“No, look!” cried another. They all saw a clawed hand reach and grab hold of the exterior opening of the cave entrance and pull the rest of its massive frame into the room. Its face had a sickening set of eyes. Those eyes were wide-set on either side of its skull and they were of a deep black, similar to those of a shark.
It had a huge mouth full of razor sharp teeth and there was a brownish, muddy tone to its chitinous exterior. The creature was at least the size of four orcs both tall and wide, and it had to hunch to fit under the cave roof. It was an awful sight to behold and could be seen clearly now. It possessed two sets of arms—one with long, finger-like claws that ended in sharp points and another with massive pincers, like a crab’s. These pincers were not only huge and heavy, but were covered in tiny spikes, aiding in its pursuits to scrape through the soil and stone.
Most of the goblinoids, including a few of the overlords, were taken aback at seeing the monstrosity—Commander Grubb did not. He merely straightened his helmet and steeled his gaze upon the creature.
“Stone ripper!” Overlord Tsor informed Grubb, who was barely listening.
One of the goblins charged it, spear in hand, believing they were all heading off to attack it simultaneously. The poor goblin didn’t make it very far before an overhand blow of the stone ripper crushed it with a sickening sound. The goblin was simply pulverized by that heavy claw, leaving a stain where it once stood.
“Form up and hold your ground!” Grubb ordered fiercely, retaining his commanding presence and attempting to rally his troops against their palpable fear and hesitation. One goblin turned to flee. Grubb drew his magical blade and removed the creature’s head from its tiny body all in one swift, deadly motion, serving as a reminder that he commanded complete and utter obedience. The sword had a shimmering, blue aura to it as if it had suddenly come alive under his command.
“Die by this creature’s hand or by mine! Accept your fate!” Grubb yelled to his troops. The rest of the goblinoids overcame their fear and began establishing the formation their commander had ordered.
The orcs and goblins formed a semicircle around the creature, with the shorter goblins positioned in front of the taller orcs where they could use their superior reach. The stone ripper approached methodically with its pincers opening and closing in a menacing fashion.
Shaman Tukk was suddenly at the back of the troops, staff outstretched and chanting, calling on spirit healers to watch over his warriors. Grubb made his way through the middle of the formation. His sword gripped tightly in his right hand exhibited a luminous blue glow dancing along its edge. A sturdy shield was strapped to his left arm.
Several goblins were crushed beneath the initial series of wide-arcing swings from the creature’s pincer-arms. A few of the orcs and one of the four overlords—Belruck—had taken repetitive blows from the pincers after they had been grabbed by the creature, just before Grubb made his way into the formation. They now laid scattered about the room with many injuries, some hovering between life and death and others already lifeless. Shaman Tukk did his best to heal them through the onslaught, calling upon spirits to aid him in his task.
Nonetheless, Commander Grubb proceeded to charge the beast as it swung a clawed fist down upon him. He absorbed the brunt of the blow with his shield even though it momentarily numbed his arm. He waded right into the beast’s reach, poking and prodding with his sword, finding many an opening as he dodged and blocked the stone ripper’s pincers, claws and rows of sharp teeth.
Grubb was suddenly lost in the wave of furiously swinging arms as his helmet was sent flying away from within the melee and rolled to a stop at Tukk’s feet. It appeared as if Grubb was done for, as the creature had a firm hold on his shield with its clawed fingers and was trying to land a blow with a pincer. But Grubb remained inside the arcs of the swings and succeeded in avoiding those pincers, jabbing over and over with his blade. Many goblins and orcs strode into the creature’s flanks, stabbing and slicing at the shell in an attempt to help their commander.
Grubb could no longer be seen under the creature’s bulk. But then it slowed its attacks and halted altogether, falling on its back. The commander came to his feet, standing atop its chest with both hands around the hilt of his sword which had finally found the creature’s heart. His shield was badly dented and lay on the ground now, but his armor appeared unscathed.
