Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

The drums returned. My world vibrates with their call. I see myself, warpaint, fierce glare. Around me my people. Around and below for I stand atop something so that I rise above them, my rallying scream is seen as much as heard. I lift a great ax. It roars with fire and crackles with lightening.

My people become the thunder, their pulsing bellows become the drums.

KOORAAH GRHKHAATI! KORAAH GRHKHAATI!

War.

I watch myself, brows furrowed at this strange apparition. She, I, am clad for only one purpose. The tight braids, the ceremonial blood, the frenzy of the people mean only one thing. But this cannot be me. This creature that froths the warriors and sends them into a battle lust.

Where are we? I look around, but it is cavernous and empty, with nothing to give me bearing. It feels familiar though, feels like a place I have been. Or maybe it is a place this creature that looks like me has been. I do not know.

I, or it, or she, lets out another scream and the world ripples with magic The very stones answer. Strength and power fills the masses, warding them, giving them might. Others in priest’s markings respond, beginning to bless the strongest, the most honored among them. The chosen of the Chief.

He appears, parting his people effortlessly. His one good eye surveying his people solemnly. Occasionally he nods and grunts to one of the warriors. He steps up to my, her, it’s side and wraps a possessive arm around me. The kiss is hungry, long, but I, she, it caresses him. It is the touch I once saw the high priestess give and here, too, it calms him and he lets me go, turning his focus to a different hunger.

The cavern goes silent, then come his words, deep as an endless chasm, strong as a mountain. We watch with pride and bellow with his call. And then, we are gone to raid.

What is this? Who do we kill? Is it the Ironfaars? The elves? Drow? I must know... How did I become this? Why did I become this? Me, a runt playing pretend? I must know... I mu-

.....

“Priestess.”

Kaltyra shook her head, looking up from her furs. Grubnar was kneeling with his head bowed just outside her tent. Seeing him, as he always did, prostrating himself to her gave her a strange pleasure. She’d never had willingly submissive warriors to her before. He was young and she was strong, it had been an effortless transition.

“I have more gifts, for your pup.”

He held out a bundle of soft grey furs as Kaltyra rose to her feet, distracted as she tried to grasp the threads of her dream. Had it been a dream? Was it a vision? She took the furs, felt them, nodded her approval at his skinning technique. It had taken time to cure them, but he was willing it seemed.

“I am well pleased.” She said coolly, turning and setting the furs inside. If it was a dream, it could be ignored. There had been rumblings of frustration among the tribesmen. Talk of ambushes by local dwarves and in one case an elf. The Chief was thinking it over, thinking maybe it was time to show some might and earn respect. To Kaltyra, though, that would simply begin the old wars anew. Even justified, an orc attack would doom them in these lands.

She smiled to Grubnar and rested a hand on his shoulder, bestowing a blessing upon him. “We will be hunting soon?” He asked eagerly.

With a laugh she nodded and saw him weave his way out of the woods.

.....

Today we had our first battle, the Zha’Graht tribe. I do not know if my dream was a warning or just a product of my fears, but it proved much more than we anticipated.

It started as a way of gathering the tribe and instilling the pack-hunting techniques that many had never grown up around. Orcs raised by humans, one by an elf, another by the woods. So few seemed to know what a tribe was all about. Even the ones who did had not hunted with their new tribesmen.

Glorious. It has been so long since I hunted with my own more than Grah’Thok. The thrills were almost forgotten, but no more. Oh, my people, that we could truly become a real tribe. It seems we only play pretend. As soon as the hunt is over, we will scatter to our hiding places to rest... There is no home, no unity.

How amazing then, that what I feared would be disaster became our great victory. As we hunted word of the Sharptooth tribe gathering forces arose. What an opportunity, we could show the humans our might –and- show those Sharpteeth what tribe is really in charge here!

Grah’Thok proved why he was chief, for even as waves of other tribes attacked he stood firm. It was chaos, bloody delicious chaos. I lost myself to it and then, to the blackness.

When I breathed again I grabbed for my womb as I always do. Ilktlktk, how this child is alive I do not know. Surely it should be dead by now... But perhaps I have been blessed with a child with the strength of Grombar who will not fall to beast nor man.

We fought and roared our battle cry – defiant until the field fell silent. The trees burned, the ground scorched. I did not care, I was riding a great euphoria.

The battle was not over though. I later found myself in Beregost, walking through corpse-strewn streets. I knew this smell, this scene. My tribes from before have done such raids. Unlike before I felt my stomach dropping. What good had slaying so many orcs been? They had still done their damage and they had left a mark on the minds of these people.

I kept my hood down though instinct screamed for me not to. How can we fight this? This is a war from beyond time’s memory. And WHY would I fight this?

Why did I slaughter my own people?

Just whose side am I on?

First I mate with a half orc, and now I save humans who will no doubt use this attack to hunt and harm my tribesmen. I am lost. I am adrift.

So was it that when Uriel wanted to speak to me about a ‘concern’ my immediate reaction was one of aggression. Would he tell me how I had not saved enough trees? Would he judge me unworthy for other orcs’ actions? Would he be right to? I would not let the smug bastard say a word, nothing. If he did I would eat him alive I would throw myself at him and rip out his heart. I would-

I had to shake my head to clear it. I said something polite, letting words fly meaningless as I fought my instincts.

Fighting my instincts... Am I taming myself? Am I making myself their pet without even realizing it?

Wait now, I TRIED to join the orcs. They would not have me.

Still, I have chosen humans, elves and dwarves over my race. They did not –need- our help. We could have just stayed out of the fight. I glowered at the Spirit Talker as she argued this very point. It did me no comfort to hear my own worries echoed from someone else. My arguments sounded hallow. Yes. We should have stayed out of the fight and let both sides weaken. Because once the Sharpteeth are gone, we will become their new tribe to attack. We risked too much. It was foolish. A gambit.

I wish I could say it was worth it.

Kaltyra wiped the sick from her lips and straightened with a grim expression. What was going on here? Ever since that battle against the undead she’d been feeling strange. A cramp shot down her side but she didn’t flinch. Her mind was spinning as she drew up her hood and placed the scarf back over her face. She didn’t even register the omnipresent acidic bile smell that followed her as she turned north.

She had been putting it off too long. It was time to talk to the Saint.

..............

The orc lowered her shirt some time later, watching the mirrored frown of the little glowing female before her. “What?”

“It is growing weak.” The saint shook her head again. “There isn’t much I can do for your child like this. It will have to come out.”

“You can save it then?” A wash of panic flooded Kaltyra.

“Maybe. There is no chance if we let things stay as they are.”

“How fast then? If it will help, let us do this now!”

............

I hurt all over. My body shook and sweat. This was no natural birth, it was pain and terror. But.. Give birth I did. To the first live child since my first.

A son.

I cradled the thing, smaller even than his dead brother. It was wrong. He was wrong. His breath was rattling and he was too small. A hand pressed on my shoulder I tried to will her words away, but they agreed with everything my instincts told me.

“I am sorry, but I would be heavily lying if I said your son would last more than a ten-day.”

Into a pit, an unending pit I fell. Not again. Not after all I did to get strong. Another dead from me, because of my blood, my body unable to breed healthy offspring. I curled in on the unnamed child and cried. It was too much.

Meri pressed her lips together and watched me, not knowing what to say. Kile nuzzled my shoulder but these things I did not register. I was losing myself to the living nightmare I’d risked all to escape.

“I do not mean to intrude, Meri, I know you wanted us to guard the gates, but I heard what you said and I think I have an idea.”

The solemn male voice was simple, unassuming and a sudden jolt. I looked up to see a paladin, hand on hilt, frowning with the severity of my woes. A human. He looked to Meri at her query and responded “Can you pray for a miracle, Saint of Ilmater? I will pay the sacrifice.”

Miracle? Sacrifice? Meri went to see if she had the things for such an impossible ritual and I was left, blindly clutching to me son, a deep suspicion rising. What was the price? What would he ask? What would he hide from me?

He shrugged “I am a paladin. Without Mystra I am a vile man. If I can do good in her name, I will do it, that is all the reason there is.”

I was not convinced. Finally he nodded “There is one thing I will ask. That you not mention my name when telling your tale of this.”

Still wary, but desperate, I succumbed to their temptations and agreed to allow the ritual.

Consistency. Unwavering solidarity was a theme of Grumbar's. At least it was so for as Kaltyra was concerned. Stone did not like change, though when it came, ti often came violently. Earthquakes, magma eruptions, cave ins. The earth was solid and unmoving, until, very suddenly, it was not.

It has been a unsteady time, rumblings of danger at every turn, but Kaltyra had weathered her time at Balder's Gate, survived her first few months and even given birth. It was thanks to a combination of pandering, begging and hiding that she had lived as long as she had.

Now, stronger, she thought to take initiative and make her own shield - build a tribe. For that, she needed a chieftan. She had found someone who would do, but even in that she capitulated, accepting a substandard life. The mating? Oh it was good. She was able to hide her quiet disgust with herself, a pure blood, romping with a half-blood freak. But every now and then she remembered it.

The tribe faltered, pressure, lies and the lack of growth begn to make her despair the tribe would be anything more than a club for battered half-bloods to complain to each other and talk of glory. She had no females to leave her son with, only males who wanted to make war, without the patience to wait until the tribe was ready for war.

In short, the tribe was a danger to her, rather than a blessing.

Still she trudged on, now not seeing a way out. The infamy of the Cliffshields, the Zha'Graht, was growing with no fewer than two threats on 'the females and pups' of her tribe. That, of course, was her and Kho'Gnok.

"We cannot go to war. Please let us not make war. I do not wish war. We have a treaty.. We can make a treaty..." Finally Grah'Thok had had enough. The one-eyed Chieftan stopped and turned to her, his face twisted in frustration. "You were the one who wanted an orc, not a pinkskin. Now you only talk like a pinkskin."

Kaltyra danced back like she had been struck. It had hit true. They walked on in silence until Kaltyra could take it no more, and left. "Do as you wish. You have proven my words false."

It would be after a long hunt that she would come back to see Grubnar and Grah'Thok in heavy discussion. They began talking war strategies, drawing Kaltyra in, asking her opinions. She can feel it, the raging frustration. The tribe was dragging her into something her cowardice wanted nothig more than to run. Run. RUN! it demanded every second she stood still increased her aggitation.

"I am sorry, I can't do this."

"What do you mean 'can't do this'? What is -this-?" Grah'thok growled in challenge.

"I am leaving."

"Where?"

