Zorubaash steadied himself, as wave after wave of vertigo and nausea assailed him, calling his senses back from the brink of unconsciousness by sheer force of will. As his head began to clear, he looked around to determine his whereabouts. "Crom be damned!" he exclaimed, as a tormenting realization struck him. He was back in Zanarick's Tomb. Not wasting time with self-pity, he drank a potion in his bandolier to recover the health and vitality he had lost being flung into another plane of existence and through the myriad layers of wards that Zanarick had put around this place. He knew full well that an attack could come from any direction and death lurked around every corner, here. As he felt the elixir begin its work, he checked himself and thanked the Bear that he was not shackled as before. At this realization, he felt a surge of elation. He cursed his brash impulsiveness for getting him into the accursed place, again, but he thanked his lucky star that he was not bound and weakened. He almost lost his sense and laughed out loud, but something else caught his attention, and he crouched low, keeping to the shadows and perceiving through the winding passages and doorways to locate the sound.
Up ahead and around two more turns, he could hear the sounds of combat. He heard a deep bellow and the sound of rocks being dragged across the stone floor. He then heard the hisses and shrieks of an all too familiar creature. He broke one of his javelins in half, making two spikes as quietly as possible, and stuck them in his belt for quick use. As he drew nearer, he heard more roars and hissing, and his skin crawled, as memories washed over him. He had fought these creatures in the lower rooms of Zanarick's Tomb, then called Zanarick's Prison. He recalled their pale flesh, hard as stone. He remembered their sharp fangs and raking claws, like steel daggers. Mostly, he remembered their lust for blood. Vampires...yes, he knew them, and he knew how to kill them. For a short moment, he almost wished the Rats' newest member was with him, as his blade of sunlight would be extremely useful against these wretches, but he reminded himself that he was not the weakened and shackled warrior he had been the first time. He had defeated them then. He will destroy them now.
He neared the room with all the commotion, and he readied his weapons, drawing two javelins for a surprise attack. With his back against the doorway, he peered around the corner and into the room. There, he saw a large, humanoid creature, wearing only a loincloth and brandishing two large stones in his fists, flailing against a small swarm of the vile wretches Zorubaash knew to be vampires. He did not know this warrior, but he fought with fire and ferocity, and Zorubaash liked that. He pivoted around the doorway, loosing two javelins at a couple vampires he had spotted atop the person's back. The javelins struck one in the back and the other in the shoulder. They lost their balance and began to fall from his back. Zorubaash was already at a full sprint, with his mighty blade in hand and the cry of his people on his lips. All combatants turned, as a great, charging Half-Orc, covered in tattoos and wearing dragon bones barreled towards them, with a roar in common-tongue, "For da Forge!" The blade ignited with his rage, and as the two wounded vampires fell to the floor, Zorubaash plunged the burning blade into the first, setting it ablaze. He swung his blade upwards, bisecting the impaled vampire and cleaving the other's head and shoulder from its body, in a flaming arc. He stood behind the other combatant, in a defiant stance and bellowed with rage, "Zorubaash haz returned, h'you blood-sucking vorms, and death comes vith him!" The vampires recovered, quickly, from the sudden attack and rounded on the chieftain, seeking to rend his flesh and taste his blood. He impaled one, as it tried to pounce on him and threw his shoulder into the chest of another, sending it sprawling on the floor. Over his shoulder, he shouted to his new ally, "Fight for life or die in dis pit and become vun of dem!" He didn't see if the other person acknowledged his words, but he heard a shriek cut short with a wet, crushing sound, as one of the rocks in his ally's hands crushed the now prone vampire's head against the floor. "I fight!" he heard from behind, and it sounded like boulders rolling down a mountain.
The skirmish may have lasted only a few minutes, but to the victors it felt like hours. The vampires wouldn't stop their attack, as if they were starved for blood. It didn't matter to Zorubaash or his ally, however. The creatures would only taste fire and stone, as far as they were concerned. As the large brute slumped to the ground, Zorubaash sheathed his blade and drew the hammer and spikes, checking the downed vampires and finishing any who still clung to their undeath, with a hammered spike through their lifeless hearts. Satisfied that his work was done, Zorubaash wiped the spikes and tucked them back into his belt, turning to face his ally. "Good! H'you fight like varrior. Fire burns in h'your veins," he said in his heavily accented common-tongue. The man was still panting but looked up and replied, "I fight and live like warrior. Am Gurgnir of Lu...humph...just Gurgnir." There seemed to be a sense of loss in his voice, but Zorubaash chose to keep his spirits up and relish in the victory a little longer, as he said, "Vell met, mighty Gurgnir! I am Zorubaash, chieftain of Forgeborn. H'you are good ally in dis dark tomb." Gurgnir furrowed his brow and nodded sternly, saying, "Have not been called 'ally' since..." He trailed off, and his shoulders slumped, but not in defeat. Zorubaash saw fire behind his eyes, as if he was remembering painful things that fueled that fire. Zorubaash sighed, with a smile, saying, "But ally h'you are, now. Ally of Chief Zorubaash." He then pulled rations from his pouch and offered one to his ally. "Here! Iz food for strength. H'you have earnt dis and my tanks," he said, handing over the ration. Gurgnir took it in his massive hand, sniffed it, and nodded his gratitude.
As Gurgnir ate the ration, Zorubaash looked him over, checking for any deep wounds or grave injuries. He knew that warriors could sustain terrible wounds during combat that would go unchecked and then eventually succumb to the injuries, suddenly. In checking, he noticed that Gurgnir was not of the Goliath tribes, as he had assumed. He didn't bear the usual markings that he had been told about. Not only that, this man was easily nine or ten feet tall! While the hulking man was eating, Zorubaash sat next to him, with his back against the wall and the carnage laid before them. He unbuckled the blade and checked it for nicks and dents. Satisfied it was in excellent condition, he offered thanks to the Bear and to the Forge, beginning to put it away. "That mighty sword. You make it fire?" he heard his companion say. Zorubaash placed it back upon his lap, explaining, "Dis iz de pride ov my people, and I carry dem vith me, verever I go. I feed de blade vit my rage, and dey reply with de fire of dehr hearts." At this, Gurgnir snorted in disgust, but Zorubaash allowed him his ignorance, as he continued, "I did not alvays have people. Vonce I vas Bloodfist of de mountains, but I seek de Bear and de vorld beyond. He lead me avay from de clan. Iz good, too, bekause clan fall to corruption by prideful chief and dark sorcerer. Now I hear only few remain untainted." He looked down upon Lurog's Pride and recalled, "De Bear lead me on long journey and many adventures. Von day, I find mighty sword possessed by dark spirit, in belly of beast. I take dangerous blade, bekause I vant strength. Den Forgeborn find me and my friends. Dey see blade and say iz 'Lurog's Shame', zo dey take me to Forgemaster. She send me on qvest to reclaim other blade, 'Lurog's Pride'. I am strong, zo I take de blade and return to Forgeborn. Now dey call me 'Chief', hey? I am vanderer, far from people, and dey call me 'Chief'!" Zorubaash calmed, as he looked upon the blade with affection. "I did not know den, how much I missed a people to call mine. Now I am chief, and my people are strong. Dehr heart beats vithin de blade, and my heart beats for dem."
Gurgnir shifted, uncomfortably, and Zorubaash raised an eyebrow, as he said, "I don't see many giants in de vorld. Vot is von doink here, in Zanarick's Tomb." At this, Gurgnir shot a scowl at the chieftain, and asked, "How you know am giant?!" At this, Zorubaash roared with laughter. "My friend, h'you are titan in dis place! I am amazed h'you can fit!" He then cocked a wry smile in Gurgnir's direction and said, "And now h'you tell me dis." Gurgnir only frowned, realizing he had played right into the chieftain's trick. He let his head fall back against the stone wall, with a sigh, and said, "Am thrown in prison by other giants, as offering to Zanarick. Would not raid defenseless town. Giants say am weak...and weak must perish." Zorubaash furrowed his brow in disgust, saying, "Den dey are fools. H'you are strong. H'you show me dis, today. Refusing bad hunt iz not veakness. Defending odderz iz not dishonor." Gurgnir only stared at the vaulted ceiling above him, as he spoke, "Am hating giants for this. Giants' hearts black with greed. Am escaping prison, alive, and am seeking vengeance upon them." Zorubaash had finished securing the blade in its harness and then asked, "And vot den? Vengeance iz short path. Usually it end vith h'your own death." Gurgnir pondered the chieftain's words and then spoke, "Am making new clan and new people." At this, Zorubaash leapt to his feet and faced the sullen giant. "Good! Iz good! Fighting for new people iz good! Dat is vorthy journey. Come! Ve get out of tomb, and h'you show me dis. I show h'you my people, and h'you show me new people of Gurgnir...'Tomb Breaker'!" The giant only stared, in shock, at the exuberant chieftain, who was only a head taller than him, at this point. Zorubaash held out his hand to Gurgnir and said, "Come, my friend. Vee vill see dis path, together." Gurgnir's shock turned to a warm smile, and he rose to his feet, taking the chieftain's outstretched hand in his own massive grip, saying, "Aye, Chief Zorubaash of Forgeborn. We seeing this, together."
They just stood there, for a while, smiling at one another. Then Zorubaash remembered something, and stuck his hand into the bag at his side, thinking of the sending stone it contained. As he pulled it from the bag, Gurgnir asked, "What that?" Zorubaash smirked, playfully. "Iz sending stone. Iz to call friends and get out of dis place." He then placed the stone to his mouth and spoke, "Allen, iz Zorubaash. Am back in Zanarick's Tomb. Find Cami to open door, please. Tell Wrona Rats sailing to Khalren. Vill use Spellbook message paper." As he tucked the stone into his belt, so he could hear it when Allen replied, Gugnir asked, "What now?" Zorubaash looked up at the giant and simply said, "Now, vee vait." His senses picked up the distant sounds of hissing and scraping, approaching closer to their location. "But not here," he continued. "Deez vampires seem crazed, almost starved, and very dangerous." Then he looked around at all the bodies and blood, saying matter-of-factly, "And dey probably smell de blood." Gugnire nodded and went to pick up the two large stones he had used to crush and bludgeon the other vampires, but Zorubaash stopped him. "Here! Use dese," he said, drawing the axe and the hammer from his belt. For him they were a mighty battleaxe and a brutal warhammer, but for Gugnir, they looked more like an ornate hatchet and a fancy carpenter's hammer. He frowned at them, and said, "Those your weapons." Zorubaash only smiled, saying, "Iz loan. Are good for chopping limbs and crushing skulls. H'you vill need dem in dis place. Return dem ven vee are out." He then smiled broadly, and boasted, "Zorubaash iz generous chieftain to allies." Gurgnir nodded and accepted the weapons. As soon as he hefted the axe, however, he felt a malevolent force and scowled at the chieftain. "Axe hate giants," he said, sternly. "Aye!" Zorubaash replied. "Iz good for revenge on clan, yes? It vill not hurt vielder, dough. Only other giants." There was more scraping in the corridor, and Zorubaash heard a hungry screech echo down the hall. "Come! Vee must hurry," he said, turning and heading in the opposite direction. Gurgnir followed the back of the chieftain, with a determined look upon his face.
Through dark hallways and rooms filled with horrors, the two companions traversed the tomb. Every once in a while, Zorubaash would stop to scan the walls, looking for the familiar hand prints that would point him in a safe direction, although he did not fully trust them, as the Tomb was known to shift at random intervals. Gurgnir was indeed a strong ally, although he bore several cursed shackles, as Zorubaash had come to expect within this place. Eventually, Zorubaash found a familiar hand print that marked safety. He motioned Gurgnir into the room, and secured the doorway behind them. "Here vee rest," he stated. "Should be safe until friends open door vor us." At this, Gurgnir looked at him, puzzled, and asked, "You being friends of Zanarick?" Gore only laughed, saying, "Friends?! Ha! Vee broke de rotting vyrm upon our blades and took the varden stone. Now vee are masters of dis tomb." Realization struck Gurgnir, as he pieced together the chieftain's words. "You saying 'tomb', because killing Zanarick," he stated in understanding. Zorubaash grinned, wolfishly, and replied, "Aye! Vee slew him. His bones are now my trophies," and he pointed to the bones adorning his garb. "His soul is still trapped here, vithin de tomb, but his body iz scattered, and his skull hangs in de Hall of de Noble Rats." Gurgnir's eyes went wide with surprise, and he exclaimed, "You being Goremash of Band of Noble Rat! Am hearing songs sung of you, near small town. You being protectors of Venzor. Being crushers of beasts and snakes." He paused for a moment, and then asked, "Hero Krell being with you?" Zorubaash was soaking up the praise but winced at this question and growled, "Yes, he vill probably be in de library, reading, dough. He protects de Hall vit odder members." Then Gurgnir thought of another question, asking, "You being new warden, why here?" Again, Zorubaash winced at the impulsiveness that had landed him in this situation, explaining, "It is long story involving vizard pirate captain. Not vorth telling, really. Here, eat and rest. I vill send instructions to friends, and vee vait."
Zorubaash handed over his waterskin to Gurgnir, after taking a long drink, himself. Gurgnir emptied the waterskin and began devouring the rations Zorubaash had given him. Meanwhile, Zorubaash reached into his bag and pulled out a bedroll for himself and a large animal hide for Gurgnir. He also produced items for making a smokeless fire and assembled them in the center of the room. As the fire burned, it illuminated most of the room, casting their shadows against the walls. He then sat on his bedroll and pulled a scroll of enchanted parchment and a pen. By firelight, he penned a message to Spellbook, in his tower:
"Spellbook, this is Zorubaash. I am stuck in Zanarick's Tomb, with a friend. We are safe, for now. I will need Cami to open a door for us, so we can get out. I would rather not spend more months in this place, again. I will need information from Wrona on where to find Kleatus and the other Rats. They are sailing to a port in Khalren, but I do not know which one. I will explain more, when we are out. I will need Cami's magic carpet for transportation or some other way to reach Kleatus and the others. I worry that Kleatus might get into trouble, again. Please, inform Mazoga and Hagurth that I am well and that I will be returning soon, for a short time. I hope you are also well. I will see you soon, my friend. ~ Chief Zorubaash"
He let the ink soak into the paper, as the enchantment began to send the message to Spellbook's master scroll. He then rolled it up, and stuck it and the pen back into his bag. Zorubaash looked over to Gurgnir and saw that he had already fallen asleep, propped up against the wall and with the animal pelt draped over his knees. He chuckled to himself and thought, "You have it easy, my friend. Sleep well. I will take the watch, and then we will find your path."
He woke to the sound of the sending stone pinging an alert that a message was coming. He quickly glanced around, to ensure that all was quiet and safe. Gurgnir was still propped up against the wall, snoring. Zorubaash wondered if that is what he sounded like, when the Rats were camped on so many nights. Brushing that thought aside, he picked up the stone and held it to his ear. Allen's voice burst forth, in his usual, hurried manner, "Um, Gore? Cami's here. Sorry for the wait. She knows where you are. Will open door soon. Make sure all clear. See you soon." Zorubaash tucked the stone away and breathed a sigh of relief. Even though he knew they were masters of this place, he still did not like it there. He began to ready his gear, with vigor, waking Gurgnir, reassuringly. "Gurgnir! Time to leave, my friend. H'you vill be free ov dis place, soon." As soon as he had spoken the words, a massive doorway opened in the room, stretching all the way to the ceiling, with great arcane doors that swung outward, to freedom. The light of day shone into the dark room, and for the first time he saw a surge of life return to Gurgnir's eyes. Zorubaash stood in the doorway and stretched out his arms, saying, "Come and taste freedom!" Gurgnir stood, picking up the weapons and holding the pelt around his shoulders. Then they both stepped through the door and into the daylight.
