[Midnight] Dark Tower's Shadow (Updated 12/10)
- Thread starter Paka
- Start date
handforged
First Post
keep it up man, these are excellent! I had been worrying about that leaf from the beginning
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?postid=1025327#post1025327
The above link is the link to SJE's Midnight Story Hour thread, Black Mirror Apocolypse. If Midnight is ticklin' your fancy, check it out.
The above link is the link to SJE's Midnight Story Hour thread, Black Mirror Apocolypse. If Midnight is ticklin' your fancy, check it out.
Derulbaskul
Adventurer
Paka,
This story hour is excellent. In particular, I love the way you show the corruption of the Esben family by the Shadow.
I really, really MUST convince at least one of my player groups to play in this setting.
Cheers
D
This story hour is excellent. In particular, I love the way you show the corruption of the Esben family by the Shadow.
I really, really MUST convince at least one of my player groups to play in this setting.
Cheers
D
I'm alread a huge fan of Midnight, and this story hour is inspiring. Now I just have to figure out how to manage my own Midnight campaign.
Great Story!
Great Story!
Kestrel said:
Thanks, Kestrel, welcome to the fold.
The Esben clan is in the book. They don't give you much info on them but with published settings I am big on inspiration over information. They gave me just enough on the Esben family to inspire me. Once JJ agreed to make Karhoun an Esben I really got thinking about the family and how I thought they'd work.
Yeah, Vildar Esben is named in the book but i think of a PC wasn't his son I would have portrayed him as more of a pathetic madman rather than a powerful mad tyrannical father figure.
Thanks for reading.
The Ballad of Karhoun Esben
Story Post #25
Hunting the Channeler
Simnote, the demon, wore the hawk like a cloak, sat easily inside its body. The hawk perched on my wrist, hawking glove keeping my hand from being scratched by its claws. Astirax are special demons, bred by Izrador to smell magic, sniff out Channelers, track magic items. It is illegal to use or own magic of any kind and the Astirax help the Legates enforce the Shadow’s laws.
Simnote was my Legate-brother's Astirax.
Father was waiting for us in the courtyard, his three wardens carrying this throne. “Karhoun, take your sister with you. She wishes to be a shield-maiden of some kind and a hunt like this will do her good, show her what life on the trail is all about.”
Valanicia stood there, studded leather armor, bastard sword across her back, hair in a tight braid, Esben family crest on her shield. She didn’t look scared or worried, just as cold and unfeeling as ever.
I asked, “Father, when we find it what would you have us do with it?”
Father’s tight face almost lightened, “If bringing the criminal back is possible, do so. We haven’t had a good public execution for the peasants since that heretic Legate, well over two weeks ago. But if not…”
Six Orcs joined us. Their leader introduced himself as Diegal, from the Shunned Mother Clan. Diegal had broad shoulders and the tattoos of the Shunned Mother, three parallel black bars on the face. Others in the party had the bars on the chest, another traditional spot for ink.
Val and I both managed to keep up with what Diegal called a, “Good Orcish pace.” At night we went to bed sore, the Orcs offering to keep watch because their eyes were so acute in the darkness. In the morning Diegal would say, “You sun is here. We can travel now,” and off we would go.
We knew nothing about the Channeler we hunted. Simnote had caught scent of her casting a spell in Port Esben and she had perhaps a six hour head start on us. She was leaving trail sign that I was finding as we followed Simnote, the hawk in the sky.
On the third day I found evidence of the girl on horseback. An abandoned barn had housed her steed, which she came across with its feed and tack all waiting for her. Suddenly, this smelled like something other than just a random girl on the run. This could be the work of insurgnts. Diegal seemed unworried.
Later that day I found her trail again and evidence of a battle with Fell. Perhaps a score of the Fell had come upon her and she had managed to ride through unscathed. I had assumed that the hungry dead had eaten the bodies of those struck down but still, the field looked almost too clean.
Using what little authority I had, I stopped the hunting party and searched for bodies. Diegal grumbled at this but he didn’t wish to push the issue and allowed me to look for a while.
I came upon the bodies, weighted with rocks in their bellies and thrown in a waist-high stream. The stream was cold but the evidence was colder: Vardatch cleaves had downed these Fell. The marks on their skulls were unmistakable.
“Diegal,” I called, “Look at these marks.”
