Here’s the first chapter in a new story I started. Originally I had planned on a short story, but the Kruuj, the Grand Justicar, the Allfather and the Church of the Vigilant Phoenix would have none of that. They insisted that their story be told in full. And so begins the tale of forces that will shape the future of Great Kingdoms, and possibly the world of Durien itself. Enjoy!
Winter was in full fury. The snow was coming down in blinding sheets, as it had been for the last three days. Snow blanketed the ground for miles in every direction, piled two feet high in some places, making for rough travel for anyone foolhardy enough to brave the frigid temperatures.
The wind howled its anger, seemingly at everything. Even the trees were bending at the relentless pressure exerted by the powerful gusts. Here and there the landscape was dotted with broken limbs or snapped trunks of those that were overburdened with snow. The wind whipped in open air, whistled through the trees, and roared down the hillside; without mercy, without pause.
From just inside the mouth of the cave, the figure watching the storm play out, could hear the wind screaming. It seemed to cry out in protest, unable to fully penetrate to the cave beyond, to share its icy touch. No, the power of the wind was rendered impotent by the cave entrance natural curves. Not completely though, the figure noted, some snow had begun drifting in with the relentless breeze. He could also feel the tendrils of cold air hanging in the air. That cold was even now seeping through the seams of the leather armor he was wearing. He could feel the cold caressing his skin. He could well imagine that wintery hand lulling him to sleep. A sleep he would never awaken from. If he had been fully human he may have even succumbed. Instead, he snorted in dark amusement.
The cave entrance was tucked into the side of a hill. The opening was a sideways gash in the rock face, giving it a natural camouflage. With the snow falling as it was, it was nearly invisible in the white background. The fact it had been found at all was a stroke of luck. It should make it difficult, if not impossible, for any of their pursuers to find them. A shrill cry echoed loudly behind him, interrupting his thoughts. The figure turned his head slowly towards the source of that sound.
The source was a baby, clearly in distress. That baby was quickly picked up by a female, and cuddled tightly in an attempt to quiet the child, even as the she looked up towards the cave mouth. Around her, other women stared fearfully at her, even as they too tried to keep the children around them quiet. All of them looked to their leader, still at his post, at the cavern entrance.
The cave teemed with children, most of them orphans, clinging to whatever female would give them affection. The females were only to glad to give them affection, if only to calm their own fears. There were only a few males in the cave; too few. The chieftain turned back towards the snow. He had no words to calm or inspire.
The orcs in the cave were desperate. They had been on the march for weeks. The wretched humans had chased them every step of the way until the storm hit. In fact, the storm may be the only reason they escape the lands of Hammon, and the Divine decree that had put a bounty on orc heads. The humans had been only too glad to spill orc blood. It mattered not if the orc was male or female, young or old. They were all slaughtered, if they were lucky. He had heard that some of the children had been sold to slavers from the desert kingdoms to the north. He had also heard of even less savory deeds done to the females, before they too were killed, again if they were lucky.
Kruuj the Scarred, was the son of Krujat Skull Cleaver, mighty warrior and chieftain of the Sundered Skull tribe. His mother had been human, a prize Krujat had taken in a raid. Physically he was an imposing figure, and powefully built, taking after his father. While he may not have been stronger than the typical orc, he was faster and more agile. He earned the honorofic “the Scarred” from a battle with a giant bear. His arms and chest bear the scars of that coming of age battle.
Kruuj had long black hair, that he let hang wildly about his shoulders. His blue eyes, the only physical gift of his mother, watched everything closely. His lower left canine was larger than the other, sticking out of his mouth when closed unlike the twin tusks orcs are known for. His skin was ashen grey, the scars standing out as blood red streaks. His ears came to a subtle point.
What really set him apart from his full blooded kin however, was his sharp mind. Orcs aren’t known for their intellect. They are feared for their cunning and ferocity in battle. Kruuj had a keen eye for tactics, and had trained to use nearly every weapon. He always tried to think ahead, rather than act impulsively. Where most orcs chose to given in to their primal nature, becoming berserkers, engines of destruction on the battlefield, Kruuj had chosen the path of the warrior. He was the calm in the chaos of battle, choosing well timed blocks and thrusts, over powerful and reckless swings.
Kruuj was dressed for winter, his black leather armor was lined with gray fur, and stained with dried blood. His leather pants were similarly lined and stained. His boots were all black, and covered in thick fur. He did have a fur cloak, made from the bear he slew as a boy, but he gave it to the females to warm the younglings.
This was the last group of orcs he could find, from the once mighty kingdom of orcs. Some of them were even from his own tribe, the Sundered Skulls. They had traveled south, and in doing so had been lucky. Those traveling north, would end up in El’kazarhed, the desert kingdom. Their future was almost certain bondage or death. Those orcs traveling west or east, were bound to run into vengeful humans. The southern route seemed the wisest choice.
In addition, Kruuj mused, there was the contract. He had been contacted by a representative of a powerful noble from the kingdom of Cheshire. In exchange for land with which to start anew, the orcs would be the vanguard of an army. Kruuj did not fully trust the human, but he had little choice. The realm of Hammon, with its ruling priests, was no longer safe for them. He was taking them to what he hoped was a home from which they could rebuild. If the Hammonites found them before that, he would be ready.
Kruuj’s knuckles tightened on the hilt of his mighty weapon, Maelstrom. It was a wicked looking thing, as if someone had joined two battle axes by the knobs. Both “halves” of the extended handle were curved, giving it an “s” shaped appearance, which made it easy to twirl. The handle, made from iron-oak, was intricately carved with scenes of a elemental storms. Both bits of the axe were on opposite ends, the beard of each extending to nearly two feet each and made of rare mithril. The polls of each axe was a jagged point. The result was a slashing weapon of incredible power, as one axe blade would follow the other to devastating effect. That was in addition to the magic imbued in the weapon.
Kruuj gazed once again at the snow piling up outside. Not too long ago, Kruuj mused, things had been different. Not too long ago, the orcs had a kingdom to call their own. As he stared out at the snow, he let his mind wander back two years prior, when his father, Krujat Skull Cleaver, then chief of the Sundered Skulls tribe of orcs, received an important summons…
A Darkness Rising 