Outside the door, Zorubaash was greeted by cheers and salutations, along with a few jibes at his being stuck there, again. He laughed heartily, regardless, and then all fell silent, as their eyes beheld Gurgnir. He simply stood there, basking in the sun, and Zorubaash wondered how long he had been in that prison. He quickly turned to the crowd and proclaimed, "Friends, I present Gurgnir Tomb Breaker, survivor and ally of Zorubaash and de Band of de Noble Rat!" Several guards and other people in the crowd raised their hands, in greeting, "Hail Gurgnir, ally of the Rats!" Gurgnir looked out over the crowd and then to Zorubaash, saying, "Am thanking you, Chief Zorubaash." At this, he felt a little hand pat his leg and looked down to see two little girls standing there. One was clearly human, in a very nice dress, while the other was...a moon elf? She was tall and slender, with an opalescent hue about her. She was not dressed like the other girl, however, as she wore leather armor over a light shirt and well fitted pants. She carried two blades at her back and seemed to be standing directly in the other girl's shadow, looking at the giant, with scrutiny. The little girl in the fancy dress then spoke up, "Mister Gurgnir? Welcome to our home! I'm glad you're friends with Chief Goremash. I am Countess Abyth, and that is my mommy, Countess Regent Sara...and that's Brak, just Brak. He likes my mommy and me, very much. He's like my daddy...Oh! And this is Nerwyne. She's my friend and playmate. She used to be in that prison with Chief Goremash, too, but now she's out, and we're good friends." He chuckled at her sincerity, and it sounded low rolling thunder in the distance. Then his stomach growled, and she exclaimed, "Oh! Are you hungry, Mister Gurgnir? We have food inside the abbey! Would you like some?" He smiled warmly, and simply nodded his head, unable to form the words. She skipped away, as the little, not-so-little elf followed in her shadow. "Allen! Allen? Allen, we need to get food ready for Mister Gurgnir...can I help?" Laughter rolled through the crowd as Countess Abyth skipped away, with Allen quick-stepping beside her. Zorubaash stood next to Gurgnir and said, "Velcome to our home, my friend." Gurgnir looked down at the chieftain, saying, "Being good people. Wanting home like yours, one day." Then he began to hand the weapons back to Zorubaash, who only took the hammer, as he said, "I vill accept my brother's warhammer, but de axe iz yours. H'you have earned it. May it serve h'you vell in h'your qvest, my friend. If h'you like, I vill ask my people if dey vill make veapons and armor more h'your size, but for now, you keep dis." Gurgnir paused for a moment and then replied, "Thanking you, mighty chieftain." Zorubaash smiled and said, "And I, h'you. Now come! Dehr vill be a feast vaiting for you, in Rats' home."
They walked, side by side, towards the abbey, as the crowd dispersed and returned to their daily duties. As the pair approached the abbey, the sight seemed to fill them both with life. The masons and craftsmen had done themselves proud. The walls were high and strong. The statues that Enis had commissioned were well shaped and mighty. He had even included statues of former members. They flanked the abbey, as if standing watch over the structure and all the residents. At the front of the entrance was Kleatus, with Skribbles perched on his shoulder and his bow in hand. The sculptors had indeed taken great care in crafting the details, and Zorubaash could see that they had inlaid his armor with silver rivets of seashells, merfolk, fish, and all manner of sea life. His dreadlocks were tied back with what looked like seaweed, and even his face held the same sideways smirk that usually frequented his face. Flanking him was the statue of Zorubaash, complete with dragon-horn headress and Lurog's Pride in his grip, the tip resting between his feet at base of the statue, as if he was standing guard, ready to do battle. He remembered how Enis and the artisan he commissioned had harried Zorubaash to pose for a sketch that the sculptors could use. He remembered the pointed glares from Hagurth and Mazoga, as well. He did his best to avoid the pests, but they were able to come up with something on their own. He admitted to himself that he liked it. None in his former clan had anything like this, but he knew what such a thing meant to his people, now, and he wished he could tear it down. He sighed, heavily, resigning himself to the impossible spot he found himself in, however. On one hand, it was a gift given by a friend. On the other, it was something that stirred up bad memories from his people's past. He had asked Mazoga about it, but she hadn't said much. Hagurth, however, had plenty to say, and it was all he could do to make them understand that he did not seek such things, only the betterment of his people. Continuing around the abbey were other statues of Enis, Cami, Nerwyne, Krell, George, Willigans, Mosgon, Shara, Chaevis, Mozgenn, and Nellothein. They were all magnificent, and they filled him with a great swelling of nostalgia and pride. Yes, these too were his people and a welcome sight.
In front of his own statue stood a band of Forgeborn warriors, led by Hagurth. He smiled, as he approached them, saying in orcish, "Hail, my warriors, my mighty Forgeborn!" Hagurth raised a hand in greeting and replied, "Hail, my Chief. You have arrived sooner that we thought...and with company." Zorubaash looked over his shoulder at Gurgnir, and said, "Aye! He is Gurgnir Tomb Breaker, my ally through Zanarick's Tomb." "He is a giant," she said plainly, looking him over. "Ha! Indeed! A strong ally and a good warrior," replied Zorubaash, with a laugh. She smiled at him and softly shook her head, saying, "My Chief always makes interesting friends." Then she turned to Gurgnir and greeted him in common, "Hail, Gurgnir Tomb Breaker, ally of my Chief! The Forgeborn welcome you, as our Chief has welcomed you." Gurgnir bowed, slightly, in a return greeting, and then looked to the chieftain. "Dese are my people, Gurgnir. De mighty Forgeborn! Dis iz my left hand, Hagurth. She vas de von who found me and brought me to de Forgemaster." Gurgnir bowed lower, with this knowledge, saying, "You am walking destiny path, oh Chief. You people am being mighty, am bringing honor to Chieftain." Zorubaash acknowledged the compliment, garciously, and then turned to consult with Hagurth.
There was a short conversation in orcish, between Hagurth and her chieftain, which sounded like an argument to Gurgnir, as most orc conversations did. He did notice that the Forgeborn seemed a lot more stoic than other orcs he had seen. They didn't speak much, and when they did, it seemed to be level and even-tempered. Gurgnir noticed that Zorubaash was a bit of an odd rock in this group, both by the hue of his skin, which was a dark, stone grey compared to their vibrant shades of green, and by the way he carried himself. Yes, he was gruff and stern at times, but he radiated life, like a mighty fire. All Gurgnir had ever known of orcs was that they were savage, like the giants, who warred as much amongst themselves as anyone else, but in a relatively short span of time he had met a chieftain who had shown him more compassion and camaraderie than his own people had done, before casting him into the prison. He observed, silently, during the conversation and wondered what destiny lay in store for these unique orcs. Eventually, Zorubaash finished his conversation with Hagurth, nodding his understanding, and turned to Gurgnir. "My friend," he said. "I must see to de needs of my people. De Forgemaster calls her chieftain, and I must answer." Gurgnir nodded in understanding, stating, "Am not to be keeping Chief from people." Zorubaash smiled and replied, "Nor vould I." He looked behind Gurgnir and waved at Countess Abyth, who was standing by the door. "It seems h'you are being summoned, too. Go, my friend. A feast and good company avaits you. I vill find you, again, ven duty is done." Gurgnir nodded and followed the tiny Countess into the abbey.
Zorubaash then turned back to his people, exclaiming to no one in particular, "Damn, he is a big one." There were mild chuckles from some of the other warriors, as they turned and started their walk back to camp. Once inside the Forgeborn camp, the other warriors dispersed and went about their business, while Hagurth and Zorubaash headed for the forge. As they approached, one of the two sentries outside peaked inside the flap and called the Forgemaster. Mazoga emerged to greet her chieftain, in her usual, stoic manner, "My Chief has returned, ahead of schedule." Zorubaash grimaced with embarrassment, and replied, "Hmph! It was not according to plan. A wizard hid some tricks up his sleeve. I will need to be more careful with such enemies, in the future." She simply nodded, and then spoke, "It is good that my Chief has returned. There are things that must be discussed." Zorubaash raised his eyebrows and asked, "What has happened?" Mazoga looked to Hagurth and then back to him, replying, "Wrona has news for my Chief that require action." She then looked to her bulging stomach and continued, "The child also grows restless, as the day approaches." His gaze shot to her belly, with anticipation. He looked back up at her face and nodded his understanding, then he asked, "Will we be meeting here or in the tent?" She replied, "We will meet in the tent. A warrior has been sent to call Wrona. She will be here soon." He acknowledged her words and then turned towards the meeting tent, offering his arm to Mazoga, saying, "Will my Forgemaster walk with me?" She nodded and graciously took his arm, stating, "As my Chief wills."
As they walked towards the tent, he felt a tender hand on his arm and noticed that Hagurth was walking closer to him, asking for attention in her own way. He nudged her, playfully, and she blushed. He then took her hand and squeezed it, gently. She smiled at him with affection. He then felt Mazoga tug on his arm and grip it sternly, seeking to pointedly return his attention to her. He straightened up, in mock propriety, and grunted in a chiefly manner. He glanced down, over his noble chin, and caught the faintest smile from Mazoga. No matter how far he roamed in his hunts or on his adventures, he knew he would never grow tired of returning to them. They stopped outside the tent, and Mazoga entered, unaided. Before she left his side, Hagurth squeezed his hand again and then entered the tent. He sighed, with affection and desire. He loved to watch them walk away. He stayed outside the tent until Wrona approached, with the warrior who was sent to fetch her. The warrior saluted and then returned to his other duties, as Zorubaash had returned the salute to send him on his way. He turned to Wrona and bowed, saying, "Mighty Wrona, Defender of the Hall." She returned his bow, with her own greeting, "Chief Zorubaash, Conqueror of Dungeons." He laughed at the jab and opened the flap for her, following after she had passed.
Inside the tent, Zorubaash took his place in the circle, between Hagurth and Mazoga and opposite Wrona. He passed the blade off to Mazoga, who then set it beside the chieftain, and Wrona lay her spear upon a pelt, with reverence, to show one another that this was a civil meeting. Zorubaash spoke first, "Greetings to you, Wrona Oryxin. I hear that you bring grave news." Wrona straightened and replied, "I do, Chief Zorubaash. My informants have sent word of movement around the Flood and of giants coming from the hills, bearing familiar marks." Zorubaash scowled, as he realized what Wrona meant. "So the sorcerous worm stretches his hand ever further," he growled. She nodded, and continued, "The Flood is still stopped in the northern region. Something around Wolf Pine keeps it from advancing. There seems to be movement in the upper mountain ranges, however. A small band of gray orcs have been seen moving away from the Flood, using animal trails, caverns, and the glaciers to hide their movement. From what I can gather, they do not act like others observed within the Flood, and they seem to be breaking away, under cover of night, moving only in the day, when patrols are far from them." At this news, Zorubaash's heart jumped within his chest. Could it be the remnants of the Bloodfists he heard about before? This did indeed warrant attention.
As Zorubaash pondered the first part of Wrona's news, she continued, "As for the giants, it seems that Hill Giants have been seen leaving their hills and raiding small towns and villages. The city guard managed to kill a couple of them, but they cannot protect all of them. Among the dead giants were found...brands and dark marks, denoting Syrdar's handiwork. The giants were said to be in a frenzy and one was even said to have been..."twisted" was the word." Zorubaash only growled, as she carried on with her news. "Survivors have reported that the giants were seen carrying off people, as well as the usual animals, food, metal, and anything gold. It is assumed by survivors and the city guard that the people will also be used as food, but I suspect otherwise, from what you've told me about Syrdar and his methods." Zorubaash was seething at this point, but he calmed himself to ask, "And what of the Rats? Have you managed to locate where they made land?" Wrona only shook her head, replying, "I have not. You said they sail on a black ship under the name of the Mourning Wood and call themselves the Stinky Seagulls...Did Kleatus come up with those names?" Zorubaash sighed his affirmation, and Wrona rolled her eyes, continuing,"They use these names to cover their tracks, but I haven't heard any word of a ship or crew by that name making port anywhere. It's difficult to get any information out of Khalren, at this time. Even the embassies are being tight lipped, and that adds to the difficulty of skirting my family and keeping Venzor off their map."
Zorubaash nodded, solemnly, and thought for a while. Hagurth watched him, and Mazoga also seemed to be deep in thought. Eventually, Wrona spoke up, "It will take me time to locate Kleatus and the Rats, but for now, giants are the bigger issue. If they grow in power, they may become bold enough to attack Venzor." This snapped Zorubaash out of his thoughts. "Agreed," he said. "And I know an ally who is itching to settle a score. Does Lady Effrix and the town guard know of the giants and Syrdar." Wrona cocked her head, saying, "They know of the giants and are keeping watch, but I haven't mentioned Syrdar to them. Didn't want to panic the people." Zorubaash furrowed his brow thoughtfully, saying, "It may be time to meet with the Lady and share all. Also, we may need the aid of the other counties, especially that of Count Vorn. Can you arrange a meeting? I will speak with Regent Sara, as she will need to be my advocate in the court." Wrona nodded her understanding.
Hagurth then spoke up, "My Chief, what of the Flood and the roving band of orcs? They may be your people. Will you leave them in the wastes?" Zorubaash scowled at her, sternly, saying, "My people are the Forgeborn, and I will see to them, first. I left the Bloodfists, with tithe, and my blade was broken..." His face softened, and he continued, "But I have not forgotten my kith and my former kin. If I could, I would call them home, to me." Mazoga spoke up next, "If my Chief would hear his Forgemaster, I believe a small band of Forgeborn might be able to find these wanderers and deliver his message." For the first time in a long time, hope surged within Zorubaash, but he tempered it with the reality of the situation they faced, saying, "It would be dangerous, and the Forgeborn do not know the mountains and the glaciers, unlike the Bloodfists." She looked to him, warmly, and spoke, "Would my Chief teach his people?" Oh, how he longed to embrace her in that moment. Over the year since his return, they had struggled and made slow strides to understand one another, but in that instant, Zorubaash had realized none of it had been in vain. How he loved her! He loved his people, and he would defend them to his dying day. He had no words to express this, in that moment, however. He only nodded, in agreement.
The remainder of the time was spent making plans to contact the counties, petition for a meeting with Lady Effrix, and arrange for a small contingent of Forgeborn scouts and warriors to be trained, personally, by their chieftain. Before she left, Wrona also assured Zorubaash that she would keep an ear to the ground for the Rats and update him with any changes. He thanked her and mentioned that he would seek a way to contact them and likely consult with Krell and Spellbook as to a means. She then excused herself and left the tent, with Hagurth and Mazoga staying behind. For a while, they only sat, thinking. Zorubaash felt Mazoga take his hand and place it upon her belly. As he felt the child shift within and press against his hand, she said, "The child wants to meet his Chief." Zorubaash looked affectionately at her belly and asked, "How soon?" She replied, with her own affection, "A week, maybe more, but not long. The Forge is ready for his steel to be added to our number." He looked up at her and spoke, "I have returned, and I will be here, for you, for our child, and for the Forgeborn." She simply smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. Hagurth joined in, and they sat together, deep in thought and enjoying each others' company.
