The night was windy, very windy. Gusts reached over fifty miles an
hour. The poorly thatched roofs of the Cazmarae tribe, along with the rest
of the houses, were being blown to pieces. The newly instructed main hall
of the tribe, located in the center of the camp, was the only building that
could withstand the wind. It was built to hold against the workings of
war, wind would not be a problem.
The great hall, called Cazmerit, looked more like a church from the inside. There was a stage with a lectern on it. Before the stage lay twenty dual rows of pews. Standing behind the lectern was the chief of the tribe. He was a common person. He stood almost six feet tall, weighed about three hundred eighty pounds. He adorned the furs of the deer native to the region, underneath the fur was a breast plate and cured leather breeches. He wore no boots, and had a helmet made from the hip bone of a deer, with fur covering the rather unsightly looking piece of the deer's skeletal structure. His skin was a rough, leathery green. He had rusty- red eyes, and his unusually long canines, a sign of supremacy in the tribe (much the reason he was the chief) came past his lower lip.
"We must come to order!" yelled Grisraw the chief as he banged the small wooden hammer on the lectern.
The crowd of over a hundred went silent with those authoritative words; there were important matters to discuss.
"Hem, stand before me!" came the low, gruff voice of the chief.
A five foot orc, dressed quite the same way Grisraw was, stood up from the pews and ran up to the base of the stage. He kneeled, silently.
"Hem, your job is to take the women and children back to the Apindara Valley!"
"Hail Chief!" exclaimed the midget orc in a tenor voice as he rose and turned around. All boys under the age of thirteen and women were already rising and preparing to leave. Orcs lived to be about sixty, which wasn't too shabby. Most males grew to full height and weight at about age twenty-three, women around twenty.
"Lesfrau, stand before me!"
An orc of about nine hundred pounds, carrying a two hundred eighty pound, six foot long log of wood, who stood almost eight feet himself, stood up. He was the largest of the fighters in the Cazmarae tribe. Grisraw was the chief because he was the smartest; he was by far not the strongest or the toughest.
Lesfrau ran to the base of the stage and kneeled, silently.
"You will-"
"Die. Quite like the others."
All the orcs took their weapons in hand. A few roared in anger. All were surprised.
Just then a figure faded into the visible spectrum. It was a frail man of about five and a half feet. He had long black hair, pulled back in a pony tail. He wore blue robes, common attire for the servants of magic in the human kingdom. His eyes glowed white, meaning magic was welling up inside him: magic to be used. A staff was held in his right hand. It was gnarled and wooden, with a clear sphere on the top.
"Yes, sadly, all of you. All of you who have killed thousands of humans, raped hundreds of women, and defiled tons of crops. All of you will pay for the evils you have committed!"
As those words were said, the man grasped his staff with both hands. The whiteness from his eyes glowed brighter and the sphere became translucent. "All of you will burn in the filthy painful everlasting fiery hell!"
The brick roof above began to shake. Bricks fell from the sturdy ceiling. Stones of thirty pounds and more crashed upon warriors and mothers alike. Screams echoed throughout the hall as the sound of crunching bone and ripping sinew filled the scene. Two in this entire structure were safe. The wizard, and an orc-child who had hidden at the first sight of the human. There was a trap door in the back of the hall all the way to the right. There, at age fifteen, lay the orc. He could hear the screams of his mother, of his brother, they were all sentenced to death by this human.
Once the bricks ran out, the wizard screamed at the top of his lungs: "And may your evil heart explode into a thousand pieces!"
His words seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was as if a thousand mean surrounded the hall and screamed in perfect unison.
As those harsh words were spoken, orcs' chest began to explode. Ribs, lungs, stomachs, everything flew across the inside of the hall. Blood poured from the gaping wounds found in every orc. Cries were silenced as their heart seemed to leap out of their very chest. Blood seeped through the planks; dark, rich, thick blood oozed onto the skin of the boy. The revulsion welled up inside him. He turned to the side and vomited up his roast pork dinner.
After a few minutes, the scene was over; and the human faded once again into the spectrum of invisible light before leaving. He tipped-toed through the macabre pilings of ravaged orc bodies.
As for the boy, he cried himself to sleep. When he awoke, he got out of the trap door, out of the hall. He stared over the windblown trees of the coniferous forest into the sky. The sun was almost overhead.