Shaman Tukk was immediately at Grubb’s side, chanting and demanding healing spirits to attend to the gashes about his face and arms. Grubb waved his shaman away, wiping blood from his forehead and not caring much about his own wounds.
“I need a damage report,” he stated calmly to his overlords, of which now only three remained.
“Several goblins lay dead…three of the Bonemasher foot soldiers and Overlord Belruck, Commander,” reported Overlord Tsor.
“Unfortunate,” Grubb simply responded, blood trickling down his forehead to the disapproval of Shaman Tukk. “Set up patrols and watches within this main section to better prepare for any such surprises, Tsor. I do not want to be caught unaware again. Usually where there is one stone ripper…”
“Aye, Commander,” Overlord Tsor saluted, understanding the implication, and he went about setting up a scheduled watch in the tunnels surrounding their command post. Meanwhile, Shaman Tukk continued treating the wounded as best he could.
Grubb recovered his shield and inspected the damage on its surface while he waited for news from the other patrols.
The orcs were laughing and grunting and having a good time. The goblins were playing cards too, rolling knucklebones and indulging in games along with the orcs.
The orcs had ‘taught’ them how to play after one of the goblins stumbled upon a huge barrel of cheap ale within one of the many alcoves in this chamber. The seven goblinoids had washed down the alcohol quickly and were inebriated to the point of slurring words and stumbling over one another. Even Forgulnak was more than a little intoxicated.
Orngoth still sat in the corner, watching the now-groggy goblinoids taunt one another, wondering if he would ever be free of their grasp. He was so used to being a slave that freedom was a forgotten feeling to him. He couldn’t remember much of his childhood either. His earliest memories were being with the Ironskull ogre tribe.
Orngoth’s life with the barbarian-ogres had been unpleasant at best. It was full of anger, treachery, beatings and humiliation. These things did not make for a meaningful existence to him. The ogres would often raid caravans from the human traders as well as from anyone else that wandered into their path, including other ogre tribes. The only thing they taught Orngoth was how to give in to the bloodlust and to allow it to consume him.
He had hated them for it…until the goblinoid swarm overran and destroyed them. For this he was gratified. No more beatings and no more killing—or so he had thought. But that freedom had just led to another type of slavery. Commander Grubb made sure of that.
The orc commander forced Orngoth to fight for him, ordering the beating of a disobedient orc or the execution of a caravan escort that they ambushed along the roads while making their way to the Oakcrest Mountains. This behavior went against his personal ethics— ethics he understood now that were inherited from his mother.
However, Grubb forced Orngoth to do his bidding, demanding him to fight whenever he wished. Orngoth had laid waste to an entire caravan of traders that were poorly armed, he recalled, resenting the memory. But he was forced to do as he was bid, due to the constant reminder that Grubb held a certain magical gem of his which he threatened to destroy if Orngoth did not obey.
Grubb took advantage of the anger within the half-ogre-barbarian as Orngoth was a gentle giant for the most part. But, when the fury was released, he was not in control of his actions. Grubb knew this and often persuaded him to slaughter while under the effects of the bloodlust. It was like an insatiable wave of anger that Orngoth could not overcome. Once he regained control of his senses after a killing spree, Grubb would smile at him knowingly,
further humiliating him.
Orngoth hoped one day to unleash that fury upon his captors—specifically the commander—and make them pay for what they had done to him, and for what they made him do to others.
He nodded off to sleep once more as the frustration drained him. It was not a pleasant dream.
Chapter 14
A loud crash woke Orngoth. He rubbed his eyes and cleared his vision. One of the orcs had fallen down drunk, crashing through one of the rickety tables, completely splintering it. The orc lay unmoving amidst the rubble.
Orngoth paid it no heed. He stretched and yawned, placing a heavy strain on the chains once more as a pair of the links stretched to their breaking point. None of the goblinoids noticed the half-ogre’s actions for they were too busy yelling, chuckling and were mostly intoxicated.
