Wurlan Oathchanter
Posted: Mon May 04, 2015 10:26 pm
First Name: Wurlan
Last Name: Oathchanter
Appearance:
Race: Shield Dwarf
Age: 54
Height: 5’
Weight: 200
Eyes: Shale Grey
Hair: Coal Black
Facial Hair Style: An immaculate Braided Beard
Born: 1297 DR, Year of the Singing Skull in Midwinter (30th Hammer)
In Citadel Adbarr, Silver Marches.
Personality Profile:
General Health: Good Health
Deity: Haela BrightAxe (The Luckmaiden, Lady of the Fray)
Initial Alignment: Nuetral Good
Profession: Dwarven Chanter, Bard, Story Teller, Soldier, Minstrel
Base Class & Proposed Development: Fighter/Bard
Habits/Hobbies: Torsting, Researching dwarven histories and stories of Delzoun
Languages: Dwarvish, Orcish
Weapon of Choice: Warhammer, Throwing Axe
Background:
It was a cool overcast night, causing the thick clouds to march across the darkening sky. A slight breeze out of the northwest would pick up and move leaves across the dusty road. The moon would appear for brief moments lighting the ground along the Trade Way route. In one of the moons appearances a lone figure could be seen walking south along the Trade Way towards the Friendly Arm Inn. He appeared to be a dwarf standing roughly five feet in height with a barrel thick chest and heavily muscle corded arms. His armor was no plain affair, but an exquisite work of art, a dark breastplate backed with fine link mail. He wore an ornate heavy helm bearing copper and gold engraving and carried a large shield. His shield was embossed and engraved depicting a battlefield upon which dwarves were besting orc encroachers. The bent neck and tuning pegs of a bowled lute could be seen strapped to his back. The lute appeared to be a fine and rare musical instrument made of Ironwood and other rare hardwoods. A well-used and oiled Warhammer hung from his wide leather belt.
As the figure trudged along the Tradeway, he stopped and took of his helmet releasing his hair from its confines. His coal black hair and immaculately trimmed and braided beard framed a careworn weathered face. His slate grey eyes peered ahead into the darkness towards a dim light further up along the road, perhaps the telltale signs of a campfire.
As the dwarf approached the campfire he could see it wasn’t far from the main gate leading into the Friendly Arm Inn. He observed a half dozen people sitting on logs, benches and/or the ground around the campfire. A few were having quite conversation but many sat hunched in their cloaks deep in thought. As he approached within the radiant light given off by the fire, he called out asking permission to join them. A large man, possibly a barbarian from the far north, nodded and moved over on the log near the fire to make room.
As the dwarf approached the log, he flourished his dark cloak whipping it off his shoulders in a flamboyant move causing it to flutter perfectly over the edge of the log. This brought the attention of several of the bystanders and as he removed his lute and laid it carefully on his cloak to lean against the log, he noticed several nod towards him. He sat and looked expectantly around the circle of onlookers surrounding the fire. Finally a Halfling lad of probably 24 winter piped up, “Howdie, are you new around here?”
The dwarf promptly introduced himself in a deep baritone rich voice, “Ahh that is a fine question of one so young, and the answer is yes I am new to these lands. The name is Wurlan, Wurlan Oathchanter, a teller of stories, deeds and legends, a singer of songs and a chanter of dwarven mysteries.” As the dwarf finished he swept off his helmet in a flamboyant way bowing lavishly to the onlookers. The Halfling lad clapped excitedly and then said, “You sure talk funny for a dwarf. I am not use to that. You definitely aren’t from around here.” Wurlan looked at the Halfling and laughed as he said, “Well laddie, ye be seein as’a teller o’ da long yarns ye ‘ave ta talk to yer patrons. Dwarf I be is true but som’o dees topdwellers dat nae frum da lands o’me kin no un’rstand tha way we talk.” Then he continued, “So it is best I speak in high common then the slang of my brethren.” The Halfling laughed and several other onlookers nodded there thanks.
