31st Day of the Arc of Halail

A mile or two from the village of Bellport, Clionag motioned for the party to halt as she briefly surveyed the terrain and dug into a small sack.  As she withdrew her hand it held a flaky, brown loaf of peasant bread.  Motioning for everyone to gather and share this mild repast, the party’s guide broke the loaf in half and began to divvy it up.  But just as she tore into the bread the silence of the surrounding trees and bushes was broken by the battle cries of orcs.  Nearly a fist of orcs burst from hiding and surprised the group of warriors as they spun upon their heels to face this new danger.

Vardatch range out against them as these lightly armed foes raced into melee.  Beset by the enemy the party absorbed the first charge, then fell to the bloody work of repelling their enemies.  Clionag was sorely hurt in the first rush and she fell back.  The fight fell to bloody work, the speeding orcs heaved against this resistance band, trading blow for blow.  Elenon impeded their progress with arcane magics, as he caused the grass and roots beneath to entwine about several orcs feet, as Naurdil taped his ability to scare the foe, causing one orc to be panicked; it was this orc the Akillian and Bronn tracked, chased and slew after the melee concluded.  As they ran this last orc to ground, Elenon treated everyone’s wounds and Sardric made a study of the orcs’ gear before approaching the three captured orcs.  Trussed and defenseless, the party questioned their attackers; barely coherent, it became clear that they wanted the girl, Clionag, and it was for her that they had come.  Threats of torture meant little and Sardric cut short these threats as he beheaded each of the captives.

“Sword Mother Tribe,” growled the taciturn orc, turning to the others.  Sardric shared that these warriors were known for discipline in both combat and condition; their equipment and tactics seemed inconsistent with such a reputation.  Even stranger were the maggots and accelerated decay of their bodies in death.  Naurdil commented that their eyes were glassy and strange, several were completely immune to the effects of fear.  A strange band of orcs, each nodded and agreed.

Once regrouped, the party continued on towards the Barrows, now only another half day of travel.  Coming upon the valley they gazed down upon its seemingly peaceful setting; strong hills in the distance, a rivulet cut through the middle of it and the land was strong.  In the distance they spied first the ruins of a small town and keep, and then farther beyond Clionag explained that the Barrows there did lie.  Rather than charge into the valley, the party rested that night and then struck out towards the ruined town.  Once at its outskirts, Akillian scouted the remains; the wildlander focused upon the keep as he crept and “jumped” along its outer walls.  Learning nothing conclusive, other than the fact that old wooden roofs break, he returned with his observations—something or somebody must have made its lair there.

Hiding their forces in case of ambush, Sardric called out to the “master” of the keep; first in Norther, then in Trader’s Tongue.  After several calls, the warriors spied two eyes peering out.  At first this “master” seemed disinclined to speak as me punctuated his displeasure with mighty clouts of his club against walls of the keep; but Sardric slowly bridged the gulf between himself and the giant.  Both had so much in common, explained Sardric; Shadow-spawned and bred to serve their dark master, both the orc and Torgor, the giant, had rebelled against the darkness to forge their own paths of resistance.  It was with this understanding that Torgor invited Sardric and two of his “minions” to the keep to discuss matters further.  Wolf guards watched the unfolding scene, guarding against further approach.

Once within the battered walls of the keep, the giant and Sardric struck up a conversation, as Rameriz and Naurdil surveyed their surroundings.  A fire roasted the remains of a giant bird, an eagle if Naurdil was correct.  Masking his displeasure, Naurdil determined that this eagle was both a dire creature and a messenger.  As he grasped its leg the Caransil could see the leather legging and empty scroll tube. 

