C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 11

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.17T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

<>

Wechegak raised a hand, gesturing to one of his servants. Old instincts engaged and Retaak’s eyes were drawn to the rings that decorated the Goblin moneylender’s fingers as he reached down to grab a pastry stuffed with honeyed fruit. Two diamonds, a ruby, and a fat emerald all set in dwarf-gold; like the throne Wechegak sat on, these were an ostentatious display of wealth, especially amidst the poverty and desperation of the the Lower Warrens. And yet, despite his obvious greed and corruption, many poor spawn looked up to Wechegak with awe rather than envy, almost proud that he was ‘one of them’. No doubt they hoped to follow in wake as he climbed to the pinnacle, never realizing that he had long-since pulled up the ladder behind him.

Retaak’s musing’s were interrupted by the appearance of one of Wechegak’s servants, a Hob woman with her hair done up in a severe bun and a pair of spectacles, both unusual among the spawn. She glanced at Retaak with the kind of contempt that he was used to from Hobs, but was not quite able to hide her curiosity.

Wechegak looked up at the Hob and then to Retaak, smiling. “Retaak, this is Uyaashie. There is no safe or lock that she cannot break.”

Retaak considered standing, but his eyes were level with Uyaashie’s. She wore superbly crafted leather and a belt covered in pouches. He saw no weapons on her person beyond a long knife.

“High praise coming from him,” said Retaak as he eyed the Lockbreaker.

“If anything, the boss understated my talents,” replied Uyaashie. “My mastery of alchemy and my understanding of metal and magic make me far faster than a simple picker of locks could ever hope to be.”

Retaak raised a brow. “Alchemy and magic?”

“That is what I said,” said Uyaashie, coolly. “Are you certain that this one has brains enough to lead, boss? or is this some elabourate scheme to kill me?”

Wechegak laughed. Rataak felt his cheeks flush, but he did not respond to provocation. Ogres were even more violent than most spawn when challenged, but he did not want to be ruled by the instincts that the Dread Lord had given him.

“It is a difficult undertaking,” Retaak spoke in an even tone. “But the rewards will be great. The favour of one of the Dread Lord’s favourites as well as money.”

“Boss Wechegak would not offer my services for anything less,” said Uyaashie.

“I paid for her training,” said Wechegak. “She is exceptionally talented and–”

“There must be something else you want her to steal while we are in Oystkivat,” mused Retaak, interrupting. “If she is so precious to you. Out with it.”

Uyashie glanced at Wechegak, who eyed Retaak with a frown and then shrugged.

“The Boss wants me to steal a bottle from one of the nobles in the town,” answered Uyaashie. “It will be on our way and little challenge to my skills.”

Retaak nodded. “If that is the price of your skills, Uyaashie, so be it.”

That, at least earned him a little grin.

<>

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.16T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

<>

For all of his faults, Wechegak was an excellent host. As Retaak sat down with him for negotiations, the rotund Goblin called for food and drink. Ashoktyaar and Uyage were seated at a different table, with some reluctance from the later, who did not want to leave Retaak alone. Soon platters heaped with mushrooms, bread, meat, and cheese appeared, followed by wine, retepaak, and sweet cider. In spite of himself, Retaak found his stomach growling. He could hear Ashoktyaar noisily chewing already. It was rude, however, to eat before the host and so he looked to Wechegak.

“I thank the Dread Lord for life and safety,” said Wechegak after the food arrive. “May his Empire grow.”

Retaak grunted. Wechegak raised a brow.

“May his empire grow,” said Retaak, allowing his host a small victory.

Wechegak smiled. “Let us feast together and discuss how I can be of service.”

Wechegak reached for the wine. Retaak reached for a bowl of steamed centipede legs. He ate them whole, crunching the chitin to get to the delicious meat inside, occasionally dipping them in brown gesaazug, a potent mushroom sauce.

“I would pay you well to hear Ushochhushi’s plans,” began Wechegak, eyes glittering. “How does a gold bar sound?”

