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The Campfire / Guile of the Wolf - Part 2
« on: November 28, 2011, 11:56:33 PM »
Nerk’ag did not like being treated like a simpleton. Sure, he was nothing more than a student, a glorified servant or even a peon to his master. But even acolytes have limits on patience, and being woken in the middle of the night to escort guests around was testing him. He liked his master Halok; he wasn’t cruel to his direct underlings, unless tiring them to exhaustion could be perceived as such.
Nerk’ag walked down the dark corridor until he came to two large iron doors, both open ajar. Pushing them open he walked into the Gate chamber, his eyes first landing on the Mighty Felsteel portcullis and the gate ahead of it descending and closing with a clank and grind of heavy mechanisms. Adjusting his eyes to the light of the green brazier flame, he saw three Fel Orc guards clustered around a green skinned figure clothed and hooded in bulky jet black robes. A green key orb was clutched in the right hand of the visitor, signifying his identity as a member of the conclave at the least; such precious things were not given out idly.
“You have a key orb warlock! But we must know your business!” Growled the largest Fel Orc, his massive scimitar waving around with threatening intent.
“My Business is with the master and master alone! Now lead me to him at once, it is urgent” Hissed the robed Orc, a grey beard shifting and moving within the hood with each syllable. Soon enough his gaze landed on Nerk’ag, a hand raised and pointed at him with purpose. “You! Take me to the master at once, I have dire news” he snarled.
Nerk’ag did not enjoy being commanded like a dog, especially by strangers who assumed superiority. Raising his own hand he waved the three Red skinned grunts away disdainfully. Disgruntled, the trio shuffled back to their small fire and rest place in the shadows with disapproving growls. Trained Guard dogs and nothing more Nerk’ag reflected with a bemused smirk, turning his back he strolled toward the iron inner doors once more assuming the guest would follow instinctively. He was rewarded with the sound of footsteps following him from close behind, though that that of bare feet, odd.
“What is your name stranger, so that I may introduce you to my master properly?” Nerk’ag found himself saying with a stifled yawn. His mind automatically preparing for the coming meeting, ritualised and clockwork as usual with all guests.
“My name is Nogork, I am a messenger from our highest Authority, and the message is for your master first above all, before you even ask!” Grunted the newcomer haughtily, as if greatly put out by this simplest of questions.
Sometimes Nerk’ag loathed all this secrecy, hidden agenda’s, codes, and the ritual like way all this business was done. It almost seemed as if the left hand didn’t know what the right hand did, while its counter part knew most things but both were controlled by some unseen Third hand.
“Very well then Nogork, my master is in his chambers where he shall receive your message in person” commented Nerk’ag with an exhausted sigh. It had been a long day of study and practice; midnight was a poor hour to be escorting guests he thought.
The two slowly moved through the Dark hallways, lined with walls of black stone lit by braziers of green fel flame. Doors were everywhere, inside some was nothing more than crates, in others bunk beds with sleeping dark green skinned orc's upon them. Many even had glowing ritual circles, adorned alters, stacks of librams and grimoires and relentless students still hard at work with learning their art. The Stronghold never truly slept, it seemed.
After what seemed an agonising lifetime and a dozen turns and even a set of stairs, the corridor ended with a massive Black wooden door, imposing and shut tight. Coming to a stop Nerk’ag lazily knocked twice, and waited. A shutter promptly opened and a large black eye leered out, ringed with dark red skin and spikes. A snort of approval came as the shutter was closed again with a snap. The sound of locks being turned followed then the door swung open on its enormous steel hinges, allowing a greater degree of hazy green light to shine out. Nerk’ag shuffled in with the messenger in short order.
Sure enough, Halok sat on a large wooden throne. The master warlock’s dark green face twisted in discourtesy and annoyance, he was making clear his anger at being woken at such an hour.
As the door shut behind them, Nerk’ag turned his head to eye the two fel Orc guards stood either side of it, armoured and carrying scimitars. Neither moved yet emitted growls and gargles ominously.
“My master! This is Nogork, a messenger from the Mistress brought for your ears only” Nerk’ag spoke up curtly, bowing low before backing away to make room for his master’s guest. Halok furrowed his brows, the surprisingly bulky frame of the senior warlock shifting to allow him to lean forward in the throne. Raising one arm covered in dark purple cloth from his robes, Halok ushered ‘Nogork’ to come forward.
