[IC] Chapter 1 - Concerning Orcs

Prologue

<This post is directly from the game advertisement, the prologue continues below in the next post>

Gu’trak crouched low behind a rotting log; the smell of moss and forest tickled his snout of a nose. As Gu’trak watched, an alpine swallow swooped across the mountain road that ran from Verge to Threshold.

The only sound was the muffled snorts and shifting of the raiding party. With a grunt, Gu’trak adjusted his battleaxe tracing the angular runes with a green finger. He smiled through his tusks as he turned to his brother "Kill hard skins, take the rest." He grunted in their guttural language.

Gu’trak’s brother nodded with a face face covered with blue streaks of paint to scare death. The orcs tensed as a whispered snort rippled down the line. Presently a small party of two wagons and twenty people was kicking up dust along the road.

The warhorn blared.

The orcs were not merciful captors.

After they captured each of you in various raids and ambushes, they started off.

The group of 11 prisoners were driven into the mountains with whips and shouts. Each prisoner had their wrists bound with rope tied in a line to the rest of the captives. The orcs dragged the party at a grueling pace that would leave most sore from exhaustion.

The winding path and hidden switchbacks left the captives lost. The air grew colder and the trees thinner as the orcs cut a trail higher and higher. The air, though crisp still had the pleasant smell of evergreens that might have been relaxing, if it had not been for the current predicament.

At night, the rope holding the prisoners was staked to the ground and guards posted watching them in shifts. Additionally, guards would watch the perimeter of the campsite of low tents and small, hidden fires. While the orcs (numbering 40-50) lacked military discipline, it became clear that they had learned how to survive in the harsh landscape and keep what they have stolen.

One day, mumbled whispers came down the line of captives. One prisoner had made out some discussion among the orc leaders. From what he understood, these orcs had a clan chief and stronghold dug into one of the mountains, the prisoners were to be brought there so the clan chief could decide their fate.

Chapter 1

This night seems different.

The orc stoped you early in a small cleaning in the wood. They started felling trees and stacking them in the center of the camp. Dennan picks up an argument a ways away, apparently some think it’s irresponsible to be so brazen with their devotion.

As night fell, they lit the huge, 20 foot bonfire; then the celebration began. The orcs rummaged through the pillaged supplies bringing out the kegs of wine and beer. Filling a trough, they took turns drinking in front of the bonfire. All the while keeping watch on the prisoners.

Now, Veronica notices the full moon rising as a group of orcs approach, weaving a path across the clear ground. They cut two prisoners free and drag them toward where all the orcs except the guards and sentries have formed a rough circle.

Presently, they are enveloped by the orcs and you hear the sound of metal on metal as the orcs erupt in cheers.

The guards don’t react to Veronica’s words nor to the silent communication between the three captives. Instead their attention was on the group of cheering orcs, while snorting their own excitement.

Final thud is heard to the largest cheers and the orcs all take a drink. From the group one bloodied prisoner is dragged back to where the rest of the captives are held and tied up. Severe gashes have left him weak but alert, and obviously distraught.

The rest of the orcs (save guards and sentries) face the bonfire and start in some sort of religious rite. A wolf howl from the forest close by goes unheeded by the orcs but Dennan recognizes the howl that is trying to communicate danger and caution.

The bonfire flares and Layla suddenly feels like she is being watched from the flames. Nothing is present but there’s a foggy distant feeling of eyes on her.

To Veronica’s night eyes, the orcs are starting to look more like a late night pub than a military unit. Their footsteps less sure, their eyes half lidded.

And still a droning of the religious rite As the body of the deceased is brought to the bonfire.