Retaak knew that Wechegak was a shrewd negotiator; this offer was a ploy of some sort, perhaps to catch him off guard. He hesitated a moment, seeming to consider the offer, even though only a fool would risk the wrath of the Dread Lord’s seneschal for money.

Wechegak leaned toward him, leering. “I’ll find out quickly enough on my own Retaak, why not take the deal?”

“Ushochhushi compelled me,” said Retaak.

“Then why did you hesitate?”

“Oh, I tried to overcome his compulsion,” said Retaak, crushing a centipede leg loudly to punctuate his remark.

Wechegak’s eyes went wide and for a moment Retaak though the goblin might jump out of his chair. Breaking compulsion was one of the greatest taboos among the Spawn, something that a greedy coward who loved his position like Wechegak would not even want to be associated with, let alone try.

“Please do not do that here, Retaak.”

“But your offer was so tempting, Wechegak.”

The Goblin’s eyes narrowed as he realized that Retaak might be mocking him. he changed the subject rather than continue.

“How can I be of help?” asked Wechegak.

Retaak picked up a cup of retepaak and drank it in two gulps. The flavour was good, if a little too refined for his tastes. Retepaak was the favoured drink of the Lower Warrens, it rarely had any smoothness to it.

“I need to steal something from the elves,” said Retaak. “As you know, Gurgumaar is set to attack Oystkivat. We want to take advantage of the confusion and steal something from the city in the chaos. I can tell you no more.”

Wechegak nodded, but Retaak could tell he was secretly pleased at the information that he had gained thus far. Conformation of the coming attack would allow him to profit from it by being ready to supply Gurgumaar’s army and to offer the best price for the spoils that were hauled back to the Fellspawn Warrens. Wechegak was always ready to profit from war and death, as long as he was not at risk.

Retaak continued. “I need some one who can pick locks and has a keen eye for the kind of traps that Elves set. A good scout would be best. I’ll pay you this silver for their aid and a few tools that only you can provide.”

Retaak held up the second silver bar.

Wechegak smiled. “I have someone in mind.”

<>

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.15T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

< >

“Look what we have here. Come to beg for my mercy Retaak?”

Wechegak received them seated on a throne wrought from pure gold, studded with gems and diamonds. It was a garish thing, especially in the Lower Warrens lording over those who struggled even to earn enough for the basics of life. A goblin, Wechegak was unusually large and ostentatiously fat

“I have come to pay my debt to you, Wechegak,” said Retaak loudly.

Wechegak laughed. The rest of his court laughed with him, all save Biugichaag who moved to stand beside Wechegak’s golden throne, another reminder of his power. Two hulking ogre bulls, battle-scarred veterans both of them, stood at attention nearby, hands resting on fine steel weapons.

“And how will you do that, Retaak?” asked Wechegak.

Retaak pulled one of the silver bars that Ushochhushi had given him out of his belt-pouch. The brilliant metal gleamed in the expensive crystal lights in Wechegak’s hall. Various underlings and hangers-on watched. They reminded Retaak of old prose describing the courtiers of the Kingdoms of old, places long since ground to ruin under the armies of the Dread Lord and the Fellspawn.

A nervous titter broke out among some of the ‘courtiers’; after all what was a bar of silver to one who sat on a throne of gold? But Wechegak did not laugh and his eyes were round and shining as he looked upon Retaak’s silver.

One of the disgusting things about greed, Retaak knew, is that it was never truly satisfied; there was always more money to be had, even if it served no gratification beyond simple avarice.

“Is our debt cleared?” asked Retaak.

“Of course, good Retaak,” said the Goblin, grinning with a mouthful of gold teeth, his tone shifting as if he were addressing a beloved friend. One of his underlings, a smaller goblin with quick hands took the silver bar and brought it directly to Wechegak, who smiled before dropping it into a slot on his throne. “The others called me a fool to lend you so much money, but we showed them. You have paid me back with good returns. I knew I could count on you, old friend. Come, drink, sit with me while your friends enjoy my hospitality.”

