It was a shocking site. What appeared to be a large contingent of dwarven soldiers was returning from the tunnels. Many of the bearded folk rushed to their arriving kin to offer help and support. Warriors had blood soaked bandages tied around wounds. Others had to carry companions that were severally wounded, or perhaps already dead. The scene was tragic as the wounded grumbled and moaned. The priest thought about what Geeyor had just mentioned about his kin defending the mines to the east. They had returned, and it didn’t look promising.
Elberon could see that the most seriously wounded were being brought to the center of the hall, where doctors and healers went to work. Magic was not the way of the dwarves, but they did call upon the powers of their gods for minor healing spells. Orzalar had about ten dwarves who practiced divine magic out of the thousands of dwarves who lived in the mountains. They were all in the center of the Great Hall working frantically.
Geeyor approached Elberon and Ostinus anxiously. “Do you see what those cursed monsters bring? Death and war! Please, go and spread the news of this new evil!” The noble quickly rushed by to aide the others.
Elberon shook his head in awe and rushed through the crowd towards the center of the hall. He received tough looks from dwarves that he shoved on his way forward. As he arrived at the wounded dwarves and their caretakers, a soldier grabbed his robe and spun him around.
“What are you about?” The dwarf’s expression showed he thought Elberon didn’t belong there.
“I am a healer, I will tend to them,” the priest told the soldier who looked at one of the dwarven healers nearby. The cleric just shrugged not knowing what to make of the human. The commotion continued along with groans of pain and the soldier released Elberon with a light shove. The priest walked up to three dwarves sitting together who were holding bandages to bad stab wounds. The wounded warriors wore pained expressions on their face as they continued to lose blood.
Elberon beckoned another dwarf who had his badly mangled hand in a blood soaked cloth. The dwarf walked over, nursing his injury and was not willing to question the man’s motives. One of the injured dwarves began to lose consciousness. Elberon pulled forth the jar of holy water given to him by the High Priest in Lunemire. He opened the vile and cast the water on the four dwarves, then lifted his hands towards them, palms open and facing the wounded. He closed his eyes and began to recite a prayer to Phelios. As he continued a light blue aura began to emanate around the wounds of the soldiers. The aura grew brighter and surrounded the dwarves. The spectacle caught the eyes of many nearby. He finished the incantation and the blue mist-like energy dissipated.
The four astonished dwarves looked at each other and then to their wounds. The injuries were nearly fully healed and the pain was greatly diminished. Elberon’s healing magic was stronger than that of even the greatest of the dwarven priests of Orzalar, since dwarves were inherently limited in their magical abilities. His magic was not as strong underground since the sun never shown there; however he wasn’t below ground long and Phelios could still hear his prayers. The holy water also amplified the spells effects. The astonished Ostinus was impressed with his friend’s powers.
The priest went to his companion. As he approached his friend, Elberon saw Geeyor Runsevor step back up to them. “Thank you Elberon, you are an ally to we dwarves and we thank you.” Elberon looked from Geeyor to Ostinus then back to the dwarf.
“It is the way of Phelios” he replied. “Now, we must go immediately…we have seen enough here, and the council of Lunemire must be informed at once.”
***
Bolwrath looked around nervously. He had a meal on the table in front him but had lost his appetite. The orc grabbed his long hair, which was slicked back and tied together in several spots. When he was nervous, he often sniffed his hair as a reaction and he did just that. He stopped and thought to himself “But we won, we defeated the dwarves...that is what matters”. As he started to nod in agreement with his own thoughts the rickety door swung open. In the doorway crouched Mogar the ogre with a grave expression on his face.
“You come to discuss the victory?” The orcish commander asked with bad grasp of the common tongue. “Many many dead…but the mines are ours.”
“They will not remain ours for long unless we secure and fortify them.” Mogar paused and slowly walked into the room. He had to remain crouched due to his sizeable frame. His large bald head would hit the ceiling inside the small room. The ogre continued, “Many of our soldiers are there now, but they are no good to us anymore…since they are dead!” His tone was accusatory as his beady blackish brown eyes found the orc. Mogar knew the dwarves would not easily relinquish control of the mines in the far east of the mountain, which is why he was sent with such a vast army to defeat them. It was clear from the orders from his superiors outside the mountain that the mines must be taken at all cost; they absolutely needed the resources contained within. Bolwrath shifted nervously in his seat.
“We must try to prevent more war with the dwarves. They won’t give up so easily. An offensive can be anticipated to recapture what we’ve taken.” After this comment from Mogar, Bolwrath became less tense. He knew if the massive ogre planned to punish him for the losses in battle, he would have gotten right to it. After all, they did accomplish their ultimate goal.
Mogar looked at the meal that sat on the table. Roasted bat meat, rice and potatoes. “Eat, eat,” the ogre said switching to the orcish tongue, then reverted back to the common language, which he spoke better. “There is much to be done. At this moment we have another three hundred orcs and one hundred goblins about to occupy the chambers near the mines. Builders have been sent too, to fortify the tunnels and chambers against the possibilities of crafty dwarven attacks. We will begin mining activities within a weeks time once the leaders determine who they will send.” The ogre paused. “ If only we could get the dwarves to accept a truce.” His large hand stroked his large chin as he looked away pensively. His mouth was slightly open and his sharp teeth could be seen.
