Monthly Archives: April 2017

Koldrah Orc Leader

That sweet and salty scent of summer, only to be smelt near the sea, was working it’s magic on this land loving orc named Koldrah. His eyes lit as he surveyed moonlit sparkling water that stretched forever beyond the sleeping, unsuspecting human village at its shore. Behind him were his twenty three axe wielding warriors, all crazed with hunger.

 

“Now is the time for the sacrifice.” Said Koldrah. “Bring Azguard to the pit.” This ceremony always awoke a conflict inside him. For its cowardly nature of killing an innocent without giving him the right to fight for his life on one hand. But on the other hand he could remember standing by his father Koldrahd and his grandfather Koldrah. Their eyes would light up as their God, Kahul The Punisher, would reward them with power.

 

He walked into the enormous pit dug by the twenty three warriors to hide the fire from the enemy. Every orc warrior he passed slammed the dragonbone armor protecting his chest, then touched two fingers to forehead, lowering their head in salute, they began a monotonous chant, praising Kahul.

 

A few steps from the pyre, stood Takdor the human shaman. Covered in his long black hood from head to foot, holding his staff. Koldrah examined the staff again. It was made of twisted Kylreen steel twice forged and had three red gemstones symbolizing the three Govish stones of power. Only one of those gems now lit up. Koldrah knew this to be a sign of the closeness of a Govish.

 

“My spy was correct.” Said Takdor pointing to the glowing gem. His frightening orange eyes shone gleaming even from under that thick hood. Each pupil was shaped as an orange line stretched over the whole eye ball. “The stone is in the village.” He Said.

 

Koldrah hated the human shaman, who always made him do things that he himself deemed evil. But he had to admit that much of the power he had gained was due to those evil deeds. “It seems so.” Said Koldrah. It would have been better if the spy could also warn them of the guards spread around the village. But of course Takdor’s spies only brought the information they were paid to bring.

 

Azguard tied down to the pyre, was silent. Koldrah could see the cuts on his neck that had expertly cut his vocal chords without killing him. He gurgled when he saw Koldrah approach, his eyes widening in fear. His whole body beginning to shake. Koldrah could feel the waves of fear that flowed out of Azguard uncontrollably washing his soul before the ceremony.

 

Azguard had fought fairly well for a novice, taking down Farroth son of Farrot the fearless. He shouted again and again for Yollk Hammer Born his God, but Yollk did not answer. When he was finally subdued as his leg was cut almost clean off. He cried a female name, ‘Daria or Aria was it?’ Koldrah could not remember. “It’s no use asking you the name of your lady now is it?” Said Koldrah. The mention of her brought pain into Azguard’s soft human eyes. “No matter. She will join you soon when we take the village.”

 

It had taken all of Koldrah’s strength and leadership to hold Farrot The Fearless back from slaying Azguard. Koldrah could now see Farrot sitting at the edge of the pit with his back to the ceremony. He refused to participate, wanting his chance for revenge. Koldrah would have to deal with this later.

 

Takdor placed his hand on Azguard’s forehead. “Fear Kahul and praise him. For your God Yollk has fallen before him as well.” Said Takdor the shaman, as he picked up the light stone and lit the pyre. His orange pupils shone now with greater force.

 

Koldrah Stood and watched as the prisoner gurgled and squirmed in the magical smokeless silver flame that consumed him. When only ash was left, the flame spelt a Kooprah which he committed to memory. He would use that Kooprah in his next fight and then it would be his. He wondered excitedly what would be its power. Touching the flame it climbed up his arm and flowed into his chest. The power that his ancestors had enjoyed was his.

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The Meeting At The Inn 1st subjective

This is an exercise in writing 1st subjective

 

I, Ogmar Beardstrong of the South Gurum Dwarves, stood amongst these ale stinking humans who filled up the village inn. ‘A seaweed in a forest, many miles from the Gardom Sea. impossible!’ I could not stop thinking on the strangeness of this fact. It made the words of young Jack Hamstrung, the village fool ring true. ‘A seafaring man, dragging a big bleeding bag through the forest late at night. I looked through the window and the sun’s first rays just began to show through the dense leaves.

 

“It must have been the body!” Said Miss Grishwem. Tooting at the top of her voice and looking around the small crowd in that crowded inn of the Green Leaf for support of her claim. “Poor Mr. Dafferd.” She lamented.

 

 

I doubted her grief knowing full well the neighbours quarrels these two had almost every other day. I placed my hand gently on her shoulder in order to guide her back to her seat. “Let’s not jump at such conclusions.” I Said. “The blood on the leaves was animal’s blood. Not man nor dwarf bled that blood. Mr. Dafferd’s body has not been found yet.” That I knew for a fact since I had consulted with a grey wolf. He told me it was the blood of a chicken.

