by Ian Rodgers
“Oh, I see,” the male orc said, somewhat disappointed. Another one of Ogma’s son-in-laws just rolled his eyes.
“Scarrot probably had better things to do. Like she said, he was a busy orc!”
“Yeah, but you’d think he’d have taken the time to teach her something! Even a little bit about her orcish side!”
“Actually, that’s somewhat my fault,” Dora spoke up. “I wasn’t all that interested in learning about my greener side of things, so to speak, so I never asked.”
Everyone nodded slowly at that with varying degrees of pity and sympathy. Being a half-orc was hard, and having grown up among humans, she hadn’t wanted to learn about the part of her that had caused her heartache and trouble. Dora was grateful that the hosts were so understanding and didn’t push anymore on the topic.
“Here, try some of this!” one of daughter’s offered, handing Dora a mug. She took a tentative sip, and licked her lips in pleasant surprise at the bubbly beverage.
“It’s called root beer. We brew it from special roots and fungi that are common in the jungle. The bubbles and light alcohol content are what make it popular among foreign travelers,” the orc woman explained as Dora drank deeply from the unique brew.
“Delicious!” the Healer declared. “I love the way it tickles my tongue!”
With that, the somber mood that had tried to settle in was pushed away, and more mugs of the unique drink were passed around. The rest of the evening went by in a haze of good food, partially slurred conversation, and a warm fuzzy feeling in Dora’s chest. She was having a good time, she realized. Able to relax after so many stressful weeks. It felt wonderful to shed the metaphysical weight of her stress that night.
She did not recall being led to a comfy pile of blankets and pillows that was an orcish bed. The next thing Dora did remember was groggily waking up with a minor headache. Blinking blearily at her surroundings, she groaned softly and got up. She tried to cast the Time Keeper Cantrip, but her focus was shot and the spell fizzled and died without doing anything.
“What time is it?” she mumbled.
“It’s about ten in the morning,” someone said. Dora looked around for the source, and her unfocused gaze fell on one of Ogma’s daughters who was standing in the doorway of the guest room.
“Oh. That’s… late,” Dora murmured before massaging her temples. “Why does my head feel foggy?”
“You and your friends drank a lot of root beer. It’s not overly alcoholic, but drink enough of it and it makes your head feel as if it were stuffed with wool,” the kindly female orc said with a chuckle. “You also tried to eat some ursali, or fermented goat cheese, which has been known to make the effects of inebriation worse.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the Healer said, feeling embarrassed about overindulging to the point of physical pain.
“Don’t feel too bad. Overeating and drinking our dishes happens to most first-timers to the Sprawling Jungle,” the woman said before glancing over Dora’s disheveled state. “If you wish to get cleaned up, I would suggest doing so now, before noon rolls around. I believe Mister Tarn wishes to leave after lunch.”
“Got it, thanks for the advice,” Dora said gratefully. “Um, is there a bathroom or something I can freshen up in?”
“Of course, let me show you,” Ogma’s daughter said.
Thirty minutes later, Dora walked out of the bathroom feeling sparkly clean. The grime and grit of the jungle had been washed away, and she felt ready for anything!
Afterwards, she headed into the dining area and found Tarn already there, sipping at a mug of hot, spiced goat’s milk.
“I see you’re awake at last,” the old Yellowmoon tribesman said in greeting, nodding politely as she entered.
“Where are Ain and Enrai? Are they up yet?”
“No, they and Ogma are still unconscious,” Tarn said with an amused shake of his head. “I don’t know how much you can recall of last night, but the three of them tried to show off by out drinking each other.”
“I think I remember that,” Dora said, fuzzy memories becoming more distinct now that she was awake and clean. “They all passed out at roughly the same time, right?”
“Yeah,” Tarn said with a laugh. “Good thing you only drank root beer. Those two knurks chugged down a few mugs of the stronger spirits. Speaking of them, it’s about time I wake them up. Adjeerta, can you fetch me a nice, cold bucket of water?”