Ashoktyaar chuckled and headed for a tabled laden with food. Uyage remained with Retaak, alert and ready.

The wealth goblin’s words did not sway Retaak. While many spawn were driven by their desire for money, for Wechegak it was the only thing that mattered. Even the lives of his fellow spawn, goblin or otherwise, were of little importance compared to the chance for profit. That such a person was allowed to flourish unchecked was a symptom of the disease that afflicted the Fellspawn, and a symbol of the unjust rule of The Dread Lord.

Though it galled him, Retaak did as he was bid and went and sat near Wechegak.

“Have you finally decided to accept reality, Retaak?” asked Wechegak, drinking wine from a golden cup.

Retaak decided to be humble, hoping to get some help from the greedy Goblin.

“Reality has thrust itself upon me,” said Retaak, forcing a smile. “My new patron has sent me on a rather difficult mission. I can’t speak of it, but I could use your help in acquiring some gear and perhaps the services of a professional.”

“I don’t–”

“I can pay,” said Retaak, holding up the other silver bar that Ushochhushi had given him.

Wechegak grinned. “Now you are speaking my language, Ogre. Let’s negotiate!”

<>

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.14T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

<>

Biugichaag led Retaak, Uyage, and Ashoktyaar up into the middle of the Lower Warrens, the vast series of interconnected holes, caves, and chambers in which most of the spawn dwelt. Wechegak’s chief assassin moved with grace and surprising ease as the crowds became thicker. Some of those she passed recognized her and gave signs of respect that rippled through the stream of spawn like the waves cause by pebbles tossed into water. The killer did not hide keep herself apart from her community.

The Lower Warrens were far less homogeneous than the rest of the Fellspawn Warrens, or anywhere else in Bemachhorak. There were Goblins, Orcs, Hobs, Ogres, and even Trolls in abundance in the maze of tunnels and domiciles deep beneath the Dread Lord’s Throne. Some of these spawn were of breeds that Retaak had never seen before, such as a pair of goblins with hair like orange flame and tiny horns. The variety of his people down here was a feast to his eyes and he smiled. The low warrens were dirty and chaotic, and often terrible, but this was the true heart of Bemechhorak in his mind.

“There it is,” said Buigichaag, pointing to their destination.

Ashoktyaar whistled.

Wechegak lived in a fortified gambling den, an opulent palace carved into ceiling of a large cave. To reach it, they had to pass through Etachoyur, the only large marketplace in the Lower Warrens. This sprawling bazaar sold the collective leftovers from the rest of the Fellspawn warrens, as well as the wares of those who lived the the Lower Warrens. It was full of shoddy merchandise, as well as hidden treasures. Some of Retaak’s fondest memories were of playing amidst the stalls, running and exploring, forgetting his troubles.

“It is good to see you smile,” said Uyage, ever watchful beside him. Retaak laughed and beamed down at her, forgetting for a moment that they were on their way to see a Goblin who might just kill them.

As always, Etachoyur was filled with music and art. They passed a Long haired orc woman singing an old tune, voice soaring as her hands deftly danced across the strings of her Zumochuk. The song was of both sad and glorious, a tale of three brothers and their deeds in a great battle in the age of the First Dread Lord, and how it changed them. Retaak longed to simply listen and dance with Uyage, but Wechegak waited for no spawn.

As they neared the carved stairway that would take them to Wechegak’s lair, Retaak caught sight of a commotion ahead of them, a crowd forming around a Hob wearing the robes of The Eyes of Dread. Buigichaag seemed intent on skirting the incident, bringing them close enough to hear what the functionary was saying.

“Spawn, heed me! We are nothing in the eyes of the The Dread Lord. He gave us life, but he made us to serve him. We are born to to do battle in his name!”

The small crowd roared. Retaak frowned. He did not like any of the cults of the Dread Lord, and the Eyes were no different, even if they were just out pushing the latest war.

