Orc-Baiting
posted on 2017-05-02 20:05:09
posted on 2017-05-02 20:05:09
Seagulls congregated on shingles stained white with countless layers of droppings. Goblins had inhabited Gronti Mingol for millennia and their kind did not care for cleanliness. Dirty and defaced, the ancient dwarven masonry yet held up. The mercenaries of the Dragonback Expansion Effort had washed out the smeared greenskin dung with buckets of seawater but they had ignored the primitive carvings cut over the stonework of the dwarves, being only soldiers.
This was not the first time men had made their home upon this warm coastal land. A thousand years after the fall of Ekrund, a powerful chiefdom sprung up in the region. Though they had been nomads, they took what remained of Gronti Mingol as their citadel. For three hundred years, they thrived, building up earthen houses and towns walled with mud bricks. In the end, they fell to the orcs, their ruins faded away and no one living remembered the chiefdom. There had been others since then, who came and dwelt awhile, who raised monuments and armies, but always, in the end, the green hordes triumphed.
'Lucky' Luccini knew a little of this, for he had studied keenly under his tutor. A score of men followed him, or, more accurately, they followed Ragnvald, the mercenary captain. Luccini had once thought to take command himself but Ragnvald knew war as well as any northerner, so the Tilean contented himself with managing the pay-chest and ensuring the band found itself fighting the right sort of wars. They were orc-baiters, well versed in their trade from several years spent in the Border Princes.
In the week since Luccini left Gronti Mingol, the Dragonback Expansion Effort had shored up the bulwark, roofed several crumbling houses and driven in pilings for the new docks. New faces gazed at the returning orc-baiters: a cook idling in the early afternoon, a stable hand leading a donkey, a dandy with a yellow feather in his cap, an escaped slave from the mountains pushing a cart, even a woman who raised her skirt to show a bit of ankle and winked at Ragnvald. You not a-interest him, madam. This northerner doesn't like to share.
Luccini's band wore clothes in brown and green with their armor dulled. Some of them wrapped bandanas over their necklines. He held up his hand.
"Liberty until an hour after dawn. You a-four with these bags, follow me first. "
The men laughed, dismounted and led their steeds to the stables. Ten hurried to gamble at the makeshift tavern. Eight bartered away their plundered knick-knacks. Two made their way to the beach, unlaced their boots and waded into the warm water. Ragnvald found the smith.
"Brought a few pieces." He unrolled a canvas with a metallic clatter. "Look at the size of this cleaver. The beast waved it around with his left hand. Bloody unnatural. So, I put a quarrel through his throat. Good iron. Better than most orc trash."
"I could melt it down." The smith hefted a dagger. "This'll make a fine short sword. By the gods, do they ever bother to sharpen their blades? Will have to temper it and bind on a new hilt. Need to melt down the frypan. No one wants to eat off a goblin plate. These arrowheads? Good. Good. No, this one won't do. Has some cheap metal mixed in. Surely not lead?"
A rare smile crept onto Ragnvald's lips. "You should have seen the irons I didn't bring back."
Meanwhile, the four men with bulging bags accompanied Luccini to the docks. A clerk sat under a pavilion on a half sunk slab of stone. He wiped the sweat from his brow as if he hadn't been slouching in the shade all day. The men untied the bags and a collection of decaying orcish heads rolled out. The clerk held up a scented handkerchief to his nose.
"The fruits of your labors. Delightful. Let's see. A silver octoon for every head, with two more for every five. Twenty-nine octoons. You didn't lose a man. Perhaps these creatures are not so fierce as I thought."
"Oh, they were a-plenty fierce." Luccini said. "We didn't kill them all at a time, yes? Caught our first three on the second day. They were a-shooting arrows at wild kine. Three of them to twice-eleven of us and we still took care in the killing of them. More than half of these were a-wandering alone. The smaller orcses like to walk out of their camps in the mornings; maybe crush a small animal, put a few axe marks on a tree."
Two boys, one fair, the other dark, listened as they gouged out the eyes to ensure that no one collected the bounty on the same orc twice. The clerk refused to accept any heads which did not appear comparatively fresh. Orc skulls littered the badlands.
"These? They are the smaller ones as goes about away from the others." Luccini knelt by the boys. "Still, they are a-dangerous. We see the big orcses some a-day on these pigs. Big tusks. Huge. We ride away from them. They too slow to catch us, yes?"
"Not very brave." Said the sandy haired boy.
"You a foolish boy. Anyone who go a-hunting for orcses very brave. We not a-defending anything. Not a-conquering anything. There's a risk enough to the life while gathering heads. But the biggest risk? The goblins, yes?"
"Goblins, sir?" The other boy laughed. "Shepherdesses slay them in the Border Princes. Girls, sir."
"They are a-good with the bow though. Some of them ride wolfs, not the little greybacks but the big black ones. Faster than horses. Those give us the much trouble, yes."
The clerk raised his voice. "Enough idle conversation. Kindly remove those malodorous cadavers."
Each boy grabbed a head, dashed down to the end of the dock and heaved it out over the sea before running back to grab another. Luccini leaned onto the clerk's desk.
"Much of these: no more than common blue faced orcses but four of them, they were a-new to us. Never seen their like before, not even in the Border Princes. Stronger, faster, with purer steel. We ride all the way up to the wall at the Vale of Ekrund. Many and many orcses and goblins all a-heaping up new stones. Lots of cave goblins in their dark robes. I see this before, in the Border Princes. There, they call it the Wawana. Sometimes, the storm of green."