Then the Halfling asked if he could play the lute and tell a story. Wurlan looked around at the many faces surrounding the fire and got assent from each before beginning. He leaned down and picked up the lute and played a simple quiet melody to set the mood. He began to speak accompanied by the soft music and the occasion hiss and pop of burning embers in the fire.
"Tweaking Gorlog's Cherries"
“The lands of Toril consist of many peoples and imaginary borders. These borders demarcate differentiating beliefs and ideology. Wars, religion, love and marriages quite often cause these borders to move. Living within these borders people are often led by others in what to believe or do. Social constraints make them fly the straight and narrow. Of course there are those that fight against the system or are downright evil. Orcs, trolls, some dragons, giants and brigands just to name a few.
But what you topdwellers forget is that deep beneath your feet sometimes many miles down are entire realms of people also in a constant flux with shifting boundary’s demarcating their beliefs, wants and/or desires. There are vast cavern complexes with mighty holds consisting of Illithid masters with slave markets and derro guards, drow elf kingdoms with their noble evil houses, Duergar kingdoms with goblin slave armies, vast Myconid villages with their king and there are even kingdoms were mindless slaves are controlled mentally by Aboleth masters from their watery nests. Thousands of miles of caverns drenched in complete darkness tie these realms together in vast networks always competing against each other.
Many of these cavern complexes eventually lead to “The Great Trade Route” deep in the underdark. These trade route link major hubs of trade on the surface most of which are controlled by the Shield Dwarves of the north all the way back to the time of Delzoun. Citadel Adbar far to the north east in the Ice Mountains of Siler Marches, Mirabar, Sundabar and even Citadel Felbarr are all linked along this vast underdark trade route. Citadel Felbarr lays not far off from Adbarr in the Rauvin Mountains. Many of these caverns have strange lichens and mosses that give off a faint glow lighting the ground in an eerie pale green making visibility capable but a strain to the eyes to be sure.
The Trade Route themselves are massive caverns that change in size depending on the geography and nature of the stone they go through. Sometimes the trade route is small barely 50 yards across and 20 yards high but as you walk along it, it opens up into a giant cavern where the ceiling is lost to eyesight. The vary width is sometimes as great as three or four miles across like the fabled “Myconid Mushroom Forest” were the forlorn Myconid King rules. The trade route actually weaves through this forest and a treaty between dwarf and Myconids allow trade to cross.
Or the treacherous “Slate Plains” a vast 5 mile long 3 mile wide cavern were slate chunks fall from the ceiling to the ground, sometimes these chunks are as big as houses. The trade route serpentines itself around the longer chunks weaving slowly through the Slate Plains. Orc and goblin bands often raid along the route in this area.
Then there is the “Echoing Span”, a great rent in the earth that some say is bottomless. It is almost a half mile across where the Trade Route crosses. An ancient dwarven mithril bridge spans its deadly heights suspended by the very air. A mystery left over from the days of Delzoun.
Or the cavern known as the “Diamond Dome” which is literally a two mile wide geode split in half. The walls are covered in giant crystals and a mighty Dumathoin Temple called “The Spires of the Talhund” stands in the very center. The trade route even weaves along the edge of their sacred space.
I speak of these places to give you an idea of the vastness of all that lay below your very feet. Now the Great Trade Route where it connects Citadel Adbarr to Citadel Felbarr became a great area of contention. Mainly because in the Year of Tolling Terrors, a vast Orc Army led by King Obould Many Arrows attacked and laid siege to Citadel Felbarr. Citadel Felbarr eventually fell and the dwarves there fled to join with Citadel Adbarr. I might also add that my ancestors were among those that fled the destruction. Now a vast Orc Army had access to the Great Trade Route.