As they were sitting in the tent, his two strong wives beside him and his hand upon Mazoga's belly, Zorubaash felt the child push against his hand, again. He looked down, with a chuckle, and then stopped. A look of realization crossed his face, as he noticed the ring upon his finger. The ring! The message ring that Mosgon had made for the band! He could contact the other Rats, this very instant. He quickly removed his hand from Mazoga's belly, which caused her to ask, "Is something wrong, my Chief." He shook his head, saying, "No...not wrong. Everything is right." He held the ring up to his face and spoke, still in orcish, "Kleatus? Mosgon? This is Gore! I am well. I was sent to Zanarick's Tomb, but I am back with our people, now. Wrona is trying to find you. Leave signs for her to track you. I must remain here for a time. There is trouble near Venzor, but we will handle it. I am also staying for the birth of my child. I will find you, when all is settled. Be well, my Rats." He held the ring there, waiting to see if they would reply. He didn't need to wait long, however, as the ring spoke back, almost immediately, "That's 'Kaptain Krunch', man!" The sounds of rustling foliage and clanging steel made their way across the rings, as Kleatus continued, "Aight, man, we can...hot damn! Eehhh-oh HYA!...bitch...yeah, man. We can go'an leave a bread crumb or sumthin, but yeah, right now..." There was a loud whistle that cut across the sounds of battle, and Zorubaash knew Kleatus was calling his broom. "Right now, man, I need ta tweak a nip. Seeya, Gore-buddy!" He smiled with satisfaction, dropping his hand from his face and placing it back on Mazoga's belly. "You are strong and wise, little one. I cannot wait to meet you," he said with affection and pride. He then began to laugh, with joy, and he could feel the baby wriggle with impatience. His laughter carried outside the tent, and his people heard the voice of their chieftain.
The rest of the day was spent making good on their plans. Wrona sent a message to Lady Effrix notifying her that Chief Zorubaash had returned to Venzor with dire news for her and the counties. She had replied that she would hold a meeting the next day, at noon. Zorubaash consulted with Regent Sara, and she had agreed to be his advocate. Hagurth selected her best scouts and sharpest warriors to be trained, personally, by their chieftain for their mission to contact and possibly retrieve the Flood defectors. He would put them through the same training he had received in the warbands and teach them what he had learned on his hunts in the wastes. He would show them how Bloodfists communicated, stealthily, on a hunt and how to indicate that they were friends with a message. He would not send his people, unprepared, into the harsh and unforgiving world of his former clan. Mazoga had insisted that the Forgeborn would not make hasty weapons and armor for anyone, even an ally of her Chief, but she would allow the use of pelts, braided sinew, leather, pitch, and any spare metal and tools he would need to craft equipment for Gurgnir. Zorubaash asked his brother, Brak, if he would assist in the making of weapons and armor for Gurgnir, and he readily accepted, eager for a new challenge. They also planned a trip into the forest with Gurgnir to gather enough timber for a large, make-shift forge to heat and shape sheets and bands of metal large enough for Gurgnir's use. This would be an interesting opportunity, Zorubaash had thought. It would give him a chance to see what Brak had learned and show it to others, as well. Zorubaash also spoke with Krell and Spellbook about the use of dragon bone to make a large maul for Gurgnir. Krell had winced, as he said it was a waste of precious materials, but he relented before the insistence of the chieftain. It was his to use, by right of the kill, him and those who had slain Zanarick. Spellbook was his usual, overly excited self, and rambled off a litany of facts about dragons and dragon bone, before Zorubaash could calm him and extract the information he needed to properly work and shape the bone. He was such a unique creature, and Zorubaash marveled at the myriad of friends and allies he had made on his adventures.
That night, as Zorubaash and his wives prepared for bed, he asked of the birthing ceremony and what he would need to do to fulfill his role as chieftain. She explained, as they finished their preparations and lay upon the bed, with Hagurth resting her head upon his shoulder. He had come to enjoy Mazoga's calm voice. Once he had found it infuriatingly emotionless, but now he realize that he had simply not been listening close enough. Though her tone was steady and calm, other things spoke a deeper meaning. She was a creature of slight tells, and he found it reminded him of hunting. He had to use more than just his ears to read her mood and desires. He even found enjoyment in peeling back the layers of duty and ceremony to find the truth of her words. It was a worthy hunt, he now realized, and he relished it. Eventually she came to the part involving him, saying, "Once the child is born, you must carry him to the forge, while he is crying. The people must hear their chief's son cry to the Forge. There you must present him before the forge and declare that 'his metal is now added to the Forge.' The people will then respond according to tradition." Zorubaash turned his head towards her and asked, "Should the child not be warmed by his mother, first?" She shook her head and placed her hand on her belly, as she replied, "The Forge shall warm him, and he is Forgeborn, first, our son, second." He nodded in understanding and placed his hand upon her, saying, "For the Forge." Then he realized another question and asked, "Should not the Forgemaster present him to the Forge?" At this, she also shook her head, saying, "I will not be able to take him, after the birthing. It must be my Chief who carries him." Zorubaash looked into her eyes and saw the insistence in her eyes. He stroked her belly and felt that the child was now resting, saying, "I will carry him, with honor."
The next morning, Zorubaash rose with his wives and prepared to escort Regent Sara to Lady Effrix's court, where they would meet with the other landlords and lay all before the leaders of Venzor. It would be an untruth to say that the mighty chieftain was not a little bit uncertain of what would happen when he told them everything, but he had resolved to prepare them for what was to come. They could no longer rest in their corner of the world. Darkness was creeping everywhere, and even the people of Venzor had already been touched by it. Now it grew stronger and more bold. They would also need to be bold and gather their resolve. Hagurth and Mazoga finished before him, as they had less gear to wear for their daily duties. As they made to leave, they stopped before their chieftain and Mazoga said, "Will my Chief return before the evening?" He looked up from buckling his boots, and replied, "If all goes well, I should be back before the forge is silent." Mazoga simply nodded and left the tent. Hagurth lingered, however, drawing closer to him, as she said, "Will my Chief be taking us, tonight." He gave her a playful smile and asked in return, "Would that please my wives?" She leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, "That's the plan, my Chief." As she drew her head away from his, he gripped the back of it, and pulled her in for a passionate kiss, saying, "As my wives will."
Zorubaash approached the abbey, at a trot, and noticed that Regent Sara and Wrona were already waiting. Wrona looked over to him, from her seat on the carriage and said, "You are late, Chief Zorubaash. Did you misplace something?" Zorubaash grimaced slightly and said, "I was...detained. I had chieftain duties to fulfill, first." Wrona leaned over her seat, as he approached and his ear was closer to her, asking quietly, "Chieftain duties or a husband's?" He shot a sideways glance at her and noticed that she looked down to his breeches. His eyes followed hers and noticed that his breeches had not been completely fastened, in his haste. He cleared his throat to hide an embarrassed laugh, cinched up the leather straps, and adjusted his belt, before opening the door and climbing into the carriage, opposite Wrona and Sara. Along the way to Venzor and Lady Effrix's court, they discussed what would be said and the order of things. Regent Sara was obviously nervous, but she took comfort in the surety of their action. Wrona was her usual calm and calculated self. She carried her spear, on the trip, but only as a habit. The blade of the spear was wrapped and bound, to show that it was not meant for practical use, at that time. Zorubaash had also wrapped his blade, as he did not wish to cause alarm and would not be relinquishing it to anyone other than his Forgemaster, even at the insistence of Lady Effrix or her guards. It was the symbol of his people and of his status. Only the Forgemaster was worthy to receive it from him, in ceremony or within the forge.
Eventually, they arrived at the mountain keep of Lady Effrix and proceeded up the stone stairs to the small courtyard with three entrances. Zorubaash recalled when he first arrived in Venzor and curiously explored the area, after having been shown to Sanzor to consult with him about the brand on his leg. He looked to his left and saw the entrance to the chapel of Moradin, its vaulted door being flanked by two mighty dwarven statues. Even in its spartan appearance, it carried the sure lines and steady patterns of dwarven craftsmanship. As he swept the room, his gaze passed over the entrance to the mines, directly across from the stairway they had just crested. This doorway was encrusted with polished stones and gems, and inlaid with precious metals that had been recovered from the mountain. It was obviously something more to the liking of Narvi's brother, and Zorubaash gave a smirk, as he remembered meeting him outside the door, before the Rats had entered to take care of the Basilisk problem. He briefly wondered what had ever happened to the Basilisk egg Krell had recovered from the creatures' nest, but dismissed the thought quickly, as his sweeping gaze eventually came to their destination. There was no ornaments adorning the doorway to Lady Effrix keep. It was plain and more businesslike than those of the temple and the mine, much like Lady Effrix herself. Outside the doorway were the usual guards on duty, but this time, Tharkum stood there, waiting for them. He bowed to Regent Sara and then nodded to Wrona and Zorubaash. Zorubaash recalled when he had first met Tharkum and the circumstances that eventually landed Kleatus and himself in the Lady Effrix prison for a short time. He was merely a wanderer, then, not even a Rat. It was there that Kleatus had found his pet rat, Skribbles, who would later give birth to the others. It was there that he and Kleatus had become more than just acquaintances. He marveled at how strange his meetings were with all his friends. From all walks of life and from all corners of the map, they had met each other, and they became the Band of the Noble Rat. Now he came as chieftain of the Forgeborn, to speak as leader for his people and defender of the town of Venzor. He almost began to laugh, as the hilarity of the situation washed over him, but he kept his composure and remained silent.
Tharkum led them through the main hall of the keep, and Zorubaash again recalled the feast they had received after completing a great quest for the Lady. He also remembered Kleatus and Darth being more than a little belligerent. Darth wound up on his backside outside the doors, while Kleatus had found himself in the bed of Lady Effrix's late Captain of the Guard. Not much was said between the current companions, as they walked through the keep and to the court of Lady Effrix, aside from Zorubaash asking Tharkum if he had been sparring much, to which Tharkum had gruffly replied his regret at having too much work to spar as much as he would like, anymore. Zorubaash again offered his willingness to spar with his old teacher, whenever he could find the time, and Tharkum had thanked him, gruffly. Eventually, they approached the final door, and the guards opened it for them. Tharkum led the way, announcing their arrival and then taking his place beside Lady Effrix at the long meeting table. Regent Sara, Wrona, and Zorubaash each bowed as the entered and then took their seats. Zorubaash looked around the table and noticed that all of the notable leaders within Venzor had shown up for the meeting. Lady Effrix could be quite insistent, when she wanted to be, and she had obviously insisted on this. Zorubaash noticed that the eyes of Count Vorn of the southern-most county never left him, and he nodded his acknowledgement of the count's gaze. Count Vorn nodded, silently, in reply. After all were seated and settled, Lady Effrix called the meeting to order and motioned for Regent Sara to begin. Sara stood, hesitantly, looking to Zorubaash for strength. He nodded, sternly, with a wink, and she breathed deeply to steady herself, before she spoke, "I come here today as advocate for Chief Zorubaash of the Forgeborn and esteemed member of the Band of the Noble Rat. He wishes to address the leaders of Venzor and the Lady. He has already consulted with me, and I believe all would be wise to head his words, this day. A terrible threat lies just outside Venzor and even beyond. He has come to inform you of the gravity of this threat and to petition for your aid."
At her words, there were murmurs amongst the other counts and whispers amongst their wives and advisers. She sat back down, and sighed with relief. Zorubaash gently squeezed her knee, under the table, and gave her a slight nod of reassurance. This would be a decisive time for Venzor, as well as for his people and the Rats. Either the court would listen and rally with them, or they would be on their own and possibly outcast. She knew this, and yet she still represented him. He knew how heavy it must have been for her to shoulder. Now he would have to take his turn. Lady Effrix acknowledged Zorubaash, and he rose to his feet, saying, "Tank you, Lady Effrix, for dis audience, and tank you, Countess Regent Sara, for being my advocate." He then addressed all those assembled, "Two years ago, I vas brought to h'your town as a vounded vanderer. De City Guard had found me and my companions in de dungeon of a dark sorcerer. De sorcerer vas never caught, dough. He has continued to gather power and spread his corruption across de lands." He looked down upon Sara's scarred features and then back at the room, as he continued, "Even Venzor has been marked by his darkness. H'while vee, de Rats, von great victories for de people of Venzor and aided de guard in dehr investigations, vee found more of de sorcerer's taint. It vas he who had cursed de Hall of de Noble Rats. Vee found his accomplice, a vile hag, ruined in an old hut, just outside de town, vit de stink ov his sorcerery all around it. Now, dehr are giants leaving dehr hills and raiding smaller towns and villages. From vot Wrona has told me, some of dese giants bear de mark of dat same sorcerer." He scanned the room, and all were silent, some with their eyes wide in terror. "Vee believe dat de giants are raiding de towns to gather supplies for war and sacrifices to fuel de sorcerer's blood magic. If vee hesitate to crush the giants, it vill only be a matter of time before dey come for Venzor. Vee are here to tell you of dis threat and ask for h'your help in stopping dese giants. Vill h'you aid us?"
For a moment, no one spoke, as Zorubaash took his seat next to Sara, then everyone erupted with exclamations, questions, and accusations. "Why are you only telling us now? How long have you known?...What is his name? Give us a name! We demand a name!...This is probably a trick! He's got his own army just outside the town. Maybe he wants us to send our guards so he can raid the town himself!...That's right! Him and the Rats! They threatened my family for no reason!...What are we gonna do, if the giants come?...How can we fight an unseen sorcerer?...Oh, this is terrible! The mine would be plundered. All those riches!...Riches?! What of our farms? They would be ruined! We would be ruined!...How can you do this to us? I thought you were protectors. You brought this on Venzor! You tricked us!...Yeah! Didn't he call himself 'Goremash' before? Why has he changed his name? Maybe it's an Orc trick!...Where are the Rats? Why aren't they here, too? Maybe they knew this was coming and left us here..."
