.</p><p></p><p>His scars were many and all were inked. The most notable to me was etched just off center of his shoulderblades. It was a ragged scar from an axe of the Lady’s Watch, next to it was written Aman, Justice.</p><p></p><p>My mother’s head was shaved on the sides and Uyicha was written on her left side and Nok on her right. Wise and Strong, my mother was. She had nothing else written on her. I asked her why she didn’t leave more for her grandchildren to read. She only snorted, “All of my stories come from my Wisdom and Strength. Let those who survive me know that. If you get around to making the tribe any new Orcs.”</p><p></p><p>She died just after that; the Shaman inflated her bladder and her stomach so that she might follow my father down the river. </p><p></p><p>Gren is the only word written on me, though my Shaman tells me that I am selfish, keeping my deeds to myself and not leaving any for my children to read when I am gone and they carry my skin into battle.</p><p></p><p>My wife tells me that I am wise and strong like my mother, “Few words make the words you leave filled with more power. Wait, it shows the tribe that your best words are ahead of you.”</p><p></p><p>My father and I both had soft spots for women stronger and smarter than we are. I am sorry my mother never met my wife. </p><p></p><p>I am thinking of my father lately, the story of how the tribe avenged his death was re-told just last night at Muthah’s, where tribes go when they need peace. No Orc would ever attack another there. Muthah’s owner is well respected by all Orcish women. The chief who called war on another at Muthah’s would risk more ire than anyone needs in one lifetime. </p><p></p><p>It only costs forty gold to let the Tribe have run of the entire Pub.</p><p></p><p>Our city, the Lady, was created by a Dragon, the Horned Lady. She created it for her tribe. Then she died, betrayed by a Man. Our Shamans knew such a thing was coming but couldn’t gain audience to tell her. By human black magicks, she died. </p><p></p><p>Now a young Dragon claims the Horned Lady’s throne. Her tribe is a strange broken thing now. Her Little Men try and fix that. They waddle to and fro, this side of the Jade Forest to that side, bringing her people together. The Little People are protected by a Half-Orc, Lady M’Randa.</p><p></p><p>When the children on the Orc Step play at war all of the little girls want to be Lady M’Randa. It was an honor for her to come here.</p><p></p><p>One of the Little men is called Small Hunter. The Shaman did not know much about him but we took care to watch our knees when he was about.</p><p></p><p>Another is called Smalgus’s Little Taleswapper. He tells stories to the Wizards in the Dragontongue. The Shaman was excited to have him with us. Smalgus is a mighty human Wizard and to have his Taleswapper gives our Shaman power.</p><p></p><p>Another is Orc-Slayer. Orok-Kazi. He killed a great Orc general with one dagger strike to the throat. After we met him, the older warriors of the tribe had many arguments, trying to figure out how he ever reached an Orcish throat. Eventually, it was agreed that he had a mighty long dagger or killed a stunted Orc.</p><p></p><p>Lady M’Randa, Green Knight guards the little men, keeping them from harm. May Gruumsh look down on her favorably. Her squire was found and proven in the midst of battle. She is human but most of us forgive M’Randa, Lady M’Randa, this indiscretion.</p><p></p><p>The Little Taleswapper showed magicks that he learned among the Wizards and told the traditional story of How Pug Stole Fire but he didn’t know Orcish. Our Shaman was quite impressed by his telling, go so far as to say that at different points in the tale of Pug, he forgot the tale was not being told in Orcish.</p><p></p><p>They came to us because they wanted to hear Jinlat’s story. Jinlat was always known as a coward, his name meaning Runner is Orcish. But he had proven himself some months ago. </p><p></p><p>I led a War Team against the Nightfangs, who killed my father. </p><p></p><p>Jinlat was not fit to be among them but he had run from two battles. If he ran from this third, we would have to drown him and send him on his way. Drowning, a weak death.</p><p></p><p>Our ambush turned around on us and we were ambushed. My team killed many Nightfangs but it was not enough. In the end, most of us were hurt or down, black teeth grinning as their poisoned knives were ready to finish us. Jinlat had run away again. Once the battle was over, we’d drown him.