Not Alone

[BakedPotato 1021]

Not Alone

---

^DeivCalviz

---

Gazhnahk was so enthralled by the text written on the ancient parchment of the tome she held that the uruk did not realize the brick she laid her back against had shifted to bark. Her eyes scanned the pages, devouring the knowledge they contained with an insatiable hunger. Her bone-clad fingers shook with fervor as they flicked between the delicate pages.

Suddenly she stopped in her movements, frozen, fingers still clinging to a page mid-flip. Her nose scrunched as it was assaulted with a nauseating scent, and for the first time since she opened the book Gazhnahk pulled her eyes from its aged paper. She scanned her surroundings. No longer did she sit on the hard dirt ground of the goi, but instead upon the soft mud of unknown swamps.

Sounds of creatures caught her attention, snaps of branches and the growling of unknown beings as they roamed around her in their habitat, one that she had invaded and knew nothing about.

With a soft thud she snapped the book shut and slid it away as she stood up and tried to get a better bearing of where she was. The overwhelming smell, combined with the strange fog blanketing the swamps, disoriented her senses, making the orc ever more confused and on edge.

Only two things were certain within Gazhnahk’s mind as the sound of her racing, drumming heart rang in her ears. She was in a land foreign to her plane, and she must escape.

The sound of twigs snapping under great weight and the movement of massive beasts through the murky waters of the swamp put her on high alert. The rumbling growl of something unknown coming from the dense trees made her next move all but certain.

She wasted little time trekking through the dense mud, gripping her spear tightly in both hands. Gazhnahk kept glancing around her surroundings as she shifted through the dark waters, every foreign noise drawing her gaze. As she moved through the bog made shallow by her height, the uruk felt something bump against her leg. Instinct kicked in, and in a single swift movement her spear pierced whatever it was that dared get close to her. In the dark it was hard for her to see, but she focused her vision on what was swimming through the swamps. It took her only moments to realize it was a man in armor foreign to her. Upon closer inspection it was obvious it was not her spear that killed this man, as his body had been rotting for some time. Gazhnahk took a better look at her surroundings and realized this body was one of many. Countless rotting corpses littered the muddy water, both human and steeds alike.

“A battleground,” the orc thought to herself.

Her mind raced and the desire to leave only grew stronger. She kept close to the trees and moved through the bushes, attempting to use the foliage to obscure her movements from anyone who might be watching.

After what felt like a few hours, though Gazhnahk could not be certain as the sky remained always dark and the thick, foggy mist shielded the moon, she felt as though she had only moved in circles. Exhaustion grew, cloaking her like a heavy blanket. Her movements grew slow and sluggish, the thick mud making walking even more tiring. A stinging dryness made her vision even more obscured. She did not enjoy the idea of resting in a place like this, but she found comfort in the nook of a tree hidden well with shrubbery. Curling up, sleep did not find the orc easily. Every sound snapped her eyes open and constant paranoia would not let her mind rest. She lay there for what felt like an eternity and Gazhnahk did not even realize the moment she fell asleep.

A noise ripped her from her slumber, distant but loud. She blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. The Akaal felt mildly better, less exhausted. Even though she had managed to get some rest, Gazhnahk knew sitting there any longer could prove ill-boding.

Learning from the prior day’s mistakes, Gazhnahk decided to mark her path. Using a knife, she made small cuts in the bark of trees along her path close to their base. After some time passed and many marks in trees later, the orc realized she kept getting turned around and was making very little progress. Moving smarter now, she used landmarks, marking with her knife and sticks, and did her best to keep her path moving forward.

---

Sicarius8

---

Eventually progress was finally made as she came upon what looked like a shabby hut. The wood was dark in hue and appeared rotting. Moss and mold grew along its boards and filled its cracks, and it seemed carelessly put together, though at her distance it was hard to tell.

She knew she would have to get closer to learn more, but she could not ignore the feeling of unease settling deep within her gut.

She forced one foot forward, then the next, making her way slowly and carefully toward the hut. Mud squelched beneath the weight of her steps, and water swished and splashed as she moved through it.