He looked and stroked his tusks, “So, what is it you want me to see, human, we are running low on your precious light.”
“These are Vardatch cleaves. Do insurgents use Vardatch?”
Diegal looked carefully between me and my sister, “Insurgents use whatever they can come across,” and he stomped away. My sister’s shrewd eyes caught what I had missed.
While I was at Theros Obsidia, learning to track, ambush and listen to the woods my sister was still at Port Esben. She learned to fight, as all Esbens are taught but she also learned to listen to the intentions of liars just like I listen to the northlands trail. She came to me later, when the Orcs were all together, discussing the finding of the bodies and Simnote was finding a new body, not wanting to be struck down by an insurgent arrow in a frail hawk.
“Brother, he is lying…about the Vardatch, who knows what else,” she said, still watching the distant Orcs.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Slowly and solemnly, she nodded and then added, “If he is lying about this, who knows what else might be false. If something else is false, who knows if Orengar knew of it when he sent us. Sometime’s wrong.”
Why can’t it just be a hunt, a nice simple hunt? My family spoils everything.
I nodded and said, “Good eyes, sister.”
Simnote crashed through the brush in a new horse body, a dappled grey steed, with blazing red eyes of the Astirax. Val’s legs, never having gone this far from Port Esben, were hurting from our Orcish pace and Simnote, noticing her strained hamstring, offered for her to ride on him. She accepted, smart woman, my sister. Pride might have made me turn that offer down but my sister took her rest and rode the demon’s back for a day.
There were three keeps in the Fortress Wall that the Channeler could have been heading towards. One keep was controlled by a Legate, another was held by an Oruk, the third was abandoned. This abandoned keep was the easternmost and so we traveled east and this tactic kept us on her trail.
My sister pointed out, “That abandoned keep, its name is Karhoun Keep, brother.”
The ancestor whose name I hold saw that keep built and manned it with his sons and cunning, keeping the Shadow at bay. What is there now? Would it mean anything for me to go there now?
We discussed the possibility of Simnote taking a message to one of the Shadow-controlled keeps in case we have to venture into Karhoun’s Keep. If she tries to enter into the deep underground, it will be best if Orcs are waiting for her if she evades us. Simnote agreed to take word but only as a last resort, as he said, “I haven’t lost her trail yet. She is gaining, though. I suggest that we lose a night of sleep, make a final push at a good pace. There will be a solid road up ahead that she will have to maneuver around to avoid patrols. We might overtake her while she is still on the trail.”
That evening we dined in the Northern Crossroads, a waypoint for supplies heading from Bastion, capitol of the North, to the Kaladrun and Erethor fronts. Orcs of every tribe were making their way through and slaves on their way to Steel Hill could be heard, moaning. Simnote was our living travel pass, speaking with Orcs who would know our business.
The road to Karhoun Keep wasn’t traveled frequently. Ruts were deep in it from carts that hadn’t been on this highway since the Third Age or more. All night we made our way and about two hours before dawn a horse nickered from the trail. We had found her.
I sent the Orcs ahead on the road to cut into the trail a mile ahead. I didn’t want her getting away by pushing her horse. Simnote offered to stay on the road in case she made it past all of us. Val and I pushed into the forest, quiet but not entirely silent. Hopefully, we would push the girl into the Orcs.
We found a field, about a mile around of tall, golden swordgrass, about chest high. It is too good a spot for an ambush, chest high grass and dark wood all around. In the middle of the field we saw her camp, ten yards of pushed down grass, with a horse grazing.
My loving sister offered to approach the girl, “Let me see if I can talk to her. I’ve been dealing with children all of my life.” Val went into the camp and the girl was sitting there, playing stones of all things.
The girl wasn’t eight years old…if that. She said, “Hi, are you the ones they’re looking for?”
Val responded, “No, you are the one we’re looking for. Are you okay out here?”
As frightening as a Manticore’s roar the little girl giggled, “I’m fine, you’re in trouble, not me.”
Val shook her head, “We’re in trouble, why’s that?”
She giggled again, “You’ll see,” and as she said that Oruk warhorns sounded in the night.
We were entirely surrounded by an Oruk warband, maybe a hundred strong. In the night, eyes on the girl’s trail, I had missed them. Where was Diegal? Where was Simnote?
I thought about running, trying to cut my way through them, hoping they were spread thin.