“Of course, Mister Tarn,” Ogma’s oldest daughter said from the kitchen with a conspiratorial grin. Dora smirked as well.
“Oh, this I’ve got to watch,” she said, a giggle escaping her.
“Come along, then,” Tarn said, grabbing a wooden bucket filled with water.
The pair tiptoed to another guest room where Ogma, Enrai, and Ain all lay sprawled in a heap on the floor. Dora stifled a laugh as she saw the Grand Elf using his Qwanese friend’s semi-bald head as a pillow, drooling a little bit onto the black peach fuzz. He was curled around Enrai’s head and shoulders in the fetal position, clinging to his best friend like a feline of some sort.
Enrai himself was in a comical position. He lay sideways on a mattress, his legs tangled up in the sheets. Wrapped in his arms like it was a stuffed toy was a small palm tree. He was cuddling it close to his chest. At some point during the party he’d staggered outside for a bit of fresh air only to stagger back inside with an uprooted palm tree under his arm. Throughout the party, he refused to talk about why he had a tree with him. In fact, the Monk claimed he wasn’t carrying a tree and had no idea what people were talking about.
As for the host of the wild dinner party, the chief of Beitoga village was leaning against the far wall of the guest room upside down, his sandals lying on his face as he snored away, oblivious. He was also shirtless and had half of a gravy-smeared bread roll stuck to his stomach.
“This is going to be great,” Dora whispered to Tarn, who nodded in agreement. Behind the two, Ogma’s granddaughters clustered around the doorway, eager to watch the wake-up call. Just because they loved their grandfather didn’t mean it wasn’t hilarious to watch him get splashed with cold water.
“Wake up!” Tarn shouted loudly, hurling the contents of the bucket onto the three passed out men. The trio sputtered awake, spitting and cursing as the chilled water shocked them awake.
“Why, Tarn?” Ogma groaned, clutching his head as he toppled over. “I thought we were friends!”
“We are, which is why I didn’t ask for your daughter Adjeerta to make the water even colder,” the Yellowmoon guide said with a snort of amusement.
“Argh, why am I holding a tree?” Enrai demanded, rubbing his head with a frown. “And why does my head feel sticky?”
He tried to get up, but his feet were still entangled by the sheets, causing him to fall over with a thud.
Ain just looked around with bleary eyes, staring listlessly at his suddenly damp shirt. There was a moment when he rubbed his chin, felt the semi-dried remnants of drool on the side of his mouth and glanced guiltily at Enrai’s head, that Dora would treasure forever. As teasing material if nothing else.
“Now that you three are wide awake, I’m here to inform you that lunch is in an hour, and after that we’re hitting the road,” Tarn said, putting the bucket down. He walked out of the room to the sound of giggling as Dora and Ogma’s family looked upon and laughed at the soggy mess of people.
Enrai and Ain cleaned up and made themselves presentable and joined Dora and Tarn for a simple lunch. A vaguely familiar looking male orc joined them at the table, and the white-haired Yellowmoon introduced him.
“Everyone, I don’t know if you recall, but this is Jerrel, one of Ogma’s son-in-laws. He’ll be our boatman for the trip down the Kolwine.”
“A pleasure,” the orc said politely. He looked a bit worried at the dazed state Ain and Enrai were still in, but Tarn waved his concerns off.
“They’ll be fine in a bit. Put some food in their bellies, and maybe a hangover cure or
two as well, and they’ll be as good as new,” Tarn said.
“Oh! Right! Hangover cures!” Dora said, slapping her forehead with an amused roll of her eyes. She then leaned over the table and pressed a palm against each of their foreheads. A burst of silver later, and the two were smiling and no long wincing whenever someone spoke.
“Woo! That feels much better!” Enrai cheered. “Your magic is a lifesaver!”
“Thank you for the help, Dora,” Ain said, bowing his head towards the half-orc in gratitude.
“The headaches were that bad, huh?” Dora asked sympathetically. Hers had been annoying, but manageable. They had partied wilder than she had. She could only imagine with a wince the pain they’d been feeling.