“Do you want o earn the blessing of his gaze? To kill and to bleed is to serve him and grow whole in his eyes. You can do this by joining us in battle. Now is the time to retake what is ours! We will expand great Bemachhorak and take the next step in his grand plan. We will spill the blood of the hated elves and take them as our slaves…”

“Fools,” muttered Ashoktyaar, coming to stand next to Retaak, who was having trouble turning away from the hate-spewing preacher, “The spawn recruited down here don’t stand a chance in battle. Without a warband to back them up, they will end up in a fodder squad like we did.”

Retaak growled at the thought. He met Ashoktyaar after being recruited into one of the loose groups of unaffiliated Lower Warren spawn that were often used as shock troops by the more ruthless generals. They were poorly equipped and poorly trained, send to disrupt enemy lines with little hope of victory while the more disciplined forces took advantage of the chaos. Retaak had barely survived that battle, teaming up with the battle-mad Ashoktyaar. He carried scars from that day, inside and out. He hated the Eyes of Dread.

“Keep moving,” growled Buigichaag, leading up the stairs toward where Wechegak, the lord of flesh and coin, awaited them.

<>

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.13T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

<>

“We are doing Wechegak’s work for him if we go to the vaults,” complained Uyage.

“You can wait for us in Fenstink or the abattoirs,” said Retaak.

The trio, Retaak the noble Ogre, followed by Uyage the sharp-eyed Orc, with the rear taken up by Ashoktyaar the flame-scarred Troll, followed a steep staircase leading up carved into an ancient tunnel. Their destination was The Vaults, where Wechegak the Wealthy laired.

“Do not insult my honour, Retaak,” growled Uyage. “I have pledged to follow you.”

“Are you certain he is worth it?” Asked Ashoktyaar.

“Is anyone?” Returned Retaak.

“As if either of you would understand,” muttered Uyage. “Once I have given my pledge, not even death can sway me.”

Retaak frowned at this, thinking back to many nights trying to dissuade Uyage of this. Ashoktyaar laughed, and clapped her on the back approvingly, oblivious to the glare she shot back at him.

“Honour I don’t understand, but I admire your willingness to face death, sister. I hope that this adventure will see us test our strength together once more,” said Ashoktyaar.

Uyage nodded, distantly. The Troll did not pick up on the shift in her focus, but Retaak knew Uyage well, and drew descended to his weapons as he asked, “what troubles you Uyage?”

“We are being followed,” she responded after a moment, eyes scanning the dark, ear twitching. “I think it is Biugichaag.”

The death mother, Biugichaag, was the most feared of Wechegak’s hunters, an assassin so skilled that many wondered why she did not work for the Dread Lord himself. Retaak considered most of what was said about her to be rumor, or even carefully manufactured reputation enhancement. Still, he could not help but cast a look over his shoulder.

“Idiot,” hissed Uyage. “Now she knows.”

Ashoktyaar, carefree, laughed.

“Perhaps we can tell her that we intend to call on Wechegak,” said Retaak. “We could avoid confrontation–“

“What if she intends to shoot you with a poison needle Retaak?” asked Uyage. “How would you even get words to her?”

“The orc has a point,” a feminine voice, weathered but steady. Retaak looked around, seeing no adversary. Even Ashoktyaar reached for his weapon, a long metal club covered in studs.

“There!” snarled Uyage, raising her crossbow.

“Enough, you know that I am Buigichaag. If I wanted you dead, I would not let you see me. Is it true that you want to see Wechegak?”

“It is,” answered Retaak, sheathing his weapon. Ashoktyaar let out a sigh and did the same. Uyage did not relax.

The goblin woman seemed to materialize out of the rock in a spot that Retaak was sure he had looked at.  He felt a thrill of alarm as he realized what he was seeing and how she had been so close to him without him being aware. Not even Uyage could surprise him like that, and she knew him well!

“Better yet, I have silver toward my debts,” said Retaak.

“Silver is the language my master is most familiar with,” said Buigichaag. Her arms were raised and her hands were empty, but her dark eyes were hard and showed no fear. A hood concealed most of her face, but she looked younger than Retaak would have guessed for a spawn with such a formidable reputation.