Their chief announced himself, “Don’t run. Don’t bother. We will only cut you down if you should do anything that foolish. We aren’t going to kill you, Father Night, has better uses for you yet. I am Izrahi, chief of this band and instrument of Oruk revenge.”
I stood and faced him, “What is this about?”
“Foolish Esben, did you really think you and your sister could kill two of our number and not pay any price? We are the True Sons of Izrador and the murder of Oruk does not go unpunished.”
I looked him in the eye. He was six hands and a half of monstrous Oruk, covered in blackened plate with a two-handed Vardatch across his back and a spiked buckler on his arm. Still, I responded, “The chief of that band had no quarrel with us. He thanked us for taking the weak out of his party.”
The Oruk spat with anger, “That chief knew damned well that he was in Port Esben and knew what kind of man your father is. No, the only way to bring justice to an Esben is to draw them away from their father’s keep. Let me assure you, daddy isn’t here to save you this time, Esben-spawn.”
Val was quiet. She sat next to the child, who was unfazed, still playing stones. Something about that child was bringing out the maternal in Valanicia. It was hard to picture Val as the girl who turned in Beatrice to father for hanging, only a week or so ago.
To no one in particular I said, “This entire hunt was a ruse.” Val nodded in agreement and Izrahi only smiled, a wide tusk-filled grin. Did Orengar know? Did the Orcs know? Did Elaylee know?
Keep on task, Karhoun. There is an Oruk here with a Vardatch as long as a man who means to do you harm. I looked at him, with the full might of his Oruk warband behind all around us and said, “What now?”
“Now we fight. You Northers were once fond of trial by combats. If you win, you gain control of this Oruk warband. If I win, we will heal you, not wanting your father to be able to track you down in death. You will die a terrible death in the bowels of Steel Hill, digging out iron for the Shadow. You will die deep under the earth, far from home. You will die for nothing.”
We used the circle of the girl’s camp as a battle ring. His first two shots took me on one shoulder and then took me on the other. He was a fine combatant and when I sought to counter-attack all I found was Oruk mail to greet me. His next attack I blocked but the shot vibrated my sword and the shot rang up my arm. Again I countered and shot under his mail, scoring a light blow in between the mail greaves at his elbow.
One shot is all I wanted, hoping that father’s poison was still on m blade, hoping that was enough. Father had said, “May this dagger’s touch give your enemies long nights of agony and suffering,” but this time his poison was put on my sword. It was the closest thing my father gave to affection and I hoped it would be enough.
I don’t quite recall the blow that drove me to the ground. But out I went. It seems I cannot do battle against the Shadow’s minions without giving my requisite blood to the earth or stream.
Hopefully, the poison would be enough.
Prisoner of the Oruk
I awoke to Oruk shamans surrounding me, gibbering to one another in their Black Tongue. Val could understand them, having picked up Black Tongue and Orcish in Port Esben.
“Why does the chief save this pale Northerthing?”
“Because the chief is wise and will not bring the Immortal’s wrath down on us just yet.”
“Feh, his father wouldn’t have feared any man, even one who Father Night gives a long life.”
“His father is dead.”
I looked up and the Shaman-women walked away, not giving my a second glance. My mail and my weapons were taken off of me. Val was also armor and weaponless. I could feel my Dryad’s leaf and my Manticore’s claw under my coat, next to my skin.
Both Val and I were fixed with two guards who watched us like a Dragon stares at its hoard. If one of them had to do business in the forest, another was sent to take his place. There were always two on each of us, no exceptions…ever.
Val had watched the camp carefully noticing how the Chief had camped away from our view. She remarked casually to her captors, “If he dies of the poison on my brother’s blade, will my brother gain control of the Oruk band?”
Her guards looked at each other and one of them quickly called for a replacement. Within the hour ,the current chief, Izrahi, was called out into trial by combat by some walking Oruk monster by the name of Kahan.
Kahan dispatched of the poison-weakened Izrahi as quickly as Izrahi dispatched of me. After the battle, Kahan called his prisoners to his tent.
“I called you here to thank you. It was your words, Shield-Maiden, that prompted me to battle and for that I give thanks.”
I responded quickly, “You are wasting our potential here. Why send us to Steel Hill when you can have us as scouts.”
He shook his head, “I have my share of scouts, Esben.”