The priestess of Grumbar turned seeing Grah'Thok tensed for battle. Her lips curled in a snarl. He wanted to deface her, and then drag her back into things? Hadn't his torture of hte drow brought half of this trouble on the tribe to start? She would leave. By Grumbar she would show him.

"Fine." She set Kho'Gnok down, letting Grubnar take the child up and protect him as Kaltyra stamped her feet, sending a shockwave of earth, roots and stone up her body, lifting her until she towered above Grah'Thok, a 14 foot elemental.

Hack as he might with fury of a thousand blades, the chieftan fell to the might of her god. In one fell swoop, Kaltyra had proven Grah'Thok did not deserve to be chieftan and did not deserve to be her mate.

"I am leaving now. I will return when I see fit."

"Fine! Go!" He snarled, anger only increased with his impotence against her.

The turned and stalked away, leaving Grubnar alone in the middle.

Stone is consistant, steady, slow to move.. until it explodes with violence. The question now? What would this change bring? Kaltyra set hreself adrift, knowing she would likely never find true orc wisdom, despairing to a life alone again.

White, blinding pain shot through sensitive eyes. Kaltyra hissed and drew a hand to her face, shielding against the first rays of sunlight she’d seen in almost a week. The drow had complained when she cast a simple glow-spell, but our protagonist knew true light, finding the drow’s weak eyes pathetic. She knew real suffering, endless unabated pain. She drew up her hood for what comfort it gave and sighed inwardly. Even now her vision was beginning to clear, though her head throbbed from the unnatural dilations.

The surface.

“We made it!”

“Finally!”

Several females danced around Kaltyra, barely holding in their delight. It was hardly an inspiring sight; a long winding dirt path down a rocky barren hill. However, compared to the hardships behind them, even the stone-screaming basalisks looked like a welcome sight.

Down they trudged, leaving orcheart and her wayward lover to linger behind in awkward silence. Each had their personal ends to meet now. Some would rush to tell their families they had not died at their gnoll captor’s hands. Another would leave to find their fellow soldiers and reunite with them after her long sabbatical. Orcheart, well she/he was in for a talking to, and Kaltyra had her own plans.

Not long down the road their paths scattered, each on their mission. Kaltyra took a deep breath and began to run. She didn’t need to run, but something inside of her begged to leap and bound. Maybe it had been the painfully slow going through the planar dungeon, or her own nerves about how Grah’Thok would greet her. Whatever it was, her blood called for action, so she raced north, to Balder’s Gate.

First would come her promise to the Fist, Ivan. She had to go unnervingly close to the Gates before she found one of his ranks, the very dwarf who’d been ready to arrest or kill Grah’Thok.

Bah, no matter. She would deliver the message. So if it were to this dwarf, maybe it would go some way to repairing things between her tribe and the Fist.

.........

Torchlight signaled the approach of a rivvil. If the light or smell of sulfur wasn’t enough, his glowing white armor and crest of a fist on fire would definitely peg the human as ‘not from around here’. He exhaled relief on seeing Charraj, Kaltyra, Marjolaine and even Randall as they spoke amid the tunnels.

“Thank goodness. Some friendly faces.”

Kaltyra turned, a wicked, gleeful expression curling her lips. The very human who had been such a bane as to help elevate her fight with Grah’Thok. “Grumbar, how you bless me.” She lifted a hand in praise and thanks, hefting her ax to her shoulder and approaching Ivan.

“Uhm... Uh oh.”

“Remember me, Ivan? The sow? The ugly pig face?”

Charraj groaned and moved between the two. “Look this really isn’t the time..”

“And what better time eh? When he is up on the surface, off-limits for the vengeance he deserves?”

“Say the word lass and he’s basalisk chow.” Murmured Randall.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? Can we deal with this later?” Ivan asked, frowning.

“Why in the world would I want to help you, when you would not even honor Grah’Thok in right by combat?” Kaltyra demanded, a low dangerous growl in her tone.

“I was ordered not to.”

She snorted and shook her head to Charraj. “Nothing to be done for him, I think.”

“I apologize, alright? I won’t go against my orders... but... I wasn’t ordered not to duel you. If you want to stand in as champion for your mate, well then, you can have me here and now.”

“Hm.. Very well. If I win, you will stop goading orc-bloods into battles they should not start and can not win.”

“And if I win, I get you and your mate’s respect.”

Kaltyra considered and then nodded. Then they clashed. Storms exploded, the tunnels shook with battle, but in the end it was Kaltyra that fell. Ivan stood over her, sword in hand. Randall snarled and moved to defend, but the man simply bent down and offered the orc his hand, lifting her to her feet.

She bowed her head. “You fight well, warrior.”

........

Not all the captured could be taken up at once. Randall had thought ahead, but not THAT far ahead. They simply didn’t have the necessary resources. Three. Three would be escorted up, leaving Ivan and Charraj alone below.

Kaltyra knew Charraj to be paranoid and, above that, a magic user. He would be safe inside the city. Ivan? Well she could attest he had strength, whether he had sense would probably determine if she ever saw him again.

She skid to a stop, panting from her run. Captain Rocshanks looked to her, and so she told him of Ivan’s disappearance, the retrieval of the few rivvil she, Randall and Marj had been able to escort up. He was.. less than impressed.

“Acceptable loss.”

Kaltyra blinked. Weren’t they a group? He didn’t even ask if she would go back for him or for the others. Were the Fist cowards? Did they have no loyalty or honor? She stood there speechless until her brain finally demanded she say –something-.

“Well... Goodbye then.”

And that, she decided, was that. It was hardly her place to argue the Fist to have a bit of honor in their blood, when she already knew what they were.

.........

My name is Kaltyra, of the Zha’Graht tribe. Fool, friend and survivor.

After I left Grah’Thok, I didn’t set out with any direction in mind. I just wandered, and in my wanderings Marjolaine joined me. She walked and we spoke at length. I knew I was discouraging her more and more the way I spoke of her race, but I wished to be blunt about things. How could I take advice from a human, when I sought the wisdom of an orc?

Still she seemed bent to somehow ‘cure’ me and so stuck with me even as Randall appeared. We were soaking in the hot springs when Marjolaine finally gave up all hope and just sat in a corner, watching her knees in dejection.

“We are all lost.” I remarked, in a moment of clarity. Marjolaine had enjoyed her first murder, yet felt horror and guilt for it. Randall had found his old lover, who rejected him, living too close to her lair. It was Randall, Orcheart, who finally came up with the idea to go to the underdark.

“Think about it. There’s nothing here for any of us. No one to miss us. We’ll go where things are more open, simpler. Start a new life. Make a new place for ourselves.”

We looked to each other, and though we spoke more of it, in that moment of eye contact we all knew it true; we were going to the underdark.

And there we did find answers, wisdom and the end of vengeance. It was a time of danger, but when has it not been for me? Some considered framing me for murders or taking me as a rothe, a slave, but none had the strength. I was shocked to find most drow to be easily broken, but I preferred to assume they were each deadly.

I have not seen many orcs in the underdark, and despaired at finding the wisdom I sought. Then a male among a hunting group appeared.

“Uhg!! Breeder! Ugh! Breeder!”

He bellowed rushing in on me. I thought he might try to take me then and there, much to the watching drows’ amusement. I leapt to my feet and struck a defensive posture, lips curled, ears flattened. He stopped then, looking me over for inspection. I pounded my heart and said. “I am Kaltyra.”

He blinked. “Lat with Zha’Graht tribe?”

I nodded and he snorted. “Zha’Graht tribe cowards, play nice nice to stupid elves and dwarves.”

One of his hunting party prodded him, demanding they go on the hunt.

“Some talk coming from an orc that plays nice nice with the drow. Just how different is that?”

He grunted, turning to leave. “Theyz treat me with respect.”

Then he was gone. I raged, but didn’t want to endanger Kho’Gnok, so first I went to my hiding place and left him with Kile for protection. Then came the hunt.

He was a hard one to track. Somehow all signs of his movement would disappear for long stretches. I would have to make increasing circles around the last point I saw trail-sign, until as if by magic, his signs and smell would pick back up. But find him I did. Caverns were my home, not matter how many drow call me a rivvil.

When I challenged him my heart was racing. It was one thing for me to think I was a coward and another for someone else to say it. But, to my shock, he didn’t take my challenge. Instead he talked me out of fighting him.

We shared meal and drink on the frontiers of Sshamar’s territory and we spoke long, long into the time of rest. He was a real orc, not the caricature I’d somehow turned Grah’Thok into. This one, Wirg, was wise and I could not help but feel I was back home with him. It was hard to part from him, but I had to find Kho’Gnok.

The truth was I began to crave this feeling of security. I went so far as to shun my human companions in favor of spending more time at Wirg’s side. There was a confidence, not built on false bravado or impotent roars, but steady, clear certainty. He did not have to bellow his might, it was obvious simply in the way he moved and how he spoke.

I probably would have mated with him right then and there, but I held back. Had I not made a mistake in choosing Grah’Thok? Wasn’t he as unpredictable and unknown as he? Wirg had no more a tribe than Grah’Thok. I had to look out for Kho’Gnok and myself. I had to give us the best life possible...

But by the stone teeth he smelled good!

We met again soon enough. He brought me to his ‘tribe’, a group of drow mercenaries and merchants. They proposed trade agreements and support to either help arm our tribe on the surface or settle them in the underdark. All for finders fees of course, but coin was hardly my main concern. If we did not speak as equals, then at least it was with respect. It was a rare thing and I found myself liking this group and their eccentric leader.

As I made to leave Wirg reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder. It might as well have been electric for how my spine tingled.

“Lat want to stay with me tonight?”

I could hardly get to his room quick enough.

It wasn’t that Kaltyra minded torturing people, especially if they deserved it. She’d never been shy about causing pain, but maybe her time on the surface had forced her to repress it enough to flinch when Orcheart stabbed the drow’s eyes out... Slowly.

She was wary; not entirely sure this was a good idea, but not willing to leave Orcheart in his rage, blind to whatever else might be going on around him. If he’d had his way, he’d have tortured the drow along the main tunnels, for any and all to find.

Orcheart wasn’t in the wrong here. This had been one of his own tormenters almost a year earlier. It seemed only right for there to be some fair play. Two things, however, she did not account for.

One was the giddy masked drow that pranced along the path where she stood guard. She knew him briefly and so held back. Dhaunin had, after all, been the one offering aid to her tribe. He was Wirg’s leader and a good host. Wolf in form, she growled in hopes of making him go away before the torturee woke back up.

Dhaunin whistled and called to Kal, trying to sooth the ‘puppy’ into coming closer. But then there was a splash and the drow began to scream again.

