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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 14, 2017 5:52:58 GMT
(image source)ETHENVELD CASTLE SOUTH OF PAKELLAN CENTRAL ARDELL
Once upon a time, not so long ago, Ethenveld had been one of the great castles of the Empire. When the Maphiri Dynasty was broken, Ethenveld's defenders fell victim to a curse of unknown origin, and abandoned the fortress in terror. An inauspicious place, Ethenveld.
But when you had a horde of orcs on your tail, you took shelter wherever and whenever the moment struck. And the moment definitely struck.
Miri's small party - a few men at arms, two maids - had scattered in the pursuit, or been run down. Others had been driven from villages or convoys, and now perhaps a hundred disparate souls had barricaded themselves inside Ethenveld's cold and filthy halls. The orcs were chopping at the doors, but those doors were steel-clad oak with a portcullis grate.
Maybe they would climb in. Maybe they would starve the survivors out. Either way, sooner or later, Miri was going to have to use the little knife she kept on a necklace-chain, or one of the rusty weapons left behind a decade past. She'd read a couple of books on tactics and siegecraft, but nothing of use was coming to mind, and her single bag's food stocks were already low.
Not the best situation for a princess. Not by a long shot.
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 14, 2017 6:42:08 GMT
A deep rumble emitted from the southern walls of the castle followed by brutish, orcish shouts. Taun-Lok, Priest-King of the Lost City of Gold had been called to this cursed place by his vision quest, for in all the prophecies of the Gods, the Last Priest-King would die before his own city walls therefore either he would not die, or he would not be the Last and his quest would be complete, his people would see another generation and the Gods' prophecy which foretold the doom of his people in his lifetime would be broken.
Someone had lured the Orcs to this place by accident, and now Taun-Lok was engaged with the scouts who skirted the walls looking for a way in not through the gate. This side of the wall was shallow, only about twice Taun-Lok's height were the dirt and grass had built up over centuries of runoff.
The massive reptillian's growls originated from deep in his chest as the Sun Mace of Totutl lashed out at the first Orc with a sickening crunch followed by a sucking sound as the creature tried to fill its lungs with air. One of the brutish warriors hacked at Taun-Lok's back, axe hitting armor and scales, chipping away at obsidian slabs and granite-like scale. With a grunt the crocodillian tail of the Lizard warrior lashed out, swatting at the Orc's legs, weighted and braced with thick gold ornaments like a mace. A third slashed lower from in front of the lizard, sword sliding off the hardened scales and slashing into the softer underbelly, clattering against gold trimmed obsidian armor.
With a roar Taun-Lok headbutted the Orc, the boneplate of the Horned King impacting pig-like face, prompting a squeal. Fourth and fifth were weighing their odds, but the sound of reinforcements could be heard from the corner.
The Priest-King turned, lurching himself upwards digging claws deep into stone, hauling himself up the wall until he stood on the ramparts. An arrow stuck itself into his back with an annoying pinch as it found a space between scales, the only one of a handful to do so. The Lizard jumped again, to the earthen courtyard of the castle, landing with a thud. Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 14, 2017 14:44:34 GMT
Taun-LokScavengers had gone through the castle armory once or twice over the years. They'd taken what valuables they could carry and left the rest a bit of a mess. Still, more than enough rusty spears were left for the heterogenepus survivors to arm themselves. There were bows, too, from huge warbows to the hunting and sport weapons that would have been meant for the castle's lord, his guests, and his family. Miri selected something midrange, a bow she could probably draw with ease, but one strong enough to stick an arrow in orc flesh. She cracked and unwrapped a beeswax-encased bowstring, braced the bow against floor and foot to string it, and slipped a few more strings into her belt pouches in case they hadn't weathered the years well. It didn't take long to rustle up an assortment of arrows whose fletchings hadn't fallen off the shafts. She hung the full quiver from her shoulder, and a sense of readiness settled over her, as if the ritualistic tasks had given her a measure of control over her fate. Outcry rose. and the muffled sound of violence. Her sense of control vanished utterly. Mouth dry, Miri nocked an arrow and retraced her steps, back out of the keep and onto the wall. She stayed low, very low, just peeking between the crenelations. Down below, something huge and strangely proportioned was fighting orcs in bulk. The creature broke away and made for the wall, passing out of her line of sight. A shiver ran through the wall. A moment later, she flinched as a titanic blue-scaled lizard in armour climbed onto the walltop not far from her. An orcish arrow thudded into the lizard's back; it seemed to take the impact as a mild inconvenience. It jumped down into the courtyard. Despite their spears and bows, the survivors scattered into the keep and the outbuildings. Sensible enough when you encountered a bipedal dragon with a mace. She kept the arrow nocked but didn't draw. "Who are you?" she called down from the walltop. "You're no friend to the orcs. Why have you come?"