 

 

Miss Grishwem bounced up from her chair tooting again at the top of her long neck sounding like a frightened chicken. I tried to calm her down by placing her back into her seat but she resisted making it all very comical for the other villagers who laughed heartily. “Let go of my shoulder foul peck!” Said Miss Grishwem.

 

I could feel my heart quench. ‘So there it is, the ugly head of racism, that blind old snake.’ thought I, feeling very shocked and surprised. After all I had done for these people’s safety. ‘But surely someone will quite this old bat down.’ I looked around searching for an ally and found only averted eyes. I felt gutted, as if punched in the stomach. She eventually sat down, averting her eyes as well. I stormed out of the inn feeling betrayed and alone and slamming the door behind me.

 

I walked a few steps into the forest and heard a loud hubbub of voices from behind me. I knew Miss Grishwem was being berated for her racist words. I was now living in the village for five years. I knew very well how the people of the village appreciated my protection and loved me. After all just last week I was given a great feast in my honor. Feeling the fool I turned around heading back to the inn door.

 

Miss Grishwem spoke as I listened from outside. “Why couldn’t they send a human?! What with our little girls walking around all day. And now this murder! I tell you he did it! Not some seafaring human stranger. You all know it. A man would not murder his own. Let’s vote! Let’s vote and see what you think. Who thinks this peck is the murderer?”

 

I could not believe my own dwarven ears. I felt my blood rise up filling my head with rage. My eyes burned as I unconsciously stepped into the inn. Placing my hand on my old hammer handle.

 

 

Miss Grishwem looked around pleased, until her eyes fell on me, standing furious at the inn’s entrance, then her expression turned to fear.

 

The meeting at the inn 3rd Omniscient

This is an exercise in writing third person omniscient

 

Life turns and twists at its edges, folding in until no light can be seen, no sound can be heard. Light flows through the leaves of green reaching the brown grey carpet of cracked old branches and seaweed. But how did seaweed get here if not off the boot of the most unpleasant of seafaring men. Young Jack Hamstrung, who was usually named the village fool, always making up silly stories, had seen him travel through his forest late at night dragging a big bleeding bag through the leaves.

 

“It must have been the body!” Said Miss Grishwem. Tooting at the top of her voice and looking around the small crowd in that crowded inn of the Green Leaf for support of her claim. “Poor Mr. Dafferd.” She lamented.

 

Ogmar Beardstrong the dwarf ranger put his hand on her shoulder patting it lightly and then pushing her down to her seat. “Let’s not jump at such conclusions.” Said Ogmar. “The blood on the leaves was animal’s blood. Not man nor dwarf bled that blood. Mr. Dafferd’s body has not been found yet.”

 

Miss Grishwem bounced up from her chair tooting again at the top of her long neck sounding like a frightened chicken. Ogmar tried to push her back into her seat but she resisted making it all very comical for the other villagers who laughed heartily. “Let go of my shoulder foul peck!” Said Miss Grishwem.

 

The crowd all hushed down not wanting to offend the old foul tempered ranger. Miss Grishwem realizing her error, put a hand to her own gaping mouth and took her seat. Ogmar scanned the human villagers angrily, searching for any sign of mirth, but could find none. On the other hand no one stood up for him against Miss Grishwem’s hurtful words. He stormed out the door angrily, making it bang loud enough on the way out.

 

Toben the middle aged, red ale nosed, ballding village headman stood up slowly and spoke even more slowly, lingering on every word. “You went too far Grishwem. You know how sensitive the ranger is about his heritage.” Said Toben.

 

Miss Grishwem hrmpfd loudly and immediately began tooting and extending her long neck. “You men are a bunch of cowards. You think the same as me! None of us wants a dwarf guarding this village.” Said Miss Grishwem.

 

A hubbub of voices began speaking at once. Some for and some against. Poor Toben raising his hands tried to calm down the bustling crowd. “Now now.” Said Toben, barely being heard.

 

Miss Grishwem continued. “Why couldn’t they send a human?! What with our little girls walking around all day. And now this murder! I tell you he did it! Not some sea faring human stranger. You all know it. A man would not murder his own. Let’s vote! Let’s vote and see what you think. Who thinks this peck is the murderer?” She looked around for support and found none. But then Gavin Hellstrom, the young bookkeeper, raised his hand up on the far end of the inn. Then another and another until many hands were raised.

 

 

Miss Grishwem looked around pleased, until her eyes fell on the old dwarf standing furious at the inn’s entrance. Then her expression turned to fear.