On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 71-73
I’ve got so much campaign prep to get done that if I don’t do it in public, I’ll never get it done in time…
This was supposed to be just two chapters, but at the last minute I broke the first into two smaller, more digestible, chunks.
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Clan Wars XVI: Faith & Politics
“It is actually very simple to prove that the Father of the Gods still lives in his palace beyond the sky, Garunch, though I admit that it took me a while to think of it,” said the Shaman of Clan Mailed-Fist. “It requires a human point of view.
“Humans see the Gods as separate things that exist apart from each other. One place of humans may believe in Olympus, and the Gods that live there, but they will only pray to the god who is most likely to help them achieve a certain task or who is most likely to cause problems with that task. At the same time, they will often worship one of those gods more than the others because they think that this god likes them especially well.”
“That’s not just silly, it’s stupid,” answered the Shaman of Clan Red-Eye.
“It’s not our way. It’s as though they pretend that all the other gods that they believe in but aren’t asking for help don’t really exist, and won’t get involved if they aren’t mentioned. We know the gods to be equally real, and what happens in the world around us to be a mirror for the things they do each day. They do these things for the same reasons we do things – it is our nature, or it is necessary, or because we don’t know of anything better to do – if there is anything better to do in a situation, to avoid starting any side-arguements.”
“I’m still waiting, Kudja.”
“When we pray for something to happen, we pray to all the gods, and if one makes that thing to happen it is because that is what they do. They choose us, we do not choose them.
“The false Baghtru told us that everything that was happening was Luthic stirring up trouble amongst the Clan Of The Gods. She wanted Gruumsh fighting Baghtru and Ilneval fighting Gruumsh because she wanted to be in charge. When we began to think that the Gruumsh who was killed was not the real Gruumsh, and when we saw that the Bugbear-God who fought him was not a real Bugbear-God, we began to wonder if the Baghtru who told us to do things that are not Orc-like was really Baghtru, and if The-Mother-Of-All was really to blame. I had been put into an unnatural sleep-with-my-eyes-open and could not be woken. The Clan-Chief needed to know if the things he had been told were truth, so he got a mother to pray to Luthic for help in waking me up, so that I could tell the Clan-chief of things that I knew about the Gods. She did. Luthic was not angry. If she had caused this trouble, she would not have healed me even though it was her nature to do so. That is how I am here and talking to you.
“If Gruumsh is not dead, then he will answer a prayer to him. If it is not in the nature of any of the other gods of the god-clan, he is the only one who will answer. And you will know.
“Make a fire, Garunch, and ask Gruumsh to make it bigger. Put a prisoner from the Bleeding Sword Clan near it, so that he will be burned if Gruumsh does this, and put me near it so that I will be burned if Gruumsh does this. Shargaas hates the fire because it drives the night away, and Luthic hates the fire because it hurts when you get burned, and Ilneval and Baghtru will not do it because their people will be hurt. Only Gruumsh will do it. And when you feel him in the flame, you will know.”
There were immediate protests from his companions, the Elf who named himself First, and the Drow Ambassador to the City, Tathzyr, but the Orcs ignored them. This was a part of Kudja’s plan that he had not told them about.
“That is very clever, Kudja. I have not thought of thinking about the Gods separately before.”
The preparations were quickly made, and a prisoner from the Bleeding Swords brought in and tied to a stake near the bonfire. On the far side of the fire, Kudja was tied to another stake. Old Zagluk, the Red Eye keeper of memory, bore witness to the preparations and the lighting of the flame. He had not been told what was to happen. When all was ready, the bonfire was lit in the presence of most of the chiefs of the tribes of the Red Eye Clan; there were a few who refused to attend or who had fallen in fights triggered by the despair of seeing Gruumsh killed. Most had been forced to attend at sword-point.
Garunch circled the fire, and then beseeched the Spirit of Gruumsh to inhabit the fire, and make it grow bigger. Nothing happened. A second time, Garunch repeated his prayer. Again, there was no visible result, and the audience of tribal chiefs began to grow restive. A third time, Garunch repeated the prayer, and this time, the fire became a column of flame taller than the highest tower of the city. So tall was it that every Orc in the despairing Army Of The Crescent Moon could see it, and could feel the presence of the flame. Blisters rose on the unprotected flesh of the prisoners tied to the stakes.