“Let’s see what’s really going on.” The masked drow said, beginning to cast protections on himself. Kal launched herself at him, trying to get him away, but his magics and his sword were too strong. She howled, calling up a elemental, but no, it was too late.

Orcheart came around the corner, sword in hand, but he thought the fire elemental was the enemy and came after it while Dhaunin, calm in the chaos, struck one, then the other down.

Blackness.

Kaltyra awoke to find herself and Orcheart tied to chairs. Their victim letting out a curse and throwing his severed arm across the room at something said. She took in her surroundings. The lava pit illuminated a pink tea-set, one cup atop a neat matching saucer set before three drow and then herself and Orcheart. There was the one-armed, one-eyed drow, still bleeding and bruised from Randall’s ministrations, Dhaunin, leaning back on his chair, and the female Fely who was busy sorting poisons.

Uhoh.

Kaltyra’s ears flattened. Had she missed something? Dhaunin had spoke of their victim like he was inconsequential... and here he was at their table.

..........

I wish I could give tale to what happened as I was tied at the mercy of a group of drow. I will try of course, but I doubt I can do it justice. It turns out, unknown to me, that victim of Orcheart’s had changed allegiances since that time long ago. He was under Dhaunin’s protection. I hoped to work something out with them, seeing as he –had- been a part of Randall’s torture, so I cooperated when they told me to heal the arm and eye back in place.

I sniffed at the offered tea and knew instantly it was –not- tea. It wasn’t until a few moments later, as Randall awoke, that the purpose of embalming fluid became clear. Dhaunin, the madman, was cheerful and bouncy as he spoke, only lashing out when someone talked over him. Unstable, I tell you, to be so eerily cheerful over anger.

He came to my side first and with very little adu, jabbed his sugar spoon into my eye socket, scooping it free with a sudden shock that had me lashing and screaming in pain. He plopped the eye into my teacup and grabbed my free hands. I am shamed to say he easily overpowered my struggles, lashing me back to my chair.

Orcheart, though, he was another matter. While Dhaunin struggled with me, I heard a ROAR from my side, a rip and a sudden crash as Orcheart ripped his bindings and threw his chair back as he lunged for Dhaunin. For his part, the drow laughed with delight, tussling with Randall.

I think maybe the other drow were too fascinated with the battle to join. Or maybe they did join. My eyes were winced shut and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Blood rage was all that kept me up and we all know how well that is for thinking and taking in details. I sat, shaking in my chair as I tried to do something yet my body seemed to go weak. Maybe shock? Was my eye bleeding or were those tears?

There was a plop as something sank into the embalming fluid in Orcheart’s teacup. No more fighting or noise from him. I think I screamed some things. I think I tried to bite someone who got too close. I know I was hit back into blackness, though.

I woke up to find the teacups gone. Dhaunin was stuffing a letter into our packs, then untied me, telling me to take Randall’s unconscious form and leave freely. In retrospect, just being let go was a mercy the humans would not have given me. However, my body still shook and I protested, pushing my luck with a race I knew as having no honor.

I demanded the eyes back. I begged the eyes back. I argued for repay for healing the drow that had been tortured. I was given mine back. It was not, I think, that I could not regrow the eye. It would take a long time and I would be weak, and have to hide for a few weeks lest I get taken as a slave, but it –was- possible. No, it was more the idea of that smug bastard, who could have said something about his loyalties, holding a piece of my body as a trophy.

I knew Orcheart would feel the same burning rage at that idea as I felt. He would not let go of the eye though, so I tried one last desperate gambit. I asked if he would fight me for it.

Now, to put it in perspective, the Fist, whom I have never wronged, would not give us a honorable combat for their grievances –against- us. My request was a last, unlikely hope. So I was stunned when he accepted. Of course, his conditions made it make sense. To the death, he said. No chance to be raised.

I looked to Randall’s form and took a deep breath before nodding. We moved down to a blood stained arena. I set Randall nearby and, trembling, took up a sword and shield. What was I doing? This was insane... I was not meant to do these things, not risks like this. So much of me wanted to run, run now and be grateful for my freedom.

But a rage of honor burned there as well. How could I let Orcheart suffer, when I was whole? He who had trained me and rescued me and protected my life on so many occasions. I turned as the female growled that he was still too weak from his torture to fight alone. She wanted to join.

Hm, was that the way it was to be? Just a chance to beat on the orc? Well fine, I had committed myself. I pressed my lips in a deep frown, waiting to see what would be.

Another surprise: Dhaunin said he would fight as my second if Fely insisted on fighting with my quarry. The female huffed and left in anger. I did not have much brain power left to contemplate the meaning of what had just happened, not back then, but now it shocks me even more. An honest battle.

He even let me prepare whatever I could. When I was done I felt better.. stronger. It was as if the blood stained stones were pleased with this. I towered once more in HIS chosen form, taking on the red and gray hue of the arena floor. Dhaunin counted down... and then...

Battle.

Perhaps he was still weakened, perhaps Grumbar smiled on this battle. Whatever the reason, it was I who still stood at the end. My storm of vengeance flickered and raged for a few more moments, then blinked out.

Victory.

I murmured healing on my foe, feeling immense satisfaction in his pummeled form. Now it felt fair, since before I had not even touched this one. In that satisfaction I was able to have a moment of clarity. I helped him up, I apologized to him for what was done. As a male, he was likely taking orders from the female Randall had already tortured and had no choice in his actions. I promised to tell Orcheart of this. Dhaunin tossed the deep brown eye of my friend to me and I left, Orcheart in tow.

I don’t know why it was that his eye did not heal back in place properly. Maybe I was still too enhanced with Grumbar’s might, maybe it had spent too much time in that strange preservative liquid. It was beginning to crystallize, but I thought I had gotten it in in time. For all I know it was Grumbar’s way of warning Orcheart not to put me in such a position again. Whatever the reason, when I healed Randall, his eye came back almost gem-like.

With what energy I had left I healed back my own eye.

The exhaustion hit me like a week’s travel with no food, water or rest. Every inch of me ached, begged for sleep. I could not stop shaking. Even though my stomach pains also cried out for food, I ignored it, letting the greater call for slumber fold a more natural blackness upon me. So, curled in upon myself for protection, I slept.

.........

My emotions were still raw and unformed when Wirg came to find me. I had made my way into Sshamar and was attempting to get drunk. With my natural tolerance for poisons, this was only adding to my frustration.

Wirg put a hand on my shoulder, asking what had happened. We moved out of the bar, me giving up on the drinks for now. I was honest as I could be about what had happened, but felt distant and unsure with this orc. Once again I seemed to have made foolish choices. His tribe, the group who had taken my eye, were one and the same.

He held me possessively, protectively. Despite it all I felt safe again. Who ever said love was what you sought, clearly did not know orcs. I was his breeder, he would protect me. That was all there was to it.

Music to my ears.

I gave in to the fears I had been pushing back, gave in to the frustration and anger. Where did I stand to his leader? And how could I both want to beat them into a pulp -and- have respect for them? Hadn’t they acted, scarily, like any self-respecting orc tribe? How could I relate that to them being slimy slaving drow?

Begrudging respect. I really didn’t know what to do with it. Still he held me and we spent time long into the night together. Maybe it would be different, when I came to the surface. Maybe things with the tribe will have worked out, or maybe it will have gone to war. Either way, especially with this event, I felt compelled to leave. Probably my cowardice hard at work again.

I liked Wirg, I wanted Wirg, but there were still things I needed to do on the surface.

Originally we planned to go up together, but when the large group of rivvil, surfacers, appeared, and with Marjolaine and Randall ready to go, up we went.

Perhaps the strangest ending to the tale is, as we left, I crossed the drow whom we had tortured. We seemed to have both gotten some grudging respect. He nodded and I nodded back, then asked him to pass on word to Wirg of what had happened. Then, Orcheart came by and grabbed the drow’s shoulder.

I don’t know what he said, but the drow looked surprised and blankly puzzled at the whisper, nodding to him as we set out for the surface.

“Let go of the prisoner, rothe.”

Wirg’s hand was firm, unwavering in Kaltyra’s. She held to him like life depended on it as drow began to surround them. Cazna was there, smirking at the pair while another came forward with manacles.

She would just have to trust Wirg, who seemed as bothered by the upheaval as a horse by flies.

“Uz go now.”

With another squeeze, the world melted into shadow. Kaltyra marveled at the floating sensation, but didn’t have much time to linger. Wirg pulled on her, taking her through a wall, and into Breagan D’aerthe’s stronghold.

They stood there for some time, letting the effects fade from each other. Both stared at the warded entrance, watching and waiting for some sign of being followed.

“Lat alright?”

Kaltyra nodded.

“Theyz can’t get in. Iz warded.”

She stared at the door distrustfully again, then reluctantly turned back. “Why were they trying to arrest you?”

The door shoved open, ward runes sputtering in a cacophony of failed magic and sparks. The group that had been just outside, strode in with the look of a storm cloud.

“Now you forced us to waste valuable time petitioning the Conclave to open this entrance.” The male said with venom in his tone. “Guards, take them both for resisting arrest. We have a place for them.”

........

My name is Kaltyra, follower of Grumbar, friend and fool. My titles are meaningless, shifting things and perhaps my life as well.

After I found the Fist Captain, and told the elf Catam about Charraj, I finally forced myself to seek out the real reason I had come up. He wandered near my camp just as dawn was approaching. I spoke to him and fell to my knees, prostrating myself before him. I had considered doing this without clothing, but I did not want him to get the wrong idea, especially given what I had to say.

I felt guilt in somehow pushing Grah’Thok too hard into becoming an orc, so hard that he went into something I did not like. It was as if, because I wanted an orc, he became what he –thought- an orc was, not really knowing the right way.

If it were possible, then, I wanted to help him learn. Let him still keep the tribe, encourage him to come to the underdark.

Apologies, deep and true, came first. Then I spoke of Breagan’s offers to the tribe. He seemed interested and spoke of them, especially when I told him Cazna had been killed and Ivan had given us satisfaction in battle.

But, eventually it had to come to the other part. I lifted by head so I could look him in the eyes and said “When I was in the underdark, I mated with another.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t until I explained it was Wirg that he exploded in anger. His fist came out of nowhere and sent me flying into the air and landing, stunned, on the ground. I lay still, submissively so, hoping he would not force me into the shame of fighting him again.

He did not, but left, muttering his intentions to ruin Wirg.

It was the last I saw of him.

