Goliath

*posters are now present in Orcish lands.*

The breath of man and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air as the party of twelve approached the neglected, desolate façade of the chalet. The grass, glazed with frost crunched at their feet as two robed men led their mares to a set of wooden pickets, securing them there. Valzar, the eldest, stout, bronze bearded and with a weary cast to his sunken crimson eyes trudged closer to the door, admiring the carved runic inscriptions. He craned his neck aside just as a brisk winter gust blew by, exclaiming to the party in a monotone roar “Snow’s Maidan, a bastard it is.” “He does not welcome visitors” insisted the hesitant, ebon haired adolescent at the back of the group, gesturing for Valzar to cease his actions. Valzar paused and despite his thick beard, matted with soil obscuring any sight of his mouth, a broad grin could still be seen forming. “He welcomes blood relations and comrades, comrade Oswin.” As the door swung open Valzar stepped in, kicking the soles of his shoes against the worn, bristly doormat that greeted him. The rest of the visitors repeated his actions, each admiring the interior of the ancient chalet. Almost immediately upon entering, for the room was minuscule in size and fairly desolate in its own right, the party were able to catch a glimpse of the throne, despite being layered with dust, dirt and dreck that sat at the far corner of the room. The border, tarnished, unalluring gold. The words, though incomprehensible for some, read “Elkin’ Nage.” above the man who sat, as white as the snow of the north, withered and bordering skeletal appearance. The man was Goliath. His neck appeared to be contorted aside, resting on his shoulder with a chin slicked with drool and idle, glazed crimson eyes that meekly watched the group of men, women and children who came to greet him. Valzar swallowed deeply in concern and compassion, shakily raising a hand in greeting. “Brother…” His actions were disrupted by a faint stammering sound, which soon evolved into something far more persistent, growing in volume. In astonishment, each member of the twelve man party glanced to the source of the noise; pots, pans, books, all in unison; Shook. Valzar glanced back to his brother in shock, flailing both hands out of desperation as the stammering continued. “Cease this at once!” he bellowed over the sound, his eyes showing only signs of fear and discomfort as he could have sworn that even the room itself seemed to shake, yet far less aggressively. “Stop this… At once, brother Goliath!” And so it did. The shaking subsided. Books fell back into place and pots and pans clattered back to the floor. Goliath blinked hard. Once. Twice. He glanced back to Valzar. With a faint, fragile and hesitant voice, Goliath spoke. “Wh...Why does th...the family w-who on-n-nce abandoned me… return?” “Sorrow. Guilt.” Valzar responded frankly as he took an idle step closer to his brother. “We appreciate that you have aged. A man who onced aided us now requires help from those closest to him… or those who deem themselves closest to him.” with two hefty tugs at his buckle, Valzar adjusted his gut, awaiting a response. Goliath twitched faintly, guiding his sluggish eyes over his visitors as he contemplated his response. “Th-The onl...ly way y-you can help, is b-by curing me of th-this disease they call ageing. If-f you wish-sh to help me… help me avoid this-s death...th I have been unjustly forced to meet.” His jaw hung loose as the words fell from his mouth; hollow and cold. Valzar paused as he mulled over the repercussions any potential response may bring. Eventually, he decided upon the action he should take, responding with one frank yet heartfelt line. “It shall be done.” *Nailed to trees, noticeboards and littered on pathways in every nation except the Orcs are identical pieces of parchment. In some instances, some individuals may be present during one of many public speeches outlining the same request.* “CALLING ALL MAGES, ALCHEMISTS AND ZEALOTS ALIKE. At the request of a dying man; wizard; lord. A method of age regeneration, prevention, or immortality is requested. The request may be unethical - perhaps frivolous to some but it is of dire importance that a remedy is formed in return for priceless, ancient arcane knowledge and power that a select few have the honor to behold. May birds be directed to Mr Valzar Orman and with haste! WITH HASTE!”