But Garunch was still suspicious that this was not a trick that Kudja had prepared in advance, so now he did something of which he had forewarned no-one, and beseeched the God Of The Sky to enable his words to be heard from every fire built by his armies, and then he said, “Without the glory of Gruumsh, the Night will never end, for he brings the sky when he rides his fiery chariot to the day’s battle beyond the sky,” and all could hear his words issue from every torch and campfire, but most of all, booming forth from the column of flame. “When the light of sky approaches and the night recedes will all know that Gruumsh is still our beloved Father, and take heart, and restore order in their ranks in His name. At Dawn, we attack the walls of the city in the name of Gruumsh the Great!”
He then thanked the God Of Fire for his generosity in coming to his people’s aid, and beseeched him to return to his well-earned rest. Even more abruptly than it had erupted skyward, the column of fire vanished, and the bonfire went out. Legend has it that no fire would ever light on that particular spot again, but no-one knows exactly where it was, so no-one is completely sure. To the tribe-chiefs assembled, who had prostrated themselves in awe, he said that “Gruumsh was sleeping, and had to be shaken a few times before he awoke. Now you know that he lives, and that what we saw was a trick of the servants who betrayed those who took them in and gave them food, and shelter, and protection.”
Clan-Chief Kurvath then rose. “I am the heir of Zalgan, and act as Clan-chief until we Moot in the spring. I make a new law for the Red Eyes: The Minotaur are outcast, the enemy of the Orcs, and shall be hunted until they are no more. Kill them all, wherever and whenever you find them. That is the law. Say now the Law!”
Celebrations and ritual chanting of the new law went on for some time. Zalgan then described the Fall of Kyrd, former Warblade of the Clan, and appointed an acting Warblade to Command the Army. His first instruction to the new Warblade was to alter the deployment of the Army Of The Crescent Moon, leaving the troglodyte tunnels unguarded and massing their forces on the opposite side of the city. Much of their forces had been detached to chase Bleeding Swords and invade their Clan range, and they no longer had sufficient numbers to attack on all sides. The new Warblade protested, but was overrode – “There is more happening here than this attack.” Supported by the Clan Shaman, Garunch, and by the Keeper Of Memory, Zagluk, the new Warblade had no choice but to accept the decision. It was his role to translate the objectives decreed by the Clan Chief into smaller instructions, even if those objectives changed without notice or explanation.
Only then, with the crowd dissipated, could Zalgan order the prisoners to be taken down from the stakes and Garunch to see to them. By now, the arms that had been closest to the flames were burned beyond healing, save by the direct intervention of Luthic herself, and that risked arousing the ire of Gruumsh, who had inflicted the injuries. Somewhat reluctantly – it seemed poor reward for Kudja and underserved in the case of the Bleeding Sword warrior – Garunch ordered the affected arms amputated and then healed the stumps in the name of Luthic. First, leader of the band of self-exiled Huyundaltha, found the entire proceeding to be barbaric, but held his tongue. Tathzyr was not so repelled; Kudja had knowingly sacrificed his arm to achieve his goals, and those goals were worth achieving; Tathzyr respected and even admired that strength of will.
Clan Wars XVII: The Sacrificial City
Curiosity is a trait that runs strong in most Elves, but is only mildly present in most Orcs. The few exceptions tend to gravitate toward the two branches of Orcish culture that provide explanations, the Keepers Of Memory and the Priesthood. When Kudja had been restored to health, despite the loss of his left arm, the inner core who had been privy to all the events of the night reconvened in the pavilion of the Clan-Chief. Time was wearing on, and the three who had braved great personal risk to negotiate the surrender of the city would soon need to return to set events in motion within its walls, but first, there was a little more that needed to be explained. Kudja had told Garunch that he could not explain the need for the attack to both commence and succeed at dawn until after the survival of Gruumsh was verified to the point of certainty; now that Garunch was sure, his curiosity burned within him more brightly than ever. What was the urgency, the cause of such desperation that Kudja – a pragmatist at heart, like all Orcs – was willing to knowingly sacrifice his arm?
“I don’t have time to explain it all. When this is over, there will need to be a Moot of the three clans to restore peace amongst us. When that happens, there will be time for the full tale.
“The false Baghtru who came to us told us to prepare a ritual that would summon something to fight for us. We thought that strange because we would want something to fight alongside us, but we did what we were told. When the Minotaur-God, or what looked like a Minotaur-God, revealed himself and seemed to kill Gruumsh, and all the servants attempted to kill Orcs and run away, this ritual began casting itself, and all the shamans of the Mailed Fists fell into a not-natural sleep with our eyes open. The Ambassador-Drow and the Elf later worked out that the reason for everything that was happening was to threaten the city enough to make us listen when we were told to do so, without allowing the threat to succeed. The Bugbears and the rebellion of the servants, both led by what they thought of as their Gods, and the death of Gruumsh, was to stop anyone from interfering by distracting us from the real attack. We priests were put to sleep so that we could not figure this out.