I tried to hunt down the others of the tribe, spreading news of what was happening. But those I –could- find were happier on the surface. One even said “I have been alone all my life. If the tribe had fallen, I know how to live still.”

My heart sank. Those I could find had no real interest in sustaining the tribe. It was, indeed, just a club for tired half-bloods to complain and talk of glory. There was no loyalty, no bonds. The only one that maybe would was Grubnar, but I could not find him.

I wandered, despairing as I watched the Fist execute the drow, knowing Ivan was still down there. I despaired to see Marjolaine walking side-by-side with her males. I despaired in Orcheart’s lover manipulating him back into her claws. I despaired to know, once more, I was alone.

The surface held so little for me. What friends or allies I had made were busy or missing. They did not have time for me. Some began to call me drow sympathizer. One even admitted he thought I had allied with the drow. Which, the truth was, I was considering it.

And above all the loneliness and anger, there was that damnable sun. Burning me, mocking me, lashing out and reminding me. No matter that I was a druid, I was not welcome here.

It was a mistake to go above without Wirg. All I could think about was coming back to him, to his safety. I cajoled Orcheart into helping me to the underdark, but he was angry the entire trip, frustrated by something and unable or unwilling to speak.

Ilktlktk... Have I lost him too?

No matter... At least there would be Wirg.. We could be safe here...


.. or so I thought.



........

“There’s no reason for arrest yet, sir.” One of the guards said. “So long as they don’t move.”

Cazna sneered. “Where is the human?”

Ah, they wanted Ivan. Kaltyra had heard Charraj mention Ivan was still down here. She kept her mouth shut, though. Kho’Gnok was still with her and if she suggested she knew anything, anything at all, about the Fist who had captured Cazna, Kaltyra was certain that Kho would be the first to be tortured.

Frankly, Kaltyra would not last very long if her son were hurt like that. If she were honest with herself, just the threat of torturing Kho, provided they had hold of him, would make her crumble to whatever they wanted. She trembled as she backed into Wirg, trying to find some way of escaping, but seeing none.

Cazna huffed and strode into the stronghold, searching it with her female attendant.

Some time later they returned, empty handed. More threats. Then they left. The guards scowled at Cazna. “This better not have been all on some foolish rumor...”

Then they were gone.

Kaltyra searched the entire stronghold as best she could. Hadn’t she been with enough rogues to know the excuse of searching an impregnable location could also double as one to plant something?

She found nothing and Wirg was finally able to calm her down enough to sit and just be with him. Kho’gnok seemed to love Wirg’s attentions, beating with his little fists as Wirg tossed him up and down. Later, he fell asleep in Wirg’s arms. It was an unexpected thing. Males were not often so good with children, but it helped distract Kaltyra from her fears. Kho was safe. They were safe.

“I will make him a strong warrior.” Wirg promised with a nod.

The momentary peace was shattered as Fely came storming into the stronghold. Reports, she ordered! Then sent for some politician. Then yelling and arguing. Talk of war or of hiding. Talk of the power of the Conclave. It mostly went over Kaltyra’s head.

All she could hear was her hopes breaking all over again.

Her refuge was falling apart.

I present to you a cast of rogues, sinners, rebels and reprobates. Some sadists, some masochists, others a touch insane but none, and this is important, a saint.

In Breagan D’aerthe’s corner there is Felynaste (poisons, magic, blades), Dhaunin (insanity, tea cups, song), Istran (resolve, honor) and Wirg (divinity, strength, rage). In Sshamath’s corner Cazna (sadism, vengeance, rage) and Shadera (stealth, magic, calculation). Other players include Sarn (orc, servant, honor), Zhul’emal (deceit, intellect, cleverness), Charraj (magic, loyalty, paranoia), and Ivan (Fist). Somewhere in all this mess we will find our protagonist, caught in the middle of war.

The following is but a shallow parody of events, for what mortal can bring to bear the magnitude of events so broad as to shake the foundations of great Qu’ellars? We open on a scene. Cave fungus, the swift almost sentient kind, is already growing over half of two bodies. It has spread into the large puddle of dried blood and filled the room with a healthy blue glow. From this glow you can see the stricken, sliced and severed faces of two drow. Felynaste and Dhaunin’s eyes have coated to death-white.

Enter Istran and Zhul, one after the other in short succession. Istran spits a curse while Zhul’s expression remains dangerously calm, the sign of a storm brewing beneath.

Cut now, as the two male drow bend to tend the fallen. Follow the winding underdark tunnels to a secluded place where Charraj and our protagonist speak in hushed, fervent whispers.

“Then give your son to me now.” Charraj frowns as Kaltyra keeps her threatening grip on the front of his robes.

“I cannot. He is far away, guarded, and I cannot get back there without Wirg’s help. He is safe, that is all that matters. But you –must- promise you will come for him if I do not send word in five days time.” The orc hisses urgently.

“Fine, but then you know I’m staying until I find the one I seek.”

The orc sets the wizard down, frowning. Charraj looks on with worry, despite the apparent threat. She motions and they begin to walk. Eyes are everywhere. She suspected she knew where Ivan was, but if so it would be impossible to get Charraj there. So to ease her unrest they walked... and walked.

Suddenly, breaking the silence Kaltyra stopped abruptly. “I smell a human...” Kaltyra murmured to Charraj.

The mage looked down at himself. “Sorry?”

“Not you...” She shook her head in amused irritation. She started to say more when suddenly a flash of white hurried around the bend. White, with a flaming fist on its chest.

“Ivan!” Charraj gasped in delight before Kaltyra could hiss and clamp a hand over the mage’s mouth.

“We cannot stay here!” She hissed.

Charraj nodded. “Well, will you let me teleport you?”

The Fist nodded and they cloaked in magics, following Kaltyra closer to the city.

“Cazna has been hunting me.” Ivan warned in a whisper as they walked. “I might even be able to take her.”

“Just get the hells out of here.” Kaltyra growled. “And hurry!”

“You’re not coming with us?” Charraj asked.

The orc shook her head. “My son, my mate...”

She cuts off as a half dozen black figures clad in magics dash by. Cazna and a hunting party. She ducks her head, and keeps walking, praying Cazna doesn’t see the two invisible people walking right behind her.

No luck. The drowess turns. “RUN!” hisses Charraj before he and Ivan take off. Kaltyra tries to act casual, keep walking. Maybe Cazna won’t think....

Magic flies through the air, just missing the two runners’ tails, but blocking Kaltyra from taking the exit to Varalla’s Passage. ... So close. Heart sinking she turns to face the crowd of drow around her.

“Dos! Dos are protecting the Fist.” Cazna’s words like a blade on the sharpening stone.

“I do not protect him.”

“Dos are hiding him.”

Kaltyra shakes her head and points into the blocked passage. “I smell him, he went that way.” And hurry you two! She thinks This is all I can give you now. Get your lazy wizard butt in motion and get out of here!

Cut scene, briefly, as Charraj incants, white lines of dust around them both. Ivan goes to break the circle and Charraj grabs his shoulder.

“No! Not without Kaltyra!” Ivan protests. Charraj frowns grimly, his answer is the final word to send them both home. They shimmer and are gone.

Back now to outside Varalla’s Passage. Cazna is thoroughly distracted by the orcess. She has a growing audience of drow, and one orc, Sano. Kaltyra knows him, but says nothing when he looks over her hooded masked form and asks “Do I know you?”

Instead she keeps delaying.. delaying... distracting...

“Sano! Take this one and breed with it.” Cazna commands pointing at Kaltyra.

Our protagonist tightens her grip on her ax, mentally touches the blessings Grumbar gave to her, wondering if she could handle him. Probably... So, delay some more.

“There is no honor in taking her against her will.”

“How can dos be chieftain and kill that rothe Grah if dos cannot handle a simple female?! Usstan will have dos take this one, then take his mate for yours. For now, dos must take this one.”

Sano shakes his head. Cazna grows impatient and scans the group around her. “Then usstan will show her Ilthyrii mercy. By the qu’ellar of Sshamath, attack her!” She draws her sword and points it at Kaltyra.

Things go in slow motion. We see, as if in a dream, ten or so drow begin to draw weapons or magics and charge the single cloaked orc. But, for whatever reason, Kaltyra, frightened, angry, coward, she does not run. Something comes over her, her head dips, her feet widen in stance. She lifts up her ax then slams it into the ground.

Heavens open up in a cloudless skyless world. A storm appears. Hail stones, thunder and biting rain strip flesh from bone. Kaltyra rises from the slam, then falls back to the ground, which lifts to cover her, grow her to 14 feet in Grumbar’s blessed form. As drow begin to scream and shout, many stumbling, some drawing back to attack at a distance, The clouds part as a true-shard of the sun, the burning orb so often hated, pierces the non-heavens and bursts forth, burning and blinding.

Still they come, Sano among them, unable to disobey. Down he goes with several mighty fists. Down go two more. She calls out to Grumbar and he restores the chipped stone of her body. She calls out again and he shields her. Another healing. Two more down... then Cazna. Kaltyra thunders towards her, ignoring the barrier of whirling magic blades and slamming fists upon the drowess. All her hatred pouring into the attack. Again, again. The drowess bruised, bleeding... she must do more, though, must do.. more!

Cazna turns and the ground parts, lifting a demon to the fray. It smirks at Kaltyra and raises a claw swirling with dark magics. ....

The world goes black.

Cazna walks over the crumpled orcess, face twisted in disgust. “Now, dos will have her. Break her fingers, crush her jaw or she will kill you. Go now.”

Sano picks himself from the ground, battered and bruised, nearly dead himself. He does not protest, but silently grabs Kaltyra by the head and drags her into the darkness.








End Scene One.
...........








The blackness parts for Kaltyra. She tries to take a breath not realizing Sano is still pouring a healing potion down her throat. She chokes, coughs, sputters then gasps for air.

“It’s probably best I don’t heal you any more than that.” Sano looks Kaltyra over with an unhappy frown. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to breed you.” The orc language comfortable on his tongue.

She shuts her eyes, relaxing considerably.

“But soon we will have to get you out of here. Can you walk?”

“Soon enough.” Kaltyra lay still, trying to conserve her energy.

“I know you.” Sano says simply. “You tried to help me get to the surface.”

“Yes.”

“When you can walk I will get you out of the city, so you can get back to the surface with your mate.”

“He is not my mate anymore... Wirg is.”

“Who is Wirg?”

“He works with Breagan D’aerthe.” She felt more hurt in her inner core, than the cuts and bruises on her body. With effort she fumbled for a healing leaf, chewing it slowly.