“Like my skull was a delicious melon that somehow had a hammer inside of it pounding away in an effort to escape,” Enrai groaned, recalling the suffering he’d woken up to.
“Well, now that you two aren’t about to keel over, eat up! I want to be on the water sailing south as soon as we can!” Tarn declared. He looked over at Jerrel. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”
“Not at all!” Jerrel stated. “I’m ready to go when you four are!”
The aged guided nodded at that before turning back to scarfing down lunch. Dora and the rest joined in, not to be outdone.
The Healer smiled, though her thoughts were worried. She’d made it far, but Argyne and the Unchained Legion were still a long ways away. She would make it, though. Her family was counting on her.
∞.∞.∞
“Spiral. Attend to me.” The order was given in a soft, almost friendly tone, but the person behind it was akin to a force of nature, and the words echoed through reality. In seconds, the shadows of the room congealed and thickened before spitting out a black robed man in a silver mask.
Before him stood a man in a white robe, written blasphemies crawling along the surface of it. His face was obscured by a golden, reflective mask, and he stared out over a crumbling city from a window. The man who emerged from the shadows quickly knelt before his master, head bowed.
“Matters have begun to spin out of control in regards to your fellow Apostles, Root and Sword. It seems I must venture into the Aether to retrieve them,” the man in white and gold declared, a tinge of annoyance seeping into his bland tone.
Spiral looked up sharply, shock radiating off of his body. “Hierophant, is that wise? You know that doing so is a violation of The Rules, and…”
“And if I step foot into the Aether it allows the beings who call themselves ‘gods’ to interfere more directly. Yes, I am aware of the consequences,” the Hierophant stated, not bothering to turn around and face his servant. “But it must be done. Root and Sword are not doing as well as I had hoped.”
“I see. Well, what of our allies in the Aether? Surely they could provide some assistance?” Spiral asked, trying to find a way out for his master.
“At the moment, I do not wish for them to try and assist us. Not directly, at least. The mission I gave that bleeding heart of a woman to distract and confound the Ooze is the most I will deign to allow them to do for now. I cannot risk letting the other Powers That Be know the extent of my contact network. And our other allies… well, they’re not welcome most places, and travel is as hard for them as it is for us.”
“Yes, demons do not make the best agents,” Spiral agreed, shaking his head. “If they’re not being attacked by everything they come across, it’s them who are doing the attacking and forgetting what they were supposed to be doing in the first place.”
“Which is why I must go myself,” the Hierophant declared. He then finally turned to his minion, looking down on the kneeling man. “And while I am gone, you shall be in charge of keeping this place running and its prisoners locked away.”
“But, master, I’m already stretched thin trying to deal with the mess that is Annod Bol!” Spiral protested. “The Tower Lords are as stubborn as Dire Mules, and their control over the slavers and warlords of the Cracked Land is starting to unravel!”
“Well, maybe next time you’ll think twice before killing the only man who had the strength, smarts, and charisma to hold that mess together,” the golden masked man scolded. Spiral winced. He constantly regretted killing Lord Tiegan, if only because he hated dealing with the headache that was Cracked Land politics.
“When I sold my soul to the Void, I’d hoped my days of dealing with idiot politicians were over,” Spiral grumbled. The Hierophant just snorted at that.
“Only when all of reality is swallowed by the Void will that happen,” he said, the barest hint of amusement coloring his words. “Until then, death, taxes, and politics will exist.”
He then waved a hand and a pulsating portal of purple and black energy tore through time and space, waiting for him to depart.
“I shall be leaving now. Remember what I told you to do,” he commanded, before stepping through. The vortex sealed itself a moment after he left, the wound in the fabric of reality disappearing as if it had never existed.
Spiral stared at where his master had been seconds earlier before sighing in defeat. “I need to find a secretary or something. Hmm. I wonder if any of the new recruits have any skills in paperwork?”