The boy was now a man. He had resolve, he had a quest.
The man would die for what he did, and he, Gustrau, would be the one who would do it.
End Part One
The great hall, called Cazmerit, looked more like a church from the inside. There was a stage with a lectern on it. Before the stage lay twenty dual rows of pews. Standing behind the lectern was the chief of the tribe. He was a common person. He stood almost six feet tall, weighed about three hundred eighty pounds. He adorned the furs of the deer native to the region, underneath the fur was a breast plate and cured leather breeches. He wore no boots, and had a helmet made from the hip bone of a deer, with fur covering the rather unsightly looking piece of the deer's skeletal structure. His skin was a rough, leathery green. He had rusty- red eyes, and his unusually long canines, a sign of supremacy in the tribe (much the reason he was the chief) came past his lower lip.
"We must come to order!" yelled Grisraw the chief as he banged the small wooden hammer on the lectern.
The crowd of over a hundred went silent with those authoritative words; there were important matters to discuss.
"Hem, stand before me!" came the low, gruff voice of the chief.
A five foot orc, dressed quite the same way Grisraw was, stood up from the pews and ran up to the base of the stage. He kneeled, silently.
"Hem, your job is to take the women and children back to the Apindara Valley!"
"Hail Chief!" exclaimed the midget orc in a tenor voice as he rose and turned around. All boys under the age of thirteen and women were already rising and preparing to leave. Orcs lived to be about sixty, which wasn't too shabby. Most males grew to full height and weight at about age twenty-three, women around twenty.
"Lesfrau, stand before me!"
An orc of about nine hundred pounds, carrying a two hundred eighty pound, six foot long log of wood, who stood almost eight feet himself, stood up. He was the largest of the fighters in the Cazmarae tribe. Grisraw was the chief because he was the smartest; he was by far not the strongest or the toughest.
Lesfrau ran to the base of the stage and kneeled, silently.
"You will-"
"Die. Quite like the others."
All the orcs took their weapons in hand. A few roared in anger. All were surprised.
Just then a figure faded into the visible spectrum. It was a frail man of about five and a half feet. He had long black hair, pulled back in a pony tail. He wore blue robes, common attire for the servants of magic in the human kingdom. His eyes glowed white, meaning magic was welling up inside him: magic to be used. A staff was held in his right hand. It was gnarled and wooden, with a clear sphere on the top.
"Yes, sadly, all of you. All of you who have killed thousands of humans, raped hundreds of women, and defiled tons of crops. All of you will pay for the evils you have committed!"
As those words were said, the man grasped his staff with both hands. The whiteness from his eyes glowed brighter and the sphere became translucent. "All of you will burn in the filthy painful everlasting fiery hell!"
The brick roof above began to shake. Bricks fell from the sturdy ceiling. Stones of thirty pounds and more crashed upon warriors and mothers alike. Screams echoed throughout the hall as the sound of crunching bone and ripping sinew filled the scene. Two in this entire structure were safe. The wizard, and an orc-child who had hidden at the first sight of the human. There was a trap door in the back of the hall all the way to the right. There, at age fifteen, lay the orc. He could hear the screams of his mother, of his brother, they were all sentenced to death by this human.
Once the bricks ran out, the wizard screamed at the top of his lungs: "And may your evil heart explode into a thousand pieces!"
His words seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was as if a thousand mean surrounded the hall and screamed in perfect unison.
As those harsh words were spoken, orcs' chest began to explode. Ribs, lungs, stomachs, everything flew across the inside of the hall. Blood poured from the gaping wounds found in every orc. Cries were silenced as their heart seemed to leap out of their very chest. Blood seeped through the planks; dark, rich, thick blood oozed onto the skin of the boy. The revulsion welled up inside him. He turned to the side and vomited up his roast pork dinner.
After a few minutes, the scene was over; and the human faded once again into the spectrum of invisible light before leaving. He tipped-toed through the macabre pilings of ravaged orc bodies.
As for the boy, he cried himself to sleep. When he awoke, he got out of the trap door, out of the hall. He stared over the windblown trees of the coniferous forest into the sky. The sun was almost overhead.
The boy was now a man. He had resolve, he had a quest.
The man would die for what he did, and he, Gustrau, would be the one who would do it.
End Part One