“Ah, then I will take you into the city. We can go from there. Still, we will have to pass Cazna. I can smell her, she will be waiting for a show.”

Kaltyra swallowed and nodded, the sat up with effort. She grabbed her shirt and ripped it, then took her dagger to make tatters of the rest of the cloth armor. She hadn’t even been fully armored when the drow had attacked. The thought struck her with pride.

“I got many of them..”

“Heh yes you did.” A pause then he rose to his feet. “I apologize in advance for what I have to do.” Then his foot came down on two of her fingers, crushing them.

A bit later Kaltyra came out, wearing tatters of clothing barely concealing anything decent. She limped behind Sano, head down, ears flattened. If there was one thing Kaltyra knew, it was how to act small, beaten and unimportant. It was her life for so long. It tugged at her memories. The chieftain that ordered her killed. The priest that beat her to an inch of her life and left her broken to die in the blinding sun. It flashed in her mind, giving her perspective.

She was strong. She could survive.

They were waiting in the middle of Varalla’s Passage, not a stone’s throw from the safety of Breagan D’aerthe’s strong hold. Traffic meandered around them. “Sano. It is done then?” Cazna asked as her ever present shadow, Shadera shuddered at the mental image of orcs mating.

Sano nodded.

“And have you left your mark on her?”

“I carved my hand into her ass.” He retorted deadpan.

“No really. A real mark. Must usstan do everything for you?” She scowls and pulls out a vial of acid. “Here. Dip dos finger, leave dos mark on her face.”

“I like her face.”

Cazna snorted. “Useless.”

“You gave her to me as a concubine. I don’t want to ruin her.”

“As if looks matter. Fine, usstan will do it myself.” She flung the entire vial in Kaltyra’s face. The orc fell to the ground, screaming and clutching her bubbling face.

Sano looked down, his expression hardening. “Look, now you ruined her.”

The drowess ignored the comment, and the growing crowd, both drow and non-drow, along the passage. She was looking at the hands now covering her artwork.

“Usstan told you to break –all- her fingers!” She roared at Sano. “Do it, NOW!”

Sano delayed and Cazna pulled out her mace. Hurriedly, before Cazna could deal out whatever extra pain on top of her orders she intended, Sano grabbed Kaltyra’s hands, pushed them to the ground as she cried, and stomped, crushing all the fingers.

Kaltyra tried to be resolute, but even knowing pain, even knowing suffering, she yelled out. As soon as Sano was done she curled back into a ball, shaking like a leaf.

“Definitely cut out her tongue. She is too loud.” Cazna shook her head.

“Indeed.” Agreed her shadow, Shadera.

“I have uses for that tongue.” Argued Sano carefully.

“Dos will go to the surface, xas? Dos will take up the weapons shipment and dos broken gol-bred female and dos will kill that slime-faced Grah who dared think he could trick me. Dos will take over the tribe as the new Chieftain. Dos has no use for her tongue in that!”

“About that,” Sano delayed. “Of course I will follow your orders, but she is useful with her tongue on the surface. She will lie for me and convince the tribe it is safe to let me near.”

“Fine, but until then, her tongue is mine!”

Sano looked to Val’feng, who watched at an amused distance, but found no help there. He sighed and moved to grab Kaltyra once more.

“Your plan cannot work.” Kaltyra stuttered, trying desperately to make her common make sense despite the pain roaring at her mind.

“What is this insolence?! Take it NOW SANO!”

“You cannot destroy a tribe that does not exist.”

“What?!? Hold Sano.” Cazna’s eyes narrowed. “You speak lies. My demon has not reported anything.”

“Then your demon is tardy. It is truth. -I- destroyed the Zha’Graht.”

“Usstan cannot believe it! - Wait, yes usstan can, they are weak and pathetic.” Cazna curses stamping her feet. “How does one destroy a tribe?”

“I unmanned the chieftain, Grah’Thok Muzgrub. The tribe shattered with no male to take over.”

“And his (germbag) sow and the cub?”

Kaltyra looked up uncertainly to Sano to find him over by Val’feng talking quietly. She was alone, not good. She sighed and bowed her head.

“What does it matter, she is destroyed too.”

The drowess let out another string of curses. “Useless! Useless to me! Sano, give me her tongue! Give me her tongue or I will take her jaw!”

Sano frowned, marched up, and punched Kaltyra’s jaw. She could hear it as the bone splintered and cracked. The cry she tried was a gurgle of blood and saliva. He lifted her to his shoulder. “There.”

“Do not give me –half- of what I wanted. Fine.. This will be more messy than usstan wanted. Shadera! Get over here and help me with this extraction.”

The drowess stepped up to Cazna’s side as they rounded to face Kaltyra’s broken, burnt face. She reached for a dagger and -

“Is there a problem here?” Val’feng stepped up from his amused perch.

“Nau, just disciplining this rothe.”

“Normally this would be none of my business but dos –are- on a highly trafficked trade way.” He motioned at the people watching. “If it was dos rothe, then usstan wouldn’t say anything, but it doesn’t sound as if that is the case. So usstan will have to ask that punishments not be done publicly.”

Sano smirked. “She’s mine and I’m keeping her tongue.”

Cazna smiled evilly. “Fine, usstan do not really care. Go then.”

.........

Sano set her body against a building, kneeling in front of her. He pulled out some bandages and began trying to set her jaw back. Kaltyra let out a protesting noise of pain and pulled away. He frowned with hurt. “I am no good at this.”

Her amber eyes flickered to a small shape coming out of the shadows. A halfling, one she knew briefly as one who had traveled with her to the underdark. “Need some help there?”

“Cazna got her claws into her.”

“I saw.” He agreed, trying not to sound angry. Let me see what can be done.



End Scene Two.

// I suspect I am misspelling names, I apologize!!!///

Forgive me, all those who read this account, for not focusing more on the true players of this tale, but our accounts from the wild Dhaunin, the feisty Felynaste and others are fragmented at best. We know at this time that Felynaste is cursing long strings of profanities as her wounds are tended while Dhaunin lies on the ground, the sound of a squeezed squeak-toy occasionally signaling that the seemingly catatonic drow is now once more alive.

We know that their allies, or as close as one gets to allies, are beginning to plot. Some for blood, others for a more interesting revenge. But this is done in secret and much as Kaltyra never gets the chance in this tale to tell them about Ivan’s escape, they never get the chance to tell her the details of their trials.

So we turn once more to the streets of Sshamar. Our protagonist exactly where we left her. The halfling still finishing his work on her, his hum the same type of melody Dhaunin had once used to restore her. Sano has left, gone to find answers to this trouble.

“You don’t really want to stay here, do you?” Maka, the yet unnamed halfling, asks.

Kaltyra tests out her jaw, talking sorely, slowly. “I do not know yet.” Her thoughts dancing of Wirg alongside Dhaunin, Istran, Felynaste charging Cazna and ripping out her heart, forcing her to eat it.

“We’ll be in town for a little longer if you change your mind. You want us to bring up a message to Randall?”

“Yes...” she lingers in her fantasy “Tell him I would like Cazna’s head on a platter... Slow roasted.”

Maka laughs softly. “I can send that.”

He waves to her and she waves back. He disappears into the shadows, a last line of escape should she need it. Of course, it was not her last. Charraj knew she could be in danger and so would Randall. She knew where their rage would take them. It should have cheered her up, thinking about it, but she felt numb – emotionally exhausted.

A drow male passed by and looked to her. They met eyes. There was an understanding there. One dipped his head and then she did as well. Words they could not say were spoken in a look. She rose to approach, but at that moment there was a cry of outrage. Wirg had arrived.

“WUT HAPPUNED?!”

Kaltyra turned, gasped and launched herself at him, grabbing him tightly and holding for dear life. She only got a few words out.. barely even scrapped the surface of what had happened. Wirg exploded with rage.

The drow stepped back, watching at a curious but safe distance. Wirg grabbed Kal’s hand but let go when she yelped and pulled it back.

“Wut did she do??” He barely waits for an answer, the answer coming to his mind quickly enough. He turns and marches up the spire, Kaltyra in tow.

“You smell her?” Kaltyra asks. She is too weak, too beaten and sore. The healing magics have done all they can but her body has been depleted. She limps, having focused more strength into hands and face (Grumbar be damned if she would leave Cazna’s mark upon her) than her legs.

“Nos, Uz smell something even bettur.” Pug, Wirg’s troll thumps his chest, sensing Wirg’s anger and eager for killing. They continue on, deepering into the tunnels, round a bend.

A squeaky toy lets out a low suffering moan. SKAAAweeeaakk.... Starting strong then fading miserably. There in firelight is Zhul'emal, Dhaunin, Felynaste, Istran.
“IZ WANT CAZNA!” Wirg bellows

“What did she do to you?” Zhul asks.

“She publicly torture my breeder and make her a skarg, a rothe!!!!”

“But she’s a spell caster!” Zhul protested.

“They broke my hands and jaw to make sure I could not cast.” Kaltyra says grimly.

“I WUNTS BLOOOOD!” Wirg roars again.

“Get in line.” Felynaste retorts unhappily.

“Not looking so good, tough stuff.” Dhaunin says with feigned cheerfulness.

Kaltyra smiles weakly and sits beside Dhaunin, giving the wounded drow a gentle nudge with her elbow. The expression, in it’s entirety, encouraging the exhausted male.

“Lets just get somewhere safe for now. Then we can discuss what steps can be taken for her crimes.” Zhul explained a few options, then Dhaunin rose to his feet.

“Alright people, get ready for war.”

Zhul frowns “Lets prepare, but it’s better if you don’t attack.”

“Cazna just better pray she doesn’t cross her path.” Dhaunin said as the group erupted in magical preparation.

........

Cazna crossed their path.

Kaltyra was beginning to think Grumbar might have shifted tunnels to trick the drowess into wandering in the direction of their obscure path back to the city. Why not? It was in his power. For all the talk of another orc goddess Wirg tried to convince her to follow, at this moment, Kaltyra could not have been more grateful to her Earthlord, the Oathwitness.

Despite Zhul'emal’s attempts to arrest Cazna calmly, Wirg was having nothing of it. Gruumsh’s chosen bristled with magics and, though Zhul told him to stop, his blood rage would have nothing more than Cazna’s death. Cazna ran.

Cazna fell.

The problem came that she had just made it into Varalla’s Passage, wounded, almost gone. Wirg did not stop. He did not let her go. He barreled right past the Sshamar guards and struck the final, killing blow.

Chaos erupted, finally brought to bear as a necromancer called up two undead soldiers to secure the criminals. Zhul stood over Cazna’s body, sighing and giving out orders for the arrests.