Only a handful of people remained silent in the court. Lady Effrix and Tharkum seemed to be in a low conversation between one another. Zorubaash knew they were taking the threat seriously and likely planning countermeasures and preparations. Wrona was also silent, but scribbling furiously in her journal, likely gleaning information from the frantic conversations and reactions. Vorn only stared at Zorubaash, and he returned his gaze, gauging his possible opponent. Vorn's gaze did not waiver, except for a brief moment, to look at Sara, then back to Zorubaash. Zorubaash broke his stare and looked over to Sara, who was now shaking. He made to comfort her, but stopped short. He noticed that her fist was clenched so tight that her knuckles had gone white. Her scarred face, however, had become a deep red, the color of rage. Then she erupted and sprung to her feet, slamming her fist upon the great table, shouting, "ENOUGH! All of you simpering cowards and spineless politicians, ENOUGH!" In an instant, the room fell silent, and all eyes stared at the fuming Regent. "I have sat here and listened to your wingeing, while death and horror knocks at our very door. Is this all you can do? Hurl insults, play politics, blame others, and whine about yourselves?! I came from nothing, but I was happy, with my family! I was taken from my daughter, tortured, and almost transformed into a monster!" At this, she furiously pulled up her left sleeve, revealing her scarred stump, and glared at each of them, defiantly. "Zorubaash and the Rats rescued me, protected my daughter, and saved this petty town! We hailed them as heroes, then, and now you turn on him...on them?! They gave us a future! They gave us their sweat and their blood, and this is how we repay them?!" She let her sleeve fall back over her ruined arm, breathed deeply, calming herself. When she spoke again, her words were filled with ice, "You disgust me. Not one of you are half as noble as the chieftain. He came here to help you all, to save Venzor once again, and all you can think about is yourselves." She looked to him, and he could see tears of unbridled emotion welling up in her eyes. "Countess Abyth and I stand with the Rats, our saviors. We will not abandon them, ever!"
Zorubaash didn't say anything, he couldn't. He simply stared in wonder at Sara, as the tears began to quench her burning cheeks. Now he knew the resolve of his friends. He saw the fire in her, and he smiled in thanks. He rose and embraced her, warmly, as she began to sob into his cloak. He whispered to her, "H'you are zo strong, Sara. Vee only found h'you. H'you fought for h'yourself and for h'your daughter, den. Vee vill fight for h'you, now...Tank you." He only held her then, while she sobbed, silently. No one spoke. All the accusers had fallen silent, in shame and defeat. Then Zorubaash heard Count Vorn begin to clap his gloved hands, as he rose from his chair. He turned to Lady Effrix and said, "The County of Vorn stands with Chief Zorubaash and the Band of the Noble Rat. We will add our bows to the fight." He then looked to Zorubaash and nodded, before taking his seat, again. Zorubaash nodded his thanks. Then another Count spoke up, "The Rats returned my daughter's body to us, after those cultists took her. We will not dishonor her memory. We stand with the Band of the Noble Rat." Narvi's brother then spoke, "If it weren't for the Rats, we wouldn't have a mine. My clan stands with the Band of the Noble Rat. We will add our mettle to theirs." One by one, others joined in declaring their aid, while some only slumped in their chairs, deflated. Finally, Lady Effrix rose and spoke in her northern accent, "It seems ya've convinced the caurt, Chief Zorubaash an' Regent Sara. Venzor remembers aht's heroes. Venzor stands with the Bahnd ah the Noble Raht." She indicated for everyone to take there seats, and Zorubaash helped Sara into hers. She was exhausted, but he could still see that fire.
The rest of the meeting was spent sharing information and making plans. Wrona spoke mainly about the giants and what her informants had found up to that point. Zorubaash offered that he would lead a warband of Forgeborn, with the aid of Gurgnir in a raid on the giants to test their defenses and find their leader. Vorn and Tharkum offered a war party of their own to back them up. Other Counts discussed supplies and resources to bolster the war parties and fortify the town. It was also decided that the Forgeborn, the guards, and a contingent of Vorn's mounted archers would patrol the counties, in case the giants tried to raid the lightly defended counties. All of patrols would be equipped with messaging paper from Spellbook, to relay urgent messages and call aid if it was needed. Everyone agreed to have them keep an eye out for dark sorcery, as well, and that they would contact the residing Rats, including Darth, if any was detected. Eventually, the meeting ended, and Zorubaash headed back to the abbey, with Sara and Wrona. Before they left, Lady Effrix had thanked them for coming forward with this information and for helping Venzor all the times before. The sun was beginning to set, as the Abbey came into view, and Zorubaash felt as if he'd been in battle, the entire day. Regant Sara had sat beside him in the carriage, for support, and he looked down to see that she had fallen asleep against his cloak. He looked up to Wrona, who only smiled and then motioned to the sending stone in his belt. He nodded with understanding and sent a message to Allen to have Brak meet them at the carriage and for everyone to be quiet. When they stopped at the abbey, Brak was already waiting. Zorubaash emerged, with Sara in his arms, and he passed her off, carefully, to her lover. Before he took her to the manor, Zorubaash leaned in and spoke to his brother, "She fought for us, brother. She is very strong. She bloodied many ears, today." Brak looked at him and smiled, with pride. "I know, brother," he said, cradling her with affection. "It's one of the things I love about her." Zorubaash nodded silently and patted his old friend on the shoulder, as they headed off to the manor. Wrona emerged from the cart, bowed to the chieftain, and said, "I didn't know you could be so sweet, Gore." Zorubaash struck a pose of mock indignation, saying, "Well, maybe you don't know everything, mighty cleric." She cocked a wry smile and replied, "Not yet, anyway." They laughed, quietly, and he waived at her, as she made her way to the abbey. Then he turned and headed to his camp.
Zorubaash intended to stop at the forge and let Mazoga know that he had returned, but as he neared the camp, one of his warriors ran out to meet him. The warrior saluted, breathing heavily, and Zorubaash returned the salute, asking, "What is it, my warrior?" The warrior replied, "It is the Forgemaster, my Chief. The birthing..." Zorubaash didn't wait for him to finish. He took off at a full sprint toward Mazoga's tent, the warrior keeping pace behind him. As he darted through the camp, he could see his people outside their tents, waiting. A small crowd had gathered around the Forgemaster's tent and barely had time to step aside, as their chieftain came barreling through, spurred on by the cries he could hear coming from inside. He burst through the door, breathlessly, and beheld Mazoga kneeling upon the bed, naked and in labor, with Hagurth and other women of the camp fussing about. "I am here, Forgemaster!" he declared through gasps, which seemed to match her own panting. She roared, and then went back to panting, as she finished pushing. She looked at her chieftain, and he saw a look of relief on her face, "My Chief has returned!" He removed his cloak and Hagurth retrieved it from him. Noticing that the blade was still bound upon his back, she whispered for him to unwrap it and wear it visibly. He obeyed, hurriedly, as he did not want to interrupt anything important. He only wanted to be with his Forgemaster and add his strength to hers.
Another contraction gripped her, and she roared as she pushed. "My Chief, he is so very impatient...just like his father." He crept nearer to her face, being cautious not to incur the wrath of a laboring mother, saying, "And he is strong, just like his mother." She glared up at him, bearing her tusks, as she finished pushing. One of the other women spoke from behind the Forgemaster, "One more push, Forgemaster. The child arrives soon." She looked at him, and he stared back. Her brow was covered in the sweat of her labor and her features were fierce. He realized that she had never appeared more beautiful to him than as she was now. He nodded to her, saying, "He will add his metal to the Forge." She grimaced, sternly, bared her tusks again, and roared, "For the Forge!" Zorubaash joined her roar, egging her on. She reached her hand beneath her belly and between her legs to catch the child as it emerged. She held him at arms length, to her chieftain. "Bite the chord," she said. "And take him to the forge." He took the child and saw that he was indeed a son. He cut the cord with his tusks, and the child began to cry. She looked at him, exhausted, and said, "Go! To the forge." He nodded, dutifully, and quickly left the tent, as the baby cried. The crowd had already parted, in silence, all eyes watching the chieftain emerge. He marched at a quick pace towards the forge tent, and the people followed him. Everyone had left their tents and watched him, with anticipation. He approached and saw that the door to the forge tent had been left open, its heat spilling out into the night, as smiths continued to hammer the anvils and work the bellows. He could feel their fire, and the music of the hammers called to him. The baby also heard the sound and began to cry louder. Zorubaash raised the baby, cupped in his hands, over his head and towards the forge, saying, "I come with a son! He cries to the Forge! Its fire will temper his steel and make him strong!" Then he turned towards the camp, still holding the baby up, and declared, "The Forgemaster has born a son! He cries to his people! His metal has been added to the Forge, and he will be a mighty blade for the Forgeborn!" The people had gathered before him and roared as one, "And we carry him with honor!"
As the roars died down, Zorubaash noticed that the baby had grown silent. He pulled him close, wondering if he had become too cold, but saw only that he had calmed down and opened his eyes. He looked at his son, with great pride, and began to laugh, with joy. The Forgeborn gathered around their chieftain and looked at his son, joining him in his rejoicing. He noticed that the hammering had stopped and even the smiths had joined the crowd, cooing at the baby and baring their tusks with gladness. For a moment, Zorubaash looked around, not knowing what to do, then one of the smiths leaned in and asked, "Will my Chief return the baby to his mother?" Startled, Zorubaash nodded, abruptly, and began to make his way through the crowd and towards Mazoga's tent. Behind him, he heard sounds of celebration, and he wondered if the camp would sleep that night. This thought only made him smile broader and begin to laugh, again. The baby didn't cry. He only looked up at the chieftain, in wonder. Zorubaash shouldered aside the tent flap and entered, clutching the baby close to his pounding heart. Inside, he saw that Mazoga had been bedded down and that Hagurth was wiping away her sweat and giving her water. The other women quickly exited the tent, carrying basins and soiled hides. One carried a covered basin, and Zorubaash thought better than to ask. Soon, it was only them in the tent, staring at one another, with relief. The baby began to cry, and it jolted Zorubaash out of his trance. Mazoga spoke up, "He smells his mother. If my Chief wills, I would see my son." Zorubaash smiled warmly, as he crossed the tent and placed the baby in his mother's arms. "A son," he said, still unable to form complete sentences from all the excitement. As the baby began to suckle, Mazoga looked up and said, "A son, for my Chief." Zorubaash looked at his wife, with pride and replied, "A son, for the Forge." She smiled and began to talk to the baby, as he and Hagurth climbed upon the bed next to her, marveling at the first son of Chief Zorubaash and the unbroken Forgeborn."
Eventually, they had all fallen asleep, the baby upon Mazoga's chest, with Hagurth and Zorubaash slumped in the bed, beside her, their arms wrapped around the Forgemaster and cradling the baby. In the early morning, Zorubaash and Hagurth awoke, out of habit, but the baby and his mother still slept. They made ready for the day, and Hagurth told him that the Forgemaster would not be attending the lighting ceremony and that he would need to go in her place, to watch. He looked over to mother and child, with longing, but Hagurth reassured him, saying, "My Chief worries for his family, but they are well. The forge will ring in celebration, this day. My Chief must go to listen and carry the music of the Forge with him, when he returns." He looked back to her, and she smiled, warmly. She placed a hand on his cheek, and he leaned down to her for a kiss. He then left them within the tent and went to the forge. Already, the smiths had opened the flaps and were bringing wood into the forge for lighting the fires. They knew their duties, and the ceremony came as naturally to them as breathing. For his people, this was part of the life that burned within them all. He had never known the forge to be silent and still, and he did not expect it, now. This was a time of celebration, not mourning or loss, and so the forge would ring out, its steady song carrying over the camp and into the hearts of his people.
After the lighting ceremony and the blessing of the forges, the smiths thanked the chieftain and offered their congratulations. He would remember their words and carry them to Mazoga. As he was leaving the tent, he saw Hagurth sending a group of warriors into the forest. He strolled up, inquiring about their mission. Hagurth smiled, broadly, and replied, "There must be food for the celebration, my Chief." He looked after them, and the hunt called to him. He made ready to follow, but Hagurth stopped him, stating that it was their honor to bring food for the celebration. All trophies taken on the hunt would be for the baby, so that he would be strong. The food would be brought to the mother, so that she would be strong for the baby. The rest of the camp would feast and celebrate with the chieftain, so that he would be proud. He looked to her, and simply said, "I don't know if I could be any more proud of him, of her, and of my people." She smirked, rubbing her own belly and saying, "Just wait, my Chief." He laughed at this and enjoyed the friendly competition between Hagurth and Mazoga, but he would be proud of all of them, just the same. Hagurth then shooed him back to Mazoga's tent, and he left at a trot, both chuckling, as he left. There was much joy in the camp, and even the men and women on patrol or at their chores would look up and offer congratulations to the chieftain and the Forgemaster.
Approaching the Forgemaster's tent, he moved aside the flap, and stepped inside, still smiling from all the accolades of his people. As his eyes crossed to the bed, where his wife and child slept, he froze, as terror gripped his heart. There, next to the bed, looming over their sleeping bodies, stood a cloaked figure, and he knew who it was. He made to roar an alarm, but the words were stopped in his mouth, as a sinister hand held a finger to thin lips and shushed him. The figure didn't turn towards him. It only spoke, "My my! What a lovely little child for the weak chieftain. So new, so delicate, so full of life." Zorubaash made to move on the figure and choke the life out of him, but he could not. His feet were rooted to the floor, and all his muscles had frozen. He could only glare daggers at the man. Syrdar chuckled at the chieftain's futile struggle and continued, "You have been busy, little Zorubaash. I wonder what Raashazur or Braakam would say if they knew you had joined with another clan, taken wives, and made a family other than the Bloodfists." He then turned to the chieftain, and Zorubaash saw a wicked smile upon his face. "They were brave, you know? They tried so hard to resist, saying 'this is not the way', but I took them, in the end, just like all your people. They are mine, now. Only you remain, my little, wayward wanderer. Your resistance is charming, powerless chieftain, but I wonder if you would trade yourself for these people..." He looked back to the baby, and continued, "For your son?" Rage erupted within Zorubaash. He knew the sorcerer spoke only lies to torment him. Even if the words were true, they were poison. He willed his limbs to move and drew the hammer from his belt, while Syrdar loomed over the chieftain's family, mumbling and cackling to himself. Zorubaash raised the hammer and drove the spike into his leg, roaring, "Liar! Deceiver! I will break your body upon the stones, and the Bear shall devour your soul! You will not have my people, now or ever!" He raked the claw of the hammer over the brand, ripping it and causing the blood to flow. Syrdar's image flickered, as shock at this sudden ability to tear free from his control was replaced by pain. The dark figure seemed to be shredded, screaming, as Zorubaash continued to maul the brand with the claw. He lunged at Syrdar, raising the hammer to strike true and crush his skull, but he merely turned to shadow and evaporated.