After learning of Torgor’s past, they discussed the present.  The giant would offer no more shelter to the others, but he granted these three leave to investigate the keep, in particular the lower levels.  Beneath the giant’s “living chamber” the three, Naurdil, Rameriz, and Sardric explored the cellar.  Dust and cobwebs covered several walls, but not the entire basement.  Slowly searching every step, stone by stone, the three traced their steps to an ancient cistern.  Beside the underground well, they spied an old, worn book.  Naurdil opened it and quickly began to pore over what he learned to be Klanark’s history of his family.  Tracing back several generations, the journal documented that one of the mayor’s ancestors was an early follower of Izrador; undoubtedly this evil forefather worshipped in secret before the fall, Klanark had traced his great-grandfather, Morag Connael's path to the Scar and then back again to Raelfyrd, where he died.  Skipping ahead to more recent entries, Klanark spoke of his own troubles, his hidden channeling skills and the uneasy truce he has struck with Razim.  Tellingly the old mayor intimated that if Razim where to use this secret against him, Klanark could do likewise.  Considering the book a moment, Naurdil placed with his other tomes and closed his backpack.

Looking down the well, they discussed whether one should drop down and investigate.  Sardric, with his excellent orcish vision, lowered down the well to the icy water below.  Searching carefully he detected no passage.  Returning from the well, they considered their next steps and returned to Torgor above.  Sardric was once again able to convince the giant to be of assistance; Torgor agreed to help them as he had often helped Klanark by rolling away the burial stone before the entrance to the Barrows.  Torgor explained that Klanark used to visit him in the abandoned keep, but had not been seen for the last several months, which coincided with the mayor’s death.  It was now that Naurdil inquired of the dire eagle and Torgor explained that he often traded with a covey of goblins; if was from them that he obtained the meat.  Wondering what to make of this, they decided now was as good a time to leave as any.  Departing from the keep and rejoining their other three companions, Akillian, Bronn, and Elenon, the party set off to gather the remaining two and then to investigate the Barrows.

The gentle giant accompanied the party back to where Clionag and Jedahkal were, or where they should have been.  Both were gone; the party was torn whether to proceed to the Barrows or whether to follow the tracks wherever they may lead.  Each cast his vote leaving Bronn as the decider.  The street tough deliberated a moment and decided that they had to follow the tracks into forest leaving the Barrows for now.  With Akillian in the lead and Sardric and Naurdil aiding his tracking efforts the party retraced the trail to a point where the tracks went in two directions, one from the river and the other to the village of Bellport.  They all agreed that Bellport must be their destination, so off on a lop they hustled.  As the party emerged from the forest they stopped suddenly.  Smoke and flames licked up from several houses as the warriors detected the wailing cries of the villagers and the harsh barks of their oppressors—orcs were seizing the simple farm folk and razing the town to the ground.

Without a moment of hesitation, the party sprung into action accompanied by their newfound giant ally.  Sardric attacked on the right with abandon, vardatch whirling as Bronn moved along the left, his daggers piercing into a nearby orc’s chest.  Rameriz focused his fire upon this “super” orc with whom Bronn was battling; Akillian rained his arrows down upon the orcs.  Then each warrior felt a burst of speed—Elenon had just finished incanting a spell providing haste to their efforts.  Blow upon blow landed while the orcs could only muster a feeble response as best until they saw the giant.  Torgor joined the fray, his mighty great club splattering the orcs into moist stains upon the village square.  Several orcs melting back into the alleys, running for their lives.  Flush with the sense of victory, their exultation was short-lived.  A crackle in the air preceded a burst of fire that filled the leading attackers with burning pain.  Torgor fell upon his face, battered and burned.  Sardric charged the horsed rider who he reasoned must be a legate.  Concentrating their fire upon the legate, their eyes spied a netted figure dragging behind the horse.

Taking the worse of the fight, the legate muttered more of his black tongue and enveloped himself in a massive globe of darkness.  Sardric stumbled past the horse, searching for daylight as the others looked to round the globe and cut off the fleeing legate’s retreat.  Cornered, the party made quick work of the legate, then they turned their attention to his captive.  Razim, battered and bloodied, croaked out words of warning, “The legate . . . sent . . . captured . . . her . . . help . . . .”  Pointing to one of the unburned buildings, he indicated that Clionag and Jedahkal were there.  Racing to them, the party was shaken, though not surprised, to find both of them bloody heaps.  Whether dead or alive was yet to be determined.