“What... A... Cycle.” He sighed as the group was dragged away.

Dhaunin stepped over the body “Oh hm.. interesting. Looks like we missed a lot of fun things. Well this –clearly- has nothing to do with us. We’ll just be on our way.” He hummed, bringing Felynaste and Istran in tow.

“I can attest that one was involved in this.” Kaltyra pointed to Shadera, whom the necromancer had knocked out, apparently just for the fun of it.

“Very well, come with me then.” Zhul nodded then led a procession to the Sshamar prison.



End Scene Three
..........

Kaltyra didn’t really understand Zhul'emal well, so she was surprised when they arrived at the prison. The prisoners had been striped to almost nothing, gagged, bound, and their hands covered in iron mittens, probably to stop spellcasters. Few had the might of magic to do something bound –and- gagged.

Zhul turned from stoic and serious to chirpy and pleasant, jesting around in a very similar fashion to the way Dhaunin had, back when he had complete control over a situation, and had a lot of anger boiling under the surface.

It seemed to work well. Wirg was ungagged first. He answered truthfully, simply, and took full responsibility for what had happened. Zhul grinned. “So anything else you’d like to say then, before I put back the gag?”

“Yes." He turned to Kaltyra "Marry me.”

She was on the other side of the bars, but our protagonist beamed with pleasure. “’Og” she said simply to her champion.

“How romantic!” Zhul clapped his hands together and fluttered his eyes skyward. Then, as Wirg opened his mouth cooperatively, Zhul fastened the gag back in place.

Next was Shadera, who gave little in the way of information. Then came Cazna. She spouted lies upon lies. She said she had ten drow who would testify Kaltyra had appeared out of nowhere, seen Sano and taken an immediate hatred towards him, attacking them all. She said Kaltyra had beaten Sano soundly. Of course then later she said Kaltyra had been taken by Sano and she’d had nothing to do with her being beaten and tortured. That even Val’Feng would testify, unless Zhul was questioning the word of the Charnag...

Finally, when the lies subsided Zhul turned to Kaltyra.

“How much of this is true?”

“It is true she will have 10 who will testify for her... Of course if you questioned them separately I suspect you would hear large discrepancies.” She offered a smile as Cazna tried to goad her into looking like a fool, but Kaltyra did not enter into the argument. There was no point. She had seen Zhul’s anger when she’d told him what she’d done. She didn’t need to satisfy Cazna’s screaming match.

Zhul gagged Cazna after goading her a little more and toying with her. Then he stepped back to Wirg. “Soon someone with real power will be in here to carry out sentence. But as for you, orc. I think you own me a memento for all the trouble you’ve caused me.

Wirg calmly, cockily held out his pinky finger as Zhul drew out a knife. “That will hardly be big enough for an amulet!” He said in outrage. Zhul shoved Wirg down, stepped on his chest and rip/sliced the orc’s ear off.

"There. Maybe next time, if there even -is- a next time, you'll listen to me." Zhul wiggled the ear tauntingly in front of Wirg who glared daggers back.

Kaltyra hit the jail cell despite herself, grabbing the bars with strain. But there was nothing to be done. More drow entered, very well dressed drow, one of whom held themselves with the unmistakable air of power.

They were escorted out. One with considerable more respect than the other (guess who?). Then it was time to wait. Something happened between Zhul and Kaltyra as they awaited verdict outside of the prison, but let us not go there for now. Let us visit... the sentencing.

My beloved readers, I wish I could speak in the Judicator’s tongue and tell you his coy and pleased words verbatim. I cannot. For disrupting the peace, for inhibiting trade, and other things beside Wirg was sentenced to death by public incineration. All local orcs were to be rounded up to watch what happens when they dare disobey the laws here.

For disrupting peace, inhibiting trade, obstructing justice and lying to the Conclave, the two female drow were fined two million gold. 900,000 to be paid before they could even be bailed from prison. If the two could not pay the coin in due time, all properties owned or lived in by the pair would become Conclave property. “The Sshamath House would make a good brothel for all your displaced sisters, don’t you think?” The Judicator smiled in evil delight.

So was sentence passed, so was it carried out. Kaltyra shifted uneasily as Wirg was brought to the waiting pyre. “This is not good, I can not be here.” She couldn’t trust herself to watch her mate burn, even knowing what she knew. She couldn’t swear she could keep herself in check... She was sure she couldn’t. Zhul nodded and motioned in a direction the guards weren’t looking. So Kaltyra slipped out and away.

As the smoke billowed to the Sshamar cavern roof and filled the city with the scent of burned flesh. As crowds cheered or watched in silence, Kaltyra left. Zhul'emal Du'thar (The Magnificient), however, watched Wirg burn. And as he did, calmly, Zhul fingered the ear he had rescued.



End of Story

The dust settles.

Wirg has told me he holds no regrets for being burned. He administered orc justice. That had been the end of that, no matter the consequences. I would not tell Zhul this but, watching Wirg tucked in Bregan’s hall until the hype died down and his face became just another orc’s, I felt deep gratitude. I do not forget debts like this. I would rather the drow not know such.

Kho is punching a combat dummy in the Bregan hall with Wirg shouting commands I doubt the toddler grasps. He chews through almost everything now that he is teething. Even the spear Wirg tried to teach him to use has suffered. He is a good four or five times his birth-size now and healthy despite long periods exposed to the dangers of my hunting.

He is still a quiet child, something I’ve decided has to do with his lungs being damaged when he was born. True, he was healed by god-magic, a miracle from a human, but for an orcling, he is too quiet. He enjoys trying to eat solid food, though it mostly ends up a mess all over him and poor Kile. The mother-bear seems unphased by this and likes to lick Kho clean, ever interested in free food.

I have been contemplating the lava flow that Bregan’s hall taps into. Lava does not just ‘pop up’ in random pools like that. They must have drilled by magic and kept it tamed when it tried to erupt. That means Sshamar is lying dangerously close to a volcano. An interesting idea, and if this city were to ever earn my ire, an interesting ritual to consider invoking.

An entire city swallowed by Grumbar. What a sacrifice that would be.

Time goes by. It is a strange thing, but when Cazna comes to me, trying to provoke me with comments like “I had your mate burned alive” I am not one bit angered. First I am at peace with Wirg’s choice, knowing his mind of things. Second, Cazna had no bearing on Wirg’s pain. I see her impotence for what it is, shallow barking with no bite. I see a female who is watching her world begin to crumble, does not see how quickly the landslide is falling away from her feet. Her actions are short sighted. Her verbal assaults weak.

She is fascinated by my bored disdain with her and seems to make it a project to think up new ways of finding my sore spots emotionally. Luckily for me, she has no idea of who I am or what I believe. More importantly she has no idea I have a son.

Sano wishes to disappear for a time, but even he has set interesting things in motion. Orcheart got my message and came barreling into the Underdark. The reunion was brief and disappointing. He wanted me to go back to the surface and Wirg refused to run. I was stuck between a good friend and a good mate. In the end Orcheart left, frustrated, promising to steal Cazna away to the surface.

He failed. I know this because she is still here. He has not responded to my letter, so sometimes I worry. But, if Cazna had him, she would be sending me pieces of him, doing something to taunt me. Her lack of doing this makes me think she only killed him.

I tried to track Randall’s corpse down, but I never did find it. The trail was old by the time I’d even heard he’d failed, and tunnel smells only keep for so long. Wherever you are, Orcheart, I hope you are not alone.

We inducted Sano into our tribe. A tribe of three, ah how familiar that is. Wirg gave him a tribe name, then they drank of each other’s blood, pacting to the tribe. Then I, too, drank of Wirg’s blood and he mine. We hunted together, we feasted. Finally, after much irritating delay from Wirg, we mated. I wonder if he’s pointing out I cannot demand things of him. Damned males.

The Bloodtribe. A very sanguine name, but far more fitting than Cliff Shield, if we are truly to make our place in the underdark.

I made two sacrifices to Grumbar in thanks for his help in stopping my foes. One, the blood from a defeated Cazna taken from Istran’s blade. Blood he might not have gotten without Grumbar’s subtle blessings. The other was a lock of a faern’s white hair. He had interrupted my ritual and dared mock me and Grumbar’s blessings. When he threatened to burn me if I did not leave I responded by taking on the form of Grumbar’s ritual fire. The wizard fell with ease and left me in peace after that.

Not, of course, before I took a lock of his hair. Grumbar should have satisfaction in his ritual being interrupted.

We will go to the surface eventually, to seek out the scattered orcs I left above. Wirg is less than kind regarding the gentle Grubnar and I find myself protective. It is good we have these clashes now, though. Wirg wants to bond, a ritual rarely used in my birth tribe. Things were too transitory for something so... permanent.

And will I be happy with Wirg? Can I fit back into a role that seems a lifetime ago? Or have I been polluted permanently by my independence, my need to survive alone? Will becoming the weapon-less submissive breeder stifle me, or will I thrive in happiness? I have worked so hard to become strong and become so proud in it, I do not know.

After all, I have done great crimes by orc standards. Any sane chieftain would have had me slain, I think. Why does that shame feel unimportant, next to being happy with my life?

I do not know, and only time can give me the answers. So for now I take up my tribe name and have drank from the chalice of blood. I am Kaltyra GreyFang.

I am a survivor.

The ways of the Orc. The ways of the Humans. The ways of Elves, Gnomes, even Drow. Kaltyra was becoming far more educated in social norms than she cared to be. She hated them all. In the stories, a hero would find the morals that were wrong. They would find the morals that did not work in life. Then they would find the perfect morals, orc morals. Tenets of honor and battle, war and protection.

As has been restated, Kaltyra was no hero. The survivor found convenient kindness in humanity like one finds diamonds in rock – rare but worth the dig. The same was true of each race, but each race wanted her to obey –their- laws. She could not. She would save an ambushed man from brigands one day and refuse to hunt down an assassin who had helped her another. She was no hero, but neither was she evil.

There was no place for one like her. As soon as she showed any variation from the ‘hero’ archetype, she was shunted back into ‘evil monster’ by the same people who had once felt sorry for her but refused to help her in her plight. Her solace in the months of this torture was always her hope.

In her dreams, there was a place below with tribes that had never met her old tribes. These tribes would have good food, good hunting grounds and strong warriors. One might just be looking for a new mate to add to their tent. She would join them, birth children, raise them and be happy. It would be a good life, one where she would forget the trials of living among the surfacers and return to her roots as a good and proper orc female.