“They couldn’t hide the evidence to your battle with the Fell from me. I found the bodies, sloppy work. Let me work for you.”
He looked at me for a few seconds and looked at Valanicia, “Tell me how to kill your father and you will live.”
“No one knows how.”
Kahan agreed, “He has been battered with swords, mace, arrows, nothing seems to work. Maybe burning would work but none are willing to try it. Maybe only Izrador’s will alone could murder him. We don’t know.”
“You could overtake the port, seal father up in a coffin and put him in the Pelurian Sea,” I suggested.
“I wouldn’t have your father alive, wishing me ill. No, I want him dead or nothing. Your father’s death is the only thing you could give me,” he told me frankly.
“I was working towards such a goal in the Port. Let me go back and I will continue my work.”
The newly crowned Oruk chieftan laughed, “No, it is foolery to allow an Esben to return to their father’s arms. You know too much.”
I pointed at Val, “She was nursemaid to many of father’s wardens. She knows all of the in’s and out’s of Port Esben. If the Port is what you want, she is too valuable a tool to throw away towards Steel Hill.”
Considering my words carefully, the Oruk Chief let us go, sent us back to our spots in the middle of the camp.
As we were taken back to our guards, the Shaman were summoned to the chief. Our words and deeds were having an effect on Kahan. Perhaps Steel Hill wasn’t to be our fate after all.
Our New Lot in Life
The Oruk had a long, loud and brutal meeting with his Shaman and war council. After the meeting he called us to his tent again. He ate fruit while he told us our fate.
“Sammuel is the prince of Bastion. He is Sarcosan, an effete southerner. A few years ago we delivered a Black Oak to him, as we did to your father. When she spurned his advances, he burned the oak to the ground. None should throw away a gift from Izrador like that.
“We wish him ill.
“I will give you a few slaves, criminals to be sent to Steel Hill. There is an abandoned tower just east of Bastion and there you will roust. I want you to make it clear that Sammuel is unfit to rule Bastion.
“Bastion is where most of the food is grown. Gruel is sent from there to both the Kaladrun and Erethor fronts. Attack his supplies, attack his crops. Destroy whatever you must so that he seems weak and inept. I want him destroyed but not killed.
“What supplies you can, keep. I will tell you of certain caches where you can hide the grain for the Oruk.
“Do not look surprised, most insurgents are merely tools of one minion of Shadow against the other; there are no true heroes left. It will be a hard life but it will be far better than Steel Hill.”
Not having any other choice, we accepted.
Soon thereafter a party of Goblin Slavers met the Oruk camp. I had never seen Goblins like these, self-sufficient, confident and larger than the Orc-pests I knew. They weren’t happy to give over slaves meant for Steel Hill and Kahan got into a lengthy argument with the Goblin leader. The leader didn’t want to anger Steel Hill’s Legate but when Kahan offered to eradicate an enemy of the Goblin, a deal was struck.
Those left with us were a raggedy band. Together we made our way to the abandoned tower Kahan had mentioned.
Story Post #25
Hunting the Channeler
Simnote, the demon, wore the hawk like a cloak, sat easily inside its body. The hawk perched on my wrist, hawking glove keeping my hand from being scratched by its claws. Astirax are special demons, bred by Izrador to smell magic, sniff out Channelers, track magic items. It is illegal to use or own magic of any kind and the Astirax help the Legates enforce the Shadow’s laws.
Simnote was my Legate-brother's Astirax.
Father was waiting for us in the courtyard, his three wardens carrying this throne. “Karhoun, take your sister with you. She wishes to be a shield-maiden of some kind and a hunt like this will do her good, show her what life on the trail is all about.”
Valanicia stood there, studded leather armor, bastard sword across her back, hair in a tight braid, Esben family crest on her shield. She didn’t look scared or worried, just as cold and unfeeling as ever.
I asked, “Father, when we find it what would you have us do with it?”
Father’s tight face almost lightened, “If bringing the criminal back is possible, do so. We haven’t had a good public execution for the peasants since that heretic Legate, well over two weeks ago. But if not…”
Six Orcs joined us. Their leader introduced himself as Diegal, from the Shunned Mother Clan. Diegal had broad shoulders and the tattoos of the Shunned Mother, three parallel black bars on the face. Others in the party had the bars on the chest, another traditional spot for ink.
