seasong
First Post
Vignette: Olgah's Journey
Squatting on a rock outside her cave, Olgah watched young orcs boast and wrestle. She was bored. Prey was plentiful. Slaves were plentiful. Beautiful waterfalls and pretty boulders were plentiful. Young couples were plentiful, and when Fall came, babies would be plentiful.
Need for Olgah, however, was not plentiful. Every morning, she petitioned the mountain spirits for a beautiful day. Every evening, she petitioned them for a safe night. But there were no daring ventures to bargain with spirits over, no dangerous spirit quests required of her. Even her former slaves were gone, so she did not need to study, and reading the little mage's writing was hard to motivate for. She found herself wishing the spirits would say no to her daily petitions, just once.
It's unlikely that her wishful thinking had anything to do with what happened next, but she felt deep, bone-aching guilt nonetheless. It was what her tribe was named for, after all.
Heedless of the shamaness' feelings of sudden guilt, vast wings shadowed part of the valley floor, and the dragon was upon them.
To their credit, many Bunahken were fearless. Fewer than a quarter of them fled before the great wyrm's majestic visage, and more than half retained enough of their minds to cast their spears at its flanks. Some of those spears even pierced the great hide, like tiny needles pricking the flesh.
The dragon roared, and a gout of flame wiped out three warbands, leaving naught but charred meat, still standing upright, spears at ready. The dragon landed as it breathed, and a dozen orcs were crushed beneath, while others were smeared by a swing of the great tail.
Mere seconds had passed, and the orcs were already routing.
As they fled, the trees closed in, blocking escape. The prey, so plentiful, now fought back, gouging with horns and crushing with hooves. And tiny, poisoned arrows rained from invisible attackers in the trees, bringing with them paralysis and death.
As the Bunahken panicked and broke, the Uhkamah tribe, wrongly punished for Bunahken sins against the forest, mustered their remaining numbers and flooded into the valley, slaughtering indiscriminately, to appease the dragon's rage.
By evening, no Bunahken stood in the valley, of any age or gender. Of the slaves, some had escaped in the chaos, to find their way through the wilderness, perhaps to home; others were recaptured by their new masters; many were dead, slaughtered with the Bunahken.
The dragon, kobolds and Uhkamah left at nightfall. Corpses filled the valley, meat for predators and scavengers. Where the dragon had landed, some sixty charred bodies continued to hold the blackened remains of their spears in battle stance.
From her cave, where she had hidden with Kestra and a few young orcs as soon as she realized the futility of fighting, Olgah looked over the scene and wept freely.
Squatting on a rock outside her cave, Olgah watched young orcs boast and wrestle. She was bored. Prey was plentiful. Slaves were plentiful. Beautiful waterfalls and pretty boulders were plentiful. Young couples were plentiful, and when Fall came, babies would be plentiful.
Need for Olgah, however, was not plentiful. Every morning, she petitioned the mountain spirits for a beautiful day. Every evening, she petitioned them for a safe night. But there were no daring ventures to bargain with spirits over, no dangerous spirit quests required of her. Even her former slaves were gone, so she did not need to study, and reading the little mage's writing was hard to motivate for. She found herself wishing the spirits would say no to her daily petitions, just once.
It's unlikely that her wishful thinking had anything to do with what happened next, but she felt deep, bone-aching guilt nonetheless. It was what her tribe was named for, after all.
Heedless of the shamaness' feelings of sudden guilt, vast wings shadowed part of the valley floor, and the dragon was upon them.
To their credit, many Bunahken were fearless. Fewer than a quarter of them fled before the great wyrm's majestic visage, and more than half retained enough of their minds to cast their spears at its flanks. Some of those spears even pierced the great hide, like tiny needles pricking the flesh.
The dragon roared, and a gout of flame wiped out three warbands, leaving naught but charred meat, still standing upright, spears at ready. The dragon landed as it breathed, and a dozen orcs were crushed beneath, while others were smeared by a swing of the great tail.
Mere seconds had passed, and the orcs were already routing.
As they fled, the trees closed in, blocking escape. The prey, so plentiful, now fought back, gouging with horns and crushing with hooves. And tiny, poisoned arrows rained from invisible attackers in the trees, bringing with them paralysis and death.
As the Bunahken panicked and broke, the Uhkamah tribe, wrongly punished for Bunahken sins against the forest, mustered their remaining numbers and flooded into the valley, slaughtering indiscriminately, to appease the dragon's rage.
By evening, no Bunahken stood in the valley, of any age or gender. Of the slaves, some had escaped in the chaos, to find their way through the wilderness, perhaps to home; others were recaptured by their new masters; many were dead, slaughtered with the Bunahken.
The dragon, kobolds and Uhkamah left at nightfall. Corpses filled the valley, meat for predators and scavengers. Where the dragon had landed, some sixty charred bodies continued to hold the blackened remains of their spears in battle stance.
From her cave, where she had hidden with Kestra and a few young orcs as soon as she realized the futility of fighting, Olgah looked over the scene and wept freely.
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