“Bring your news then, we have not all night!” growled Halok, allowing the messenger to take several light steps towards him before he kneeled.
“Beneficent master, I bring a message from one greater than us for you only, May I show it to you?” spoke the guest, his hefty black robes shifting as he looked up to Halok from his kneeling position.
Halok sneered, almost disgusted at having to put effort into the meeting. Slowly standing up from his grand seat he stepped forward until he stood directly in front of the messenger.
“And what message is that? Do not prattle with courtesy and time wasting, spit it out!” barked Halok, the senior warlock’s muscular frame contorting with rage as he leered down.
Slowly looking up from under his hood, the messenger raised his right hand carefully only to turn it over facing palm up to the sky. Halok pursed his lips, looking at the hand a second.
“For the Blood of the tribe, Warlock” whispered a voice from beneath the hood.
Nerk’ag strained his eyes in the poor brazier light; he could see a scar across the messenger’s palm, long and slender. But more importantly it was burned. The whole inner hand was one giant burn scar, a strange mark for certain. Turning his gaze back to his master, Nerk’ag watched Halok’s face change in stages over a second.
First, Halok looked confused, as if trying to comprehend the purpose of being shown the Orc’s maimed inner hand. Second, upon hearing the message his eyes became wide as if hit by sudden comprehension. With the immediate contortion of his mouth and cheeks it was clear he was struck by terror.
Halok flung back his right hand allowing it to begin forming a dark green flame of fel ready to strike Nogork where he knelt; roaring in anger Halok spewed all the words Nerk’ag needed to make sense of the situation.
“You fool! You let a Blademaster into the stronghold!”
Shock and horror suddenly surged through Nerk’ag, bewilderment rooting him in place as he could only watch what unfolded. The right hand Nogork had been holding out had moved into his robes and to his left hip with a speed the eye could not believe, and with equal impressive grace snapped back out again. Only upon its return the Orc stepped forward, slashing out at Halok with a sword he had kept hidden within the layers of jet black cloth.
Halok’s arms went limp before they could cast any spell, sagging to his sides while his expression became still and stunned. Nogork had stepped past him in his cutting motion, leaving the warlock to crumple and fall to the ground behind him, cut clean in two from hip to hip with a pool of dark crimson liquid creeping across the floor to mark his defeat.
While the fel Orc guards scrambled into actions like statues become juggernauts, a low hushed voice spoke beneath the hood of the assailant.
“The Wolf is among the sheep…”
Nerk’ag walked down the dark corridor until he came to two large iron doors, both open ajar. Pushing them open he walked into the Gate chamber, his eyes first landing on the Mighty Felsteel portcullis and the gate ahead of it descending and closing with a clank and grind of heavy mechanisms. Adjusting his eyes to the light of the green brazier flame, he saw three Fel Orc guards clustered around a green skinned figure clothed and hooded in bulky jet black robes. A green key orb was clutched in the right hand of the visitor, signifying his identity as a member of the conclave at the least; such precious things were not given out idly.
“You have a key orb warlock! But we must know your business!” Growled the largest Fel Orc, his massive scimitar waving around with threatening intent.
“My Business is with the master and master alone! Now lead me to him at once, it is urgent” Hissed the robed Orc, a grey beard shifting and moving within the hood with each syllable. Soon enough his gaze landed on Nerk’ag, a hand raised and pointed at him with purpose. “You! Take me to the master at once, I have dire news” he snarled.
Nerk’ag did not enjoy being commanded like a dog, especially by strangers who assumed superiority. Raising his own hand he waved the three Red skinned grunts away disdainfully. Disgruntled, the trio shuffled back to their small fire and rest place in the shadows with disapproving growls. Trained Guard dogs and nothing more Nerk’ag reflected with a bemused smirk, turning his back he strolled toward the iron inner doors once more assuming the guest would follow instinctively. He was rewarded with the sound of footsteps following him from close behind, though that that of bare feet, odd.
“What is your name stranger, so that I may introduce you to my master properly?” Nerk’ag found himself saying with a stifled yawn. His mind automatically preparing for the coming meeting, ritualised and clockwork as usual with all guests.
“My name is Nogork, I am a messenger from our highest Authority, and the message is for your master first above all, before you even ask!” Grunted the newcomer haughtily, as if greatly put out by this simplest of questions.