</p><p></p><p>Nightfangs and Black Stories traded violence. My band was going to die. As I bled to death I wondered who would drown Jinlat and if my wife would take another after I was gone, so little ink on me. Soon I would be Gren.</p><p></p><p>Jinlat came back, eyes aglow with Witch Power.</p><p></p><p>His return was a strange thing and because of that it was his honor to tell the tale to the Little Men and Lady M’Randa.</p><p></p><p><strong>Chapter VII</strong></p><p><em>Jinlat's Only Story</em></p><p></p><p>You aren’t human, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t be in this part of Ladymist at this time of night if you were.</p><p></p><p>Maybe you’re a Goblin, looking for a tribe to leech off of…to serve, I mean.</p><p></p><p>Maybe a Half-Orc, sick of the sneers and mumbled curses that life outside the Orc Step deals out.</p><p></p><p>Perhaps a Troll, don’t know why you aren’t with the Bridge Guild but here you are, looking for someone who needs hired muscle.</p><p></p><p>It doesn’t matter because here you are. A wooden mug of cheap ale is thrust at you.</p><p></p><p>One of the Black Stories warriors limps up to you, hobbling from a battle wound, we can only assume. His green head is mostly shaved and he must be youngd because has only has one word written on a muscled shoulder: Uyan Gab which means Slow in Battle. He nods and then whispers:</p><p></p><p>- Jinlat is telling his story. It is the same contribution he’s been making at the fires for months now. Some stories grow in the telling but this story just seems to get more and more pathetic -</p><p></p><p>Jinlat steps to the fire and his eyes have a mad gleam in them but the energy of the story is dead. Even the children look embarrassed for him. Somewhere in the gathering a baby cries:</p><p></p><p>“I returned to the battle. Grumsh washed my weakness away and looked down on my with his great green eye. My eyes were glowing green, bathed in power.”</p><p></p><p>- No lies there. I was there with Chief Gren. A Nightfang battleaxe had done its violence on me knee. It is almost a lucky thing to get hit with heavy weapons when fighting Nightfangs. Their small weapons are covered in poison, like the crossbow bolt that killed Gren’s father. -</p><p></p><p>Realizing that few are listening except for the outsiders, the Little Men, he overcompensates with even more energy. Words are often punctuated with spit that flies when his mouth makes unfortunate contact with hard vowels:</p><p></p><p>“The first Nightfang I broken in two with my hands, lifting him over my head, the cobblestone road was my weapon. It was a good thing to see fear in my enemy’s eyes.”</p><p></p><p>- And Jinlat would know all about fear. He didn’t break anyone over the cobblestone; snapped his neck with his bare hands. No growling, no screaming, no battlecry. This next part he usually tries to pay a bill his word hoard can’t cash. -</p><p></p><p></p><p>“The next came at me. I tore his head off out of its socket. The spine dangled like a string…from a yo-yo…if you were holding the wooden part.”</p><p></p><p>- The kids love this next part. – </p><p></p><p>“Holding his spine in my hands I beat the third to death, one hit after another. By the time I’m done both of their skulls are good for nothing.”</p><p></p><p>- He’s about done now. -</p><p></p><p>The last two sentences come out like an explanation, like an whispered excuse:</p><p>“Took the Chief home. Grumsh chose me.”</p><p></p><p>- He’d better watch that kind of talk or else Gren might think stupid Jinlat is making a bid for the Chief’s seat. Gren’d kill Jinlat without breaking a sweat and wouldn’t even bother to put ink in his skin about it.</p><p></p><p>Jinlat, though, this is his big event. He’ll spend his reward on an elaborate tattoo, which is a good thing because that story, that three minutes of copper sentences and chain-linked words…that the only story he’ll ever have.</p><p></p><p>Maybe it was the will of Grumsh that made his eyes glow green. Perhaps our God did possess him but we doubt it. The Green Dragon’s little men didn’t come here to find out if Jinlat is the prophent of Grumsh. No, they came here because his magic eyes are exactly like something else, something they’ve encountered on their travels.</p><p></p><p>Let Jinlat have his story. It is the only one he’ll ever have.