“How do we know that you are truly her?” asked Ashoktyaar.

“You don’t,” answered the goblin woman, lips showing the hint of a smile. “But very few spawn would be able to avoid the the notice of this orc for very long, and of those, only Biugichaag can be found in the lower warrens.”

Retaak nodded. “Well met then. I am Retaak, these are my companions Uyage and Ashoktyaar.”

“I see,” answered the goblin. “I will take you to Wechegak. Follow.”

Uyage swore silently, finally lowering her crossbow as she followed.

<>

 

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.12T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

<>

Crude cleaver in hand the troll began to advance on them.

“Brother Troll, wait–” began Retaak, before he was interrupted by the twang-thwack of Uyage’s crossbow firing and a bolt slapping into the Troll’s thigh.

Of all the Fellspawn creations of the Dread Lord, Trolls were the toughest. They could regenerate all but the worst of wounds swiftly, and Retaak knew well that it took a lot of work to kill one. Pain was almost meaningless to them.

“Oi!” Said the Troll. “I was just tryin’ to scares yas. No need to get rude.”

Uyage said nothing, continuing to swiftly reload her crossbow, leaving Retaak to do the talking.

“Uh… we are looking for Ashoktyaar, can you direct us to him?” Asked Retaak.

“I don’t know any…” began the Troll.

“The next bolt is an incendiary,” said Uyage flatly.

The Troll’s eyes went wide. “I can’t tell yas, he’ll kill me.”

“So will she,” said Retaak, nodding to Uyage, who was looking down her sights at the Troll. “Be at ease though, brother Troll, Ashoktyaar will want to see me. We are old friends.”

The Troll snorted, but kept his eyes on Uyage’s crossbow. “That one has no friends. But if yas are fool enough to seek him, I can tell yas where he might be.”

<>

They found Ashoktyaar in a deeper cave, one that smelled of smoke and brimstone rather than the damp, cold caves favoured by the rest of the trolls. He did not notice them as they approached, as he stood gazing into a blazing fire. As Retaak watched the Troll took a burning branch from the fire and, with little hesitation, raked it across his arm. The flames left a blackened line on his skin. His body was covered in hundreds of such fire-scars, forming patterns and pictures like the tattoos favoured by some of the spawn.

“Still at it, I see,” said Retaak.

Ashoktyaar looked up and recognizing the pair of them, his expression softened and he offered a toothy smile. Most Trolls were emaciated and skinny, but Ashoktyaar was muscular and robust. He also had a mane of green hair unlike anything Retaak had ever seen on a troll.

“Retaak!” said the Trollwalking over to them and offering his hand in greeting. It was warm and surprisingly dry. “I had almost given you up for dead this time.”

“He’s still very much alive,” said Uyage,

“It is good to see you sharp-eye,” said Ashoktyaar to Uyage. “What brings you both to my place in the warrens.”

“I have need of your might, Ashoktyaar,” said Retaak. “Ushochhushi has tasked me with infiltrating Greyrock and stealing a prisoner for him during the next attack on the elven town of Oystkivat.”

Ashoktyaar laughed, throwing his head back. “And they call me the mad one.  Retaak, you seem to find ways of tangling yourself in the games of the Dread Lord’s favourites. How odd for someone who hates being told what to do.”

“My usefulness to them is what keeps me alive,” said Retaak with a shrug. “One day I will be free, Troll.”

“Only death can free us from the Dread Lord,” said Ashoktyaar. “But Ushochhushi seems to be on the rise. He is a clever one. I do not mind gaining his favour.”

“Good,” said Retaak and the two of them clasped hands again. “Our first visit will be to the moneylender Wechegak, who has placed a bounty on me.”

Ashoktyaar laughed as Uyage started to protest.

<>

Thralls of Dread Lord (1.11T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

<>

“Are you going to ask me?” said Uyage as they descended into the depths of the Fellspawn warrens, even deeper than the low warrens, following winding, crumbling side passages rather than risk the more comfortable main routes. Uyage carried an tough metal lantern that could be shuttered to hide the light, a valuable commodity in the low warrens.