Sometimes Nerk’ag loathed all this secrecy, hidden agenda’s, codes, and the ritual like way all this business was done. It almost seemed as if the left hand didn’t know what the right hand did, while its counter part knew most things but both were controlled by some unseen Third hand.
“Very well then Nogork, my master is in his chambers where he shall receive your message in person” commented Nerk’ag with an exhausted sigh. It had been a long day of study and practice; midnight was a poor hour to be escorting guests he thought.
The two slowly moved through the Dark hallways, lined with walls of black stone lit by braziers of green fel flame. Doors were everywhere, inside some was nothing more than crates, in others bunk beds with sleeping dark green skinned orc's upon them. Many even had glowing ritual circles, adorned alters, stacks of librams and grimoires and relentless students still hard at work with learning their art. The Stronghold never truly slept, it seemed.
After what seemed an agonising lifetime and a dozen turns and even a set of stairs, the corridor ended with a massive Black wooden door, imposing and shut tight. Coming to a stop Nerk’ag lazily knocked twice, and waited. A shutter promptly opened and a large black eye leered out, ringed with dark red skin and spikes. A snort of approval came as the shutter was closed again with a snap. The sound of locks being turned followed then the door swung open on its enormous steel hinges, allowing a greater degree of hazy green light to shine out. Nerk’ag shuffled in with the messenger in short order.
Sure enough, Halok sat on a large wooden throne. The master warlock’s dark green face twisted in discourtesy and annoyance, he was making clear his anger at being woken at such an hour.
As the door shut behind them, Nerk’ag turned his head to eye the two fel Orc guards stood either side of it, armoured and carrying scimitars. Neither moved yet emitted growls and gargles ominously.
“My master! This is Nogork, a messenger from the Mistress brought for your ears only” Nerk’ag spoke up curtly, bowing low before backing away to make room for his master’s guest. Halok furrowed his brows, the surprisingly bulky frame of the senior warlock shifting to allow him to lean forward in the throne. Raising one arm covered in dark purple cloth from his robes, Halok ushered ‘Nogork’ to come forward.
“Bring your news then, we have not all night!” growled Halok, allowing the messenger to take several light steps towards him before he kneeled.
“Beneficent master, I bring a message from one greater than us for you only, May I show it to you?” spoke the guest, his hefty black robes shifting as he looked up to Halok from his kneeling position.
Halok sneered, almost disgusted at having to put effort into the meeting. Slowly standing up from his grand seat he stepped forward until he stood directly in front of the messenger.
“And what message is that? Do not prattle with courtesy and time wasting, spit it out!” barked Halok, the senior warlock’s muscular frame contorting with rage as he leered down.
Slowly looking up from under his hood, the messenger raised his right hand carefully only to turn it over facing palm up to the sky. Halok pursed his lips, looking at the hand a second.
“For the Blood of the tribe, Warlock” whispered a voice from beneath the hood.
Nerk’ag strained his eyes in the poor brazier light; he could see a scar across the messenger’s palm, long and slender. But more importantly it was burned. The whole inner hand was one giant burn scar, a strange mark for certain. Turning his gaze back to his master, Nerk’ag watched Halok’s face change in stages over a second.
First, Halok looked confused, as if trying to comprehend the purpose of being shown the Orc’s maimed inner hand. Second, upon hearing the message his eyes became wide as if hit by sudden comprehension. With the immediate contortion of his mouth and cheeks it was clear he was struck by terror.
Halok flung back his right hand allowing it to begin forming a dark green flame of fel ready to strike Nogork where he knelt; roaring in anger Halok spewed all the words Nerk’ag needed to make sense of the situation.
“You fool! You let a Blademaster into the stronghold!”
Shock and horror suddenly surged through Nerk’ag, bewilderment rooting him in place as he could only watch what unfolded. The right hand Nogork had been holding out had moved into his robes and to his left hip with a speed the eye could not believe, and with equal impressive grace snapped back out again. Only upon its return the Orc stepped forward, slashing out at Halok with a sword he had kept hidden within the layers of jet black cloth.
Halok’s arms went limp before they could cast any spell, sagging to his sides while his expression became still and stunned. Nogork had stepped past him in his cutting motion, leaving the warlock to crumple and fall to the ground behind him, cut clean in two from hip to hip with a pool of dark crimson liquid creeping across the floor to mark his defeat.
While the fel Orc guards scrambled into actions like statues become juggernauts, a low hushed voice spoke beneath the hood of the assailant.
“The Wolf is among the sheep…”