Val and I both managed to keep up with what Diegal called a, “Good Orcish pace.” At night we went to bed sore, the Orcs offering to keep watch because their eyes were so acute in the darkness. In the morning Diegal would say, “You sun is here. We can travel now,” and off we would go.
We knew nothing about the Channeler we hunted. Simnote had caught scent of her casting a spell in Port Esben and she had perhaps a six hour head start on us. She was leaving trail sign that I was finding as we followed Simnote, the hawk in the sky.
On the third day I found evidence of the girl on horseback. An abandoned barn had housed her steed, which she came across with its feed and tack all waiting for her. Suddenly, this smelled like something other than just a random girl on the run. This could be the work of insurgnts. Diegal seemed unworried.
Later that day I found her trail again and evidence of a battle with Fell. Perhaps a score of the Fell had come upon her and she had managed to ride through unscathed. I had assumed that the hungry dead had eaten the bodies of those struck down but still, the field looked almost too clean.
Using what little authority I had, I stopped the hunting party and searched for bodies. Diegal grumbled at this but he didn’t wish to push the issue and allowed me to look for a while.
I came upon the bodies, weighted with rocks in their bellies and thrown in a waist-high stream. The stream was cold but the evidence was colder: Vardatch cleaves had downed these Fell. The marks on their skulls were unmistakable.
“Diegal,” I called, “Look at these marks.”
He looked and stroked his tusks, “So, what is it you want me to see, human, we are running low on your precious light.”
“These are Vardatch cleaves. Do insurgents use Vardatch?”
Diegal looked carefully between me and my sister, “Insurgents use whatever they can come across,” and he stomped away. My sister’s shrewd eyes caught what I had missed.
While I was at Theros Obsidia, learning to track, ambush and listen to the woods my sister was still at Port Esben. She learned to fight, as all Esbens are taught but she also learned to listen to the intentions of liars just like I listen to the northlands trail. She came to me later, when the Orcs were all together, discussing the finding of the bodies and Simnote was finding a new body, not wanting to be struck down by an insurgent arrow in a frail hawk.
“Brother, he is lying…about the Vardatch, who knows what else,” she said, still watching the distant Orcs.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Slowly and solemnly, she nodded and then added, “If he is lying about this, who knows what else might be false. If something else is false, who knows if Orengar knew of it when he sent us. Sometime’s wrong.”
Why can’t it just be a hunt, a nice simple hunt? My family spoils everything.
I nodded and said, “Good eyes, sister.”
Simnote crashed through the brush in a new horse body, a dappled grey steed, with blazing red eyes of the Astirax. Val’s legs, never having gone this far from Port Esben, were hurting from our Orcish pace and Simnote, noticing her strained hamstring, offered for her to ride on him. She accepted, smart woman, my sister. Pride might have made me turn that offer down but my sister took her rest and rode the demon’s back for a day.
There were three keeps in the Fortress Wall that the Channeler could have been heading towards. One keep was controlled by a Legate, another was held by an Oruk, the third was abandoned. This abandoned keep was the easternmost and so we traveled east and this tactic kept us on her trail.
My sister pointed out, “That abandoned keep, its name is Karhoun Keep, brother.”
The ancestor whose name I hold saw that keep built and manned it with his sons and cunning, keeping the Shadow at bay. What is there now? Would it mean anything for me to go there now?
We discussed the possibility of Simnote taking a message to one of the Shadow-controlled keeps in case we have to venture into Karhoun’s Keep. If she tries to enter into the deep underground, it will be best if Orcs are waiting for her if she evades us. Simnote agreed to take word but only as a last resort, as he said, “I haven’t lost her trail yet. She is gaining, though. I suggest that we lose a night of sleep, make a final push at a good pace. There will be a solid road up ahead that she will have to maneuver around to avoid patrols. We might overtake her while she is still on the trail.”
That evening we dined in the Northern Crossroads, a waypoint for supplies heading from Bastion, capitol of the North, to the Kaladrun and Erethor fronts. Orcs of every tribe were making their way through and slaves on their way to Steel Hill could be heard, moaning. Simnote was our living travel pass, speaking with Orcs who would know our business.
The road to Karhoun Keep wasn’t traveled frequently. Ruts were deep in it from carts that hadn’t been on this highway since the Third Age or more. All night we made our way and about two hours before dawn a horse nickered from the trail. We had found her.