Bolwrath sipped his wine and then put his cup down heavily at the mention of peace with the hated dwarves “Who need peace with the scums, we-” He was interrupted.
“Do you forget what we are trying to accomplish here?” The ogre screamed as he slammed both his hands flat on the table and leaned in, his face nearing the orc’s. “We cannot foolishly lose soldiers to war…war with a society that we need to coexist with since we do not plan on fully conquering them.”
Bolwrath could not hold the snarl from his face. His tusks protruded from the bottom of his mouth and his jaundice eyes narrowed. He hated dwarves, all orcs did. In his mind, this was the time to crush them, this was the strongest he had ever seen the orcish forces. Many were united and their numbers vast; however he could not forget that they were not all forces under his rule though, and he certainly could not forget the massive ogre warrior that stood before him. Plus, the truth was, they didn’t have the power to take the whole mountain from the dwarves. They would have to cohabitate with the enemy or just agree to avoid them all together. That is if the vicious bearded folk would ever allow it.
Mogar saw the defiant snarl on the orc’s face and leaned in closer. “Nothing will jeopardize our goal...nothing,” he let a moment of silence linger painfully. “Do you understand that orc?” Bolwrath simply nodded.
“Good.” Mogar straightened his body a bit, but lowered his head so that it would not hit the ceiling. “Now get some rest we will have a meeting of the commanders later.” As the ogre finished his sentence he reached down and grabbed a large chunk of meat from Bolwrath’s plate and shoved it in his mouth, pulling a completely stripped bone out and dropping it back onto the plate. After a few exaggerated chomps, he turned and left the room.
Mogar strolled down the hallway and finally arrived back to his cavernous room in the far east end of the Singrin Peaks. It was one of the few rooms that accommodated his size. He walked over to his crudely crafted dresser, put down the ax that was strappe
d to his back and took off his steel chest plate. He laid all his equipment atop the dresser with a tired sigh. A large hanging lamp was already lit, but as the ogre pulled up a seat to a tiny circular corner table in the room, he lit a small candle with a match. Mogar placed the candle in the center of the table and stared at the flame. It was a scent that made him think of his home near the western coast, over fifty miles away. Its soft light danced off the pale green skin of his round face and had small shadows moving in rhythm against the rugged stonewalls. The ogre sat in a trance, his mind wandering about.
For an ogre Mogar was very intelligent, in fact for almost anyone Mogar was intelligent. He was certainly the only ogre in a commanding position within their army. Most officers were either orcs with some goblins and giants. Giants were a far more rare race, but were known to be wiser and more cunning than all other creatures. The fact that they could be over twenty feet tall and weigh nearly a ton made them the most dominant race, regardless of their sparse numbers. Orcs were skilled at war, and those with leadership and intelligence made good army leaders. Ogres and goblins, and only the most intelligent and elite of these races, would rarely be considered to head even a very small contingent of their own kin. But Mogar was different.
The cunning ogre was keen on strategy. His understanding of war was exceptional; however it wasn’t this knowledge that made him worthy of power. He had an uncanny worldly sensibility. Unlike many of the so-called ‘monster’ races’, a human word for orcs, goblins and ogres, he was able to think very logically and rationally. The inability to do this is what made most other monsters unable to lead and unable to better apply reason and wisdom to life’s conundrums. This suppressed those volatile creatures advancement and development considerably throughout the realms.
Why had an orcish, giant or goblin nation not ever been a world power in Herridon? Why did they never elevate above the nomadic tribal life, a life of basic necessity and poverty? The notion of escaping the inability to move forward and prosper, the idea of rising up and uniting in order to thrive; it was that revolutionary concept that was at stake for all those supposed ‘monsters’ that inexplicably came together. On their own throughout Herridon, large tribes of monsters could each claim large plots of lands, control sections of mountain passes and caves, terrorize the country sides of human cities or establish dominance amongst themselves in fierce tribal war. But what if instead of futile conquest and savagery, these tribes identified the possibilities of combined power and knowledge, using each other’s strengths to support each other’s weaknesses? What if they established unification of power and numbers, a symbiotic sharing of wisdom, craft, trade, goods, services, and if necessary…martial force?
This was the direction that Mogar, and the conjoined mass that he represented, known as Faletonia, were headed. It was an unprecedented edict. At first, the effort was not painless. In the beginning, the natural aggressive nature of many who tried to be part of the cause lead to bloody conflict. One tribe of orcs would want supremacy over a tribe of goblins. A band of five or six giants would think they were superior to all orcs and ogres. But despite these challenges, Faletonia grew. The movement swept across the land so fast and so profoundly, that these differences were reconciled quickly. Orcs, goblins, ogres and giants alike flocked hopefully to the cause. Even scattered humans, outcast from wherever they once lived, joined the movement. The benefits of coming together were incredible and undeniable.