Suddenly, one of the goblins gestured toward an orc and the banter took on a serious quality. Orngoth watched as the two argued. The goblin took a wild swing at the orc and hit him squarely on the chin, dazing him. The orc recovered quickly, despite being inebriated, and cracked the goblin over the skull with the flat of his sword, knocking it senseless, sending the tiny creature stumbling back into an as yet uninvestigated alcove. The goblin must have inadvertently triggered a mechanism of some kind, as an obscured piece of the wall spun to the side, revealing a passage into another area.
The drunken goblin that had crashed through the table recovered from his fall, getting his feet under him and rubbing the pain from his head. He heard some shuffling in the darkness beyond and a truly rancid stench filled the space. Something moved within the darkness of the alcove and he ran headlong into the something that tore at his flesh.
Barguth returned after delivering the two orcs to their stations and recognized the signs of a recent struggle. He noted that Shaman Tukk was tending to wounded orcs and goblins. Barguth looked about, bewildered and curious as to what had happened.
“What news?” asked Grubb, ignoring the goblin’s inquisitive expression. The commander stood confidently atop the husk of a frightening creature while awaiting an answer. Barguth recognized the creature’s carcass as that of a stone ripper. He shuddered, having seen one that had invaded his former burrow not that many years prior.
“Zodeban and Gob are posted at the cell door, watching the prisoners as you requested, Great One,” Barguth reported, returning his attention to the commander. “And three of the prisoners yet live, so Barguth will still serve Commander Grubb!” he confirmed excitedly in his shrill voice, referring to the threat that Grubb leveled upon him earlier. Barguth’s worg sat near the entrance to the chamber, feasting on an unidentified piece of flesh.
“Very well, Barguth. You are a loyal and competent servant, after all,” Grubb praised, smiling and walking away from the stone ripper carcass and back toward Shaman Tukk. “I would like for you to check on the other search parties on the lower level,” Grubb called back to Barguth. “I need you to keep me notified as to the findings of each search party. They have been gone from my sight for too long without reporting. Take your worg and be gone.”
“Aye,” Barguth said as he saluted the imposing orc commander. He walked toward the dire wolf, its red eyes cutting through the shadows of the cavern. Barguth had to once again smack the snout of the creature as it had been tearing into some of the stone ripper remains that were scattered about. It growled back at him, soliciting yet another reprimand. The dire wolf was quite large and stood as tall as the goblin did, but the goblin had broken its spirit some years ago and the beast obeyed him without much more fuss. All goblins were trained during their early years to effectively handle and ride the dire wolves by employing the proper disciplinary method.
The beast bent down and allowed its master to climb into the saddle before padding off along the appropriate corridors that led to a descending stairwell.
“How are the injuries?” Grubb asked the shaman once Barguth disappeared.
“I saved more than half. The spirits have done all they can and now I use ointments where I can,” the shaman stated as he shook some kind of paste out into his hand and slapped it onto an open wound of an injured orc. “I gifted some of this to the goblin, Barguth, as a reward for his loyalty to you,” Tukk added as he gestured toward the injured area, indicating that Grubb should watch. Immediately the flesh began to fall in on itself, the blood flow lessened and eventually stopped. Grubb stood by and witnessed the event with an appreciative nod.
“My hope is that we will be leaving this place soon,” Grubb remarked, but knew full well that this derelict temple of Thanatos was likely going to be their home for the remainder of Winter’s Heart.
Into the alcove they went, trailing after their goblin companion who’d rushed in ahead of them. They followed more cautiously with torches in hand to eliminate the darkness. Their eyes tried to adjust from their remarkable darkvision to the use of the torchlight now, hoping to reveal their surroundings in more detail. The orcs and goblins moved forward one by one into the stench-filled room.
They threw torches onto the ground to bathe the room in light, then spread out and drew their weapons, readying themselves for whatever they would face next. There was not much other than gore and bone littering the ground, as well as other unidentifiable remains. Forgulnak panned his vision toward a terrible and sickening sound as the torchlight flickered, but still not enough to penetrate the darkness fully. The noise lessened as he tossed the last of their torches into the middle of the room to reveal the source.
