Somewhere I can belong
Chapter 16
Return of an old friend
Ramblings from Rohan: I know people are reading and it makes me glad. Please however if you have the time do leave a short review it can only make my story better, These chapters have been taking a lot out of me as I can not just get the action scenes to unfold the way that I picture them in my mind. I am open to any and all suggestions to improve them. Well once more I own nothing D & D related and here it is chapter 16…enjoy.
While Quinn was struggling for his life against Kreigon, hundreds of others joined one another in battle as they fought for not a dead patch of earth…but for their homes and their very lives.
Moving like a plague the warriors of the Gnarled Scar Clan sprinted towards the recently made gaping hole in the city walls. Each of their sword arms bore the mark of their god carved deep into their very flesh, as testament to their faith and their love of pain they would each rip open the wound before battles to remind them of their god's eye at the hands of the thrice cursed elf. Many of the prominent Eyes of Grumush hailed from their tribe and they had been given the honor of being the vanguard of the charge through the walls, and charge they did.
Lungs bursting from their roars, and fearing pain nor death they charged for they burst through the remnants of the wall. Their mad dash and zeal for the blood of their foes had caused the single clan to break apart into smaller groups. This alone saved the city of Aarons Mill as much as the defenders own battle skill.
Seeing no defenders rushing to confront them, one orc with blood still dripping form his carved tattoo began to laugh, and he did not stop till the second arrow poked a new hole in skull. Several more arrows flew through the air downing the rest of the first group, but by then a second group of Gnarled Scar Orcs were rushing though the rubble.
A hundred or so yard away another orc viewed the battle with the eyes not of a zealot but of a professional warrior. She could not help but admire the skill of the lone defender, even if it was an elf, "By Grumush's missing eye that elf is a woman none the less. Hah at least she's killing the dumb ones for us." Krona Widowmaker did not care for many of the males of her tribe but they had their uses, now their use was to kill the lone elf and from there to break the spirit of the defenders. Krona watched as the elf sprang upon a pile of orcs stabbing downward with her rapier, "Bah what a flimsy weapon, although it looks like it does wonders at removing opponents eyes." She added with a hint of approval.
She spied the elf doing something different now, she was waving her hands frantically and screaming, and then the ground exploded upward, and from it came a scream of rage that rivaled those who willingly gave up their eye to become one with Grumush. Krona watched awestruck as a mud beast clawed its way up from the ground and began to strike down the next wave of orcs at its mistress's command. Snapping out of her self imposed stupor she answered with a roar of her own bellowing out, "By Grumush's missing eye! She's a mage, hurry up and kill her before she summons more of those blasted mud things."
A chorus of voices rose up in answer, "Kill the elf, kill the elf." A thought came to Krona's mind as she joined in the chant and would not be dismissed. Many of her tribe would die in this place and for what she knew not the reason for her … only that she must go where her enemy dwelled no matter where that may be. Those were the last of her fleeting thoughts as she watched the rage take over her soldiers as they joined in the charge. Within moments they would reach the beast and the elf, and then they would see if the thing would bleed, and if it bled it could be killed. If not then they would bury it with their very bodies and send it back to the broken earth. Nothing else mattered.
Some things in life force you to stop and try to understand just what in the thrice blasted furnaces in Avernus caused it, and no matter how hard you try to decipher what has happened the best solution is to just shrug it off and accept it for what it is worth. Commander Gloin Ironbeard thought that he had seen it all. His home was being invaded by filthy thrice blasted, dung infested, stinking orcs. A gigantic swath of earth had risen up like a wave of water and completely obliterated a section of the wall. All of those things he could accept, but seeing a grinning elven bard he knew to well commanding a golem…that was just something that could not fathom.
"Uncle is that what I think it is."
""If it is nephew." Gloin began as the battle weary dwarf turned to address to second in command, when suddenly an orc thrown into the air by Elindil's pet golem landed at his feet. The dazed beast tried to rise up only to have half a dozen "dwarven arrows" collide into it. " Remind me to stop making fun of Elindil's chosen profession anymore." Gloin added as he pulled one of the balanced throwing hammers from the still twitching corpse, "Now move it blood of my blood before that blasted singing elf kill the rest of those thrice blasted spawn of that one eyed god and leaves none for us."
The roar from his clan was deafening as they all followed the example of their elder, they raised their axes and cried out to Moradin and the clan charged as one into the gaping chasm trampling over the mostly dead and blind orcs like an avalanche made flesh. They charged onward crashing through the leading orcs till their charge could carry them no further as they were no slugging it out with the Gnarled Scar Clan alongside Elindil and her summoned servant. The golem towered over the Ironbeards as it swung its deadly arm back and forth cleaving through whatever orcs were fool enough to fight it. For the moment the orcs backed off, their resolve faltered and they began to break before the dwarven onslaught…then the clerics arrived.
Prayers to Grumush were hurled out in the coarse language and the once fleeing orcs were turning to fight once more. As one the multitude of clerics laid blessing upon the embattled clan and before the dwarves startled eyes their hated enemies wounds began to close. Those were not the only spells cast, fouler magic was used and soon orcs that had been struck dead began to rise…no matter how grievous their wounds had been. Those that were able to wield weapons grabbed whatever their reanimated limbs could wield, and those that could not simply fell upon the dwarves using their very bodies as weapons.
"Uncle no one said anything about killing orcs twice." Yelled one of the younger dwarves as he struggled to dislodge his battle axe from its new home in an orcs head.