A mighty fortress called “Darthon’s Gates” is situated along the Great Trade Route almost halfway between Citadel Adbarr and Felbarr. This fortress is literally several walls blocking off the cavern completely one behind the other with several floors consisting of offices, forges, barracks, a feast hall, marshalling grounds and all the comforts of home between those mightily thick walks. The Great Trade Route literally runs right through the center of the fortress and four giant portcullises are spaced along the route through the fortress. The walls sealing off the trade route are filled with murder holes for arrows and boiling oil and secret doors where dwarven warriors can pour out of within a moment’s notice to bring destruction upon their enemies. Each end of the fortress has a large walk way and lookout posts 100’ high. Here valiant Dwarven Militiamen keep watch for all threats.
At this point in his story he clears his throat and unhooks a large mithril tankard from his belt. The tankard is heavily engraved with scenes depicting dwarves in a drunken tavern room brawl. Several jewels inset on the mug glint in the campfire light. After placing it casually on the ground he stops for a moment to clear his throat again. It was then, that a lovely female half elven archer with bouncy red tresses quickly rose and pulled out her wine skin. She stepped forward and filled the mug to the brim saying, “Wurlan you must be parched, please drink, rest for a second and carry on.” Wurlan smiled at the pretty lass and lifted the tankard draining it slowly in several gulps. As he upended the tankard he held it out again to the lass with a smile and a leering wink. Her laughter was like water babbling across a brook and refreshing in itself. Once his mug was topped off again, He placed it on the ground and began anew.
“During this time a shield dwarf named Lord Captain Radfar DeepHelm was the supreme commander of Darthon’s Gate and he was charged with insuring the Great Trade Route is a safe route for trade and travel from Citadel Adbarr to the Gates. Luckily beyond the gates lead mainly to Citadel Felbarr, which was now renamed by the Orcs as the “Citadel of Many Arrows”. So he was also mandated to stop the Orcs from gaining any further advance along the Trade Route. Now between Darthon’s Gate and Citadel Adbarr the Great Trade Route splits heading towards distant Mirabar and regions beyond.
It was on this stretch that several brigand raids were occurring. All reports sent to the Lord Captain made him believe it was only a small force of Orcs being led by a vicious Half Orc called “Gorlog”. It seemed they only attacked the smaller trade caravans. Trade between Mirabar and beyond consisted of vegetables, fruits, trade bars, iron goods and often times dwarven crafted weapons. Though the weapons and trade bars often had larger heavily guarded caravans protecting those goods.
He summoned Sergeant Mongo IronHand, of the local Battlerager Brigade. Now Mongo was a crazy shrewd warrior and could often be seen diving headlong into the fray running behind his throwing hammers hewing left and right with his greataxe “Kneecapper”. The Lord Captain felt sure that if he sent Mongo with a handpicked crew of twenty stout dwarven warriors they could follow the next small caravan and put a stop to the raids. Mongo was only too happy to agree.
Their chance came 10 hours later when a small caravan of four wagons approached the crossroads leading towards Mirabar. Each wagon consisted of a driver and a Caravan Guard riding on the buck board. The wagons were being pulled by Deep Rothe and every guard carried a heavy crossbow ready to defend their goods. The caravan consisted mostly of iron forged farming implements, barrels of Adbarrian Ale, Rothe hides, and ice peppers which are grown in the valley below Citadel Adbarr.
Mongo met with the Caravan Master and explained what was happening. He told them they would trail behind them just out of eyesight and when the brigands attacked they would swoop in and intercept them. He told the Caravan Master that when they were fully engaged to ride off as quickly as possible to get out of harm’s way.
So for the following day they marched quietly behind the caravan being as quiet as possible and trying their best to stay just out of visible range. It was twelve hours later when the attack came. Mongo’s Patrol heard shouts and screams from the caravan ahead. They ran to attempt intercept the brigands. As they rounded the small bend in the Trade Route they saw a dozen Orcs firing arrows at the caravan. One driver had already fallen but the guard had taken the reins and they were trying to push on past the attackers. Fully half the Orcs had their backs to Mongo’s Patrol when they came into view. That was when Mongo spotted the huge towering figure of Gorlog.