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Paka, post: 1299284, member: 100"] [B]Chapter VI[/B] [I]Black Stories[/I] The Orcs in Ladymist live on the Orc Step, or as the humans call it, the Orcish Ghetto. It is hard telling you about our step. It is hard to make you understand. My word-hoard isn’t filled with gold or magic but I will do my best. The Black Stories are made of 63 of Orc blood. 42 are of fighting age, the rest being uninked or old, all of their words written. I am honored to be among them. The only words written on me are above the empty socket where my eye was. Above it, in black Orcish runes, is the word Gren, in human tongue that means Gone. My father had many words upon him. His right hand, letters in a black swirl in the middle of the palm was marked Ellik-Kaz, Elf-Slayer and his left hand, along the fingers was Honice Katcha, Steady Death, a reference to his ability with a bow. His scars were many and all were inked. The most notable to me was etched just off center of his shoulderblades. It was a ragged scar from an axe of the Lady’s Watch, next to it was written Aman, Justice. My mother’s head was shaved on the sides and Uyicha was written on her left side and Nok on her right. Wise and Strong, my mother was. She had nothing else written on her. I asked her why she didn’t leave more for her grandchildren to read. She only snorted, “All of my stories come from my Wisdom and Strength. Let those who survive me know that. If you get around to making the tribe any new Orcs.” She died just after that; the Shaman inflated her bladder and her stomach so that she might follow my father down the river. Gren is the only word written on me, though my Shaman tells me that I am selfish, keeping my deeds to myself and not leaving any for my children to read when I am gone and they carry my skin into battle. My wife tells me that I am wise and strong like my mother, “Few words make the words you leave filled with more power. Wait, it shows the tribe that your best words are ahead of you.” My father and I both had soft spots for women stronger and smarter than we are. I am sorry my mother never met my wife. I am thinking of my father lately, the story of how the tribe avenged his death was re-told just last night at Muthah’s, where tribes go when they need peace. No Orc would ever attack another there. Muthah’s owner is well respected by all Orcish women. The chief who called war on another at Muthah’s would risk more ire than anyone needs in one lifetime. It only costs forty gold to let the Tribe have run of the entire Pub. Our city, the Lady, was created by a Dragon, the Horned Lady. She created it for her tribe. Then she died, betrayed by a Man. Our Shamans knew such a thing was coming but couldn’t gain audience to tell her. By human black magicks, she died. Now a young Dragon claims the Horned Lady’s throne. Her tribe is a strange broken thing now. Her Little Men try and fix that. They waddle to and fro, this side of the Jade Forest to that side, bringing her people together. The Little People are protected by a Half-Orc, Lady M’Randa. When the children on the Orc Step play at war all of the little girls want to be Lady M’Randa. It was an honor for her to come here. One of the Little men is called Small Hunter. The Shaman did not know much about him but we took care to watch our knees when he was about. Another is called Smalgus’s Little Taleswapper. He tells stories to the Wizards in the Dragontongue. The Shaman was excited to have him with us. Smalgus is a mighty human Wizard and to have his Taleswapper gives our Shaman power. Another is Orc-Slayer. Orok-Kazi. He killed a great Orc general with one dagger strike to the throat. After we met him, the older warriors of the tribe had many arguments, trying to figure out how he ever reached an Orcish throat. Eventually, it was agreed that he had a mighty long dagger or killed a stunted Orc. Lady M’Randa, Green Knight guards the little men, keeping them from harm. May Gruumsh look down on her favorably. Her squire was found and proven in the midst of battle. She is human but most of us forgive M’Randa, Lady M’Randa, this indiscretion. The Little Taleswapper showed magicks that he learned among the Wizards and told the traditional story of How Pug Stole Fire but he didn’t know Orcish. Our Shaman was quite impressed by his telling, go so far as to say that at different points in the tale of Pug, he forgot the tale was not being told in Orcish. They came to us because they wanted to hear Jinlat’s story. Jinlat was always known as a coward, his name meaning Runner is Orcish. But he had proven himself some months ago. I led a War Team against the Nightfangs, who