There were four undead mockeries of once-humanoid creatures with rotting, discolored flesh hanging from their semi-exposed skeletons. It was the foulest sight Forgulnak had ever witnessed. The creatures fed on the now lifeless husk of their fellow goblinoid.
“Ghouls!” Forgulnak uttered loudly. The red of their eyes reflected in the torchlight as they were drawn toward the scent of fresh blood, turning to regard them. He could see their gray rotting flesh as well as their clawed hands now tearing goblin flesh from the bone and devouring it.
The goblinoids collectively stood appalled by the scene, nauseated and frozen, trying to move. They could not. It was too late. The four undead creatures advanced with speed unparalleled on their newest prey that had foolishly entered their lair. The ghouls leapt at them, knocking them to the blood-stained, slick ground. The goblinoids remained paralyzed in shock, helpless and nauseated by the sight and smell of the devastation.
Forgulnak finally realized the true horror of their situation. He tried to make his legs move, but was unable. Whether it was fear or something else that paralyzed him, he could not tell, as he felt the flesh being torn from his bones.
The undead overran them and began to feast, completely consumed by their hunger…until one of them was suddenly crushed by the bulk of a gargantuan club.
Orngoth heard the shuffling and smelled a foul odor emitting from the alcove. He heard a goblin scream harshly as some terrible fate must have befallen it, but he could not see as it was beyond his line of sight. The other goblinoids made their way into the opening and disappeared around the corner, too.
Several more screams followed. Something bad was happening, but he did not know what. He did know one thing, and that was that he had to get free of his manacles.
He strained once more against the chains that bound his arms and hands. Again a few of the metal links weakened and began to buckle further. Another tug from his mighty arms bent the links once more. His muscles continued expanding and contracting in succession against the metal, his veins becoming more pronounced beneath the flesh of his arms. The metal groaned with protest under his might as the links twisted and reshaped themselves to conform to the half-ogre’s will, eventually giving in to his remarkable strength with several loud pops. He was suddenly free of his bonds and retrieved his massive club.
It took Orngoth quite some time to squeeze his large frame through the alcove, but he managed, leaving the top layers of his flesh behind on the stone. The screams had died down, but th
e sickening odor remained. He saw them as he entered in the flickering torchlight.
Ghouls!
The undead creatures were so focused on their newest feast that Orngoth’s entrance had gone completely unnoticed.
He fought back the disgusting aroma and did not succumb to its accompanying nausea as he smashed the first undead creature into mush with a mighty downward swing of his club. The three remaining anathemas moved quickly toward him. Orngoth’s fierce blue eyes had already run red with rage, revolted and angered by the sight of this purest of evils. Orngoth allowed the bloodlust to overtake him, not even trying to resist.
His huge club came up over his head and he timed the next blow perfectly, almost knocking the ram-horned helm from atop his own head as he swung his club with ferocity borne of rage unbound and connected. The blow was so powerful that he simply crushed the ghoul beneath the impact, spraying bone and gore everywhere.
As he started to pull his club from the remains, he was struck simultaneously by the two remaining ghouls. Biting and clawing at his already scarred and fairly tough hide, the ghouls pressed their assault. Orngoth howled in pain as the anger surged within him.
Small pieces of his flesh were torn open by the fiends, but Orngoth didn’t even take notice now as his bloodlust peaked, driving him to acts of heroic proportions.
He reached out and pulled the first of the two off by its neck and propelled it through the air to land hard against the stone wall. It hit with a dreadful thud. He watched as it attempted to slowly right itself, swaying considerably as it did.
Orngoth grabbed the second one by its arm, nearly tearing it from its socket in the process, and threw it in the same direction as the first, with similar results. He roared fiercely, consumed by his fury, ignoring sense and sensibilities, wanting only to destroy his foe!
The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) Page 32