"Nephew if you done the job right the first time they wouldn't be getting up now would they." Gloin answered as his own axe slice off the top of another orcs skull.
"Aye uncle I'll do better from now on. "
"You do that lad its your duty."
Elsewhere the battle had turned against the defenders, the effects of the orcish clerics mass casting had affected all of their kind. From the central zocalo to wherever an orcish tunnel had broken the surface, the orcs surged outward with renewed strength. When one fell it merely rose up again embracing unlife to continue its rampage. Wherever clerics where the line was held by the defenders…but there were not enough clerics.
Clustered inside Clovis's Library, some distance from the gap wounded defenders of all the goodly races sought safety from the orcish onslaught. Only one had escaped harm, and he was frantically trying to preserve the fragile spark of life that was fading in a Halfling…all to no avail. For all his knowledge of lore and literature none of that would avail him now. He could hear the cries of his distant kin as they tried to break down the broad oak doors to slay those inside.
Frantic cries to gods across the entire pantheon were being chanted, while others prepared for their final battle, or hid their fear will gallows humor.
"I can't see Adrian, I need you to be my eyes." Moaned an elf, whose head was wrapped in bloody bandages, as he notched an arrow in ebony bow.
"Hadrain, you help me stand up when they get here, I ain't dying on my knees." Cried out a halfling grasping her shortspear as a crutch.
A pair of humans in battered leather armor provided the only sounds of laughter as they consoled a comrade, "We're not going to die here Inigo, we're to damn pretty to die here, and the gods don't allow pretty people to die."
"Oh I really regret not donating more to that traveling nun."
"She was trying to steal your purse."
"She was just trying to reform her wicked ways."
"She had a dagger to your jewels."
"Oh but she had the voice of an angel."
Clovis was only dimly aware of what they were saying, his mind was a thousands worlds away as he walked towards the small shrine of Denir that sat alongside the wall. It had been the first thing he had ever crafted, and around it he had built his library and his new way of life. It was a simple pedestal and open scroll carved from quarried marble. He had found a new life after he had created it, but now he needed something he had cast a way long ago. Something he thought he would never need again.
His calloused hands traced edges of it, for it was his most treasured item in all the realms, he had thought that it would out last him. Then with all the care in the world Clovis wrenched the shrine out form the marble floor. He felt his new life slipping away as he let the pedestal drop to the ground, as it shattered all Clovis could do was mutter out through tear gushing eyes, "I'm sorry." Then he fell ot his hands and knees, not in penance but in physical labor. His oversized hands ripped out the pieces of marble flooring and foundation stone, till at last his bleeding hands found what he had buried so long ago.
Clovis let loose a scream of rage as he rose and pulled out a grim reminder of his past, and for the first time in decades Clovis wielded his great axe. Through some miracle or joke, the long imprisonment had caused no harm to the immense weapon save to encase it in a fine layer of dirt. It was exactly as he remembered it, down to the cursed sigil of Grumush that was etched into the flat of the blade. For the second time the half orc fell to his knees again, thought this time it was in true penance. He was forsaking his words and there would be no way back from this. In his heart Clovis knew it was worth it…but that did not stop the tears from gushing out for the life he would be loosing in wielding this retched weapon. As the oversized tears fell upon his axe something altogether unexpected was happening, the tears raced over the blade and pooled over the engraved eye and began to burn it away.
Flakes of dirt and shards of metal fell away freely from it as the weapon began to glow and as the cracks of light raced over the mud-encrusted axe it began to hum. Clovis instantly recognized the sounds that he was hearing...it was the song of his God Denir, he was completely aghast as his mind could not believe what his ears were hearing and his eyes were showing him. What lay before him gleaming in silver light was not what he had buried nearly thirty years ago, an immaculate serrated half moon axe nearly three feet from point to point was mounted on a rot free shaft of dark ebony, over all of it were the words of Denir gently engraved with a skill that was beyond the abilities of the greatest mortal craftsmen.
With the slightest touch of his hands onto the ebony shaft Clovis's mind was flooded with information, it all came back to him rushing back to him so fast his mind felt as thought it would burst, the techniques, the feints, the counters, the knowledge of twenty years of warfare buried and pushed aside for so many years. For a moment he looked as though he was going to topple over and go crashing into the ground, but instantly he had steadied him and raised the crescent axe in his immense hands over his head and began to sing.
The look of shock was immense as they saw the local librarian whom many knew would never hurt a fly raising up a gigantic axe the like the which they had never seen before, but then they saw the enormous oversized grin that had always been present return followed by the most beautiful singing they had ever heard. They forgot their injuries, their fears, and every single one remembered with crystal clarity what it was they were fighting for. In that same instant the thick mahogany doors burst inward to reveal a snarling band of orcs, but before they were even a dozen paces into the library Clovis was upon them.
The silver blade came low and with all of the massive librarians strength behind it, and the first of the orcs was flung against the far side of the library…at lest the top half did. Somehow the strike had cloven the leading orc into two leaving the lower part of its body still standing. The sight of half of their war leader vanishing in front of them was to much more the dimwitted orcs as shock overwhelmed them, but there time was ill spent for Clovis was already spinning back towards them with another strike.
Many apologies for the delay, but all manner of things are working against me as I try to finish this story. Rest assured that I will. I have quite a few crazy ideas as to what will happen next and look forward to the return of Crystal, Brangar, Janet, and the wizard. Its been ages sicne I talked about them I wonder what they are up to?
