Thrall of a Dread Lord (1.76T)
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.
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In the end, Retaak could not turn away from his desire. He needed to see Albyursia again and could not abide that she might be enslaved by Ushochhushi, or used as a pawn to further his ambitions. Despair wracked him, but he would not give in to it. If he had to confront Ushochhusons.
He had a knife and his falchion, a sturdy blade that he had come trust. His leathers were worn, but still offered a little protection. He did have much else on his person; it would have to do. He set out toward the tower.
He passed troop of Fellspawn on patrol, their arms and armour gleaming with polish. They ignored him, save for a voice calling out ‘Wildborn’ like a curse as he passed. He stopped and looked them over coolly, his hand on his weapon. The challenge was not repeated.
Soon, Uzaagwaar loomed above him. The Tower of the Seneschal was one of the mightiest in all of Bemachhorak. Made of seamless black stone and clad in weathered iron, it was as much of a statement as it was a fortification. The tower dominated the landscape around it, inescapable and menacing. Even the mountains seemed to draw back from it from this distance.
The great towers were built by the second Dread Lord to permanently expand his power beyond the reach of the Fellspawn Warrens. They housed warbands, supplies, and all that was necessary to wage war or exploit the surrounding lands. Uzaagwaar oversaw the richest mines in Bemachhorak, stolen from the Dwarves of old, and had many of the finest smiths. Ushochhushi had added vast herds of sheep to the Dread Lord’s riches, gaining great favour in the process.
Even though the mighty tower rarely faced any real threat, it was heavily guarded. Most of the armed spawn simply ignored Retaak though. He moved through the camp at the foot of the tower with ease, as welcome as any who served the Seneschal. Even so, the hairs of the back of his neck stirred and he was ready for violence to break out at any moment. A few of the other spawn grumbled as he passed, but none stood to bar his way until he reached the entrance to the tower itself.
Four Bull Ogres, their armour straining to contain their bulk, stood watch over the tower doors. A venerable orc, one of Ushochhushi’s first bodyguards stood watched Retaak as the Ogre’s stood and lowered their poleaxes to bar his way. The orc peered at him, scarred face twisting into a grimace.
“What business do you have here, Wildborn?”
Retaak looked at the four massive ogres, all of them larger than him and clad in heavy armour, then back to the old orc.
“I have business with your master,” he said.
The old orc chuckled. He looked to the door, which opened. Retaak’s breath caught in his throat as he saw who stepped out.
“Retaak, Retaak, Retaak,” said Waachear, gazing at him. “Will you ever learn?”
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