I sent the Orcs ahead on the road to cut into the trail a mile ahead. I didn’t want her getting away by pushing her horse. Simnote offered to stay on the road in case she made it past all of us. Val and I pushed into the forest, quiet but not entirely silent. Hopefully, we would push the girl into the Orcs.
We found a field, about a mile around of tall, golden swordgrass, about chest high. It is too good a spot for an ambush, chest high grass and dark wood all around. In the middle of the field we saw her camp, ten yards of pushed down grass, with a horse grazing.
My loving sister offered to approach the girl, “Let me see if I can talk to her. I’ve been dealing with children all of my life.” Val went into the camp and the girl was sitting there, playing stones of all things.
The girl wasn’t eight years old…if that. She said, “Hi, are you the ones they’re looking for?”
Val responded, “No, you are the one we’re looking for. Are you okay out here?”
As frightening as a Manticore’s roar the little girl giggled, “I’m fine, you’re in trouble, not me.”
Val shook her head, “We’re in trouble, why’s that?”
She giggled again, “You’ll see,” and as she said that Oruk warhorns sounded in the night.
We were entirely surrounded by an Oruk warband, maybe a hundred strong. In the night, eyes on the girl’s trail, I had missed them. Where was Diegal? Where was Simnote?
I thought about running, trying to cut my way through them, hoping they were spread thin.
Their chief announced himself, “Don’t run. Don’t bother. We will only cut you down if you should do anything that foolish. We aren’t going to kill you, Father Night, has better uses for you yet. I am Izrahi, chief of this band and instrument of Oruk revenge.”
I stood and faced him, “What is this about?”
“Foolish Esben, did you really think you and your sister could kill two of our number and not pay any price? We are the True Sons of Izrador and the murder of Oruk does not go unpunished.”
I looked him in the eye. He was six hands and a half of monstrous Oruk, covered in blackened plate with a two-handed Vardatch across his back and a spiked buckler on his arm. Still, I responded, “The chief of that band had no quarrel with us. He thanked us for taking the weak out of his party.”
The Oruk spat with anger, “That chief knew damned well that he was in Port Esben and knew what kind of man your father is. No, the only way to bring justice to an Esben is to draw them away from their father’s keep. Let me assure you, daddy isn’t here to save you this time, Esben-spawn.”
Val was quiet. She sat next to the child, who was unfazed, still playing stones. Something about that child was bringing out the maternal in Valanicia. It was hard to picture Val as the girl who turned in Beatrice to father for hanging, only a week or so ago.
To no one in particular I said, “This entire hunt was a ruse.” Val nodded in agreement and Izrahi only smiled, a wide tusk-filled grin. Did Orengar know? Did the Orcs know? Did Elaylee know?
Keep on task, Karhoun. There is an Oruk here with a Vardatch as long as a man who means to do you harm. I looked at him, with the full might of his Oruk warband behind all around us and said, “What now?”
“Now we fight. You Northers were once fond of trial by combats. If you win, you gain control of this Oruk warband. If I win, we will heal you, not wanting your father to be able to track you down in death. You will die a terrible death in the bowels of Steel Hill, digging out iron for the Shadow. You will die deep under the earth, far from home. You will die for nothing.”
We used the circle of the girl’s camp as a battle ring. His first two shots took me on one shoulder and then took me on the other. He was a fine combatant and when I sought to counter-attack all I found was Oruk mail to greet me. His next attack I blocked but the shot vibrated my sword and the shot rang up my arm. Again I countered and shot under his mail, scoring a light blow in between the mail greaves at his elbow.
One shot is all I wanted, hoping that father’s poison was still on m blade, hoping that was enough. Father had said, “May this dagger’s touch give your enemies long nights of agony and suffering,” but this time his poison was put on my sword. It was the closest thing my father gave to affection and I hoped it would be enough.
I don’t quite recall the blow that drove me to the ground. But out I went. It seems I cannot do battle against the Shadow’s minions without giving my requisite blood to the earth or stream.
Hopefully, the poison would be enough.
Prisoner of the Oruk
I awoke to Oruk shamans surrounding me, gibbering to one another in their Black Tongue. Val could understand them, having picked up Black Tongue and Orcish in Port Esben.
“Why does the chief save this pale Northerthing?”
“Because the chief is wise and will not bring the Immortal’s wrath down on us just yet.”