Without strong leadership, Faletonia would have failed before it even had a chance to begin. Meetings amongst a group of select representatives, which became known as the Council of Leaders, were constantly held with the task of governing. This allowed members of the new nation to express their concerns and present them to other leaders, together as one assembly. For the Council of Leaders, the surprise beauty of it was that rather than discussing problem after problem amongst the mixed tribes as one would expect, it seemed instead they focused on collectively brainstorming innovative ways to better their situation. To better Faletonia. They discussed how to increase trade with each other, cultivate the land more efficiently, and even plan for expansion. Ground was broken months before in several locations and buildings were going up quickly to house …civilians. Very few could claim that their standards of living were not already improved from the days of roaming the lands not very long ago, and this was just the beginning.
There was, of course, the need to interact with those societies that were already established. It was as important as it was inevitable. The council planned how to approach the “goodly” races diplomatically. This would be the most difficult task. Could a nation of monsters (and few humans) be accepted? Could there be a way for them to benefit each other. More important, what role did the new nation have in the world? It was decided by the Council of Leaders that Faletonia would assert their status as a nation immediately. The world would know their name. They believed they had every right to exist as a nation, that the resources of the land were as much theirs as anyone’s. This did not mean they would openly declare war, but would just ask…better yet demand their fair share. After all, Herridon had enough resources to go around. When their demands were opposed, as it was with the dwarves of Orzalar, then they would bring the sword and earn what they desired. So far this approach was marked by success.
The leadership did not lose track of the abundance of challenges that inherently needed to be faced. The movement was very revolutionary, and the planning had to be perfect. Economies and markets had to be created and, even more difficult, needed to be sustained and grown. Laws had to be written and more importantly obeyed. Would it be possible to have tribes of orcs, ogres, rogue humans and goblins living in peace? Would they be able to put their savage less civilized ways behind them? For now unexpectedly it seemed so. Faletonia grew stronger and stronger and the world would acknowledge their new nation…yes…they would be appreciated and respected.
Mogar came out of the trance he was in and took a large inhale of the pleasant smelling candle. He had not been back to his homeland for nearly a year and not back to the lands where the first Faletonian cities were being erected for months. He wondered what the cities looked like now. With determined giants, ogres and armies of orcs and goblins hard at work, as well as the ingenuity and civilized knowledge of some humans, they could complete a lot of construction very quickly. His job was at the Singrin Peaks for now though. Mogar knew he would stay there for quite a while and the leaders back home would support him.
“Yes Faletonia will be a new power; we will be respected,” the ogre thought to himself in his native tongue, “and those who do not offer us our respect…will learn to.” A smile spanned across his face. The dwarves of Orzalar were the first to learn this lesson the hard way.
Chapter 5
Elberon and Ostinus walked quickly down the trail. The events of the previous day came as a major surprise to the friends. They had heard nothing of any force amassing to the northeast of Lunemire and as far as they knew, neither did anyone else in the city.
“It just seems peculiar to me. I can’t make sense of it. Orcs and ogres fighting together, attacking mines in the Singrin Peaks?” Elberon asked wearing a puzzled expression.
“Do orcs even know how to mine?” Ostinus’s tone was not at all humorous, but his cleric companion shot him a dirty look thinking the comment was an ill-timed joke. “What?” the dark haired warrior asked with a shrug of his shoulders, reinforcing that he was taking the situation very seriously.
“This could be a very grave matter. An army could be preparing to march on Lunemire as we speak. Could our city hold off a massive attack?” Elberon looked back to the mule, “I think we should hold off on delivering the goods. The council should be informed of this at once.”
“Agreed,” said Ostinus. They walked in silence for some way further. More than a couple times they both looked around at the horizon to see if anyone could be seen or if anyone could see them. It was a beautiful day, but neither could appreciat
e it. How would the council take the news? And who would tell them? Ostinus had the higher connections within the city; however they were not for the best reasons. His dismissal from the army had been addressed before the council of the city. The result had been gracious for they could have forced him to continue to serve, or even disciplined him for his insolence. Instead they discharged him, a merciful gesture that was likely not forgotten by the council members. The former soldier held no desires to go before the council.
Ostinus’s fame had grown quickly in the ranks of the army. At eighteen years old it was clear he was a step above the other soldiers. He was fierce, strong and deadly. It wasn’t long until he was joining missions to disband highwaymen or tribes of orcs that settled too close to Lunemire. He and only a few other soldiers once defended a merchant caravan headed to the nearby city of Rogsnelk. They were outnumbered three to one, but Ostinus would not back down and slaughtered the attackers quickly and efficiently. Word of the incident got back to the city and began to add to his reputation. On a second occasion, a fellow soldier of his had been captured by an orcish raiding party and taken hostage. He did not go back to the city like the rest of his group; he followed the orcs back to their camp. At night the warrior snuck into their refuge and was determined to get his colleague back. He used stealth and skill to slay several orcs, find the beaten and bound soldier, all while remaining undetected. They snuck back out of the camp but not before Ostinus set a torch in a certain position that would eventually light the main tent of their encampment on fire…after they were long gone.
Kingdom Come (Price of Power Book 1) Page 5