“Ask you what?” said Retaak, grinning.

“To join you in whatever task Ushochhushi has forced on you?”

“How do you know that he forced this venture on me?”

“I know well that you hate him, Retaak.”

Retaak nodded. “That is true. he wants me to steal a prisoner from the elves. I do not know the exact nature of what he seeks to accomplish though.”

“So, are you going to ask me to join you?” said Uyage, turning to face him, eyes fierce.

“I would not insult you by doing so,” answered Retaak after a moment’s consideration. “You are always welcome at my side Uyage. If you think that this task is worthy, I will be glad to have your watchful eyes and swift arrows at my back.”

“I sometimes think you were taught to speak by Goblins, Retaak.”

“Because I consider what I am saying.”

“Because you hide your true meaning.”

This was truth. Retaak did not want to ask Uyage to join him. If he asked, she would join. She would follow him no matter how foolish she considered his task. Retaak had saved Uyage’s life during her first days as an outcast from Tuchoraayurusha, and she had sworn to serve him out of a sense of honour, She persisted in this, even when they disagreed, even when she had already repaid him tenfold. Truly, he could think of few companions more loyal and honourable than Uyagi; she would gladly trade her life for his own… Which is precisely why he did not like putting her in danger…

“I do not want to see you hurt, Uyage.”

“It is not your choice Retaak. I have slain spawn and elves at your side, even put a bolt into the eye of a Wyvern over the Twilight Hills. I am as much a warrior as any who you will ask to stand with you and deserve to be asked.”

Retaak felt his temper rise, but set his anger aside. Uyage was no longer the skinny, half-dead outcast as when they had first met. If their places were reversed he would be making the same demand.

“Uyage,” Retaak said. “I am undertaking a dangerous task on behalf of Ushochhushi, the Seneschal of the Dread Lord. Your skills and your steadfast companionship would be a great boon to me.”

“Now you sound like Hob, preaching,” said Uyage, hiding her smile. “I accept.”

<>

The came to the deepest points in the Fellspawn warrens, where the light from the core did not reach, far below event the maggot pits. The air was damp and filled with foul odours. But beneath the scents of refuse from the warren, Retaak could smell the musk of trolls.

Trolls were spawn, but they existed outside of the Hierarchy of the warrens above, much like the Wildborn.  Most spawn looked down on them, but Retaak thought that view to be foolish and wasteful.

“What to we do?” asked Uyage.

“We wait until one of them sees us,” answered Retaak. “This is their home.”

Shortly, a burly troll came into view. Like most of his breed he was tall, long-armed, and thin. It took him a moment to notice Retaak and Uyage, but he did not seem worried at all about their presence.

“Fresh meat, what do you want here?” he asked, reaching for a nearby blade.

<>

 

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.10T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

<>

Tuchoraayurusha was a place of reverence in the middle of the warrens. Young spawn, save for the Wildborn, were born and raised within. Female spawn, save outcasts like Uyage, made their homes around the birthing warrens and the smallspawn warrens, guarding them fiercely from those who might do harm. Even when the Dread Lord called them to war, some of the female Warbands would remain behind to guard their young and bear them away, if the worst should befall.

The very idea Tuchoraayurusha both fascinated and repelled Retaak. He was fascinated because of the scale and complexity of the birthing warrens and their hallowed place in the thoughts of even the lowest spawn. He was repelled because, as a Wildborn, it seemed unnatural to him for a father never to hold his children; the only father that the spawn born in Bemachhorak were allowed to know was The Dread Lord. No wonder they kept killing each other, endlessly, over trivial matters. No wonder his brother and sister spawn did not yet know that the pain in their soul was yearning for freedom.

“You have that look on your face, dreamer,” said Uyage. “Now is not the time. Keep your wits about you, Retaak.”

“I always do,” growled Retaak. She often called him dreamer, sometimes derisively, sometimes not. Like questioner, Retaak did not see dreamer as an insult.