Gorlog stood an easy 7 feet in height and was solid wall of muscle wearing rusted banded mail armor and wielding a two handed falchion. He wore an open visor spiked helmet and was shouting orders to his companions to cut off the fleeing caravan. Mongo immediately roared a battle cry, “Ruargh Ar’Dun!” Which of course means “Death from Below!” in dwarvish. He threw a throwing hammer which spun through the air and struck Gorlog square in the back. The blow staggered Gorlog but did not drop him. Gorlog turned and saw the dwarves bearing down on his small force and called a retreat.
The Orcs immediately ran away from Mongo’s Patrol heading for the cavern walls and disappeared around a large boulder leaning again the cave wall with Mongo’s Patrol hard on their heels. The caravan quickly rode out of sight continuing on their journey. Hidden directly behind the boulder was a cave entrance to a smaller tunnel that two dwarves were easily able to take abreast. Mongo’s Patrol charged down the tunnel with reckless abandoned in an attempt to catch the fleeing orcs.
After about 200 yards the small tunnel opened up into a large cavern which was dimly lit from the strange lichens and fungus that covered the walls. Mongo’s party stopped as they saw several crates, barrels and other merchandise the orc brigands had stolen on their various raids along the Trade Route. They also saw Gorlog standing no 30 yards away facing them in the center of the cavern. Behind am standing all along the walls with weapons drawn were no less than a hundred Orcs and Goblins.
Mongo knew at that moment they were severely outnumbered and a battle could quickly go wrong. Gorlag looked at the small patrol of dwarves and laughed. "Gorlog have an army stupid dwarf? Gorlog feast well tonight fool.” But before he could say anything else Mongo challenged him, “You be leaden this band o’fleabitten curs Gorlog? An ye be callin yerself a leader. Insted o’ ya mates fallin upon us wit blades prove ta dem dat you be worthy Dog! I be challengin yer arse ta single combat!
Last Name: Oathchanter
Appearance:
Race: Shield Dwarf
Age: 54
Height: 5’
Weight: 200
Eyes: Shale Grey
Hair: Coal Black
Facial Hair Style: An immaculate Braided Beard
Born: 1297 DR, Year of the Singing Skull in Midwinter (30th Hammer)
In Citadel Adbarr, Silver Marches.
Personality Profile:
General Health: Good Health
Deity: Haela BrightAxe (The Luckmaiden, Lady of the Fray)
Initial Alignment: Nuetral Good
Profession: Dwarven Chanter, Bard, Story Teller, Soldier, Minstrel
Base Class & Proposed Development: Fighter/Bard
Habits/Hobbies: Torsting, Researching dwarven histories and stories of Delzoun
Languages: Dwarvish, Orcish
Weapon of Choice: Warhammer, Throwing Axe
Background:
It was a cool overcast night, causing the thick clouds to march across the darkening sky. A slight breeze out of the northwest would pick up and move leaves across the dusty road. The moon would appear for brief moments lighting the ground along the Trade Way route. In one of the moons appearances a lone figure could be seen walking south along the Trade Way towards the Friendly Arm Inn. He appeared to be a dwarf standing roughly five feet in height with a barrel thick chest and heavily muscle corded arms. His armor was no plain affair, but an exquisite work of art, a dark breastplate backed with fine link mail. He wore an ornate heavy helm bearing copper and gold engraving and carried a large shield. His shield was embossed and engraved depicting a battlefield upon which dwarves were besting orc encroachers. The bent neck and tuning pegs of a bowled lute could be seen strapped to his back. The lute appeared to be a fine and rare musical instrument made of Ironwood and other rare hardwoods. A well-used and oiled Warhammer hung from his wide leather belt.