The strips of living shadow faded from existence, and Zorubaash found himself standing in the tent, just inside the doorway. There was no sign of Syrdar, but he felt the weight of the hammer in his hand, and blood oozed from his leg. The baby began to cry, and Mazoga awoke, looking to the baby and then noticing her chieftain. She saw the hammer and the blood and asked, hurriedly, "Is my Chief well? What has happened?" He didn't speak. He stuck the hammer back in his belt and crossed the tent with quick strides. He kissed her, deeply, and then checked the baby. Neither of them bore any marks, and he breathed a sigh of relief, slumping upon the bed, beside them. Now Mazoga was truly puzzled, asking, "My Chief, what has happened?" He winced, as he bumped his wound against the bed, and began to treat it. As he dressed the mauled flesh, he said, "Syrdar was here, taunting me. He sought to take the baby and our people." He finished tying a bandage about his leg, and finished, "I will not let him have you, any of you. I would die before I let that monster take my people." She clutched the baby close to her, and said, "He was here? How?" Zorubaash stared across the tent, at nothing in particular, answering, "Probably some illusion. Spellbook's wards are powerful and our people ever watchfull. He probably cast something small and sinister to slip through unnoticed, something without substance, like a shadow." She looked down at his leg, and asked, "A shadow did that to my Chief?" Zorubaash set his foot down, satisfied that he had treated the wound well enough, saying, "This? This was me." She looked at him with shocked scrutiny, and he continued, "I didn't know what allowed him through the wards and barriers, so I ruined the mark, in the hopes that it might break his focus. It worked, and his image evaporated. I found myself back in the spot I had been, and he was gone, without a trace." She thought for a moment and then looked back at him, asking, "Why does he persist? Is my Chief that valuable to his plans? Is he afraid?" Zorubaash shook his head, saying, "He thinks he does not fear anything, but all men who seek power above all else fear something. He is blind to his fear, which is foolish." He pondered for a moment and then spoke, "He is obsessed with me, I think, because I escaped...and because I am unique. Other orcs have been cut from their clans, but I am the only one I know of who left willingly. Perhaps I was a curiosity to him, once, but now he has grown more and more covetous. It is his weakness, and one we may need to exploit, some day." He grinned wolfishly, as the thought of laying a trap for Syrdar filled him with feral glee, especially if he was to be the bait. He didn't mind the danger. He just wanted to end the mad dog, once and for all. He then turned to her and said, sternly, "I will raise a mighty force to make war. The Forgeborn will be my blades for battle, and we will oppose the Flood and Syrdar's evil...for our people and for their future." He looked pointedly to the baby, placing his hand upon the child, who was suckling on his mother. She looked up at him, with fire in her eyes, and declared, "For the Forge."
As Zorubaash calmed down, he told Mazoga about what was said in Lady Effrix's court and of their plans to crush the giants under Syrdar's bidding. Mazoga had listened, as she cared for the baby, offering her insight and advice where it was needed. Zorubaash also pulled out the sending stone and passed a message to Allen, informing him of Syrdar's incursion and urging him to have Krell and Spellbook make a pass of the grounds for any lingering sorcerery and to check the wards. Eventually, however, they set business aside and simply enjoyed their time together, with the baby. She asked him what they should name him, and Zorubaash admitted that he had not thought to choose a name. He asked her for her thoughts, and she listed a few names but that there was no rush, as the naming ceremony wouldn't take place until the baby reached his first year. He liked seeing her this way, a mother to his son, as well as to her people. After a time, Hagurth entered with food for the new mother and took the baby, while Mazoga ate, cooing at him and showing her tusks, proudly. Zorubaash couldn't wait to see her as a mother, also, and he smiled broadly at her. She noticed his smile and returned her own. Zorubaash excused himself to go speak with the Rats in residence and share the news with his friends. Mazoga and Hagurth both nodded, and he left the tent, to the sounds of the women talking to the newborn and one another. Traveling through the camp, he saw his people preparing food and making ready for the feast. He looked forward to it, with great anticipation.
Along the way to the abbey, he passed Krell and Spellbook, filling them in on the details of his encounter with Syrdar. Krell checked his leg for any residual magic and mentioned that if there had been any, Zorubaash made good work of breaking it and marring the brand, so that Syrdar could not attempt the same trick twice. They offered their congratulations to the chieftain and then proceeded to the camp and the surrounding walls. He approached the abbey itself and noticed both Allen and Wrona setting the guards on patrols. He approached and greeted them, and they returned his greeting, mentioning that the first wagon of supplies would be arriving in the afternoon, along with the first batch of troops for the assault on the giants. The abbey would be the staging ground for mustering the troops and forming the war parties. Allen had already set servants to the task of preparing the grounds and clearing out room for the tents of the town guard and for Count Vorn's mounted archers. Wrona then looked at the chieftain, slyly, and asked, "What was all the commotion, last night? Your people seemed pretty excited." Zorubaash looked at her, with pride, and replied, "Mazoga had her child, my son, and his metal has been added to de Forge." At this news, Allen hopped about with excitement and then began to fret, as he often did, wondering if there was a proper gift they would need to bring to congratulate Mazoga and Zorubaash. Zorubaash only laughed, saying, "Peace, friend Allen. H'your joy iz gift enough for me. If h'you vould like to bring someting for Mazoga and de baby, feel free, but do not vorry zo. My people vill be feasting, tonight. I vould be honored to haff my friends join us...just be sure to bring plenty ov food and drink." He winked and went inside the abbey to spread the news and check on preparations for the war parties.
Abyth was beside herself, with glee, at the thought of a "baby Goremash". Even Nerwyne perked up at the news, although Zorubaash was unsure if it was because she liked babies or if she wondered what a new target would look like. Sara and Brak congratulated him, heartily, and readily accepted his invitation to the feast, promising to bring gifts, food, and drink. He checked in with Gurgnir and saw how he was settling in. He was restless and wanted to take the fight to his fellow giants, as soon as possible, but Zorubaash urged caution, as they weren't just dealing with giants but sorcery as well. Gurgnir finally relented and said he would be ready, whenever Zorubaash was prepared to fight. The chieftain had laughed and patted the small giant's leg, saying, "Iz good to fight, to hunt, to make war. Iz also good to enjoy life and de living of it. Besides, I tell h'you dat Chief Zorubaash iz generous, yes? Vee make h'you armor and weapon more h'your size, then vee are ready to crush servants of Syrdar." Hearing the name, Gurgnir growled low, like some terrible best. "How you know dat name?!" he demanded. Zorubaash looked at him, in surprise, answering, "Sev'ral giants verr felled raiding a village. Some ov dem bore mark of dark sorcerer, Syrdar. I know Syrdar bekause he try to mark me, too. He corrupt my people. He try to take de lives ov my friends. He try to take my son!" His voice had risen to a roar, at the accusation in Gurgnir's tone, but he calmed himself, seeing that the giant had meant no offense, only that he felt anger towards the sorcerer, as well. "I am no ally of Syrdar," he said, reassuringly. "I seek his head and vill crush any who stand vith him." At this, Gurgnir nodded, saying, "Then we fight giants." Zorubaash looked up at his ally and said, "Aye, Gurgnir. Vee fight giants."
That night was full of merriment in the Forgeborn camp, while the guard were bedding down near the abbey. Some asked the resident guards what all the commotion was about, and were informed of the chieftain's son and the congratulatory feast within the camp. Some expressed their desire to watch or partake but were advised against it, unless they had been invited by the chieftain. If Zorubaash could have his way, he would have invited all of Venzor, but as it was, he could not. Only the Band of the Noble Rat and Countess Abyth, along with her entourage, were allowed to attend, by preference of the Forgemaster. Zorubaash had acquiesced, as it was more a celebration for her and the baby than for himself. He only desired for her to be happy and for his son to grow strong, amongst his people, if he so desired. He was full of mirth, at the feast. His people ate and drank, sang and even danced. Cami joined the Forgeborn singers and musicians, and the camp was full of their rejoicing. He sat, next to his Forgemaster, soaking it all in, as he ate, drank, and laughed with the Rats and his people. At one point, he raised the ring to his face and sent a message to his friends far away. "Kleatus? It is a good night, here. We are celebrating the birth of my son. We will celebrate when you return, or when I come to get you. Be well, my brother. See you soon."
Abyth didn't leave Mazoga's side, at first, staring at the baby and asking as many questions as could pop out of her mouth. Mazoga was wise and patient, answering the questions as best she could, in turn. Eventually, Sara called her daughter over, to leave the matron and her baby alone for a little bit, and Nerwyne followed. Zorubaash couldn't quite gauge the moon elf's mood, as she stayed relatively passive and indifferent, but every once in a while, he noticed her watch the dancers, and he could see her tapping her feet to the rhythm of the music. He had asked if she wanted to dance with his people, and she had declined, flatly. He nodded in understanding but left the offer open, saying, "They vould velcome h'you, Nerwyne. H'you are Rat and friend to chieftain. My people velcome many and are good people, vith big hearts." She looked down, and he could see conflict behind her eyes. He carefully rested a hand on her shoulder saying, "I cannot return your parents to h'you, nor can I erase dose terrible memories. I can only offer h'you a chance to see dat vee are not all brutes. Vee are people, too. And vee love h'you, little sister." She looked up at him, abruptly, but didn't say anything. He couldn't quite tell if she wanted to hug him or stab him, which could have been the same impulse in her mind. He smiled back, warmly, patting her shoulder. She went back to watching the dancers, and he decided to leave her be, so he sat back up and rejoined the celebration.
Eventually, the music calmed and the dancers returned to their seats. Hagurth then approached the chieftain, holding something in her arms. As she presented the item to her chieftain, he noticed that she carried his pan flute, made from the bones of his enemies. She had procured it from the Forgemaster's tent and asked if he would play for his people, something from his adventures or from his homeland. He took the flute and thought for a moment, as the revelers became quiet, watching the chieftain in anticipation. He thought of a song to play, one from his homeland, telling the story of a great hunter in his legends. He stood and dedicated the song to his son, that he might grow strong like the hunter in the legend. As he began to play, all eyes were fixed upon him. The warm notes carried over the crowd and called images into their mind's eye visions of the hunt, great beasts, and mighty victories.
He continued to play and noticed that Nerwyne stood and walked towards the bonfire. She drew her blades, and he almost stopped the music. Then he saw her begin to dance. It was not the usual bladesong dance that he had seen her perform in combat. This dance matched the notes of his flute. They were smooth and graceful, as if she were dancing upon the notes themselves. He continued to play, with more passion. She danced, and as her face would turn in her spins and twirls, he began to see a smile trace itself across her delicate face. He did not stop, nor did she. When he would play clashing notes to denote combat in the song, he saw her use the tip of her blades to flick stones into the bonfire, without stopping the dance and sending sparks sailing into the night sky. It was as if the song had come to life in her dancing. On and on went the song and the dancer. By the time the song reached its conclusion, he could see a broad smile upon her face. Though she did not laugh, he saw the sparkle of joy in her eyes. The song ended on a high chord, and Nerwyne leapt in the air to catch it, tumbling with it, and landed gracefully, as the song ended. Suddenly, she realized that all eyes were now on her, even the chieftain's, and she recovered her composure, sheathing her swords, silently, as everyone simply stared in amazement. She stood, a dark silhouette against the dwindling bonfire, and for a moment nobody moved. All had been entranced by the spell of soaring song and graceful dance. Then everyone erupted with cheers and praise. Nerwyne walked quickly towards her seat, clearly embarrassed and uncertain, but as she passed Mazoga, the Forgemaster turned in her seat and said, "Thank you, little one, for the gift." Nerwyne nodded, silently, and saw the baby staring at her. She cocked a smile at him and then made her way to her seat. Zorubaash simply beamed, while everyone cheered. As she sat, she looked over to the chieftain, who bowed in thanks to the dancer. She nodded, and then Abyth glomped her, shouting praises in her excitement. Zorubaash and Mazoga both chuckled, and the baby simply stared at them.
The celebration reached its inevitable conclusion, as the fire died down into mere embers, and the Forgeborn began to clear the table and go about their nightly duties. Zorubaash thanked the Rats and Abyth's family for attending, and they too left for their beds. Zorubaash and his wives returned to the Forgemaster's tent, and made ready for bed. As Mazoga lay upon the bed with her baby, however, Hagurth began to flirt with her chieftain. In truth, she had been flirting with him all night, and his reluctance to join in the flirting, out of his sense of duty to the occasion of the celebration, only seemed to stoke her fire and embolden her advances. She helped him remove his clothing, even though he was still fairly sober and capable of handling the task himself. He was not used to someone removing his pants in such a forceful manner and stumbled, landing on his back and hitting his head against the foot of the bed, which jolted and startled the baby. Mazoga chided them and then shooed the rowdy lovers out of the tent, so she and the baby could sleep. Zorubaash and Hagurth quickly scampered out of the tent, not wishing to incur the wrath of the mother bear, and found a secluded spot to reacquaint themselves. Eventually, they returned to the tent, for a few hours of sleep, deciding to sleep on the floor, so as not to wake the Forgemaster and her son. It was a good night, and as Zorubaash drifted off to sleep, with Hagurth snuggled against him, he wondered if he would have many more like this.
Morning came, and with it, the duties of a chieftain, or more appropriately, a warchief. After the lighting ceremony, he met with Brak and Gurgnir to gather timber within the forest. Interestingly, Rolling Thunder, the centaur they had helped and who was now staying with them, had volunteered to come with them. Zorubaash welcomed his assistance, as it made the gathering of timber and the return trip faster and with fewer incidents. Once they finished assembling a large, make-shift forge, they began to work the materials. The first thing they made was armor for Gurgnir. They heated the plates of metal over a large pit of coals. They stoked the coals with Gurgnir's lungs blowing gently on the massive bed of coals to coax them white hot. Brak showed Zorubaash how to shape the armor over a large, rounded slab of granite they had found in the forest. Gurgnir held the metal in place, while Brak and Zorubaash and Brak worked the steel with large hammers. Once they shaped one side, the metal was quenched in a large trough of water, Gurgnir would then stick the metal back into the coals, leaving a good half of it out for him to grab onto. They worked the other sides, and the plates took shape. They decided that a simple, layered metal design would work best for ease of smithing and to provide Gurgnir with good movement. The task took all day long, and Zorubaash silently wished George and Enis were around to aid with the heating an hammering. They took breaks for meals and water, as needed. Occasionally, Zorubaash would slip away, to check on Mazoga and the baby, but she would shoo him away, assuring him that they were fine.
At one point, Hagurth approached with her hand-picked warriors, and Zorubaash took a break from working the steel to give them instructions on the drills they were to practice. She looked at him, lustfully, as he was covered in sweat and soot from the forge, wearing a heavy leather apron over his broad shoulders and down his chiseled midsection, partially obscuring his buckskin breeches. In her eyes, he was the image of the unbroken Forgeborn, second only to the Forgemaster, herself. He cocked an eyebrow in her direction but continued with their orders. For the first few days, he would have the warriors run an agility course amongst a patch of boulders he had found in the forest, to simulate navigating the glaciers and climbing the rocky outcroppings. He told Hagurth not to go easy on them and that they were to be ready for combat with any intruding beasts at a moment's notice, as the wastes would not forgive a single mistake and the creatures of the mountain would swoop in to devour them. After the day of training, they were to try and scale the border wall, again simulating another aspect of the frozen wastes. He knew his people had the strength and endurance for the training, he needed her to hammer skill and instinct into them. She nodded, dutifully, and set them to the task, while she traveled with them to watch. Zorubaash had insisted that she take Rolling Thunder with them, should something lumber through the forest that could not be overcome and they would need to retreat to safety. She did not question her chieftain and even appreciated the concern for their well-being and that of her unborn child. He understood that he would eventually need to take over their training, but for now, he had a project to finish.
Eventually, the plates for the front of Gurgnir's hauberk were finished. It wasn't the best work he had seen, but both Zorubaash and Brak were pleased. Zorubaash was pretty sure the Forgeborn wouldn't appreciate them, but he knew they would hold up well in a fight. They covered the pit of coals with a sheet of scrap metal they would not use and dropped the remaining sides of the tent, to keep out the elements. Brak let them know that he would light the forge and stoke the fires early in the morning, so that they could start as soon as Zorubaash arrived. They all agreed and departed for their beds. As Zorubaash approached the Forgemaster's tent, he noticed that Hagurth was waiting outside. He made to greet her, but she shushed him, stating that Mazoga and the baby were already asleep. He poked his head in to check and noticed that they were indeed both fast asleep. Before he could stealthily enter and begin to disrobe, Hagurth gripped his arm and led him to her tent, nearby. As soon as they entered, clothing and the leather apron were flung about the tent, as the passion they had kept bottled up from their morning meeting exploded. Zorubaash realized that Hagurth was taking advantage of the fact that Mazoga was busy with the baby and in no mood to entertain any of his advances. He did not mind, however, as he understood that Hagurth was younger and had a much larger appetite for this revelry. He wanted to keep his wives happy, even if it meant leaving one alone and pouring extra attention upon the other.
