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Lashka 
Greenhorn
Joined: 29 Sep 2011
Status: Offline
Points: 89
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 Posted: 21 Nov 2011 at 04:42 |
Orm Tullim felt feverish next to the burning embers in the
brazier, which barely illuminated anything in the room. He could make out the
edge of a dais a few feet away, and was aware of a restless shape at his side
which he took to be Rhaga. There were other shapes too, shapes that crawled
along the walls and at knee level, which he feared too much to look at
directly.
"Vengeance?" The Old Mother
Redbones growled in the darkness. "What do crusaders know of vengeance?"
Orm Tullim's eyes strained against the darkness. He knew
with uncomfortable certainty that the shadows were moving around him. "I know that Lashka deposed you; I know you
must hate her."
There was silence for a moment; Tullim struggled with the
hope that he might have reached her. Then she laughed cruelly. "You humans
think that we are mere savages, so easily moved. You think that many of my kind
cannot speak your language because we are too simple..."
He jumped as something hissed in his ear, so close that its
breath raised the little hairs at the base of its neck. "But we listen, from
the darkness, Orm Tullim. We watch as you murder out of fear, as you let the strong
starve for a bit of gold and let the weak thrive simply because the one that had
borne them wears it."
"It is is not the Uruk way," she said, "to let the weak burden the tribe."
He made a noise of protest, which was quickly choked back in
the soot and ash. The Old Mother laughed again; this time the sound was
distant, in the direction of the dais.
"How savage of me," she said, turning the word into a jape, "not
to clear the air." There was movement by the dais.
"Open the vents, and stoke the fire," the Old Mother called,
and the shadows moved to comply.
There was a great grinding sound like gears, and he startled
as a blast of icy air hit him from above, accompanied by a dry leathery sound
like the wings of a giant bat. The room was gradually bathed in silver moonlight. As the room brightened, he
began to make out details.
The moving shadows were kobolds – dozens of them. They
crawled over every surface, tending glittering orbs that sat in niches set into
the walls. Copper orbs, which sat on the lower tiers, were by far the most
numerous, though there were silver and gold there as well. He took a step
towards them in fascination.
As one, the kobolds turned on him and snarled; he
hastily took a step back.
Her attendants,
Tullim realized. That meant she still had power in the camp. Perhaps he could
use that. As the smoke cleared he turned towards the dais, where he assumed she
had seated herself. There was a throne there that looked like it had been
fashioned out of iron and a giant's pelvic bones. And seated on that throne
was-
He fought the urge to scream. "Am I not fair, Orm Tullim?" the Old Mother said mockingly.
Edited by Lashka - 21 Nov 2011 at 04:50
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Aurordan
Postmaster
Player Council - Ambassador
Joined: 21 Sep 2011
Location: United States
Status: Offline
Points: 982
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Posted: 16 Nov 2011 at 09:12 |
This is awesome. Even though your representation of humans is a bit...skewed.  Seriously though, I'm hooked.
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Lashka
Greenhorn
Joined: 29 Sep 2011
Status: Offline
Points: 89
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Posted: 15 Nov 2011 at 00:07 |
"Vengeance."
Lashka glowered at the elf seated opposite her. "I wouldn't call it that."
The elf looked at Lashka with deceptively calm eyes and took a small sip from the goblet next to her. "Of course you wouldn't." The elf considered the amber liquid in the firelight. "An exceptional vintage."
Lashka reciprocated with a sip from the iron goblet by her own hand. "It should be; you gave it to me."
A gift in more stable times. Before the White War and the War of the Six Armies had consumed the nation, before discord had been sown like salt into the earth across tribes and races both.
She had had no part in these conflicts, but she had heard the stories from her horde-mates and passers-by, orcs that went off to fight as sell-swords in the great wars; most had returned in leather satchels and rattled as they made their ways into the pit.
"Ah, yes." Myr said softly. Lashka could tell her thoughts had run a similar course. Myr has learned these lessons too, Lashka reminded herself, Else she would not be here.
Myr studied her face. "I understand your need to avenge your tribe, Lashka. But do not forget you have other responsibilities."
"My lady, I assure you, my only goal is to retake my birthright. The Silver Chain are loved by no one. Least of all the Harmless Ones. And there is no love lost with the Lannigolds; the Silver Chain's feud with the Triumvirate is equally well-known."
Still, Lashka was forced to concede Myr had a point. Lashka stroked a scar along her cheek like a memory-stone, a token from a wolf-pup that she had once thought harmless.
And the Harmless Ones were no pups, but wolves grown, a full pack. It was wise to respect that which could kill you.
Here too their thoughts met. "We will not be able to assist you in this." Myr said. "If you fail, it will be on you."
