Frum'vajodhar

[marimbamonk 1501]

Prelude

 

Krug watches from the spirit realm, his eyes mad with flaming fire. He tilts his head at Zogrocka, clenching his fist in a dark hope that it would somehow crush his skull.

Krug shook his head, closing his eyes. His Children would not be defeated so... Their true deaths were meant for a more honorable time... A time when their blood could spill and grow a foundation for generations to come.

As Krug thought this, he looked down on the Immortal Plane, peering at the many warring spirits. One caught his eye, and to it, he whispered something. "Lat -- Gagna me hai. Staun dem sha'ya hajmali... Maybe den da Gajarpan weyl bartas."

 

Little did Krug know that as he whispered to this spirit, another presence hid under the glaze of his vision, listening in. This presence chuckled, hiding itself in the shadow of the Frum’Stroh…

 

Frum'vajodhar ~ Spirit Thief

 

 

 

An assembly of orcs made their way to the highest point of the goi, the warm sands beneath their feet. Even as they viewed the scarred ruins left by the battle with the Azogs, they continued on their path. The Shamans had heard a faint whisper from the Spirit Realm, and Brunhyldir led a party to answer it.

 

As they reached the top of the dune, the orcs circled around the fire. “Bruddahz… We am gunna zumm’n da szpirut uf hozh beginnin’z, an guiidenze. Ublulhar zhuud anzah owah call, and it may zhow uz wut we hab t’do concernin’ d’Azogs,” Brunhyldir said, lowering his body to sit on a stair near the fire.

The orcs sat, and the High Shaman spoke. “Repeet aftah me.” The air was deathly still. “Ghonza--”

And without even letting a full word escape his lips, an ear-piercing screech erupted through the tribelands, aching the orcs and causing them to grip their ears in pain. “Agh!” One of the larger orcs, Mugzlak, snarled as the sound reached him.

“Zounds… Sounds lyke uh Zcaddahnack,” said Zar’roc’Yar. The orcs around the lat of Yar grimaced, realizing what they had to do.

 

 

Zar’roc, naturally, led the venture down into the dark cave of the twin scaddernacks. You could imagine that it would be hard for nearly a dozen orcs to sneak into a cave inhabited by two giant scorpions, but they managed to make their way down.

To their surprise, they found nothing out of the ordinary. The twin beasts were even sleeping -- they looked at peace, if such a thing was possible with these creatures.

“Wud da skah?” Kol’Ordan lowered his bow, looking around at his brothers. “Der am nubtin’ wrong wid dem… But dere wuz screechin’! Id wuz scaddahnack screechin’!”

Brunhyldir shook his head, unsure of the situation. It was then that another piercing shriek echoed through the cave; yet it did not come from the cave itself.

Hearing this one louder than before, the twin scaddernacks shook into life, giving a sinister stare at their sudden visitors.

“Led’s ged outta heah!” Brunhyldir scrambled up the thin steps of the cave, yet behind him, he heard the tumble of rock, skitters of a hard exoskeleton, and the cry of a very pained Olog.

Turning around, the orcs saw that Mugzlak had been struck on his thigh by the stinger of the beast, and the gash left behind was already starting to swell. Curses erupted from his brothers as the Olog was carried out of the cave and onto the surface.

The Wargoth of the Gorkils saw the commotion in the distance, and ran over to the other orcs. “Wud happened?” Grool stared down at Mugzlak, his eyes wide.

“He wuz stung bai da scaddahnack.”

Grool frowned, staring at the bulging mark. His leg already looked a pale, sickly yellow.

Brunhyldir spoke. “Lats, grab ya zultz’an armah. Grool, we gun get diz venum outta him, den we gunna peep wud diz screechin’ aboud. Kom’n.”

 

After making their way to a nearby pond, the orcs dropped the nearly-unconscious Mugzlak into it, allowing the Shamans to begin their ritual.

Before them, something quite amazing happened… A combination of the Elementalist evocation of Brunhyldir, and the Witchdoctor practices of Grool. The High Shaman focused, bending the water to seep into the Olog’s wound, while the Wargoth Grool brought forth a set of rare charms and powders that he dropped into the pond, stirring them with a light mist that then formed.

Slowly, what venom Brunhyldir could remove was so, and Grool produced a talisman in the shape of a stinger which he placed around Mugzlak’s neck, protecting him spiritually from the toxins. Although his leg was paralyzed for the time being, he was okay.

 

 

 

 

Another ear-piercing screech crossed their ears. It was closer this time.

 

“Agh! Nut agein… Erg…” Krillan gripped his ears, his chainmail armor gristling as he moved.

Brunhyldir stood, wiping some of the sweat from his brow. He snarled, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the sound. “We gu, urukz… Dis iz going to ztaahp.”

They made their way to a dark cave, the Olog in their arms.

 

~

 

 

“Who am da zneekiest? Krillan, lat?”

“Me… guezz,” Krillan said, his fingers twitching. They weren’t in the smartest of places… As they found themselves within another scaddernack cave. Except this one held only one scaddernack, and it was much -- much -- bigger.