He remembered the first time he had taken her and how uncertain she had seemed, despite being experienced. She didn't fear him, nor did she doubt her own abilities, but she did not know how to act before her chieftain in that situation. They had found the path together, however, and now she held nothing back. It had also surprised him that it was Mazoga who had insisted that he take a second wife. Granted, he understood that Mazoga had recognized his desires for Hagurth, well before he had ever admitted it, but he had not expected her to be the one to encourage their coupling. He had expressed his concerns, then, wanting to follow Forgeborn traditions as much as possible, but she had dismissed them, stating that it was the woman's choice if she would accept a mate and that she had already accepted Hagurth as a worthy partner for him. Ultimately, it was up to Hagurth if she would accept the position as second wife. He almost laughed out loud at how clumsy he had been in courting her. He had gone on a midnight hunt, as Mazoga had instructed, and left the prey at the doorway to her tent, with a white hand print upon it, signifying that he was offering her sustenance and companionship. The next day, he did his best not to look at her, as he did not want to break tradition, but every now and then he would catch her looking in his direction, and he would either avert his gaze or shift his path, entirely. He felt really awkward doing this, as his people usually just took someone they were interested in, be it the man taking the woman or the other way around. Both parties were usually willing, but for brutal, Bloodfist orcs, it was not always the case. If the coupling was successful, then they would become a pair, in the sight of the clan. If not, then one of the partners usually wound up dead, as either could reject the advances of the other, violently. The Forgeborn, however, did things differently, and Zorubaash had wanted to follow their ways, as best he could.
For three nights he went on hunts, always leaving the prize at the doorway of his desired mate and leaving. After the first night, he was certain that she waited behind the tent flap, but she did not emerge or even lift the flap. She waited, as the Forgeborn do, for the ritual to run its course. For four days, he avoided her gaze, seeking to go about his business as usual, while keeping his glances from her, as well. He truly did not enjoy this part of the custom, but he followed their ways, as he had decided and Mazoga had insisted. He wondered by the third day if this was a test in and of itself, as he was certain that Hagurth knew it was he who laid the slain animals at her door, every night. Would they keep to tradition, or would they let their impulsiveness get the better of them? He had resolved to stay the course, and on the fourth night, he slew a mighty bear, taking its still dripping hide and covering himself with it. He lay at her doorstep as an offering. This he really didn't like, but Mazoga had explained on third night that it was hers to choose if she would take the final offering of his affection or leave it in the cold. If she left him there all night, that would be the end of it, and the warrior must not ever seek her again. Mazoga had also explained that this was a tradition carried down since the first chieftain had sought a bride from a neighboring clan. Neither of the lovers' parents agreed to their courtship, so they tested them. By the third night, the lovers realized they would never be allowed to wed, so the son disguised himself as one of his offerings. When the daughter had opened her tent to receive the offering, she wept, knowing that it would be the last she would ever receive from her beloved. As she wept, he took her hand, and she had recoiled, thinking that the beast was still alive. She fled into the tent for a weapon, and the lover followed, trying to stop her. She struck at him, in fear, and he died in her arms. She wept bitter tears and cried to the Forge to reunite her with her lover. In the morning, only two silhouettes of ash were found inside the tent. The Forge had answered, and their bodies were cast into the stars, to live forever in the eyes of their people. In their grief and shame, the Chieftains reached a truce, and swore that never would they keep love apart between their tribes, so long as they followed the test and remained true to their commitment of the ritual.
Remembering her story filled him with resolve, and so he waited, watching the stars from the corner of his eyes and listening for Hagurth. He didn't have to wait long, as he had barely settled upon the ground and begun to listen, before the tent flap was moved aside and he felt a hand upon his pelt covered shoulder. He had turned to her and saw a look of relief cross her face. In that moment, he remembered another part of Mazoga's tale. If the man did not wish to continue the courtship, he would leave a final gift at the woman's door, indicating that he wished her well but had given up the hunt. In that instant, he wondered if Hagurth had doubted he would continue. On that night, however, she had welcomed him into her tent and received him, with much vigor. They had lain upon the pelt that he wore then, both covered in the blood of the beast and the sweat of their passion. The next day, the pelt was tanned and remained in her tend, displaying that it was his bed, whenever he desired her.
As they lay upon the pelt, her belly now swollen with his other child, he felt it kick against his mighty arm. He rolled over and placed his other hand on the side, and he felt another kick. He looked down, with curiosity, and honed his senses to detect if it would happen again. He waited, and Hagurth noticed his stillness and could feel his anticipation. She made to ask what he was feeling for, and he shushed her. Then it happened again. Two kicks, almost at the same time and in completely different places along her stomach. He looked up at her, and realization flashed across both their faces. Twins! Hagurth carried twins inside her belly. Excitement overwhelmed them, in that moment, and they surrendered to their passion, again, that night.
The next day, they slipped back into the Forgemaster's tent, and told her of what they had learned the night before. Mazoga was her usual calm self, but Zorubaash heard the excitement in her words. It was rare for women of the clan to bear twins, and it usually marked a great omen. She assured Hagurth that she would personally attend her birthing and that both she and the chieftain would carry Hagurth's children to the forge for the ceremony. Hagurth thanked her, reverently, and Zorubaash had nodded with a firm resolve. He would not miss the ceremony, even if it meant tearing through a hundred dragons to reach them. After a brief conversation, Zorubaash dressed himself and attended the lighting ceremony at the forge, gave the day's regimen to the chosen warriors, and joined Brak and Gurgnir at their forge for another day of hard work. This day, however, the hammer felt lighter, and even their make-shift forge seemed to ring with the music of his people.
The days passed, and the two finished the plated hauberk for Gurgnir, having him try it on for fit and feel. He had beamed, stating, "Gurgnir mighty warrior! Gurgnir Tomb Breaker, revenging warrior!" Brak and Zorubaash had joined in his celebration, being sure to take note of how it moved and flexed as he pranced about. They knew there would need to be some adjustments, but they had indeed made a sturdy piece of armor for their ally. Next, they set to the task of shaping the dragon bone into a mighty maul for Gurgnir. They used one of the dragon's femurs, taking off the ball that fit in to the socket of the pelvis and shaving down the rest into a smooth dowel shape, making sure not to shave off too much and weaken the bone. They then forged iron bands that would hold the wood in place for the handle, along with a ring pommel from which would hang a spiked ball and chain. It was Brak's flavor to the weapon, and Zorubaash had welcomed the idea. They also crafted a round hilt for the maul, to protect Gurgnir's hands and keep the wood from sliding up the maul, just as the pommel would keep it from sliding off. With much effort, they drilled two holes into the bone to drive rivets through and secure the handle, firmly. Then they assembled the weapon, using Brak's knowledge of making barrels for the town to press iron bands in places about the bone and lining up the holes for the rivets. Then the pommel and hilt were secured, with pitch and sinew, so that they could be removed for repairs, if needed, but would hold fast during a fight. Afterwards, they set to wrapping the handle in moistened leather, stretching it as the worked and braided it along the length of the grip and covering the waxed sinew underneath. Finally, they let the leather dry, applying the balm Tharkum had taught Zorubaash to make to keep it supple and free of any cracks while it dried.
At last the maul was finished, and Gurgnir took great pleasure in wheeling it above his head. "Mighty maul!" he said, ecstatically. "Mighty maul for revenging. Mighty maul of small friends." Zorubaash and Brak encouraged Gurgnir to put on his armor, as well, so he could see how it all fit. Once he finished securing the hauberk and they were confident he knew how to fit and tighten it properly, Zorubaash pulled a large belt from his bag. It was decorated with small shields...well, small for Gurgnir, anyway. For Brak and Zorubaash, they were more like bucklers. Each had a crude skull emblazoned on them, something that Brak had toiled on nightly, in his off time. Gurgnir took the belt and clutched it to his chest. "Yes! Mighty belt for Gurgnir. It very nice. Thank you small friends!" he said. "Don' stahp tanking us yet, Gurgie," said Brak, as he pulled a large tarp of a rather bulbous looking object. Underneath was a large half-helmet, complete with a slotted visor. In all truth, it was the finer piece of armor of the whole set. Brak had toiled over it, tirelessly. He had worked, shaped, and chiseled every detail into it, with a little help from Zorubaash. They had polished it the night before, much to the dismay of Hagurth and Mazoga, as they had hoped to spend a night with their husband, while he still had some fire in him. It glinted in the sun, and Gurgnir was speechless. He knelt before the helmet, cupping it in his hands. "For Gurgnir?" he finally asked, not daring to take his eyes off it and admiring his reflection on its surface. "Well," Zorubaash stated, with his fists on his hips. "Iz too big vor us! Go ahead, my friend. Put on h'your brain bucket." Gurgnir scowled at the little chieftain, reprovingly, stating, "No is 'brain bucket'. Is Brak Helm!" Brak beamed with pride, as Gurgnir placed it upon his head and buckled the strap under his chin. "Ha!" exclaimed Zorubaash. "Iz good name for de helmet! But vot ov maul? A mighty veapon must haff a mighty name." Gurgnire picked up the maul and rolled it in his hands, looking it over. Eventually his gaze fell on the top of the maul, and he noticed that it was part of the dragon's knee. "Knee Breaker!" he exclaimed. "It 'Knee Breaker', mighty weapon of small friends." Brak and Zorubaash roared in elation, and they all celebrated the completion of Gurgnir's armaments.
In their celebration, none of the companions had noticed that some of the guards had gathered, as their interest had been growing about what Zorubaash and Brak had been making within the overly large tent. Even some of Vorn's archers had wandered over to watch the small giant prance about and sing. From behind them, Zorubaash heard the words of his Forgemaster, "It is not Forgeborn, but it is strong." He wheeled around and beheld Mazoga, with their son in a sling across her chest. He bowed his thanks at the compliment, with reverence. She walked towards Gurgnir, and a small group of Forgeborn walked with her. She asked Gurgnir if she could examine the maul, and Gurgnir looked to Brak and Zorubaash, who nodded. He held it out for her, rolling it in his open palms for her to inspect. "This is well made, my Chief, and Chief's Brother, Brak," she said. "It is not of steel, like Forgeborn, but it is a mighty weapon, forged from the bones of your enemy." Gurgnir smiled with pride, while Brak and Zorubaash bowed their thanks. "Is 'Knee Breaker', mighty weapon of small friends," beamed Gurgnir. She nodded towards him, and he went back to marveling at his new equipment. She then approached her chieftain and Brak, saying, "Your brother learns well, my Chief. He may yet become a smith of the Forgeborn." Brak and Zorubaash looked up from their bowing and then at each other, in surprise. Zorubaash smiled at his old friend, and nodded. Brak's shocked expression turned to a joyful smile, and he nodded, silently. Then the Forgemaster to Zorubaash, asking, "Will my Chief walk with his Forgemaster and their son?" Zorubaash nodded and replied, "As my Forgemaster wills." He clapped his brother on the shoulder and asked if he would see to the forge, while he left. Brak nodded, and the chieftain walked beside his wife, towards their camp.
As they walked, Mazoga spoke, "The Forgeborn see their Chief arming for war. Will my Chief take his people into battle?" He did not stop walking, as he replied, "If they will follow their Chief, then he would be proud to take them with him. We go to fight the minions of Syrdar, for the defense of Venzor and for the Forgeborn." She nodded and said, "Then the Forgeborn follow. I have forged mighty weapons for my Chief. It is good for him to wield them in battle." He nodded, with reverence, saying, "I will carry them, with honor." Zorubaash thought for a moment, and then said, "Hagurth must not follow her Chief into battle. It is no place for a mother with child." Mazoga replied, "She will not be happy. She is a young warrior, and will feel her duty is to follow her Chief into battle." He grimaced and said, "Her duty is to the Forgeborn, even those yet to be born. She gives honor to her Chief and the Forgeborn, in this." Mazoga only nodded. He thought for a moment and then sighed, saying, "I will speak with her. She may hate me for this command, but I hope she will see the wisdom in it. She must do this for her Chief, just as I must do this, for my people." He could not see her face as they continued forward, but the Forgemaster looked upon the Chief with pride, that day.
At the camp, Zorubaash bathed and donned his battle gear and the blade, fastening the cloak about his shoulders. He made his way to where the chosen warriors were training, and greeted Hagurth and Rolling Thunder, as he approached. He stood beside his wife and watched as the warriors finished scaling the border wall, picking their way along the masonry with only their fingertips and toes. This was to teach them how to find impossibly small crevices along a cliff face. The masons had not made their task easy, and there were sometimes barely enough room for a fingernail. Still, his warriors learned and found their way up the steep wall, cresting the rampart, and then making their way back down, carefully. When all the warriors had assembled, panting yet standing tall before their chieftain, he nodded and then turned to Rolling Thunder, to ask, "Vill h'you take dem on a run, my friend?" The centaur nodded and trotted off around the perimeter of the wall. The warriors did not grumble, but Zorubaash could see looks of dismay in some of their eyes. Running with Rolling Thunder usually involved a sprint pace, as the centaur usually ran at full speed, like all his people. They did not hesitate, however, and his warriors followed Rolling Thunder at a run. The centaur looked back to see if all had followed him, and he caught the slight, downward wave of Zorubaash, slowing his pace to take the warriors at a slower, longer run.
Once all the warriors were out of earshot, rounding the first corner of the perimeter, Zorubaash turned to his wife, who had been waiting for a moment alone, as she planted a passionate kiss upon her chieftain. He received it with equal passion, but eventually pulled her back, saying, "We must speak." She seemed a little hurt at his rebuff, but still, she nodded and listened, "I will be taking a warband with me to assault the giants." He could see excitement in her eyes, as he continued, "You must not accompany us." At this, he had truly wounded her, and she blurted, "But my place is with my Chief, in battle." He sighed, as he placed his hand affectionately upon her belly and said, "Not this time. This time, your duty is with your people and your unborn children." He saw the fury well up in her eyes, as he had expected. She was a warrior, above all else, and he knew she would be a fierce mother bear, when the time came. He wanted her there with him, but he could not ask a mother to put her unborn children at risk. A chieftain could not ask this of her. He could only command her to remain and hope that she saw the reason behind it. His eyes pleaded with her, just as her eyes had pleaded with him, the day he chose to remain in the Forgemaster's tent. "Don't make me choose", they said. She looked into his eyes, with fire blazing behind her own, and just as before, the look he gave her broke through the rage. She softened and bowed her head, saying, "As my Chief wills." He lifted her head, looked into her eyes, beholding a tempest of emotion, and said, "Though you are far from me, you are always in my heart. I will carry your fire into battle, for you, for the Forgeborn, and for our children." She fell into his arms, shouting into his massive chest, "Carry me wherever my Chief will, just come home to your people!" She looked up at him. There were no tears, but he heard the surge of emotion in her words, "Come home to your family, my Chief." He nodded a promise and kissed her, deeply, as they embraced one another.