As the figure trudged along the Tradeway, he stopped and took of his helmet releasing his hair from its confines. His coal black hair and immaculately trimmed and braided beard framed a careworn weathered face. His slate grey eyes peered ahead into the darkness towards a dim light further up along the road, perhaps the telltale signs of a campfire.
As the dwarf approached the campfire he could see it wasn’t far from the main gate leading into the Friendly Arm Inn. He observed a half dozen people sitting on logs, benches and/or the ground around the campfire. A few were having quite conversation but many sat hunched in their cloaks deep in thought. As he approached within the radiant light given off by the fire, he called out asking permission to join them. A large man, possibly a barbarian from the far north, nodded and moved over on the log near the fire to make room.
As the dwarf approached the log, he flourished his dark cloak whipping it off his shoulders in a flamboyant move causing it to flutter perfectly over the edge of the log. This brought the attention of several of the bystanders and as he removed his lute and laid it carefully on his cloak to lean against the log, he noticed several nod towards him. He sat and looked expectantly around the circle of onlookers surrounding the fire. Finally a Halfling lad of probably 24 winter piped up, “Howdie, are you new around here?”
The dwarf promptly introduced himself in a deep baritone rich voice, “Ahh that is a fine question of one so young, and the answer is yes I am new to these lands. The name is Wurlan, Wurlan Oathchanter, a teller of stories, deeds and legends, a singer of songs and a chanter of dwarven mysteries.” As the dwarf finished he swept off his helmet in a flamboyant way bowing lavishly to the onlookers. The Halfling lad clapped excitedly and then said, “You sure talk funny for a dwarf. I am not use to that. You definitely aren’t from around here.” Wurlan looked at the Halfling and laughed as he said, “Well laddie, ye be seein as’a teller o’ da long yarns ye ‘ave ta talk to yer patrons. Dwarf I be is true but som’o dees topdwellers dat nae frum da lands o’me kin no un’rstand tha way we talk.” Then he continued, “So it is best I speak in high common then the slang of my brethren.” The Halfling laughed and several other onlookers nodded there thanks.
Then the Halfling asked if he could play the lute and tell a story. Wurlan looked around at the many faces surrounding the fire and got assent from each before beginning. He leaned down and picked up the lute and played a simple quiet melody to set the mood. He began to speak accompanied by the soft music and the occasion hiss and pop of burning embers in the fire.
"Tweaking Gorlog's Cherries"
“The lands of Toril consist of many peoples and imaginary borders. These borders demarcate differentiating beliefs and ideology. Wars, religion, love and marriages quite often cause these borders to move. Living within these borders people are often led by others in what to believe or do. Social constraints make them fly the straight and narrow. Of course there are those that fight against the system or are downright evil. Orcs, trolls, some dragons, giants and brigands just to name a few.
But what you topdwellers forget is that deep beneath your feet sometimes many miles down are entire realms of people also in a constant flux with shifting boundary’s demarcating their beliefs, wants and/or desires. There are vast cavern complexes with mighty holds consisting of Illithid masters with slave markets and derro guards, drow elf kingdoms with their noble evil houses, Duergar kingdoms with goblin slave armies, vast Myconid villages with their king and there are even kingdoms were mindless slaves are controlled mentally by Aboleth masters from their watery nests. Thousands of miles of caverns drenched in complete darkness tie these realms together in vast networks always competing against each other.
Many of these cavern complexes eventually lead to “The Great Trade Route” deep in the underdark. These trade route link major hubs of trade on the surface most of which are controlled by the Shield Dwarves of the north all the way back to the time of Delzoun. Citadel Adbar far to the north east in the Ice Mountains of Siler Marches, Mirabar, Sundabar and even Citadel Felbarr are all linked along this vast underdark trade route. Citadel Felbarr lays not far off from Adbarr in the Rauvin Mountains. Many of these caverns have strange lichens and mosses that give off a faint glow lighting the ground in an eerie pale green making visibility capable but a strain to the eyes to be sure.