“We plan to force whoever the enemy is, who we think is called ‘The Hidden Dragon’ to try to finish too fast by letting you win. When you do things too fast, you don’t do them very well. We are going to twist his ritual so that instead of releasing the Hidden Dragon, we ride it back to his lair and attack him there. Where it is, we don’t know. Whether or not we will survive, we don’t know.
“We were tricked. You were tricked. The Bleeding Swords were tricked. The Bugbears were tricked. The Servants were tricked. All of us, all the Orc clans, have been used as playthings by the Hidden Dragon, and Clan-Chief Agronak is very angry.”
“He is not the only one,” roared Kurvath. “It is not enough. It is not right. It was not the God you listen to who pretended to be killed, who was made to look weak. It was almighty Gruumsh. The Red Eyes demand a place in this retribution beyond the one you have made for us. We may have been used by a God; we will not let ourselves be used by another Clan even to punish the trickster! We will divide our army. We will strike back! We will hurt the Hidden Dragon as he has hurt us!”
“My new Clan-chief seems to be suited to the job. I agree completely with him.”
“We have limited capacity for numbers, Clan-Chief. We cannot transport an army,” said First.
“But it is right that they share the burden,” responded Tathzyr. “Perhaps a compromise?”
“Speak more, Drow. What do you suggest?”
“Select your mightiest warrior. Send him, and Garunch here, to be your representatives in this matter. Kudja was to accompany the attack, but with his arm lost, he will be a liability, and your clan’s shaman will be better-versed in attacking and war-spells, anyway.”
Kudja, who had not realized that his sacrifice entailed being left out of the mission of revenge, suddenly looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Kudja, but if I’m not useful enough to go, neither are you – in your present condition. Clan=Chief, if you wish to bolster your own authority, you may choose a warrior from a rival faction, since survival of this mission is unlikely – but if you do not wish to risk his return with still greater prestige, you may choose someone who will be loyal to you. But do not take long to decide, we must return to the city within the hour.”
“If I choose a rival who later returns, I will share in his glory because it will show that I made the right choice, and even he will have to admit that,” mused the clan-chief with a chuckle. “Zagluk, who was most upset at my choosing Dag-rath as Warblade?”
In his broken and cracked voice, the elderly Keeper Of Memory answered, “There were several who were vocal in their protests, Kurvath, mostly because they thought themselves candidates for the post, or were jealous. These can be ignored; by letting their opinions show, they proved they are not ready. But Lukzal, son of Kyrd, who could have claimed the place as his inheritance – at least until clan-moot, as did you – merely narrowed his eyes and smiled. Like his father, that one schemes in his sleep and waits for a misstep to give him an advantage. And he is definitely one of your most skilled warriors, if one of your most closed-minded. He would learn little if anything from seeing how others fight – because they are other than Clan Red-Eye.”
“You speak well, Zagluk. My father should have made you a member of the Clan Council years ago – a mistake I will not repeat.”
“I decline, my Clan-Chief. I prefer to remain apart from discussions, that I may remember who said what more clearly, without the distraction of participating.”
“I will not let you decline, Zagluk. Another Keeper may watch for you and report anything you may have missed. But that is something we can fight about on another day. Kudja, I appoint Lukzal and Garunch to act in this raid for the Red-Eye Clan. I will send for Lukzal, and give him his orders, and then give you escort back to the tunnels under the city walls.”
When one is awoken in the dead of night from a sound sleep, it is not uncommon to oversleep the next morning. It may simply be that the Orcish sense of time is not very good, but it seemed to all in the Orclands that Dawn came late the next day. When it came, though, it was announced with a funfair of horns as the Red Eyes gave the signal to charge. Much to the surprise of the attackers, they found the walls undefended, and were able to maneuver their simple catapults into position without being raked by bow fire for the first time since the siege began. These were loaded with great hooks, which had flattened ends. Their machines hurled these across the ramparts without interference. Again, much to their surprise, no-one attempted to throw these back over the walls; small teams of Orcs quickly dragged the lines back until they were taut, and attached the ends to the undersides of the baskets of a second wave of catapults which some might have thought faced in the wrong direction. As soon as one was attached, the catapult was triggered, jerking the wall outward with great force. Had simpler hooks been employed, they might have ripped a great gouge in the top of the wall, but the broader flattened ends which made the hooks so heavy that only another siege weapon could throw them spread the force across the whole section of wall. Like all such, it had been constructed to withstand a push or impact from the outside, not an outward pull; in places, the wall broke in two partway up, while in others, the whole wall came down, broken at its base, where it toppled to the ground. In only a few cases did the wall prove strong enough to withstand this unexpected attack, with the catapult being torn apart by the force of the blow it sought to deliver, the sudden internal stress being too much for it to contain. Several catapult crews were killed instantly, as beams weighing hundreds of pounds became lethal weapons flying through the air, or murderous splinters.
