Chapter 3: First Blood

With the rush of dream vapors pouring from his mind, Sophonus's waking self returned to him, with Zarrin's voice still ringing in his ears and rapid flow of blood in his veins. Naturally he rose with a somewhat stifling sense of disorientation and it took him a moment to come back to himself. But as he glanced about, he slowly began to get his bearings again. He saw the singed wood of the caravan and of his own fire, his belongings here and there, and he recalled entering the woods, making camp, feeding the nork. Which meant, he had awoke.

Wow, he thought, what a dream.

As he pushed himself up, to find some water to splash in his face, he found that a strange weight held him down. He could not move. For a single moment, thoughts of capture and death rushed through his still hazy mind. At least until the sounds of soft cooing and warm moving pressure calmed him. Blinking the sleep from his eyes and lifting his head as much he could, he saw a rather ridiculous sight. The curious pack of nork from the previous evening apparently hadn't been content with just eating his food. While he slept, they must have moved in and their own camp for the night right on top of him and his warm body.

This is what I get for being a nice guy, he said to himself, amused by their assertive actions.

Swiveling his eyes upward, he scanned the sky above. The night sky still shined, though the unmistakable traces of dawn were clearly visible. Even though Sophonus had always believed in rising early to seize the day, this was a bit too much, even for him, as it wasn't even day yet. So he opted to lay his head back down, enjoying the warmth of his nork blanket. Not surprisingly it wasn't long before drowsiness descended upon him again and he was enveloped by sleep once more.

When his eyes opened the next time, the sun was filtering through the treetops, morning having come around while he slept. The nork were awake as well, he could hear their cooing and quiet yips to one another, as they shifted around on top of him. Finally ready to rise, Sophonus made his presence known to the pack by wiggling his body slightly beneath them. At the sudden movement the nork all but exploded in a panic as they bolted off of him. He sat up and turned his head, which popped several times, and observed the pack. They were standing in a line not far off yipping their irritation at having been disturbed.

Sophonus rose, stretching the kinks from his body and he was promptly wished a good morning by his stomach growling, demanding sustenance. Heeding its call, he began gathering more unspoiled wood for a new fire to cook his breakfast. At the sight of food, the nork went once more into a sort of frenzy, squeaking and bounding on their short legs as if demanding to be fed.

Though he enjoyed their company, Sophonus knew that if he offered them any more food, they might feel compelled to follow him, which would be ridiculous. Traveling through the woods with noisy little beggars trailing behind would attract unwanted attention. Thus he didn't throw out any food this time around and ate a quick breakfast while the group stood on watching, their eyes constantly changing color. Once finished, Sophonus put out his fire and began packing his belongings, ready to continue his trek through the forest. As he refilled his travel satchel, he noticed that the nork were slowly inching away from him, retreating farther and farther out of the clearing.

As he observed, he was suddenly aware of a smell that came wafting under his nose. It was a bad smell, a reek to be more precise. He caught the strong scents of rotting meat, decaying leather, sweat, and feces all mixed together into a stomach turning stench. With such a rancid smell, one thing immediately came to mind. Orc. Sophonus had never seen an orc before in his life, let alone smelled one, but he was certain that's what it was; the appalling stench of orcs was as legendary as their ugliness and cruelty. And indeed, credit to his hunch, as he turned around, there on the edge of the clearing were four large orcs stepping past the tree line, closing the distance to him.

There were only four of them; Sophonus figured they were more of a wandering marauding band or perhaps a scouting party for a larger horde. Orcs tend to hang together in clans with numbers sometimes ranging into the hundreds. Hardly ever will an orc go out on its own, as due to their disreputable reputation, they usually would never survive for long. And if they were a scouting party, they probably were drawn to the smoke, no doubt curious.

Despite having never seen such creatures before during his sheltered life, the description Zarrin had given him fit all too well. True enough that orcs came in all shapes, sizes, and colors, but there were two fundamental principles that all orcs shared without fail; the four approaching clearly displaying these traits. They emitted a horrendous smell that could repel flies and were grotesque beyond all reason.

And indeed, their sunken and perverse faces were unsightly, all four of them having a greenish gray skin tones, along with sickly stringy hair, hardly covering their lice and scab infested scalps. All wore shoddy leather armor that looked to be utterly sullied by their own bodily greases and toxins, and each were armed, weapons drawn as they were eyeing Sophonus, shambling forward, no doubt ready to do some damage.