This pitch black monstrosity skittered back and forth in its nest, the source of the screeching. As Krillan snuck down lower in the cave to see, he noticed a pool of yellow-orange blood collected beneath the scorpion. He looked up slightly, seeing that the scaddernack had been cut on its side multiple times.

Making his way back up, Krillan shook his head at his brothers. “Da ting iz bleedin’... Me tink id’s caam’d down naow, bud zomehow, it got cut.” His bruddas scrunched their eyebrows, giving a sigh.

Just then, Krillan began to sniffle like a sick dog. “Wud… Wud iz dat smell?” Krillan raised his head to the air, his nose rampant with a distinct aroma. To him, it smelled like burning oil -- the smell of sour gasoline.

 

The orcs made their way out of the cave, leaving the recuperating scaddernack behind. Following the smell, they found themselves in between the cave and the pond, at a faded tree with burning branches. At its base, the entrance of a cavern could be found.

 

 

A darkness seeped out of the cave, and it had formed a thick brown sludge which covered the way in like a film. Brunhyldir was immediately put off by this gooey sheath, but the Olog Mugzlak was actually hungered by it. He scooped a hand in the goop, bringing it to his mouth and slurping it down.

Eventually, the High Shaman managed to produce a grey powder, sticking it in his mouth and then spitting at the sludge covering. Slowly, it melted away, and from the cave, the dirty, thick, wafting smell of yellow smoke seeped. The cave had popped like a bubble without the sludge, and the orcs -- even being orcs -- pinched their noses as they inched their way inside.

 

Darkness enveloped the orcs as they found themselves wading through the thick, intoxicating yellow fog. Krillan brought an arm to his face, coughing as Brunhyldir opened another sheath of sludge. It erupted, releasing another containment of yellow smog.

Coughing, they had reached the pit of the cave. The smoke had clogged their eyes, and they could barely see. Afflicted with double-vision, the orcs managed to pick out a few subtle features.

 

 

A blazing orange fire burned in the center, the source of the foul-smelling yellow smoke; otherwise, the cave was dark, almost abandoned-looking.

The body of an orc was flat on the ground in front of them, its body adorned in dark black robes, a dagger in his hand, and a pool of red blood underneath his belly.

The last thing they could pick out were four tiny eyes… They shone with a transparent, ethereal glow, each of them inspecting the orcs with a dark curiousity.

Brunhyldir narrowed his eyes at the eyes, his gaze cautious. “Who… am lat?”

Nothing but a sick, mysterious chuckle. “Lat,” it emitted, “da Motsham. Kom heah, zho dat me may indrodoos mezelf.” The eyes smiled somehow.

Krillan stepped forward at first, his sword drawn, but Brunhyldir held out a hand. “Nub…” The High Shaman stepped forward his body prepped for some sort of move. He could sense that whatever these eyes were was a spirit… But it was not like any other spirit he had ever encountered.

 

And then… A strike of green lighting. The fire erupted, enveloping the Shaman, shocking his body, shaking his soul, grinding his brain, slicing his mind. The bolts electrocuted Brunhyldir at every angle, the four eyes staring at him, laughing.

Before his brothers, the High Shaman shrank. His body squished, contorted, and screamed, his ears and nose elongated, his nails turning into dirty, grummy claws. His once muscular features were replaced with nothing but scrawny flesh, his bones sizing down by the second.

Flashes finished, lightning echoed, and it was over. The sad shell of Brunhyldir knelt on the ground, and he fell unconscious.

 

Motioning to the fallen creature, the spirit spoke to Krillan. “Me am Veist.”

Krillan twitched, adjusting the grip on his sword. “What am lat doin’?! Wai?!”

“Me herd uh wizzpah frum Krug… Wuznub foah me, bud me herd et. Lat haz trubul wid da Dark Azh’s, eh?”

Krillan nodded, as did the spirit.

“Me ken help lats… Me ken. Me blah lat wut, uruk. Blah to lats bruddas dis:

Collekt da eyez uf futh bubhozh szpydahs, zum tar, and a shaad from da red cryztals in da blarg uf da Daahk Twiggies. Uze doze to mayk me a talisman -- Hajmali -- and den zum’n me agein,” the spirit said. The smoke began to fade, and the spirit spoke its final words, an eerie echo carrying on for minutes after its absence. “Da Gajarpan weyl gruk Veist.”

 

~

 

When Brunhyldir awoke, he was stricken with disbelief. His once large and formidable body, now forgone. Replaced by the image of a mischievous spirit, an ugly, leprechaut, depraved version of the common uruk goblins known by the goi.

As Brunhyldir blinked, staring at his claws and his thin bones, he slept from the exhaustion. And if only for an instant, a voice spoke to him. “Uh doturog’n, motsham’azh. Shum gimb mai pam; dafar agh dru. Andartar prok orka lat, snaga-vajodhar.”

 

 

 

 

[Raptorious 1899]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.