But no, it was not to be. Even as she drank the blood to enter the Bloodtribe, which consisted of her, Wirg and Sano, Kaltyra tried to be hopeful. So things had not done well with the Zha’Graht. Surely it was because of her flaw in picking a half-blood to run it. So why was it she felt angry when Wirg left her to do so much of the work in getting the tribe together... and anxious when he told her to let the males handle the rest? No title, no power, just his breeder. The way it should be. The way an orc female should be...



Now she sat before the wall of Balder’s Gate, Grubnar at her side.

“I am torn, Grubnar, between two lives. The one I should live, and the one I want to live.”

“They not the same?”

“I thought they were, but now, I am not so sure. I want to be a good orc.”

“Hm. You should follow here.” The hooded monk pounds a fist to his heart. “Not here.” He touches his forehead.

“Wirg wants me to worship an proper god, an orc goddess. Like he wants you to worship one of the orc gods.” She looks to the Chanteau worshiper.

He grunts. “Grubnar not know gods, only Mother.”

“Hm. I wanted to be a good female. Make children, harvest, craft things...” She laughs at Grubnar’s twisted expression. “It does not fit with how I have become, does it?”

“Rabbit taste good. Rabbit like living. If the rabbit caught for food, is it good or bad?”

The orcess pondered. It was this insight so few ever saw from Grubnar. They lost it in his simple ways, simple life and simple speech. Under all that was a mind that watched everything, and thought about it for a long, long time.

“I see your point. Though, I fear I will be causing you more troubles then.”

“Grubnar protect Priestess and Pup. Grubnar happy.”

“I want to bring people around me that make me feel as I do around you, Grubnar. Respected, precious, protected. I want to never be lonely, and never give up power for the illusion of safety.”

“Priestess find the right path?”

“Perhaps. Walk with me Grubnar. I do not know about Wirg, but I mean to take our tribe to the underdark.”

It was not a sight many non-orcs would have relished. Kaltyra stood naked in the wilds. Beside her, her son Kho’Gnok busied himself trying to ineffectually grab and kill anything that moved. The mother-bear Kile watched on with the same somberness as her companion.

“Grumbar, I have broken my word and become like water to your laws. I spoke when promised silence, spoke to save my own life, my own face. I have broken my word and submit myself to your judgement.”

The scars of a hard life were obvious as they were on any orc that had survived into adulthood. Some were old, faded marks from youthful scuffles. Most prominently she wore three bite marks, each overlapping along her neck, as signs of her three now failed attempts to breed and be a normal orcess. Some of her random wounds were quite fresh, but did not mar a figure rounded out from a year of hearty eating.

She eyed a place in the undergrowth where nothing grew, where a few traces of bones marked the great contradiction that was earth and water. Proof broken oaths were a danger. She took a breath...




..and plunged into the quicksand.

..........

They cornered her as the drow watched. Three humans in the tunnels far below where they belonged. One wore a disturbingly lustful smile, the other two the smile a thug wears in knowing he has power over his prey. Kaltyra tried to be strong. Tried to remain calm and collected. She knew these three. One had already beaten her in single combat. ... and now there were three.

“What brings you down here?” Asked Arakes.

“I think she lives down here, brother.” Noted Victor with a small smile.

“That’s most unfortunate that you’ve seen us.”

“Most unfortunate indeed. We can’t have people blabbing about our business here.” Agreed Victor.

Kaltyra glanced past their shoulders, but the drow watching were weak, and few if any wished to help.

“You guys ruin all my fun” Whined the third, lusty male. “This is the third relationship -today- you’ve ruined!”

Normally Kaltyra would have had a snappy come back but she was too focused on the menace in the other pair’s posture. “I am not a threat.” Her common falling to an older comprehension, what she could remember of common at a time like this. “I only care about what benefits or profits me.”

“Oh? How so?” Victor made a subtle motion, staying Arake’s hand from his weapon.

“I’m for hire.” She ventured

“How... interesting...”

............

“We know who sent Marjolaine into a death-sleep along with Randall. Witnesses say the Gatson brothers were to blame.” Tomar was droning on to an irrate Sir Roknaron.

“And this is why we write reports, Tomar” He berated “So these things do not ‘surprise’ me as I’m walking along.”

“Shall I continue sir?” Tomar asked.

Jonas let out a sigh and nodded.

Kaltyra did not hear the rest. She was standing to the side, her mind racing, heart sinking. She was in league with people, in silence for people who were attacking her friends.

“Kal, help us track them down.” Charraj, this time, nudging her out of her stricken daze.

“I... I can’t.”

“You can’t... or you won’t?” Charraj’s eyes narrowed at the orc.

“I can’t.. I’m.. I’m under their employ.” Kaltyra’s face was a mask of agony and frustration.

“You’re WHAT?!?” Charraj turned on the flinching orc, already guilt ridden from her part in this. “Kaltyra, these are oath-breakers! You owe them –nothing-!”

“You don’t understand! It is not so simple as just breaking an oath just because their morality is shotty. I can’t help.. Not until I return the money to them.”

Charraj glared at Kal and as another came forward, began to implicate her as refusing to help. The orc grew angry. For how dare he judge her for her beliefs? How dare he tell others she had a contract with the Gatsons? Wasn’t she suffering enough?! She stormed away, marking this betrayal. “See if I ever tell you something in confidence again.” Her growl.

...........

“We need to talk.” She spoke to empty air, and the empty air responded.

“Yes, business matters to attend to, but somewhere discreet.”

She wove through the wilds, knowing it well enough to lead them to a place of solitude. It was the place she had learned how to master the art of skinshifting and it meant something to her. Arakes could have cared less as he dropped his invisibility and kept his rapier out.

“So then, what was it you wanted to say?”

She handed over the coin pouch with the two thousand gold in it. “You continue to have my silence on our first meeting, however I cannot remain under your employ any longer.”

“Any.. reason for this?”

Images of Randall sobbing, of him slowly dying alongside Marjolaine as the woman began to die from her coma flickered through her mind. The wrath of the Fist, the man-hunt. “Yes, but that is neither here nor there.”

“That’s a real shame.” Arakes shook his head, taking the coin without hesitation. “anything else you’d like to speak?”

Kaltyra tilted her head. “I just wish to know we are even, no ill will.”

“Certainly not. Very even. Though I do have one question for you.” Arakes eyed Kaltyra appraisingly. “Just what did you do to tick off those two drow below?”

...........

Running. She was good at running. Running was what she was doing right now. Leaping over logs and brambles that would slow her predator down, kicking off the most stable of stones and bounding with the force of a hurricane’s gale. But Arakes had enhanced his speed as well and was hot on her trail. He ripped through the brambles and barreled past the rotting logs. Despite his lack of wilderness finesse, he was not far behind.

A great crowd of humans, dwarves and elves were hunting in the woods. She ran through them, but they ignored her, not shouting out to stop or help. Faster... Faster... She had to find help.

She had meant to run for Candlekeep, but in her blinded panic, had gone for the main Trade Way instead. Arakes was blocking her attempt to turn, so she pressed on, doggedly. Whose luck would run out first? Whose magic would give out first?

.........

“If you were still under our employ well, it might’ve gone differently, but...” Arakes had tossed up the bag and caught it with a jingle and a smirk. “We’ve already been paid in advance to... “He paused, letting the moment linger as he flipped through a book. “Ah yes.. to remove your tongue.”

He wove a spell of speed around him and Kaltyra wove one around herself, eyes widening.

“Sorry, lass.”

He charged. For the first time in months, Kaltyra ran from the fight.

............

She turned past the fire, seeing the looming fortress that marked Friendly Arms Inn. Desperate, she was willing to go anywhere a couple of bleeding heart humans might be. And that was when she saw them, like an answer to her silent prayers, a whole contingent of knights, paladins and Fist. And at the core, like Mercy himself, the glowing halo of Meri.

Kaltyra rejoiced, hurrying into the crowd, shouting for help. Arakes caught up with her and she turned, managing to block and counter attack his charge. The Holy Ones surrounded the pair.

“Help Help! Please!” Kaltyra cried.

“Stop her! This orc is attacking me!” Arakes barked indignantly.

It was not entirely in her favor, the humans and she had a tenuous relationship, despite her early efforts, but Arakes was a known criminal which helped balance things. It was still –balanced- though. The group refusing to take either side and torn between an orc that visited the underdark and a thief, liar and murderer. Ah that lovely race thing again. Damnable .. Lovable humans. She needed them. She needed their support. Desperately Kaltyra tried to think of something to prove herself.

“The book! He had a book he referenced to remember what he was hired to do!”

It was the two Gatsons (for another had joined Arakes) refusal to allow a search that earned them their deaths. But the delay had been long enough. Wherever the proof was, it was gone now. Sir Roknaron, who had spoken on her behalf to keep a Fist from attacking her, turned to glare at Kaltyra. As far as he was concerned, she had lied to him to get him to harm two innocent people.

The Fist was having no more of it though. He marched to Kaltyra’s face, his second rounding to keep her from running. She was deadly with a bow, but Kaltyra wouldn’t run anyhow. She couldn’t let the Gatsons reinforce that she had lied.

“You’ve better have a good reason why this man attacked you orc. Sir Jonas put himself out on the line for you and there’s no damned book.”

Kaltyra’s ears flattened. She knew what to say, but also that she had promised. “I swore silence...”

“Speak damn orc or I’ll have your head.”

“Hey, what’s wrong, you look sick.” Asked the archer from behind.

Kaltyra was gripping her holy rock, the only piece of her homeland she had, and praying for guidance from Grumbar. But she was a druid and not a priest and as such had no real direct guidance from her patron deity. All she could hear was her guilt and panic and anger at once AGAIN being out maneuvered.

“You’ve got three seconds...” The Fist snarled.

“They found me in the underdark and swore me to silence, a silence I promised as servant of the Oathwitness... A promise I am breaking by telling you.” The Fist said something but Kaltyra pressed on, trying to get the full truth out, unable to stop it now. “I angered some Drow below and Arakes and his brothers took the job of taking my tongue for them who were too weak to steal it themselves.”

“I said -GET- ORC!” The Fist bellowed Kaltyra out of her dazed confession. She blinked, took several steps backwards, looked to Jonas who wore a look of deep resentment, and then back to the red-faced Fist before her.

He fingered his weapon, so she ran.

...........


Kaltyra opened her eyes.

She had not been sucked under. She was not sinking any longer.

The thick deceptive pit was still deeper than this, she could not feel solid ground under her feet, but it only went up to her chest.

She blinked and tried to think on what this meant.