"Well, well," one croaked, its growling voice, harsh and strident like grinding rocks, "What 'e got 'ere? A single boy all by 'is lonesome in the middle of this big wood, lookin' a mite lost I'd say."

"Aye", said another, "I say we's bring 'im back to Orgak. 'E'd give us a 'uge reward. You knows like me 'e pays big fer good slaves."

"Na na", grunted the third, "I 'ay, we's kill 'im here an' feast on 'is guts. I 'avn't had a real meal nary a week now. I could go for some 'uman right now."

"Ah, always 'hinkin with yer gut, ya gasbag," the second snarled back, "We'd get more gold if 'e was turned in as a slave. Then yous could buy alls the meat yous could want."

"Shut yer fat gob, Gorebone," snapped the fourth, "Orgak only 'ays for descent slaves and 'ou know it. Besides, if we's did get any gold, you would keep it fer yerself as always. So I says we eats 'im."

"An' 'es a bit more than descent I'll warrant," growled Gorebone, looking Sophonus up and down, "'Es a bit lean but a 'igh quality human if ever there was one. An' I says we are gonna bring 'im with us an' get some gold from Orgak."

"Grah, I still 'ay we should eat 'im. Why is it that Orgak gets all the meat an' all we's got is nuthin but scraps? An' 'ow much of that gold will we be seein' Gorebone, ya greedy werm?"

"We's only gets scraps because we's the scoutin' party, an' ye be too fat any ways. An' you'll be seein' your gold right quick, just as soon as we gets this 'uman back to camp." Gorebone scrutinized his human target once more. "Now," he pointed a grubby finger towards the orc that first spoke, "'ou an' Strug, go and fetch 'im an' bring 'im in. An' I don't want to be a seein' no 'eeth marks on 'im. Orgak don't tolerate no damaged goods."

As far as Sophonus could tell, listening to their sinister banter of human eating and capturing, Gorebone was probably the leader of this foul patrol the way he was barking orders to the other. However, not everyone seemed to accept his commands cheerfully.

"Why do me haff to go?" whined the first one. "Why not send Strug an' Irkin insteads? They is better at capturing then I is."

"Cause I'm sendin' 'ou ya greasy maggot. Now get out there an' bring 'im in. Wes ain't got all day."

All during the ensuing argument, there stood Sophonus, somewhat mesmerized by these foul quibbling creatures, discussing his fate while he stood listening not more than a few paces away. It was somewhat amusing to watch the quarrelling monsters, but unbeknownst to the dim orcs, they had unwittingly provided Sophonus with some information.

Despite their slurring and grunting speech, Sophonus had heard mention of someone or probably something called Orgak that paid this group for human captives. Perhaps a tribe that specialized in selling slaves though this Orgak, though he probably would not be an orc, but something more massive and far more dangerous, such as an ogre or hobgoblin, able to bully about his underlings with fear.

A camp or base of operations of some sort was probably somewhere within the Newcraven also and it had to be relatively decent size; after all, if they had such numbers to send out a scouting party, surely they wouldn't leave their base undefended. Which meant that Sophonus's possible first quest was going to be quite a challenge.

But before he could investigate the matter further, he needed to deal with his current orc problem.

Coming back to himself, Sophonus was aware that the orcs were still bickering at one another on who would capture him. So involved in their arguments they were, he probably could have simply walked away and they wouldn't have noticed. It seemed that the one called Urok resented being sent to do the "irty wurk" while Gorebone and Irkin watched from the side. Unfortunately for the four, Sophonus had no intentions about becoming either their dinner or their captive.

"I on't care what ya says, ya bloated dung heap," snarled Gorebone, a murderous gleam in his sunken watery eyes, "'ou an' Strug get out ther' and capture that 'uman or I'm a gonna skin yous meself an' use yer head as a jar. Now move it!"

"An' I've heard nuff of yer yappin' to last me through an age," Urok spat back, an equally furious expression on his horrific face. "An' I's think its time for a change of leadership 'ere!" He puffed himself up and brandished his weapon, a cheap looking scimitar, towards his leader. "I'll kill 'ou 'ere an' now an' take yer 'ead, an' I'll be in charge 'ere! Then wes gonna eats 'im insteads!"

"Yous challengin' me?!" Gorebone practically roared, pulling out his own weapon, a massive two-handed sword, "I'm a gonna slice yous in half an' stomp on the pieces!" The two orcs started at one another, circling about while the others backed off, watching.