The attacks were spaced out along the walls at even intervals. As soon as the walls began to collapse outward, advance troops aligned with the towers rushed forwards, dodging chunks of rubble the size of cottages. Each squad carried a ladder to clamber up any remaining wall, and a number of spares, anticipating stern resistance, but once again, they were unmolested. Several became disquieted, sensing that this was all happening far too easily, and hesitated. The scaling ladders were quickly cut down to the required size, and Red Eye clan members swarmed like ants through eight broad breaches in the walls, and dispersed into the city, tearing down walls with hooks attached to lines and starting fires as they went. They had not yet encountered a live defender. What had happened to those within? Where was everybody?
At the first hint of Dawn, all but First and Third of the Huyundaltha had exited the tunnel and made for a stand of thick forest nearby, ironically following the same direct line of escape employed by the escaping Minotaur Servants the day before. Spreading themselves out evenly in a straight line, each raised a pennant. Behind them, a steady stream of Orcs began to exit the doomed city, running from Elven flag to Elven flag. A number of Red Eye scouts witnessed the escape, but had been given strict orders not to interfere in anything that might transpire on that side of the city. In a near-endless column, families of Orcs streamed from the scene of the conflict.
And somewhere, far away, the architect of the conflict sensed himself losing control of events, and redoubled his efforts to complete his ritual before it was too late.
Clan Wars XVIII: Riding The Whirlwind
The ritual chamber on the sunrise side of the city was the farthest from the attacking Army of the Red Eye, and so had been chosen as the place for the select band of combatants who were to seek out the lurking menace of the Hidden Dragon. First and Third of the Huyundaltha, Goral, Clan Warblade of the Mailed Fists, three of his hand-picked Orcish warriors, Lukzal and Garunch of the Red Eyes clan, and an unexpected Late Addition to the roster: Ambassador Tathzyr, who had finally received instructions from Lolth. These events and the instigator behind them are beyond my ken, as is the place of prophecy that you report, she had told him through the spiderweb mirror in his chambers, to which he had repaired on returning to the city, to gather those things that he deemed essential. I approve of the planned investigation and order you to participate and report back. Carry with you the Mirror Of Whispers that I may locate this ‘Hidden Dragon’ should you fall, she had concluded. As Tathzyr had feared, coming to the attention of authority had done nothing but increase his personal danger – but he was not so foolish as to disobey. He did not know how Lolth would chastise him, should he do so – and did not want to know. Like it or not, he was going, and he was attempting to explain that to a fourth Orcish Warrior whose place he was taking. Some chatter incessantly when nervous and Tathzyr was one of them; he normally forced himself to silence, but sheer terror was countermanding his self-control.
The scene was enough to unnerve even the most hardened warrior if he was unaccustomed to the supernatural. Tathzyr, neither warrior nor over-familiar with the extraordinary, felt the effect especially strongly. What had been a large storeroom for bed linen had been cleared, and seven braziers spaced evenly around a circle inscribed in chalk on the floor. These now burned with a disquieting indigo flame, periodically erupting with gouts of flame that arched unnaturally overhead from one brazier to another. A piece of red chalk inscribed sigils on the floor in blue, untouched by human hands, while a piece of blue chalk inscribed strange patterns in red in the air. From time to time, a strange ripple or shimmer seemed to pass through the air, and from the centre of the room a small flask of scented oil emptied itself endlessly into the empty air, its issue vanishing without trace just before it hit the floor. And all this was accompanied by the throbbing beat of an unnatural (and quite invisible) drum, punctuated at intervals by the tinkle of an equally invisible bell or chime. That ringing was the most exasperating detail of all, you could sense that there was almost a pattern to it, but every time the mind attempted to identify that pattern the next pealing would fall early or late, and the pattern would vanish.
The fanfare that had announced the attack on the far side of the city had been only barely audible from inside the stone chamber, but it was beyond doubt that the attack had begun; the crash of the city walls that followed moments later was felt throughout the city, and was followed shortly afterwards by a dramatic increase in the urgency of the throbbing drum-sound and general increase in the self-driven activity within the room.