The Trade Route themselves are massive caverns that change in size depending on the geography and nature of the stone they go through. Sometimes the trade route is small barely 50 yards across and 20 yards high but as you walk along it, it opens up into a giant cavern where the ceiling is lost to eyesight. The vary width is sometimes as great as three or four miles across like the fabled “Myconid Mushroom Forest” were the forlorn Myconid King rules. The trade route actually weaves through this forest and a treaty between dwarf and Myconids allow trade to cross.
Or the treacherous “Slate Plains” a vast 5 mile long 3 mile wide cavern were slate chunks fall from the ceiling to the ground, sometimes these chunks are as big as houses. The trade route serpentines itself around the longer chunks weaving slowly through the Slate Plains. Orc and goblin bands often raid along the route in this area.
Then there is the “Echoing Span”, a great rent in the earth that some say is bottomless. It is almost a half mile across where the Trade Route crosses. An ancient dwarven mithril bridge spans its deadly heights suspended by the very air. A mystery left over from the days of Delzoun.
Or the cavern known as the “Diamond Dome” which is literally a two mile wide geode split in half. The walls are covered in giant crystals and a mighty Dumathoin Temple called “The Spires of the Talhund” stands in the very center. The trade route even weaves along the edge of their sacred space.
I speak of these places to give you an idea of the vastness of all that lay below your very feet. Now the Great Trade Route where it connects Citadel Adbarr to Citadel Felbarr became a great area of contention. Mainly because in the Year of Tolling Terrors, a vast Orc Army led by King Obould Many Arrows attacked and laid siege to Citadel Felbarr. Citadel Felbarr eventually fell and the dwarves there fled to join with Citadel Adbarr. I might also add that my ancestors were among those that fled the destruction. Now a vast Orc Army had access to the Great Trade Route.
A mighty fortress called “Darthon’s Gates” is situated along the Great Trade Route almost halfway between Citadel Adbarr and Felbarr. This fortress is literally several walls blocking off the cavern completely one behind the other with several floors consisting of offices, forges, barracks, a feast hall, marshalling grounds and all the comforts of home between those mightily thick walks. The Great Trade Route literally runs right through the center of the fortress and four giant portcullises are spaced along the route through the fortress. The walls sealing off the trade route are filled with murder holes for arrows and boiling oil and secret doors where dwarven warriors can pour out of within a moment’s notice to bring destruction upon their enemies. Each end of the fortress has a large walk way and lookout posts 100’ high. Here valiant Dwarven Militiamen keep watch for all threats.
At this point in his story he clears his throat and unhooks a large mithril tankard from his belt. The tankard is heavily engraved with scenes depicting dwarves in a drunken tavern room brawl. Several jewels inset on the mug glint in the campfire light. After placing it casually on the ground he stops for a moment to clear his throat again. It was then, that a lovely female half elven archer with bouncy red tresses quickly rose and pulled out her wine skin. She stepped forward and filled the mug to the brim saying, “Wurlan you must be parched, please drink, rest for a second and carry on.” Wurlan smiled at the pretty lass and lifted the tankard draining it slowly in several gulps. As he upended the tankard he held it out again to the lass with a smile and a leering wink. Her laughter was like water babbling across a brook and refreshing in itself. Once his mug was topped off again, He placed it on the ground and began anew.
“During this time a shield dwarf named Lord Captain Radfar DeepHelm was the supreme commander of Darthon’s Gate and he was charged with insuring the Great Trade Route is a safe route for trade and travel from Citadel Adbarr to the Gates. Luckily beyond the gates lead mainly to Citadel Felbarr, which was now renamed by the Orcs as the “Citadel of Many Arrows”. So he was also mandated to stop the Orcs from gaining any further advance along the Trade Route. Now between Darthon’s Gate and Citadel Adbarr the Great Trade Route splits heading towards distant Mirabar and regions beyond.