Chapter 17: Beasts and belief
“It’s so peaceful,” Dora sighed in bliss, leaning against the side of the boat as it floated down the Kolwine River. The sun was hidden behind a few late afternoon clouds, keeping the temperature down, and the cool water all around her reduced the humidity to bearable levels.
The ship itself was a lovely piece of work. It was as if someone had taken a canoe and then cast an enlargement spell on it. The wood was dark brown with a glossy, waterproof varnish made from local flora. Several bench-like seats filled the interior, which could be used as places to park a butt or unroll a sleeping bag and rest on. The boat could easily hold a dozen people, and yet only needed a few to operate. One to steer, and two to use the oars when the flow of the river wasn’t enough.
For the moment the Kolwine was pushing them down river at a steady pace, allowing Enrai and Ain to lean back and relax as well. They had not expected this leg of the trip to be so peaceful.
“Yeah, enjoy it while you can, because after we leave the river, we’ll be dealing with an overland trek through the jungle,” Tarn stated, as if sensing their thoughts.
“Where are we getting off at, anyways?” Ain inquired.
“Well, Spicy, in a few days we’ll reach a fork in the river. There’s an outpost at the fork called Reiz that serves as a bulwark against the more savage orc tribes that live in the interior of the Sprawling Jungle. We’ll get off there and make our way south-west towards Argyne,” Tarn explained. Ain frowned at the nickname. Enrai just snickered.
“Shut it, ‘Baldy,’” Ain grumbled, and the Monk quieted down.
“You’ve mentioned these ‘savage tribes’ before. Not all orcs want to join up with Graz Tur Yenod, I take it?” Dora asked, ignoring her two friends for the moment.
“Correct, Girlie. A few tribes want to retain their old ways and practices. They fear change. But change is coming whether they like it or not!” Tarn said passionately.
“What do these tribes do, then?” the Healer wondered. It was their boatman, Jerrel, who answered.
“They raid and fight, mostly. In the Old Days, orc tribes were hunters and gatherers. Some of the larger tribes had limited agricultural and animal domestication, but for the most part it was small groups of warriors raiding other villages for food and resources when their own hunting parties failed. We were self-sufficient to a degree. But when the elves came, that changed everything. We couldn’t stand up to their larger, more disciplined and advanced forces. Our magic was inferior, our stone weapons shattered against their steel and mithril, and even our gods were driven back before their pantheon,” Jerrel explained.
“But the humans have a saying. ‘What doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger.’ So, we took our defeats close to heart, and we watched, and wai
ted. We learned. We improved. We united. It was this that allowed us to resist their oppression, and later on to become more than just stone weapon-wielding raiders,” Ogma’s son-in-law stated, a proud smile on his green face.
“But a few orcs didn’t want the change that Bolg Boartusk envisioned. They wanted to go back to the way things were once the elves were gone,” Tarn said, snorting in disgust. “These ‘traditionalists’ refuse to admit the new way is better for our people. They hide deep in the jungle’s most treacherous parts, living as their ancestors did. Sometimes, they’ll lead raids against other tribes. Their favorite targets tend to be villages that embrace Graz Tur Yenod’s leadership and vision, like Beitoga.”
“And we have to pass by their territory to get to Argyne?” Dora asked, dismayed.
“Sorry about that. They’ve pretty much taken up the center of the Sprawling Jungle as their own,” Tarn said, removing a map to make his point. He drew a circle with his finger which encompassed a large chunk of the middle of the jungle. “We’ll be skirting their borders, but be on guard. They like attacking small groups. Big merchant convoys are left alone so long as they don’t tread into their territory directly, but we’ll be an acceptable target.”
“They’ll have to get through us,” Enrai said, cracking his knuckles threateningly.
“Enrai, pull back on the Fire,” Dora warned, and the Monk blinked before hastily restraining the Fire Element energy that had become agitated by the thought of battle.
“He’s right, though, we’ll be fine,” Ain said. “We’re both B-rankers, borderline A-rank. We can handle what they throw at us.”