This sort of behavior may have seemed insane and somewhat brainless, but it was actually quite common for orcs. The normal orc is rather uncivilized, although that is something most people already know. However most of them have no qualms about fighting and oft times killing one another over trivial little arguments. At times, their whole tribe will engage in a giant melee with each other, sometimes for as small and inconsequential a thing like who gets the last shred of meat in the camp. And they don't even have to be starving to want it. Now Sophonus had heard of such things of course from Zarrin, but never did he really believe that there was a race that was actually that foolish and…well, stupid. As he commented on it, his master had shrugged.

"Well," his teacher told him, "No one has ever called them orcs smart lad. An' the shame of it is, even with them killin' each other and heroes cuttin'em down, they just keep coming back. Most likely there is magic in there somewhere." And speaking of heroes cutting down orcs, Sophonus felt the time had come to enter his first real battle.

Both Gorebone and Urok were poised and ready to strike, when Sophonus quietly spoke.

"Excuse me?" he called out. All four orcs stopped and turned to the human they were so intent on capturing and/or eating, probably half surprised that he was still there. "If you are going to die," Sophonus told them, "then why not die on my blade instead? It would make more sense that way, rather than you killing one another." Gorebone directed a foul grin towards him.

"Well well, look 'ou finally 'as the guts to speak. I was a wonderin' if ya were a mute or somethin'. Yous just keep quiet now, as soons as I'm done 'ere, we'll be takin' 'ou alongs with us fer a nice stroll through these woods."

He let out a putrid laugh at his own joke but stopped short with a choke when a voice in his ear hissed, "'hats what 'ou think." With a flash of steel, Gorebone's head fell to the ground. Urok, taking advantage of his enemy's shifted attention, had sliced his head from is torso. As Gorebone's headless body fell to the earth, Urok let out a whoop of victory.

"Now I's in charge!" He turned to Sophonus and leveled one grim covered finger at him. "An' I'm afraid that strolls just been canceled. Nows that I'm in charge, wes gonna feast on yer flesh instead 'uman. Drop yer sword now, an' I's promises to kill ya quick." Sophonus looked directly into the orc's eyes with an unflinching face. He reached for his sword and drew it forth with the ring of metal on metal, before glancing down at the slain creature, the black viscous ooze leaking out as revolting as manifested corruption itself.

"You really shouldn't have killed him," was all he said to them.

"Oh yer?" Urok sneered, taking a threatening step forward, "An' whys that?"

Sophonus took a stance, left foot out and arms spread, making a light flourish with his sword, as he gave them a simple smirk.

"Because you will need all the help you can get to kill me."

All three orcs looked at one another, somewhat dumbfounded before they exploded with laughter. That sound seemed to make the grass around them shrivel.

"Oh aye? Har har, 'hats rich that is," Urok howled, slapping his leg. "Ou's gonna beat us, is 'ou?" They let loose another gust of foul laughter until Urok pointed his scimitar at Sophonus, still chuckling. "Last time I's checked, you is a little outnumbered 'ere. Unless yous count them little critters behind ya. Are theys with 'ou?"

Sophonus glanced slightly to the left, catching a glimpse of a crowd of luminous multicolored eyes staring out of the brush not far off. Not waiting for an answer, the three orcs moved in on him, spreading out and advancing swiftly, wanting to kill this human and eat. After all, they were hungry. However, they never got the feast like they desired. Sophonus watched the three, two moving to flank his sides and Urok attacking head on

He waited, breathing calmly, readying himself and biding his time, unblinkingly watchful for the first move. And when one of them finally decided to strike, Sophonus was already moving.

The one orc, Strug, darted in, ready to crash his heavy studded mace on to Sophonus's skull, ending the fight quickly. But not swiftly enough, for with a near blinding thrust, Sophonus's blade swung, knocking the incoming blow aside and off target. Before Strug knew that his swing had missed, his eyes widened in disbelief, as one of his filthy scabulous hands reached up, clutching his throat that was now gushing revolting black ichor in a sordid torrent. His attempts to hold his lifeblood back ultimately failed, as he slowly sank down, gasping and gagging, cadaverous eyes rolling madly.

Not even wasting a moment, Sophonus made a sweeping arching turn, sword leading the way, facing the next orc. His blade's singing tip slashed straight through the orc's armored midsection, inflicting a deep slice right across the abdomen. The creature's rancid insides, discovering the newly created outlet, exited his body with a squelching splat, covering the ground in all their putridity. The smell was even fouler than the abominable sight. Irkin, now dead, fell to the ground, landing in the squalid mess of his own entrails.