In the next week, Zorubaash attended to the chosen warriors, while Hagurth sent out scouting parties to find the giant camps, their numbers, and any other relevant information. They decided that small Orc hunting parties were easier to miss than human scouts in the middle of Hill Giant territory. Gurgnir provided what information he could, but in the time he had spent in the prison and then in helping with his armaments, that information could have grown old and inaccurate. Zorubaash had Rolling Thunder accompany him in training, as the centaurs speed and sharp eyes were an asset in the Deep Forest. Zorubaash now ran specific drills with the warriors to test their skill, hone their senses, and raise their endurance to the elements. He would use a couple Ice Elemental stones that Krell and Spellbook had been able to create to provide the harsh biting cold and sometimes play adversary to the warriors, in training. Zorubaash, himself, would run the courses, showing the warriors exactly what he expected from each of them. He ran them through drills in the day, at times, but mostly at night, in order to weed out their dependence on daylight, since daylight on the white glaciers would blind anyone. He taught them to see signs that had been obscured by heavy snow and the biting wind. He showed them how to craft snow goggles, traps, and shoes for crossing the glaciers. He hoped that they didn't have to use these skills, but he didn't want a single one to be unprepared for any possibility in that unforgiving world of ice and snow. He showed them the "hand-speak" of the northern clans, so that they could move, hunt, and communicate without sound. In the frozen north, sound could be as deadly as any creature or hidden fissure. Sound could bring an avalanche or call silent predators down upon them. He also taught them to wrap their bodies in furs, in order to obscure their green flesh, as nothing green grew in the wastes. At the end of their training, there was always the wall. Once he knew they could scale the wall, well enough, he began timing them, goading them to climb faster. Sometimes, he would even light a fire beneath them, encouraging them to move faster and to push their endurance. Hunters of his former clan had survived by scaling sheer cliffs in the face of onrushing predators or hostile hunting parties. They could climb almost any surface, and he demanded this of his warriors, now.
When they weren't running drills, he would teach them in the way his people had fought, with spear and blade, incorporating jabs and thrusts to follow their sweeps and slashes. Sometimes, while he and the warriors were on a break, Hagurth or Mazoga would pull him away to discuss clan business or share information on the progress of preparations for war. Hagurth mostly wanted to reacquaint herself with her husband, but Zorubaash had noticed that a similar desire had begun to creep back into Mazoga's eyes, as well. When he could sleep, he would do so in the Forgemaster's tent, with Mazoga and Hagurth beside him, and their son between. He noticed that some nights Mazoga would creep closer, seeking his warmth. He liked this. He loved to look upon his son, sleeping peacefully, and his wives resting beside him. He knew that adventures and duties would pull him away, but he was a skilled wanderer and would always find his way home. He continued to seek the Bear, on free nights, but it did not take him back to the blasted landscape, again. It showed him things about the Forgeborn's history or revealed pieces of himself, imparting its ancient wisdom upon the young chieftain. One night, however, it showed him the hills where the giants were waiting. In a ring of stones stood a hooded figure enacting a dark ceremony. The large stones had once been carved with the scrawling work of druids, but they were now marred by Syrdar's mark and other dark symbols. Zorubaash had awoken from the vision and knew that the time to move was rapidly approaching. That night he drew his family close to him, as they slept. He would protect them as best he could. He would train his people to be ready. He would carve a bright future of his people, or die trying.
At last, it was time to move on the giants. In the three weeks since the meeting with Lady Effrix, they had made enough progress with fortifications and setting up supplies. Should the giants send their own forces to Venzor, the town and the Forgeborn would be ready. Zorubaash had sent out several small hunting parties with different routes and stopping points, to disguise their movement and hide their numbers. The hunters were to wait in the trees and underbrush along the path, to guard against ambush and to remain hidden, if no one attacked the procession of troops and archers. Once they reached the Giant encampments, his people were to wait for the first wave of the attack and then swoop in to pick off ranged enemies and sow chaos behind enemy lines. Once the main force reached them in combat, they were to turn and reinforce the guards and archers, adding their might to the push. If they found prisoners from the villages and towns, they would spirit them away, as soon as fighting began and while the giants were distracted. If they saw any sorcerers, they were to eliminate them, or point them out to their chieftain and the archers, for destruction. Both he and his Forgemaster agreed that this would put the Forgeborn warrior's skills as hunters and raiders to best use. He longed to lead them into battle as a warband, but he knew that this was not the time. They must eliminate the outlying giant camps quickly, with no survivors to alert the others, before they descended upon the main camp. Always, one band of hunters and rangers would be scouting ahead, marking targets at the next camp and relaying the information to himself and Count Vorn back at the meeting tent.
For a while, things went relatively smoothly, as the remote encampments were just disorganized mobs of hill giants. Only a handful of prisoners were discovered, however, telling stories of how most of them were carted off to a larger camp. The ones the Venzor troops recovered seemed only intended for sport or food. As the small army drew closer to the main camp, however, things began to change. The giants were more well armed and armored. More spellcasters were discovered amongst their ranks, and even other creatures were mixed into their number. On one raid, Zorubaash noticed a couple trolls along with a hag. He had called for a volley on the trolls, while he carved open their bellies with his flaming sword, the magic in the flames leaving them unable to heal and eventually consuming them with fire. Count Vorn had dealt swiftly with the hag. His arrows full of enchantment and his aim being the sharpest Zorubaash had ever seen. He had wondered how Kleatus would stack up against the Count in a contest. Eventually, they drew near to the main camp of giants, and the Forgeborn scouts relayed disturbing news to their chieftain. Prisoners were being taken to a circle of stones at the rear of the camp. The Forgeborn could not see clearly, as the area was obscured with unnaturally dark mist, but they had heard unearthly screams coming from within. Zorubaash had growled at this news, knowing full well what was likely happening to them. He advised Count Vorn to stay on the lookout for demons and twisted monsters, as Syrdar or his followers were likely conjuring dark things from some unearthly pit. The scouts also reported that more trolls and hags had been seen in the camp, with hooded figures moving about, unhindered by the armored giants.
It was then that Zorubaash decided to split off from the main force and join his warriors in conducting a raid on the dark circle and any minions of Syrdar who would stand between them. When Count Vorn had asked him about his decision, Zorubaash had explained, "It vould mean trouble for us all, if dey finish dehr vurk. Syrdar's sorcery iz fueld by blood and souls. If vee can keep de prisoners alive and out of dehr hands, den vee can veaken dem." Count Vorn still asked why the chieftain needed to join his warriors on the raid. Zorubaash had come to enjoy the Count's straightforward manners. He didn't mince words, and he was always honest with the chieftain, even if his family had hunted orcs for generations. In truth, Zorubaash had never begrudged him this, understanding that his kind often did terrible things to others, especially when they were caught up in the frenzy of the flood. He hoped that after this campaign, they could hunt together, sometime, and that Zorubaash could show Count Vorn around his people's camp. He was proud of them and all they had accomplished. He desired to share at least a piece of it with this mighty and honest hunter. "Two reasons, Count Vorn," he started, but the Count interrupted him, saying, "Tigre, Chief Zorubaash. I don't like titles." Zorubaash smiled and retorted with, "Iz Gore, Tigre. I don't carry titles among friends." Tigre nodded and waved for him to continue. "First, we need to break de ritual. My varriors and I are best suited for dis. Vee are unarmored and do not reqvire horses." Tigre nodded, while Zorubaash continued, "Second, I carry items and veapons dat vould shatter dehr defenses and slay de sorcerers." Tigre then added, "And you've had experience fighting the minions of Syrdar." Zorubaash nodded and replied, "Aye! As have my people." Tigre raised an eyebrow, and Zorubaash shared the tale of the renegade challenger to his claim as chieftain and how he had transformed into some giant flesh beast. "Dis is vot vee face, in dat camp. Darkness dat vould varp flesh and tvist minds." Tigre admitted that he had felled many great beasts and more than a few monsters but that such things were indeed dark and dangerous. Zorubaash nodded, saying, "Aye! Syrdar and his magic iz de corrution ov flesh. It offers power, but demands a terrible price. In de end, it vill consume all...unless vee stand and stop it." They locked arms, wishing the other glory and honor in the coming battle, then Zorubaash turned to meet with his warriors and make plans for the early morning.
Before the dawn, Zorubaash had crept up on the camp, with his warriors. They found paths along the perimeter that were away from any patrols and moved only when the guards' attentions were elsewhere. The unearthly sounds coming from the circle of stones also helped cover any sounds they might have made, no matter how stealthy they were. Zorubaash knew, however, that sight, sound, and even smell were not the only things that would give away their approach, and he had consulted with Spellbook, Wrona, and Krell to acquire a few items that might give him and his hunters an edge in slaying the minions of Syrdar. He paid a fair sum for the items and enchantments, but he knew it was worth the gold to put an end to dark sorcerers and their minions. As he led the Forgeborn, he held a rod in his hand which would help detect any warding runes or sigils that may have been placed around to warn of intruders or kill any who dared to approach. They found several along their path, and were able to avoid them. Zorubaash wondered if they would activate for any fool who stepped on them or crossed their barrier, so he chose to keep them between his warriors and possible enemy reinforcements. Once they were near the barrier, he motioned for his warriors to make ready and for lookouts to stay alert. They would attack when Tigre launched his assault on the front of the camp. Hiding behind the stones but not daring to touch them, the warriors made ready and waited. Zorubaash readied a trinket that would hopefully dispel the misty barrier within the stone circle and give them a clear shot at the sorcerers. He had given his warriors several enchanted javelins to pierce magic defenses and had instructed them to fire upon the mages, as soon as they were in sight. He would not give them a chance to cast their spells, if he could help it. Other than that, he carried a couple potions, one to make him larger, a few to make him breathe different elements, and one to ward off spells and dark magic. The last one had been a gift from Sanzor, and Zorubaash had thanked him, with all sincerity. He had also placed a blessing of Moradin upon his hammer, before Zorubaash had left on his mission with the hunters. Zorubaash didn't know what it would do, but he was sure that any demon would not like it. He allowed himself a wolfish grin, as the thought crossed his mind. Lastly, he carried a special item that Spellbook had crafted from one of Zanarick's claws. He didn't know what it would do, but both Spellbook and Krell had warned him not to use it unless it was absolutely necessary. Zorubaash tucked that one away in his belt, hoping not to need it. He checked his health potions, his healer's kit, and the rest of his gear, just as his warriors were checking their gear and readying the javelins. Then they waited.
Count Tigre Vorn mustered the troops in the early morning, while his archers checked their bows and brushed their fetching. They had smothered their fires early, so that no smoke would be visible from the treeline. They approached the edge of the trees they had been using for cover during the night, and watched the camp. All the guards wore cloaks, like the archers, to hide their armor and keep any glints of metal from alerting the enemy. Both Sanzor and Narvi had prayed to Moradin for clarity and strength before the company left camp, but still the tension was palpable, as they stood in the shadows of the forest. The archers kept their horses quiet and Sanzor had added his magic to aid in keeping them calm, as the smells of death and monsters were pervasive, wafting down the low hills and into the forest. Tigre just watched the guards, waiting for the early morning drowsiness to take its toll well before the changing of shifts. He began to see one of the giant guards' heads begin to bob, and then another yawned. He readied his bow, selecting an arrow that would cause as much noise and confusion as possible. He crept into a deep shadow, and the other archers saw his movements, mimicking their Count and readying to fire. Each archer picked targets, as Tigre zeroed in on the lead guard. There was a moment of perfect silence, between yawns, sighs, and the occasional flatulence of the giants. In that moment, he loosed his arrow, and all the archers did the same. In an instant, death rained down upon the front of the camp, as one arrow struck a guard's face, exploding with the sound of loud thunder that echoed across the mountains behind. The explosion caved the guard's face in, and he toppled backwards, as others struck their targets in similar flashes and explosions. At that, the archers leapt on their horses, and the troops charged, throwing off their cloaks and roaring at the top of their lungs. The guards fell, and there were cries of alarm within the camp. Then out of the trees erupted Gurgnir, brandishing Knee Breaker over his head and bellowing, "FOR REVENGING!"
Zorubaash heard the explosions and the cries of war. He looked to his warriors and counted down, visibly, on his fingers, waiting until all attention had turned to the front of the camp. Then he broke the dispelling trinket against the barrier, and the mist evaporated in an instant. As the warriors rounded the stones, they were greated by horrors beyond their ken. Several mages were coated in gore and strips of flesh, clutching wicked daggers in their hands. Others had been flayed alive and looked as if they wore their old skins like cloaks. Everywhere within the circle was blood and viscera. It reminded Zorubaash of the state of the hag they had found in the hut, with her insides decorating the walls, as if they were the walls, themselves. In the center of the circle was what Zorubaash knew to be the focus of their ritual, a dark portal opening into some damned abyss. Several sorcerers clutched fresh sacrifices, while they wriggled and screamed for salvation. Inured to the horrorscape before him, Zorubaash hefted his lightning empowered javelin, took aim at the lead sorcerer, and launched it through the bodies of several others, shouting the empowering word he had given it, "Nellothein". He then drew the flaming blade, igniting it with his rage and bellowing to his warriors, "FOR THE FORGE!" The action and words of their chieftain snapped the other Forgeborn out of their shock, and they joined in his roar, hurling their javelins at the sorcerers. Several javelins struck the sorcerers with prisoners, who then ran for the perimeter, in panic. Several other sorcerers made to chase them, but the Forgeborn pounced upon them, with brutal savagery, hacking them to pieces. Zorubaash swigged the potion of protection as he ran towards the lead sorcerer. He dropped the bottle and took a firm grip on the blade, as he swung in a cleaving arc across any acolytes foolish enough to impede his charge, while their spells bounced off his empowered flesh or were absorbed by the potion's effects. The mighty blade made quick work of his foes, as he carved a bloody path towards the head sorcerer. The javelin he had thrown had scorched at least two other targets on its path towards the dark sorcerer, striking him in the shoulder and erupting in an explosion of thunder. He had stumbled back, the javelin buried in his ruined shoulder, and Zorubaash made to topple him. Before the ferocious chieftain could reach the staggering sorcerer, however, he plunged a wicked blade into his heart and uttered some dark words before he fell. Then there was the sound of ripping and tortured screams, as the portal began to pulse. The remaining sorcerers added their screams to the tempest, as their blood was ripped from their bodies and was sucked into the portal. Zorubaash spun around and barked to his warriors, "Stand ready! Give room for whatever comes through, then we attack as one!" He stepped off the ritual circle, and the warriors followed his lead, with great superstition.