"I understand, my Lady," gods this will be hard, "...and I humbly ask the forgiveness of my brethren for not asking their permission in retaking my land."
Inwardly, Lashka seethed; to ask forgiveness was to show weakness, to submit. But it had to be done, for her peoples sake. And as bad as it was to have to seek the pardon of an elf, at least it was Myr, whom she respected.
As much as an Orc could respect an elf.
"Humility and courtesy? From an Orc?" Myr seemed amused by the idea. "Now I have lived long enough to see everything; truly this world is a wonder. But I will carry your sentiments back to the others."
Lashka paused, the courtesies of elves and humans fragile and newborn to her. The speech was long and tiresome, but she began to see the benefits of it. "Thank you, my Lady...may I assume I have the permission of the others to drive the crusaders out of my lands."
Myr inclined her head in acquiescence. "You may. But remember that you are more than your horde, Lashka. We know you understand this." Myr rose purposefully from her chair. "I must ride tonight; the others gather at my castle."
To hear of our outcome, Lashka heard in her voice. Lashka growled with pleasure, feeling as if a dangerous moment had passed between them.
"Good Hunting," the elf said. Then she was gone, leaving Lashka alone with the wind against the old stones.
Edited by Lashka - 15 Nov 2011 at 02:47
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Lashka
Greenhorn
Joined: 29 Sep 2011
Status: Offline
Points: 89
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Posted: 14 Nov 2011 at 17:55 |
If the antechamber was a cathedral of the damned, Orm Tullim thought, then I am surely in hell.
The vault beyond the door was immense, easily three stories high. An immense iron brazier dominated the center of the room, and even from a distance Tullim could feel the heat roil off of it. The air was full of ash, which settled everywhere; the smoke seemed to be pulled upward by a series of circular vents overhead.
"You are late with my supper, Rhaga, son of Rhugash, son of Jorgo, son of Jormu of the Lesser Line of Korgath the Half-Hand." The voice was mocking, but strong, like the rustling of a thousand bat's wings.
"Apologies, Old-Mother."
"Let's see what you have brought me." There was a rustling sound amongst the shadows. "Hmm. Old meat. Stringy most likely. And not dead yet."
Tullim realized with horror they were talking about him. "Now wait a minute-"
The shadow laughed, low and cruel. "Settle yourself, Silver-Chain. I won't cut my teeth on you just yet." There was a small pause. "Why are you here?"
Tullim frowned. "Rhaga said you wanted to see me."
"I did; Answer my question."
"I am here to see you, Old-Mother." Tullim said cautiously.
A long sigh. "The first answer is given. I ask you: What do you offer?"
A gust of chamber air fanned smoke into his face and he coughed. Orm Tullim thought, his hand drifting to his neck for comfort. "The only thing I have of value is my chain. It is a reminder of the unending cycle of life and death, and the imperfection of my own flesh. It is not for sale."
Another sigh, like a poisonous asp. "You offer your faith; this is good."
The shadows moved again; was she circling around him.? Tullim looked to where Rhaga had been a moment ago, but he was gone, lost in the smoke and ash and darkness. He turned in the darkness, realizing how vulnerable he was.
So be it.
"Good; you realize your life is not yours to give." The voice was next to him, it was in his ear. He forced himself not to scream.
"The last question: What do you seek from the Eater of the Dead?"
Tullim did not pause for thought.
"Vengeance."
Edited by Lashka - 14 Nov 2011 at 22:56
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Lashka
Greenhorn
Joined: 29 Sep 2011
Status: Offline
Points: 89
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Posted: 10 Nov 2011 at 21:39 |
END OF CHAPTER ONE
Comments are welcome. Chapter 2 will start sometime over the weekend.
Celebcalen, thank you for your words of encouragement :)
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Lashka
Greenhorn
Joined: 29 Sep 2011
Status: Offline
Points: 89
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Posted: 10 Nov 2011 at 21:36 |
Death surrounded them.
Orm Tullim put a quavering hand to his face as he stood at the edge of an immense circular room in which there seemed to be no floor. He stood with the orc Rhaga and it was only by the flare of Rhaga's torch that he could make out any details. Though he could not see the other side of the room or the floor, it looked as if there was a wooden railing that encircled the room perhaps four feet in.
There was a low whistling sound; obviously the wind had gotten in somewhere, and the steady drip of water told him that water had gotten in as well.
In the grey darkness, Rhaga gave a throaty laugh. "I can smell fear, Orm Tullim" He seemed to be staring down at something in the floor.
"Light!"
It started so slowly that Tullim thought at first it was merely his eyes adjusting to the darkness. A ring of gold, creeping upwards, growing steadily brighter as it moved towards their feet.