“Ambassador, could you please still your tongue? This is very difficult and I am trying to concentrate,” said First, his eyes closed tightly, with a piece of white chalk in one hand and a knife in the other. With a final squawk, the Ambassador closed his mouth with a snap and lightly bit his tongue. Spiders Of Lolth, who knew what might happen if First got his manipulation of the incomplete spell wrong – or his efforts were noticed.
Carefully, and with a precision that the Ambassador would be hard-put to match, First drew an additional circle outside the one that glowed blue and marked the perimeter of the casting, leaving six small gaps a handspan wide, followed by another with three more gaps that surrounded the entire group save the warrior who had to remain behind. The knife had been anointed with a fragrant oil that was then been burned off with a candle, after which the candle was cut in into three pieces lengthways; those pieces now rested on a silver platter at First’s feet. With the knife, First cut the innermost circle, connecting each severed end with a loop back to join his new circles to the existing one in a complex shape. Like the sound, this seemed to form a simple pattern, but whenever the eye attempted to follow it, it became confused until it was unclear which circle was being followed. As he completed this task at the sixth inner break, all three lines began to glow with the same bluish color as the original. Placing the knife on a cushion of red silk, which had been removed from the throne of the Clan-Chief, First made a curving, curling, gesture with his free-hand, and the three pieces of candle flew into the air and hovered there, slowly rotating around the enclosed space with each throbbing of the drum and spinning end-for-end with each chime of that maddening bell. He opened his other hand so that the chalk rested loosely on his palm; it quivered, then stood upright of its own accord, and then began to inscribe elvish letters in the air in a golden light. Suddenly curious, the Ambassador attempted to read the script, only to find that no word was complete; each contained gaps with one or two missing letters, and the whole made no sense whatsoever to him. Realizing abruptly what it would have meant to his life if he had been able to read them – a life of abject misery and subservience as a Mage, a position both mistrusted and despised by everyone within the underground City of the Drow to which all males with any trace of arcane talent was condemned, he silently gave thanks that he was unable to decipher the script.
“It is done. If the ritual were a passage of text, I have inserted some footnotes, made a few slight modifications to the language, and expanded the circle to contain all of us. The chalk is linking those new footnotes to other parts of the spell as it is cast to keep the whole consistent. I have also made the candles part of the ritual as a warning to us to prepare; when it is about to complete, one by one, the ends will light. We will thus have a countdown from six – that’s from a hand-and-one,” he added for the benefit of the Orcs. “Already I can tell you that the Hidden Dragon has seven fingers on each hand,” he concluded. “I have no knowledge of any creature having such an attribute, but it is clear that this one does – prepare!” he commanded, as one end of the first candle burst into flame. With each subsequent throb of the invisible drum, the end of another candle ignited, and then the other end of the first, the second and finally the third.
Abruptly, those inside felt a hollow sensation in the pit of their stomachs, followed by a strange twisting sensation. They felt as though their bodies were being compressed by great force and were bloated and expanding at the same time, and their vision dissolved into a sparkle of blue, red, and gold, and a fetid wind erupted from beneath their feet, a wind that was both hot and icy cold at the same time…
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The Ongoing Elvish Glossary
I’m going to forego this while our attention is focussed on the Orcish side of the story, as it has no relevance to the narrative.
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Next time: The Hidden Dragon Revealed!
- Inventing and Reinventing Races in DnD: An Introduction to the Orcs and Elves series part 1
- Inventing and Reinventing Races in DnD: An Introduction to the Orcs and Elves series part 2
- Inventing and Reinventing Races in DnD: An Introduction to the Orcs and Elves series part 3
- Inventing and Reinventing Races in DnD: An Introduction to the Orcs and Elves series part 4
- Inventing and Reinventing Races in DnD: An Introduction to the Orcs and Elves series part 5
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 1-4
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 5-10
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 11-14
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 15-17
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 18-20
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 21-23
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 24-26
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 27-28
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 29-31
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 32-36
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 37-40
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 41-43
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 44-46
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 47-51
- Inventing and Reinventing Races in DnD: An Orcish Mythology
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 52-54
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 55-58
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 59-62
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 63-65
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 66-68
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 69-70
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 71-73
- Who Is “The Hidden Dragon”? – Behind the curtain of the Orcs and Elves Series
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapter 74
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 75-77
- On The Origins Of Orcs, Chapters 78-85
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