Uyage laughed. A good sound, even when she was mocking him.

The passageways widened and became smooth as they came closer to the heart of the Fellspawn Warrens. Scenes of mighty deeds were carved into the stone walls. The creation of the first Fellspawn by the first Dread Lord featured most prominently among them.

“Stop,” a commanding voice boomed out as they came to one of the great vault doors that guarded Tuchoraayurusha. “Who goes there?”

Ogre females were rarely as thickly muscled, but alone among the spawn they were taller than their male counterparts and sported curling horns on the side of their heads. The Ogress who challenged them was huge, grey-haired and scarred. More than a score of orcs and hobs stood close to her, ready to defend the door to Tuchoraayurusha.

“Uyage, and outcast from here and Retaak the Wildborn,” answered Uyage. “We do not seek to enter,”

“A familiar enough refrain for one such as you, sour-womb,” said the Ogress, looming over Uyage. Retaak wanted to push her way from his friend, but knew Uyage would not approve, even if they lived.

Uyage looked down and to the side, a simple sign of submission to the Ogress.

The Ogress sniffed and turned back to her squad. “You five, escort these two around Tuchoraayurusha. Watch them carefully, who knows what this barren husk and her wildborn might do?”

Despite the insults, Retaak understood Uyage’s reason for coming here now. The guardians of Tuchoraayurusha were rabidly over-protective; of course they would watch two strangers near their territory, especially if they were not of high standing.

<>

The spawn that escorted them hurled insults as Uyage, trying to provoke her.

“Don’t waste your seed on this one, wildborn, even you can do better than a barren.” was one that bit and Retaak bristled when he heard it. Uyage did not.

<>

The five wardens left them, spitting on the ground as they retreated. Retaak looked to Uyage, concerned that the abuse had hurt her. He was pleased to see a satisfied smile creep on to her face once her antagonists were out of sight.

“I see what you did there,” said Retaak, grinning.

“A free escort,” said Uyage. “I was serious about Wechegak though, we should keep moving.”

Retaak nodded. His enemies were out in full force but he could not afford to hide. That left him with little choice. “Take me to the Troll caves.”

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.9T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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“I could have killed you, Retaak,” said Uyage, her scarred face breaking into a warm smile as she lowered the crossbow.

“You’ve gotten even sharper,” said Retaak, laughing. “I was not certain that it was you who killed those goblins during the melee.”

“Who else would save you, Tuchu?” said Uyage, shaking her head.

Uyage looked much the same as when Retaak had last seen her, which was a relief. She was tall for an orcish woman and unremarkable in appearance other than the acid burns that scarred her face and eyes like the sky above on a perfect day. Much of her form was hidden by a cloak, which Retaak knew well concealed an arsenal of weapons.

“How long have I been gone, Uyage?”

Her eyes flickered to the ground briefly, which was not a good sign.

“Two hundred and seven days,” said Uyage. “We cannot stay here, Retaak; your enemies and others are hunting you. I will fill you in on lost time as we go.”

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“Eyupaase?” asked Retaak, voice breaking.

He stopped resting his head, stooped in the cramped tunnel, hitting his fist against the hard rock. Eyupaase had been with him since the Red Spire, always reliable.

Uyage nodded. “They took him for breaking shortly after you.”

“Then he might still be alive!”

Uyage shook her head. “No Retaak. They killed him. I saw his body in the Maggot Pits myself. I knew you would want it that way.”

Taking a hold of his emotions Retaak nodded his approval. Braving the dangerous journey to the Maggot Pits was a feat of great courage. Eyupaase would have been honoured by this.

“He was no threat to anyone,” grumbled Retaak, his voice rising. “When will our leaders learn to value wise and loyal spawn like Eyupaase? He was no threat to them.”

“He was repeating some nonsense about how all spawn should be treated equally and freedom when they took him,” said Uyage, eyes meeting Retaak’s.

He looked away, and then nodded. “I will mourn him. Let us go.”