As the room brightened, Tullim could see he was standing on a small ledge at the top of an immense pit. What he had taken for a rail was actually a square lift attached by a dry, worn rope to an iron wheel and a conveyor system.
Rhage motioned to the lift,"Come."
Tullim gripped the railing tightly as the lift descended. He could see shapes moving against the light below. "There must be hundreds of torches."
"Thousands," Rhaga said with obvious pride. "Fifty thousand of our greatest warriors lie here, those who gave their lives so that the people might endure. Their bones line the walls, and their spirits protect us. You have a similar custom," Rhaga said, "You bury your dead in the earth, or burn them."
Tullim shook his head. "Not like this. We let them rest intact. We do not defile their bodies and make a mockery of creation by building with their flesh."
Rhaga shrugged. "I could push you over the side, Orm Tullim. I could listen to you go - splat!" Rhaga slapped his palms together to emphasize his point. "And them I could leave your bones there for the rats to feed on, until there was nothing larger than a fingerbone."
Rhaga smiled' Tullim had the unpleasant feeling he was being appraised by a tiger. "How sacred would the body of Orm Tullim be then? Who would mourn him?"
"You're a monster."
Rhaga laughed. "What we do not eat, we use, Orm Tullim."
***
They descended the rest of the way in silence. It was the better part of an hour before Tullim once again felt the reassurance of stone beneath his feet. They stepped off the platform and into another hallway of bone. Unlike the other chambers, these skeletons seemed to be mostly intact, though their skulls were missing.
"Our Mother's Fists," Rhaga said, "Our strongest and bravest warriors."
Tullim looked ahead apprehensively. "What happened to their heads?"
Rhaga looked at him. "All in time, Orm Tullim. First you must meet with Old Mother Redbones."
"Old Mother Redbones?" Tullim suddenly realized that perhaps traveling with an Orc into the depths of a pit was not where he wanted to be.
"Our Before-Mother. The one who led us before Lashka came. Our Eater-of-the-Dead."
Rhaga smiled. "She has waited such a very long time for you..."
Edited by Lashka - 10 Nov 2011 at 21:36
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Lashka
Greenhorn
Joined: 29 Sep 2011
Status: Offline
Points: 89
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Posted: 10 Nov 2011 at 17:11 |
"Rhaga has taken the human to the Vault as you requested, Mother."
Lashka stared into the embers of the fire. "Thank you, Rhugash." She wondered what Tullim would make of the Vault of the Dead. She hoped that Old Mother Redbones made short work of him.
When she sensed Rhugash had not moved, she looked up. "Is there something else?"
"The outer scouts have reported a rider, coming from the southwest."
"From Bristol Faire, you mean. From her."
When Rhugash did not say anything, Lashka growled. Her nails etched a groove into the wooden surface of the table. She had hoped that she would not have to discuss her annexation of Circlet with her allies.
Apparently one of her horde had a loose tongue. She would have to make sure it was cut out.
"The gates are sealed for the night." Rhugash offered, "we could make them wait outside the city until morning."
"No." Lashka said, "We are Nightbringers. We have nothing to fear from the darkness." She will have most likely sent an Elf messenger...Gods of blood and fury, the smell...
Most Orcs had a highly developed sense of smell, which made them excellent trackers. It also meant that being around the other races, each of which had their own particular odors, was nigh unbearable.
Humans were the worst, usually over-perfumed and yet still smelling like a wet dog underneath. Dwarves were the most tolerable, smelling like barley and damp earth, nitre and sulphur - smells that evoked in most orcs nostalgia for the ancient times, when their ancestors had still dwelled in the deep places under the mountain.
Elves were another matter; they smelled overpoweringly like cloves and cinnamon, sweet, treacly odors that made the sinuses burn and roiled the stomach.
"Dog, earthy, or spicy?" she asked.
"Spicy, though not as sharp." Rhugash replied.
An old elf, then. Perhaps even The Lady herself? Lashka would be truly honored; though they were but a few leagues apart, the elf princess had never seen fit to darken her door. She decided that she would see her in the Twilight Hall.
She said as much to Rhugash "Have Hargg light the tower, and tell the kobolds to prepare food and wine for our guest."
"Should I send for Rhaga as well?"
Lashka shook her head. "Urgho, you, and I shall suffice; Hargg can keept the watch."
"As you wish, Mother."
Edited by Lashka - 10 Nov 2011 at 17:11
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Celebcalen
Forum Warrior
Joined: 18 May 2011
Status: Offline
Points: 288
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Posted: 09 Nov 2011 at 18:35 |
 Lashka wrote:
"Come; it is not good to keep the dead waiting." |
 This is scary lol
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Lashka
Greenhorn
Joined: 29 Sep 2011
Status: Offline
Points: 89
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Posted: 09 Nov 2011 at 17:09 |
Rhaga charged ahead into the darkness, which swallowed all but the brightest light from his torch in a matter of seconds.