Sophonus meanwhile stood on watching, his head spinning from the thrill he felt…and the reeking stench that all but poisoned the air. The feel of his sword striking home, the ability to perform the deft maneuvers he had been taught, the realization that he was fighting against evil monsters…all of it was exhilarating.

Urok however, seemed less ecstatic. He had ceased his own advance, staring down at his two comrades, who had been alive and well only seconds before. His face was a grotesque contortion of anger towards his quarry, and no small amount of fear, as the human was clearly well-experienced with a blade. The two emotions battled across his features, most likely trying to decide what his course of action should be.

In the end, anger won the day, his qualms and doubts seemed to dissolve, his features growing ever more frightful as he gnashed his teeth and trembled with inner fury. Whether it was for the loss of his fellows, or because Sophonus wasn't being a good little human and dying like he should, or if he simply got angry for no real reason, Urok bellowed, letting his unquenchable rage take hold, and he waded forward, both grimy hands clutching the hilt of his curved blade, making wild uncoordinated slashes at his foe in an effort to reduce him to shreds of flesh.

Sophonus met this barbarous charge with calm precision, simply leaning out of range and effortlessly parrying the erratic yet predictable attacks. The fight could have been finished in but a moment, but Sophonus held back. He felt it wise to seize the opportunity to get familiar with having someone swinging a sharpened weapon at him with hostile intent. Better to do so against a bumbling fool rather than a lethal swordsman.

Finally, with Urok performing a grossly overpowered overhead swing, Sophonus stepped to the left with a graceful half turn and finally let his sword fly. Urok never saw it coming and his head went sailing from his shoulders, spiraling away into the brush, no doubt contaminating whatever it came into contact with. Ironic really, that the ghastly brute died in the same grisly fashion as his former leader. How fitting.

The corpse fell to the ground and began spilling out the thick black gunk that was their blood. And the same toxic goo was now coating Sophonus's sword. He bent, running his blade several times through the tall grass to wipe it clear, before replacing it back into the worn scabbard on his hip.

Sophonus then went from one slain creatures to the next, searching for any items or gear that might be useful on his journey. The dead orcs unfortunately, had very little. Their weaponry was shoddy, their armor all but tatters, and they had little space to carry valuables. All he managed to find from the first three were some gold pieces and some silver jewelry. On Gorebone's corpse however, he found a small leather bag attached to his belt filled with gold, a pack with some food in it, along with a crumpled up scrap of paper that bore scribbled writing that was hardly legible.

-

"Okay, listen up ya miserable rats. Wes got another buyer for our "merchandise" so yous to go around this wretched wood and "recruit" as many people as possible. I's don't care what they is, so long as they's alive and undamaged. If need be, go by the town on the eastern edge and nab a few there. But don't get caught!!

Steer clear of them human bandits; theys would put up too much of a fight an' we don't be needin' ta start a war with'em. You got less than a week ta bring'em back ta camp, so if ya foul this up, yer gonna have an ogre's fist tearin' out your spine and beatin' ya to death with it!"

Orgak Slimetooth

-

Sophonus stood, scanning the note several times over, pondering what he had read. A band of orc slavers in the forest under the command of Orgak, he had heard that much from the orc's rambling, but the word camp had been mentioned in this note, meaning…

"Meaning," he pondered aloud, "there's an encampment somewhere around here. And judging by where they have decided to set up shop," he glanced about, scanning the trees around him, knowing of the malevolence they hid within, "Then I'd say it's a good bet that its a more permanent outpost, as there doesn't seem to be too many heroes wandering this forest that could stop them. Except me."

For indeed, hunting slavers and freeing unjustly imprisoned captives was a worthy quest for any adventurer. Like him. And to face down orcs and an ogre too? So much the better really.

Before he went on his way, Sophonus went through the food satchel from Gorebone and gathered any food that look unspoiled by the befouled hands of the group, topping off his own supply. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the pack of nork in the brush, watching him handle the food.

An idea suddenly popped into his head and he took all the orc food that he was leaving behind and placed it in a pile near the norks. As soon as he had stepped away, the whole group came tearing out of the brush, plowing one another under to get to the prize first. They began to eat with great delight and they all voiced their appreciation with a barrage of squeaks and yips, wagging their little stubby tails, their eyes glowing purple. Sophonus watched for a minute, then picked up his effects and moved to the edge of the clearing.

Turning back for a moment he called, "Farewell, little nork! May your scavenging be bountiful!" And leaving them to their feast, Sophonus plunged deeper into the woods, searching for the slave camp and with it, his first adventure.