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Uyage led Retaak through cramped tunnels down away from the Twilight Warrens. She chose rough passageways that were too winding for most uses. They met no one, and saw only a few signs of recent passage. Retaak did not like it, fighting is such a cramped space would be less than ideal.

“Where are we going?” he asked after several hours.

“To the Nether Warrens,” she answered. “Should I lead us somewhere else.”

“No,” said Retaak, knowing that his destination was in the Nether Warrens, one way or another. “I meant the route.”

“You’ll see,” said Uyage, sounding pleased with herself.”

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“Tuchoraayurusha?” exclaimed Retaak. “I thought you hated this place Uyage?”

“I do,” she answered. “But the Birth Wardens are strong enough to give pause even to the greediest of the Bloody Axes. It is the safest way.”

Uyage had been cast out from Tuchoraayurusha when she was young, her face marred with acid, because she was infertile. The Birth Wardens and other females still mocked her, calling her barren and it was difficult for her not to answer them.

“Thank you,” said Retaak, knowing what it cost her to take that path.

“Just hurry,” said Uyage. “Not only are the Bloody Axes after you, Wechegak has put a bounty on you.”

Retaak growled.

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.8T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.

It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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The warrens held by the Hand of Death were full of signs of prosperity. Banners showing the skeletal hand hung from sturdy stone walls and strong holds fronting every large cavern. These banners were clean and well kept, not at all frayed. Busy forges turned out weapons and armour made of steel. Retaak counted over twenty ogre Bulls as he followed his guide. He knew well how much food one of his kind must consume to gain the extra mass required to trigger the metamorphosis to Bull; he could not think of a surer sign of strength in a warband.

“Who’s this, who’s this?” a massive Bull stepped into their path, challenging Retaak’s guide.

“He is Retaak Wildborn,” said the young warrior. Eyes darted toward them, Wildborn were rarely welcome. “He shed blood with us against the Bloody Axes, and has won passage through our territory. He killed a Bull.”

“What?” The Bull pushed past the young warrior, towering over Retaak. A fully grown Bull was as large to Retaak as he was to an orc. Sometime he wondered what it would be like to have that kind of strength, but Wildborn Ogres never became Bulls, it was impossible to get that much food in the wild.

The Bull looked Retaak up and down. Retaak stood still, but did not lower his eyes. It was a foolish show of defiance, but he just couldn’t bring himself to show deference like this. His meeting with Ushochhushi had taken his last measure of tact for the day, it seemed.

“You don’t look like much, Wildborn,” said the Bull. “How did you kill a Bull?”

Retaak, his anger still simmering, smiled. He looked around at the spawn watching them, all bearing the sign of the Hand of Death, pausing just long enough so that they all seemed to lean in to hear his words.

“I killed a Bull of the Bloody Axe, not a Bull of the Hand of Death,” said Retaak.

The Bull’s brow furrowed and then he burst out laughing. The rest of the orcs, goblins, and ogres nearby did as well. Several of them muttering ‘Bloody Axe’ and spitting on the ground.

“Welcome, Retaak!” said the Bull, clapping him on the shoulder before returning to his post.

The young warrior stepped quicker after that, realizing the escorting a Wildborn was potentially explosive.

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As they passed one of the forges, a coat of plates caught Retaak’s eye. Steel with articulated plates was the best protection most spawn could hope for, but what really drew Retaak’s gaze was the red enameling. He loved Red and always sought out red clothing.

“Come, we are almost there,” said the young warrior, and Retaak shook himself from his reverie and followed.

As he turned, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye, but when he turned nothing was out of place and all he saw were Hand of Death, going about their business.

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Hours later they were through hand of Death territory and much deeper in the warrens. After clasping hands with the young warrior, Retaak took to the shadows and waited. He knew someone was following him. Retaak calmed his breathing and clung to the rock, trying to move as little as possible, in the hopes of surprising the person following him.

Things did not go as planned as he heard sound nearby and turned, only to see a crossbow pointed at him

“Uyage,” he said.

“Retaak.” she answered.

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