“Feh, his father wouldn’t have feared any man, even one who Father Night gives a long life.”
“His father is dead.”
I looked up and the Shaman-women walked away, not giving my a second glance. My mail and my weapons were taken off of me. Val was also armor and weaponless. I could feel my Dryad’s leaf and my Manticore’s claw under my coat, next to my skin.
Both Val and I were fixed with two guards who watched us like a Dragon stares at its hoard. If one of them had to do business in the forest, another was sent to take his place. There were always two on each of us, no exceptions…ever.
Val had watched the camp carefully noticing how the Chief had camped away from our view. She remarked casually to her captors, “If he dies of the poison on my brother’s blade, will my brother gain control of the Oruk band?”
Her guards looked at each other and one of them quickly called for a replacement. Within the hour ,the current chief, Izrahi, was called out into trial by combat by some walking Oruk monster by the name of Kahan.
Kahan dispatched of the poison-weakened Izrahi as quickly as Izrahi dispatched of me. After the battle, Kahan called his prisoners to his tent.
“I called you here to thank you. It was your words, Shield-Maiden, that prompted me to battle and for that I give thanks.”
I responded quickly, “You are wasting our potential here. Why send us to Steel Hill when you can have us as scouts.”
He shook his head, “I have my share of scouts, Esben.”
“They couldn’t hide the evidence to your battle with the Fell from me. I found the bodies, sloppy work. Let me work for you.”
He looked at me for a few seconds and looked at Valanicia, “Tell me how to kill your father and you will live.”
“No one knows how.”
Kahan agreed, “He has been battered with swords, mace, arrows, nothing seems to work. Maybe burning would work but none are willing to try it. Maybe only Izrador’s will alone could murder him. We don’t know.”
“You could overtake the port, seal father up in a coffin and put him in the Pelurian Sea,” I suggested.
“I wouldn’t have your father alive, wishing me ill. No, I want him dead or nothing. Your father’s death is the only thing you could give me,” he told me frankly.
“I was working towards such a goal in the Port. Let me go back and I will continue my work.”
The newly crowned Oruk chieftan laughed, “No, it is foolery to allow an Esben to return to their father’s arms. You know too much.”
I pointed at Val, “She was nursemaid to many of father’s wardens. She knows all of the in’s and out’s of Port Esben. If the Port is what you want, she is too valuable a tool to throw away towards Steel Hill.”
Considering my words carefully, the Oruk Chief let us go, sent us back to our spots in the middle of the camp.
As we were taken back to our guards, the Shaman were summoned to the chief. Our words and deeds were having an effect on Kahan. Perhaps Steel Hill wasn’t to be our fate after all.
Our New Lot in Life
The Oruk had a long, loud and brutal meeting with his Shaman and war council. After the meeting he called us to his tent again. He ate fruit while he told us our fate.
“Sammuel is the prince of Bastion. He is Sarcosan, an effete southerner. A few years ago we delivered a Black Oak to him, as we did to your father. When she spurned his advances, he burned the oak to the ground. None should throw away a gift from Izrador like that.
“We wish him ill.
“I will give you a few slaves, criminals to be sent to Steel Hill. There is an abandoned tower just east of Bastion and there you will roust. I want you to make it clear that Sammuel is unfit to rule Bastion.
“Bastion is where most of the food is grown. Gruel is sent from there to both the Kaladrun and Erethor fronts. Attack his supplies, attack his crops. Destroy whatever you must so that he seems weak and inept. I want him destroyed but not killed.
“What supplies you can, keep. I will tell you of certain caches where you can hide the grain for the Oruk.
“Do not look surprised, most insurgents are merely tools of one minion of Shadow against the other; there are no true heroes left. It will be a hard life but it will be far better than Steel Hill.”
Not having any other choice, we accepted.
Soon thereafter a party of Goblin Slavers met the Oruk camp. I had never seen Goblins like these, self-sufficient, confident and larger than the Orc-pests I knew. They weren’t happy to give over slaves meant for Steel Hill and Kahan got into a lengthy argument with the Goblin leader. The leader didn’t want to anger Steel Hill’s Legate but when Kahan offered to eradicate an enemy of the Goblin, a deal was struck.
Those left with us were a raggedy band. Together we made our way to the abandoned tower Kahan had mentioned.
Similar Threads