It was on this stretch that several brigand raids were occurring. All reports sent to the Lord Captain made him believe it was only a small force of Orcs being led by a vicious Half Orc called “Gorlog”. It seemed they only attacked the smaller trade caravans. Trade between Mirabar and beyond consisted of vegetables, fruits, trade bars, iron goods and often times dwarven crafted weapons. Though the weapons and trade bars often had larger heavily guarded caravans protecting those goods.
He summoned Sergeant Mongo IronHand, of the local Battlerager Brigade. Now Mongo was a crazy shrewd warrior and could often be seen diving headlong into the fray running behind his throwing hammers hewing left and right with his greataxe “Kneecapper”. The Lord Captain felt sure that if he sent Mongo with a handpicked crew of twenty stout dwarven warriors they could follow the next small caravan and put a stop to the raids. Mongo was only too happy to agree.
Their chance came 10 hours later when a small caravan of four wagons approached the crossroads leading towards Mirabar. Each wagon consisted of a driver and a Caravan Guard riding on the buck board. The wagons were being pulled by Deep Rothe and every guard carried a heavy crossbow ready to defend their goods. The caravan consisted mostly of iron forged farming implements, barrels of Adbarrian Ale, Rothe hides, and ice peppers which are grown in the valley below Citadel Adbarr.
Mongo met with the Caravan Master and explained what was happening. He told them they would trail behind them just out of eyesight and when the brigands attacked they would swoop in and intercept them. He told the Caravan Master that when they were fully engaged to ride off as quickly as possible to get out of harm’s way.
So for the following day they marched quietly behind the caravan being as quiet as possible and trying their best to stay just out of visible range. It was twelve hours later when the attack came. Mongo’s Patrol heard shouts and screams from the caravan ahead. They ran to attempt intercept the brigands. As they rounded the small bend in the Trade Route they saw a dozen Orcs firing arrows at the caravan. One driver had already fallen but the guard had taken the reins and they were trying to push on past the attackers. Fully half the Orcs had their backs to Mongo’s Patrol when they came into view. That was when Mongo spotted the huge towering figure of Gorlog.
Gorlog stood an easy 7 feet in height and was solid wall of muscle wearing rusted banded mail armor and wielding a two handed falchion. He wore an open visor spiked helmet and was shouting orders to his companions to cut off the fleeing caravan. Mongo immediately roared a battle cry, “Ruargh Ar’Dun!” Which of course means “Death from Below!” in dwarvish. He threw a throwing hammer which spun through the air and struck Gorlog square in the back. The blow staggered Gorlog but did not drop him. Gorlog turned and saw the dwarves bearing down on his small force and called a retreat.
The Orcs immediately ran away from Mongo’s Patrol heading for the cavern walls and disappeared around a large boulder leaning again the cave wall with Mongo’s Patrol hard on their heels. The caravan quickly rode out of sight continuing on their journey. Hidden directly behind the boulder was a cave entrance to a smaller tunnel that two dwarves were easily able to take abreast. Mongo’s Patrol charged down the tunnel with reckless abandoned in an attempt to catch the fleeing orcs.
After about 200 yards the small tunnel opened up into a large cavern which was dimly lit from the strange lichens and fungus that covered the walls. Mongo’s party stopped as they saw several crates, barrels and other merchandise the orc brigands had stolen on their various raids along the Trade Route. They also saw Gorlog standing no 30 yards away facing them in the center of the cavern. Behind am standing all along the walls with weapons drawn were no less than a hundred Orcs and Goblins.
Mongo knew at that moment they were severely outnumbered and a battle could quickly go wrong. Gorlag looked at the small patrol of dwarves and laughed. "Gorlog have an army stupid dwarf? Gorlog feast well tonight fool.” But before he could say anything else Mongo challenged him, “You be leaden this band o’fleabitten curs Gorlog? An ye be callin yerself a leader. Insted o’ ya mates fallin upon us wit blades prove ta dem dat you be worthy Dog! I be challengin yer arse ta single combat!