As she neared the wooden hut the smell of rot grew thick, more pungent than the usual scent that hung in the air of these swamps.

A purple glow, shifting between a reddish tone and a more bluish hue, seeped from the cracks of the aging wood and a panel-less window.

The light caught her attention as she drew closer, deciding to duck beneath the window. Slowly the uruk raised her head until her eyes just peeked over the windowsill.

Inside she saw a kitchen in a disastrous state of organized chaos. Herbs and plants hung from the ceiling and rested against the walls. Jars, boxes, and other baubles covered every inch of shelving, counters, and tables.

The kitchen had a large fireplace with a massive bubbling cauldron, the flames an unnatural shade of purple.

She waited, listening for a time, and after feeling somewhat confident the hut was empty she rose.

She swung one leg over the windowsill before kicking her other leg over, trying to quietly enter the kitchen, but the floorboards creaked beneath her great weight. The old, rotting wood sank slightly, making the uruk uneasy and wondering if it would hold.

Quickly she shuffled through cabinets and drawers, picking up jars and inspecting them before quickly putting them back down.

It took her minutes to search, but each one felt like an hour to the orc, each one bringing new beads of sweat to her brow.

Her hands grew shaky, but they finally grabbed onto what she was looking for.

She withdrew her hands from the very back of a cabinet, and with them a jar of salt.

She spent a few more minutes shuffling through the homeowner’s belongings. A strange hand suspended in murky grey water inside a large jar caught her attention. It was mostly skeletal, though some flesh and muscle still loosely clung to the bone. Occasionally the fingers would twitch on their own.

Slam.

A loud noise followed by creaking and footsteps sounded at the other end of the hut.

Gazhnahk was no longer alone. The homeowner had returned.

A cackle sounded down the hall and the hoarse voice of an old lady boomed,

“Who’s peeking about my home? Come for some tea?”

The unsettling laughter did not fill Gazhnahk with a sense of comfort. She quickly snatched the jar and returned to the window, making her escape as the woman ran down the hall.

She began to shuffle and navigate carefully through the bushes.

From behind came the slamming of the kitchen door being roughly forced open and the angry shouts of the witch as she realized her kitchen had been ruffled through.

Gazhnahk did not slow down, using the markings she left on the trees to help navigate her back.

 

---

^{Hizumi-Tsukasa}

---

Even when the shouting grew distant and eventually faded, the uruk did not stop slinking through the swamps. Though perhaps she should have been more careful. Unlike before, she no longer prioritized subtlety and instead moved at a quickened pace. She must have drawn the attention of other locals, as a claw suddenly came down and attempted to sink its sharp claws into her shoulder. Luckily it seemed her armor was enough to protect her, though the being was strong and she was caught off guard.

Gazhnahk was thrown off her footing and stumbled back, quickly reaching for her spear. It was hard to see in the unlit swamps, but Gazhnahk narrowed her gaze at what attacked her. It could only be described as an abomination, a bipedal hyena with a sort of humanoid figure. He was draped in muddied cloth and leather armor, and she noticed he had looted some of his wardrobe from the dead legionaries.

She readied her spear as he lunged forward, and when his claws came she used her great strength and reinforced gauntlet to block. At the same time she lowered her spear before driving it forward with her other arm and into his gut, easily piercing his leather armor. The azhl made quick work of neutralizing the gnoll and Gazhnahk did not wait around to watch it die.

She quickly and carefully navigated the swamps until she found a small clear spot near a tree. She pulled out the ancient book she carried and the jar of salt. She sat down and placed both on the ground before her, quickly preparing the rite for her return.

Gazhnahk had survived her first solo trip.

Spoiler

20.

Gorgoroth | The Festering Swamp | Decay, Undeath, and Depression

A plane of mires, muck, and moors filled with the bloated and waterlogged corpses of legions of mortals and their beasts of burden. Ruins speckle the land yet sink into the swamps, sickly willows spread over the marshes hiding witch huts and forgotten cathedrals of dark cabals, and the muddy knolls of Gorgoroth stretch endlessly in all directions. A direction-disorientating mist permeates the plane, making traversing it a difficult feat.