The Gatsons has broken the arrangement long before she had resigned. They had already accepted payment to hunt her and harvest her like an animal while she was under their employ. Did she really think her oath remained bound, when it had been broken weeks before? The slow epiphany dawned on her like the sun – brilliant and painful.

In the distance there was a scream of something small and furry as Kho’Gnok bit it’s head off.

Kile, however, remained nearby. She was watching Kaltyra as the orc began to struggle. “I... I think I understand.” She said to the bear who had always known the truth before Kaltyra anyhow. The bear gave an expression of ‘duuuhhhh’.

“I.. could use a little.. help out...”

Kile snorted and rose. And then, like the cheeky bear she was, Kile left to go see what Kho’Gnok was up to.

“H.. Hey! I said I understand! A little help here?!”

Long silence.

“Kile... this isn’t funny...”

The bear made a noise in the distance as if to disagree. A half-laugh, half bark.

“Stupid bear...”

So it was that Kaltyra eventually wriggled and writhed her -own- way out of the quicksand. Covered in muck, naked in the middle of nowhere, she passed out from the exhaustion.





When she awoke, she was renewed.

// Returning after a long sabbatical///

The upper dark doesn't get many dragons.

That is what I first think on seeing the young bronze when she arrives curious and bold and frightened of her own bravado's path. She reminds me much of what I once was. Determined to forge ahead – terrified of what the future holds.

Maybe now I understand how Kile, the mother of a young cub, felt when she found me. I think I would like to return the favor somehow for without Kile, I and my children would be long dead.

Some druids are strong enough in the Ways to bond with dragons they way I have with Kile. Some are so in tune they can take on the shape of a dragon even! I am not much for flying, for I prefer the world of steady rock. However, I do sometimes wish I could try on that skin, just for a time.

Perhaps it was just not meant to be, I and dragons. After all, orcs are far more bent towards serving the chromatics. That is certainly not for me – I have no interest in sacrificing my young to one of them.

I was honored to be able to guide the young dragon on her way. I can only hope she remains safe long enough to breed more of her kind. Too many have been slaughtered in this region.

I think it is the mother in me, much as it is the mother in Kile, that makes me so protective. Fiercely so. I think I will continue to protect.

Strange.

It was strange that she still came to the beach where The Beast had once lived. Orcheart, she had called him. The gray orc lay in the sand, staring up at an unyeilding night sky of black. It might rain soon, but not yet.

Incense still wafted in the air from her ritual. She had hoped this time the elements might give her some feeling or sign but still there was nothing but silence. So then, it was true, the staff was not druidic.

She held it up, touched the grooves that begged for it's missing pieces. It felt so much like the last little adventure she'd taken. She'd worked hard to protect and guide the young bronze dragon, but well… could she really be surprised it had taken her advice, but chosen humans for guardians?

And now, of course, this staff. She'd thought at first the strange supernatural man with silver teeth and a propensity for dramatic magics had given it to her for more a reason than, well, that he didn't want it. Hadn't he saved her for some reason? Hadn't, as Lilah argued, the staff chosen her somehow?

Kaltyra shook her head at the thought and shifted her arms to prop up her head. In the distance thunder rumbled.

Candlekeep was a pack rat of artifacts, they would never simply give her the pieces she sought. Nor would they sell them to her. The Guide had been generous in offering her a pass into the Keep, one she was not yet ready to try using. But it still did not answer the question of ownership.

When the staff was finally fused, whose was it?

Kaltyra's gut reaction was to assume Candlekeep would simply shove her out the door and be far to busy studying the thing to ever repay or thank her for it or, Grumbar forbid, give it back to her. The humans would run roughshod over the gray orc because, well, it's a gray orc. Sure they had said if it was alive they'd let it pick it's owner, but what if it wasn't?

She sighed as the first raindrops began to fall.

She would just have to try and trust them for now. It wasn't as if she could do anything else.

She wasn't exactly friends with any of them. Even the Fist she'd rescued had barely seen her - too dazed by the fae-charms to have remembered the rescue or the oath she'd paid to bring them back to their Human forms.

Sometimes Kaltyra would try to chat with her escort as they moved through the city. Sometimes she offered to buy them a drink or some sort of street fare. To say it had mixed results would be an understatement, but the druid was good at listening and adept at knowing when to simply shut up and hurry her errands along.

Kaltyra hadn't much used her new found pass; the writ sealed by Duke Silvershield and Eltan that awarded her entry into Balder's Gate. She'd gone this long without having to go into the city for much besides the occasional blanket or baked good. She also, frankly, didn't care for it. It was busy and stank of humans. It was built atop tunnels filled with their own refuse and stagnating garbage - much of which also littered the streets themselves. But... all the same, it was important she visit, to use her pass, to be seen in the city. It was important she take the risk of drawn swords and screams so that they got used to her... at least a little.

In that, Kaltyra was grateful for the Fist escort. He was as much a protection against her as for her. She suspected some of her drinks got poisoned, a taste she'd picked up from Orcheart, but poison didn't bother her. Maybe this would give the gray orcs a bit of mystery, - were they all so resilient? She couldn't help but think of that with pride.

Her race was beautiful in it's survival, in it's honor and it's long mighty history. It had taken a long time for her to reconcile with the fact she no longer belonged with them. She probably should have known when she'd killed her mate and left or when she chafed against her role as a mate to others later. Kaltyra would never fit as the proper obedient female again. She'd tasted the freedom of for once not being just a throw-away runt. She couldn't go back.



Ah, but I apologise, for this story has digressed! See that she has reached the Duchal Palace? The Fist escort rolls his eyes and laughs. "You think you're getting in there?" In her hands she clutches the Dukes' writ like a shield before her. Her ears are flattened in fear as she looks over the teams of guards she will have to pass. She is as neatly cleaned up as she knows how to be: a simple brown cloth tunic with her hair braided in the style usually reserved for war-time. She still wears her survival pack and stands out like a big green sore thumb against the brightly dressed men and women.

She is late for the Gala.

Very late, in fact, because it took so long to get through all the extra security. However, finally, she is here, one doorway away from the swirling dancing masses. And there, she is turned away. "Sorry, you're not getting in here. Go home." The final guards say after some quiet debate.

"Oh dear me, what is all this about then?" A woman in delicate purple gown detaches from the dance floor to swoop in gracefully besides the guardsmen.

"Nothing, the orc won't disturb you miss."

"On the contrary!" She purrs "I would very much like her to attend. If there is a problem, how about I pay double her usual donation for this event mm?"

"Double..." The two guards look to each other dubiously as Kal tilts her head. Was someone honestly trying to bribe the Fist?

"Alright then, but we're watching you." The Fist take Narasida's coin as the orcess moves through with a respectful bow.

"Miss Narasida.. thank you!"
"Yes yes, I would love to stay and chat, but I just left a delightful dance partner and I simply must get back with him."
"Ah well of course I would not wish to impede."

Those sorts of things happened more often now, Kaltyra thought, even as she met with other guests, smiling and speaking with those she knew. Even after someone attempted to kill some Doron Amar councilor, she wasn't thrown out or even accused. She was asked to dance, though she danced only the tribal way. It had been a good day. Very good.

Her wish of thanking the Dukes in person had not worked, she had choked on her own nervousness, but it had been a very good day.

Leaving the after-party backstage of the White Mask Theatre, Kaltyra marveled at the strange sensation of being accepted, albeit warily, with an escort, and with great reluctance. She had much work ahead of her, but she suspected the Saint would be very pleased.

Perhaps, soon, she could bring her children back. Perhaps she could earn some ties with people of power so that she could speak on behalf of the grays. Perhaps she could become well known by more than those that traveled out into the wilds where she roamed.

That thought gave her a worried pause.

Was she becoming like Arkaine Half-Orken? Was she becoming a pet for the humans? Kaltyra looked down at her attire, touched her hair and frowned. Krasc's accusations stung in her ears. Had she forgotten how to be an orc?

She did not have an answer to the question.

It haunted her into a sleepless night.

“He watches us. The clouds are as desolate as the wastelands. He sees it all. They are rats, small things. Unworthy of life.”

Life had become good in these lands. Ever since the Duke’s writ, I have found greater peace here than in all of my life. It has not been without a few close calls, a few assaults, a few insults. It is not by any stretch perfect, but compared to my childhood or young adult life of war, starvation and disease my life has become good.

I wanted to share it with others. I see every vagrant orc in these lands as a miniature of myself. Some more or less desperate, but all with a tiny reminder of myself when I arrived here – starving, frightened and outnumbered.

I had murdered the chieftain’s son, my husband. The runt turned warrior had beaten me and I, too weak to win a straight fight, had clamped my teeth into his throat as he slept and held on tightly as he struggled and pounded on me – until his lifeblood stopped pouring down my tongue.

Coward. I am… no… I –was- a coward.

Now, I do not know. I thought I was brave and secure, but last night? I was suddenly thrown back into fears I had not known for years.

His name is Krumarth. He, like me, had been the lowest of the low in his tribe – all mind and no muscle. He had a love of alchemy and magic, not something many tribes would quickly appreciate. He had almost died… and then he had come here.

We had found him, Grubnar and I, and did our best to help him become stronger and more confident in these lands. It seemed he was going to join us as a third, a true companion. But then things began to change.

I blamed the negative energy I saw in his veins. No magic user, I only could guess what the smell of undeath upon him meant. My letter to Charraj had only told me to get away from Krumarth – that he was likely a necromancer or cursed… or both. But I had seen the healing magic push back the veins and had thought to cure him on my own.

Ilktlktk… when will I learn?

He came to me the next day ranting like a lunatic. It was then I decided to no longer wait until I could find someone to help him. I would not forgive myself if he was taken over by some dark spirit and I did nothing to stop it. I actually had to order him to lie down for the healing ritual. He had stopped acting as a companion and more as a stranger.

He pleaded with me to stop, told me of his vision – of how Gruumsh had brought him to the wasteland where he had seen what orc magic could do upon mere men. Where Gruumsh Himself had declared Krumarth not to be weak, but to be strong in ways others did not understand. He commanded Krumarth to kill all the other races and then smiled darkly before the vision had passed.

At this I hesitated.

I do not follow Gruumsh, as you well know, but he was the god of my tribes and I hold a respect for him as such. If this was a true divine calling, what right had I to blaspheme that? But if this was some illusion sent by a dark spirit, how could I allow it to lie to us both and destroy Krumarth?

I was back in one blinding moment to the night I hovered over my husband, my mate, and debated whether to kill him. The night I had turned my back upon orc-kind, The night I could never make disappear.

/// To be continued ///