The clerk made a note with his quill. "I will notify my superiors of your concerns."
"I a-hope you shore up these walls strong." And I hope every a-man in these walls is ready to hold a spear.
The seagulls cried out, hungry for the feast.
This was not the first time men had made their home upon this warm coastal land. A thousand years after the fall of Ekrund, a powerful chiefdom sprung up in the region. Though they had been nomads, they took what remained of Gronti Mingol as their citadel. For three hundred years, they thrived, building up earthen houses and towns walled with mud bricks. In the end, they fell to the orcs, their ruins faded away and no one living remembered the chiefdom. There had been others since then, who came and dwelt awhile, who raised monuments and armies, but always, in the end, the green hordes triumphed.
'Lucky' Luccini knew a little of this, for he had studied keenly under his tutor. A score of men followed him, or, more accurately, they followed Ragnvald, the mercenary captain. Luccini had once thought to take command himself but Ragnvald knew war as well as any northerner, so the Tilean contented himself with managing the pay-chest and ensuring the band found itself fighting the right sort of wars. They were orc-baiters, well versed in their trade from several years spent in the Border Princes.
In the week since Luccini left Gronti Mingol, the Dragonback Expansion Effort had shored up the bulwark, roofed several crumbling houses and driven in pilings for the new docks. New faces gazed at the returning orc-baiters: a cook idling in the early afternoon, a stable hand leading a donkey, a dandy with a yellow feather in his cap, an escaped slave from the mountains pushing a cart, even a woman who raised her skirt to show a bit of ankle and winked at Ragnvald. You not a-interest him, madam. This northerner doesn't like to share.
Luccini's band wore clothes in brown and green with their armor dulled. Some of them wrapped bandanas over their necklines. He held up his hand.
"Liberty until an hour after dawn. You a-four with these bags, follow me first. "
The men laughed, dismounted and led their steeds to the stables. Ten hurried to gamble at the makeshift tavern. Eight bartered away their plundered knick-knacks. Two made their way to the beach, unlaced their boots and waded into the warm water. Ragnvald found the smith.
"Brought a few pieces." He unrolled a canvas with a metallic clatter. "Look at the size of this cleaver. The beast waved it around with his left hand. Bloody unnatural. So, I put a quarrel through his throat. Good iron. Better than most orc trash."
"I could melt it down." The smith hefted a dagger. "This'll make a fine short sword. By the gods, do they ever bother to sharpen their blades? Will have to temper it and bind on a new hilt. Need to melt down the frypan. No one wants to eat off a goblin plate. These arrowheads? Good. Good. No, this one won't do. Has some cheap metal mixed in. Surely not lead?"
A rare smile crept onto Ragnvald's lips. "You should have seen the irons I didn't bring back."
Meanwhile, the four men with bulging bags accompanied Luccini to the docks. A clerk sat under a pavilion on a half sunk slab of stone. He wiped the sweat from his brow as if he hadn't been slouching in the shade all day. The men untied the bags and a collection of decaying orcish heads rolled out. The clerk held up a scented handkerchief to his nose.
"The fruits of your labors. Delightful. Let's see. A silver octoon for every head, with two more for every five. Twenty-nine octoons. You didn't lose a man. Perhaps these creatures are not so fierce as I thought."
"Oh, they were a-plenty fierce." Luccini said. "We didn't kill them all at a time, yes? Caught our first three on the second day. They were a-shooting arrows at wild kine. Three of them to twice-eleven of us and we still took care in the killing of them. More than half of these were a-wandering alone. The smaller orcses like to walk out of their camps in the mornings; maybe crush a small animal, put a few axe marks on a tree."
Two boys, one fair, the other dark, listened as they gouged out the eyes to ensure that no one collected the bounty on the same orc twice. The clerk refused to accept any heads which did not appear comparatively fresh. Orc skulls littered the badlands.
"These? They are the smaller ones as goes about away from the others." Luccini knelt by the boys. "Still, they are a-dangerous. We see the big orcses some a-day on these pigs. Big tusks. Huge. We ride away from them. They too slow to catch us, yes?"
"Not very brave." Said the sandy haired boy.
"You a foolish boy. Anyone who go a-hunting for orcses very brave. We not a-defending anything. Not a-conquering anything. There's a risk enough to the life while gathering heads. But the biggest risk? The goblins, yes?"
"Goblins, sir?" The other boy laughed. "Shepherdesses slay them in the Border Princes. Girls, sir."
"They are a-good with the bow though. Some of them ride wolfs, not the little greybacks but the big black ones. Faster than horses. Those give us the much trouble, yes."
The clerk raised his voice. "Enough idle conversation. Kindly remove those malodorous cadavers."
Each boy grabbed a head, dashed down to the end of the dock and heaved it out over the sea before running back to grab another. Luccini leaned onto the clerk's desk.
"Much of these: no more than common blue faced orcses but four of them, they were a-new to us. Never seen their like before, not even in the Border Princes. Stronger, faster, with purer steel. We ride all the way up to the wall at the Vale of Ekrund. Many and many orcses and goblins all a-heaping up new stones. Lots of cave goblins in their dark robes. I see this before, in the Border Princes. There, they call it the Wawana. Sometimes, the storm of green."
The clerk made a note with his quill. "I will notify my superiors of your concerns."
"I a-hope you shore up these walls strong." And I hope every a-man in these walls is ready to hold a spear.
The seagulls cried out, hungry for the feast.
DulargSpineSnappaIronnose
Posts: 139
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Posts: 139
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