Tullim stepped into the darkness. His fingers traced the oddly shaped walls of the tunnels, a series of short vertical grooves as if someone had chipped away at very dense rock.The air was sweeet and musty, filled with the smells of raw earth and old death. The floor, interesting enough, sounded tiled; he could hear the heels of their boots clicking against the squares.
After a few minutes, Tullim's eyes adjusted. "My gods," he breathed.
It was in a cathedral of the damned. What he had mistaken for grooved walls were actually femurs, set into the walls in tightly packed columns; the 'tiles' were actually vertabrae. He looked at a femur and was amazed to see that it was covered in runes from end to end. Every inch of the bone walls seemed to bear some marking.
He looked upward and was amazed to see a spiderweb of ulnae and radii and fingerbones, a thousand arms with their hands outstretched towards the heavens.
"You've brought me to an abattoir!" Tullim shouted accusingly.
The moving ball of light stopped. "These are the bones of my ancestors. Show some respect."
Tullim supposed he ought to take some comfort that they were orc bones. He hurried ahead until he was abreast with Rhaga. "Why have you brought me here?"
"Our Mother wished for you to understand. She said you needed to know what you were up against. You humans only see what you want to. You think we are merely warriors and savages, but we are much more than that.
It is said that it was the Orc that first tamed wolves, and taught the skill to man. Your dogs are a pale shadow of their ancestors, but we have continued to breed them true.
It was the Orc who first went into the deep places, and showed the Dwarves where to find the richest veins of ore, Orcs who taught the Elves about the heating of metal, and though they improved our lessons, we shall never let them forget to whom that debt is owed."
He paused before a heavy iron door. "Open it," he commanded.
Tullim was startled to see half a dozen kobolds emerge from hidden recesses along the walls. They pulled iron rings attached to the doors, slowly moving them inch by inch. Through the gap between the doors, Tullim could see torches blazing.
"Come; it is not good to keep the dead waiting."
Edited by Lashka - 10 Nov 2011 at 15:58
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Lashka
Greenhorn
Joined: 29 Sep 2011
Status: Offline
Points: 89
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Posted: 08 Nov 2011 at 03:44 |
"Men who curse their gods do not live long."
Orm Tullim started at the gravelly voice, which spoke a heavily-accented but passable version of Common. An Orc of small but powerful stature strode into the moonlight. For a moment, Tullim was amused to see that the Orc, like him, sported a piece of leather where his eye had been.
"Do the Orcs even have gods?"
The Orc grunted in amusement. "We worship the Night-Mother, as you do. We respect Great-Wolf, and Eater-of-Bones, and our dead are always with us. We remember the wisdom of the Great Mother, and we consult often the bones of our forefathers."
"Consult the bones?" Tullim said.
The Orc motioned. "Come. I show you."
*** The Orc led him through the muddy streets of the Orc city - a warren of low square buildins with white domed roofs that seemed pale and gray in the moonlight.
The Orc followed his gaze to the rooftops. "The bones of our enemies, ground to dust and mixed with clay. It keeps the day-fire off our skin, and keeps the inside warm at night."
Tullim swallowed. "I see."
The Orc smiled. "What we do not eat, we use. Come - Come, Orm Tullim."
They made their way through the narrow streets. The sounds of a bustling city washed over them -kobolds, and orcs and near-orcs and the massive true-born who painted white fists on their shields.
As they walked, it occurred to Tullim that he didn't know the Orc's name. "I am Rhaga, son of Rhugash," the orc said, as if it should mean something. When Orm made no sound of recognition, he shook his head in disgust. "I lead our people against your clan tomorrow."
Circlet. For the first time in weeks, Tullim thought about the thriving town they had built atop the orc ruins.
There were no more than three hundred souls living there; this city had easily ten times that number. How many were soldiers, he wondered?
What we do not eat, we use...Rhaga had said. The old man suppressed a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold. He walked in silence two steps behind Rhaga, aware that there was simply no place for him to escape to.
They stopped in front of a pair of stone circles set directly into the earth, one within the other. Tullim seemed to recall seeing a similar set the center of the ruins. He watched as Rhaga withdrew one of the stones seemingly at random.
To his surprise the earth opened up in front of them as a set of iron doors dropped open at their feet. Rhaga leaned down and withdrew an iron torch, which he lit from a nearby hearth-fire. The entrance of the opening was as black as deepest night.
"Come. We will speak with the ancestors."
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