killed my father. Jinlat was not fit to be among them but he had run from two battles. If he ran from this third, we would have to drown him and send him on his way. Drowning, a weak death. Our ambush turned around on us and we were ambushed. My team killed many Nightfangs but it was not enough. In the end, most of us were hurt or down, black teeth grinning as their poisoned knives were ready to finish us. Jinlat had run away again. Once the battle was over, we’d drown him. Nightfangs and Black Stories traded violence. My band was going to die. As I bled to death I wondered who would drown Jinlat and if my wife would take another after I was gone, so little ink on me. Soon I would be Gren. Jinlat came back, eyes aglow with Witch Power. His return was a strange thing and because of that it was his honor to tell the tale to the Little Men and Lady M’Randa. [B]Chapter VII[/B] [I]Jinlat's Only Story[/I] You aren’t human, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t be in this part of Ladymist at this time of night if you were. Maybe you’re a Goblin, looking for a tribe to leech off of…to serve, I mean. Maybe a Half-Orc, sick of the sneers and mumbled curses that life outside the Orc Step deals out. Perhaps a Troll, don’t know why you aren’t with the Bridge Guild but here you are, looking for someone who needs hired muscle. It doesn’t matter because here you are. A wooden mug of cheap ale is thrust at you. One of the Black Stories warriors limps up to you, hobbling from a battle wound, we can only assume. His green head is mostly shaved and he must be youngd because has only has one word written on a muscled shoulder: Uyan Gab which means Slow in Battle. He nods and then whispers: - Jinlat is telling his story. It is the same contribution he’s been making at the fires for months now. Some stories grow in the telling but this story just seems to get more and more pathetic - Jinlat steps to the fire and his eyes have a mad gleam in them but the energy of the story is dead. Even the children look embarrassed for him. Somewhere in the gathering a baby cries: “I returned to the battle. Grumsh washed my weakness away and looked down on my with his great green eye. My eyes were glowing green, bathed in power.” - No lies there. I was there with Chief Gren. A Nightfang battleaxe had done its violence on me knee. It is almost a lucky thing to get hit with heavy weapons when fighting Nightfangs. Their small weapons are covered in poison, like the crossbow bolt that killed Gren’s father. - Realizing that few are listening except for the outsiders, the Little Men, he overcompensates with even more energy. Words are often punctuated with spit that flies when his mouth makes unfortunate contact with hard vowels: “The first Nightfang I broken in two with my hands, lifting him over my head, the cobblestone road was my weapon. It was a good thing to see fear in my enemy’s eyes.” - And Jinlat would know all about fear. He didn’t break anyone over the cobblestone; snapped his neck with his bare hands. No growling, no screaming, no battlecry. This next part he usually tries to pay a bill his word hoard can’t cash. - “The next came at me. I tore his head off out of its socket. The spine dangled like a string…from a yo-yo…if you were holding the wooden part.” - The kids love this next part. – “Holding his spine in my hands I beat the third to death, one hit after another. By the time I’m done both of their skulls are good for nothing.” - He’s about done now. - The last two sentences come out like an explanation, like an whispered excuse: “Took the Chief home. Grumsh chose me.” - He’d better watch that kind of talk or else Gren might think stupid Jinlat is making a bid for the Chief’s seat. Gren’d kill Jinlat without breaking a sweat and wouldn’t even bother to put ink in his skin about it. Jinlat, though, this is his big event. He’ll spend his reward on an elaborate tattoo, which is a good thing because that story, that three minutes of copper sentences and chain-linked words…that the only story he’ll ever have. Maybe it was the will of Grumsh that made his eyes glow green. Perhaps our God did possess him but we doubt it. The Green Dragon’s little men didn’t come here to find out if Jinlat is the prophent of Grumsh. No, they came here because his magic eyes are exactly like something else, something they’ve encountered on their travels. Let Jinlat have his story. It is the only one he’ll ever have. [/QUOTE]
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