Clawed hands emerged from the portal and gripped its edges, as whatever they were attached to struggled to tear open a breach in the fabric of the world. Then horns began to pierce the swirling void, attached to the grim visage of an archfiend. As its head stretched through the portal, it screamed an unearthly cry, and several of his warriors fell back. As he looked to them and shouted words of bravery, he noticed that the blood upon the floor was still being drawn to the portal and the stone pulsed with dark energy. He looked back at the demon and saw that it still struggled to free itself. He bellowed to his warriors, "Topple the stones! Uproot them and cast them down the hill!" They nodded to their chieftain and began to throw their strength against the embedded beacons of darkness. As they worked against the stones, Zorubaash pulled two potions from his bandoleer. He drank the first and began to grow several times larger, then he drank the other, and it felt like glacier water was filling his lungs to bursting. Just as he finished growing, he breathed out across the ritual circle, and a blizzard flowed from his lungs, freezing the remaining blood and halting its gradual progress towards the portal. The fiend noticed the actions of the enlarged chieftain and his people, and a clawed hand shot from the portal to grab him. Zorubaash didn't stop his breath until it was spent, sweeping it across the fiend's arm, creating a sheet of frigid ice. Then he summoned all his strength and wrenched his right hand free, drawing the trusty warhammer at his side. He raised it above his head, and brought it down upon the creatures arm, where the ice had formed, shouting, "For the Forge!" As the hammer struck the fiend's frozen flesh, the blessing upon it sparked and then exploded, shattering bones and incinerating flesh. The fiend shrieked and recoiled, drawing the stump of its arm back into the portal. The lifeless hand fell at Zorubaash's feet, and he drew back, again, to strike the creature's head. It shot a menacing gaze at him, speaking dark words in an unearthly tongue. Terror gripped the chieftain's heart, and his head began to swim with dark shadows and screams of torment. It reminded him of his vision quest with the Bear, of the rivers of blood, the screams of the damned, and the dark forms of his cursed people. Then he heard it, the sound of the hammer and the forge. It pierced the darkness with fire, and he roared against the magic that sought to strip him of his senses. The burning blade in his hand erupted into an inferno, pulsing with the song of the Forge. He raised it above his head, bellowing his rage against the evil that sought to plunge the world into darkness. The fiend looked up, as the blade descended, and began to scream in defiance. Its screams were cut short, however, as the great blade split the grim face in twain, between its crown of horns. The blade carried through and shattered the frozen blood, sundering the ritual beneath. The head slumped and began to recede back into the portal, as it closed. Zorubaash was not finished with the creature, however. He reached out a massive hand and gripped one of the largest horns, planting his feet and pulling against the sucking abyss.
As the magic waned and the last of the stones were toppled, the portal snapped shut, clipping off the fiend's head, at the neck. The enlarged chieftain hefted the severed, ruined head above him and roared in victory. The Forgeborn looked up and saw the victory of their chieftain. They joined in his victory, adding their roars with his, and the sound carried beyond the circle and over the camp, to the continuing battle. Heads turned during the battle and saw an enormous, grey, half-orc barbarian, standing at the rear of the camp, clutching a massive flaming blade in one hand and raising the severed head of a gigantic demon in the other, roaring to the sky. Then the hulking behemoth turned to towards the battle, pointed his raging brand at the enemy, and bellowed to the orcs at his feet, "FOR THE FORGE!" A sea of green orcs crested the hill and descended upon the flailing giants and panicked creatures, as the mighty behemoth plodded after them, dropping the severed head and raising its sword over one shoulder, for a cleaving strike. Zorubaash planted his lead foot and brought the sword across his chest, in a horizontal arc, taking several giants' heads off at the shoulders. He let the blade carry through, releasing his right hand to let it dig into the dirt behind him. With his momentum, he hurled a heavy haymaker into the chest of another giant with bone spikes protruding from its back. The creature's chest cavity caved in, and the brute spewed a font of blood upon the chieftain's feet, as the punch sent him sailing over the troops from Venzor to crash into the forest beyond. The troops in the rear watched the arcing corpse and cheered as it crashed into the forest, turning back to the fight, with renewed vigor. Tigre was a lethal flurry of arrows, as each shot was made with rapid precision, piercing eye sockets and severing arteries. Narvi laid about her, crushing bones and smiting her unholy foes. Zorubaash saw a fire within her beyond the holy fury of her order, and he wondered if she was revenging herself against the dark forces that assailed Venzor, remembering the horrible things she had seen within the snake temple, with the other Rats. Sanzor had cast a beacon of Moradin's blessing about him, sheltering some of the embattled troops and giving cover to the archers, while he struck out with flaming hammers to smite any approaching foes. He worked furiously, but his features were calm, assured. He was indeed a beacon of hope and a source of strength for the troops. All about him were the sounds of battle, troops of Venzor fell and were revived to fight again, usually slaughtering the creature that had toppled them. Archers chose their marks and let fly their arrows, piercing their foes. Above it all, he heard the roars of his people, the Forgeborn, and of Gurgnir. It filled him with pride and strength, beyond his tired muscles and aching wounds, driving him to lay into his enemies and split their quivering flesh with the flaming blade of his people. He reveled in the combat and in the fire of his people. He was a warchief. He was Zorubaash Forgeborn!
As the last of the enemy fell to their blades and arrows, the war party raised their voices in victory. The giant scourge had been crushed, and the dark ritual had been stopped. As the exhaustion from combat began to set end, the troops slumped against one another, and began to laugh, deliriously. The potion Zorubaash had consumed, wore off, and he returned to his normal hulking size. He wandered about, checking on his people and offering aid to the troops where he could. The most seriously wounded were taken to Sanzor and Narvi, who began to treat them with potions, healer's kits, and the blessings of their forge god. He found the Forgeborn already setting to the task of claiming their trophies, and he noticed that some of them had begun to gather the heads of the giants he had felled. He looked over his shoulder at the massive demon head upon the hill, and he wondered how they would get it back to the camp. He eventually made his way to Gurgnir, and saw that he had made a good showing of his strength. Though there were many dents in his armor and blood flowed from a few deep cuts, he was largely whole and healthy. He was examining the maul for any chips or cracks, as Zorubaash approached, saying, "Hail, mighty Gurgnir Tomb Breaker! H'you took many heads dis day." Gurgnir smiled and winced, as a stream of blood ran down the side of his head. Zorubaash quickly pulled a large, red potion from his bandoleer and handed it to his ally, encouraging him to drink it all. As Gurgnir drank the healing elixir, his wounds began to mend, and the blood stopped flowing. He finished the potion and smashed the bottle upon the ground, with renewed vitality. Zorubaash only laughed, boisterously, still drunk with victory. Gurgnir removed his helmet and examined the dents, saying, "Iz good Brak Helm. Small friends fix?" Zorubaash patted his leg and assured him that they would. Gurgnir thanked him and went back to checking the maul, wiping off the blood with the body of a fallen giant. As Zorubaash went back to his people, he hoped that Gurgnir would some day find his place among a new people.
Eventually, the troops were well enough to leave, and they gathered up what supplies they could, leaving the rest for a return trip. Zorubaash walked with his people, alongside the column of troops. They had piled their trophies into a large wagon they had recovered from the camp, and were now pulling it along with them. Another cart had been found, and it carried the split head of the demon that their chieftain had slain. As they marched, Tigre rode up beside the victorious chieftain, saying, "Well, that's something I've never seen before." He thrust his thumb towards the demon head, and Zorubaash laughed, "Indeed! Iz a big von." Tigre then leaned over his saddle, and asked, "You fight things like that often?" Zorubaash shook his head, saying, "No. Dat iz first, but I fear iz not last. Vee ver lucky ritual vas incomplete." He nodded towards the survivors, as he continued, "Dey vill never be de same, again. Such horror marks h'you as much as any brand or scar." Tigre pondered his words and then asked, "Has it marked you?" Zorubaash glanced down at his leg and then replied, "It did, vonce. But I haff broken it, and my scar iz another mark ov victory." Tigre threw his head back in laughter. Some looked in their direction, but eventually he calmed himself and said, "Well spoken, Gore! Our scars are marks of victory, if we make them so." Zorubaash smiled at his words, and the conversed while they marched.
It was a long days march back to Venzor, but as they saw the defenses of the town and the waives of the sentries, their spirits lifted and life sprang into their limbs. The men of Venzor stood more upright and began to march as returning champions, instead of the plodding of recovering troops. The village welcomed their returning champions, with open arms. Sweethearts rushed to their men, families embraced their fathers, and friends slapped each other on the back. The Forgeborn had parked the wagons just inside the perimeter and took the time to stretch and readjust their equipment. Zorubaash checked on his people, again, lavishing them with praise at their mighty deeds. They returned in kind, and they were a rowdy crowd of rejoicing orcs. Out of the corner of his eye, Zorubaash noticed some of the troops approaching the Forgeborn, cautiously, with their families and loved ones. He turned and greeted them, welcoming them to come and meet his warriors. Some of the troops already knew some of the Forgeborn, as they had gone on jobs together, and they picked up as old friends. Some of them introduced themselves and thanked the warriors for their help. Zorubaash then felt a slight tugging at his cloak, turned and looked down to see a little girl standing there, holding her father's hand. She looked up at the chieftain and said, "Um...mister?" "That's Goremash,sweetie," whispered her father. She nodded to him, and then turned back to the chieftain, "Mister Goremash?" He knelt down in front of her, still being several heads taller, and asked, "Vot iz it, little von?" She blushed and stammered, "Um...thank you for helping my daddy." He smiled broadly at her, saying, "It vas my honor, little von. H'your fadder vas very brave. He fought huge monsters and protected h'you all." His exaggerations filled the little girl with excitement, and she turned to her father, asking, "Really, daddy?! You fought monsters." Zorubaash laughed, while the father smiled down at her. "Ho yes, little von. Mighty giants, hideous hags, and terrible trolls, he fought dem all, right beside me and my people." The chieftain swept a large hand towards the Forgeborn, and her eyes followed. "H'your fadder is very strong, and he has strong daughter." The little girl looked back to him and smiled broadly. "I'm gonna be a soldier, like my daddy." Zorubaash laughed again, with great amusement at the girl's sincerity. "I look forward to seeing dat," he said with a heartfelt smile. He noticed the girl look back at the Forgeborn, and he asked, "Vould h'you like to meet my varriors?" She looked at him and then to her father, who nodded with a smile. She looked back at him and nodded vigorously. The chieftain stood, laughing, and introduced the little girl and her father to his people. They greeted them warmly, as more troops began to mingle and families came to say thanks.
Lady Effrix appeared and congratulated the troops and warriors, inviting them to a feast in their honor. Zorubaash considered her offer but noticed that his people were casting brief glances toward camp. He graciously thanked her for her hospitality but declined, stating that they needed to return home to their own families. She nodded in understanding and offered her thanks, again. The Forgeborn returned to the carts, and Zorubaash led them back to camp, while the people of Venzor waived and cheered. The march back to the Forgeborn camp was mostly silent, save for the rumbling of the wagons and the occasional rock kicked by a shuffling foot. His people were stoic in their marches, fierce in battle, and rowdy in their celebration. They were truly a people forged for their chieftain, and he cherished them. Along the way, Zorubaash sent a message ahead to Allen, telling them of their victory and coming return. He then held the ring to his face, saying, "Kleatus? We are victorious! Venzor and the Forgeborn crushed the giants and slew the sorcerers. I have claimed the head of a demon, and our home is safe, for another day. Be well my friend. I will see you again, soon."
As the victorious warband approached the abbey walls of Countess Abyth, the sentries shouted and drew up the portcullis. The warriors marched under the gate, pulling the carts, and were greeted by a horde of faces, cheering and shouting. The Rats in residence approached their fellow member, clapping him on the shoulder and demanding stories. Spellbook had taken on his child-like disguise, as usual, and was bouncing next to an elated Abyth and a stoic Nerwyne. Brak greeted his brother, with a mighty bear hug and a clap on the shoulder. Sara bowed her thanks, and Zorubaash returned a warm smile. Within the crowd, he could see other Foreborn, and he began to look for his wives, as the crowd continued to praise the returning warriors and marvel at their trophies. It was well into the night, and he knew the forge would be silent now, so he had hoped that his wives would have joined crowd to welcome them, but he also knew that their duties would sometimes keep them late into the night, much like his own. His fears were misplaced, however, as he saw their faces in the crowd and heard the sounds of his son. Zorubaash met Hagurth and Mazoga in the midst of the crowd, and he beamed at them. The Forgemaster held their son and bowed to her chieftain. Hagurth also bowed and then sprang into his arms. He raised her above his head, roaring with pride and joy. As he set her back down, she kissed him, and then said, "My Chief has returned to his people." He looked at her and Mazoga, warmly, replying, "Aye! The Chief has returned to his family." He held Hagurth close to his side with one arm and swung the other one wide, pointing to the carts. "The Chief and his warriors return, with glory and honor, for the Forgeborn and the people of Venzor!" At this, the crowd erupted with more cheers. Allen trotted up to the chieftain, clearly beside himself, sputtering, "Um, Gore? Wha...what is that?!" He was pointing to the split demon's head in the last cart, and Zorubaash replied, "Dat, friend Allen, iz de head ov a demon. Vee faced de sorcerers amidst a dark ritual to summon de creature. Vee slew dem, and vhile my mighty warriors toppled de stones ov power, I grappled vit it. Vee broke de ritual, and I split de skull of de fiend, claiming its head as my trophy!" The warband roared with pride and victory, and the other Forgeborn joined in, saying, "Hail, Chief Zorubaash, Head Taker and Demon Slayer!"
The victory feast was rowdy and full of mirth. Stories were told and tankards raised in toast to the returning defenders. The trophies were on full display in their carts, and the people would marvel at the might and courage of the chieftain and his warriors. Again, the Forgeborn played their music, and Cami, the Drow bard and keeper of the Warden Stone, added her skill with the lute to their singing. She had learned more of their songs, and was putting all her effort into matching their rhythm and tone. Occasionally, she would play one of her own songs or some she had learned on her journeys. The guards and other servants would all join in on the songs from the Wanton Harper, Venzor's tavern. The feast had been set between the Forgeborn camp and the abbey, in a place that all the people could gather and join in. It's not that his people would seek to exclude others from their camp, but it simply couldn't hold this number. Everyone was there, the Rats in residence, the Countess and her family, the guards, the servants, and his mighty people. They sang, danced, laughed, roared, and feasted under the clear night sky, while a bonfire raged in the center of the gathering, flanked by large tables full to bursting with people, celebrating.
Mazoga sat beside her chieftain, cradling their son and watching the festivities, with what Zorubaash realized was pride and contentment. Hagurth leaned against him, and she placed his hand upon her belly, where he felt two swift kicks. "The children missed their father, my Chief," she said, stroking the sides of her growing stomach. He smiled down at her and replied, "And I missed my family, wife." She leaned against his arm, with satisfaction, and asked with a sigh, "Will my Chief return to the other Rats, when this is done?" He thought for a moment and then replied, "I...I do not know. I miss my brother and my fellow Rats, but I feel there is still much to do, here." Mazoga had been listening, and she touched his arm. He turned to look over at her, and she offered him their son, saying, "My Chief should hold his son. He should feel the strength and victory in my Chief's arms." Zorubaash smiled and scooped the baby into one arm, cradling his head in the chieftain's mighty hand. The baby squirmed, a little, and opened his eyes to look upon his father. "This is good," Zorubaash thought to himself. "A boy should know his father and mother. He should know the ways of his people and feel the strength of their number." As they sat together, enjoying the company and the celebration, he thought, "There is still much to do."