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 15, 2017 0:49:47 GMT
The large lizard warrior cocked his head to the side as the woman spoke, having to play with the words and roll them around in his mind before he could understand them as it was not his native tongue. "Taun-lok." Spoken more like a growl than words. His language was so guttural and primitive when spoken consisting mostly of roars and growling with only proper nouns having their own words, lacking the context and inflections of body movements and posture and the feeling of written script. A deep rumble filled his chest and with great effort and struggle the rumble managed to barely resemble the word "Friend."
Taun-lok plucked the arrow from his hide, tossing it to the ground unbroken still bearing his divine blood as it clattered on the cobblestones, shouldering his mace. A small wound, but a wound nonetheless. Before the day was done the Priest-King would have many more in his scales and hide, all he could hope was that his toughness and ferocity outlasted his injuries. After a moment the creature dropped to all fours the warrior tasted the air in front of the woman with delicate flicks of his tongue. His eyes glossed over and shone with bright blue light for an instant as the Eyes of Totutl, searching for the magical aura's of his compatriots, mostly to see if they were dark mages burning with evil and power.
Satisfied he wasn't surrounded by Master Necromancers that wore their evil magic openly on their sleeves, the shining blue light subsided and Taun-Lok shook like a dog, his armor and cloak of feathers rattling against his scales. "Who?" His word sounded more threatening than his body language suggested mostly because it was croaked out between growls and grunts. Time was of the essence and he lacked the time to write all he could for all that she wanted to know. He would be needed on the walls and at the gate house shortly. The axes and swords of the orcs could still be heard chipping away at the doors and portcullis grate.Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 15, 2017 1:54:55 GMT
Taun-Lok would sense the faintest of auras around Mirielle. Hers had been a comprehensive education, very proper, including a certain amount of low-grade theoretical magic. The amount of actual spells she'd cast in her life was vanishingly slim, but she'd written any number of essays on the subject over the years. 'Friend,' he'd said. He'd fought orcs, and if he'd wanted her dead he could have climbed the wall just as easily as before. His armor and mace were of a vastly different style than the gear she knew, but they were no less intricate or expertly made. Wherever he hailed from, the Darkwood possibly, she wasn't about to dismiss him as unintelligent by default. No creature, then, just a ferociously capable person who merely happened to look like a wingless bipedal dragon. "Princess Mirielle of Ashdell," she said in answer to his rumbled question. She eyed the trembling door of the courtyard. She could get a better angle on it by standing at a switchback on the wall stairs, behind the roof of an inbuilding. Going down there would put her within a single bound of the lizard man. She licked her lips and did it anyway. The other survivors were coming out, too, some of them. They made a ragged double line in front of the door of the keep, spears in front of bows. "We need your help, friend," she said. Even a princess could beg when so much was at stake.
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 15, 2017 2:24:48 GMT
Taun-Lok nodded knowingly at the Princess. On all fours he didn't stand incredibly tall at the shoulder, having shorter arms than his legs, but he was still rather large. She was indeed in need of help from what Taun-Lok could tell, two hundred years of warfare and hunting had taught him to recognize how dire his situation was.
Mirielle was accompanied by only a handful of warmblood protectors, and not even the larger more powerful ones he had come across in his journey so far like the giants that rivaled or surpassed him in size or the trolls or ogres. In his experience with Men as they called themselves, their strength lied not in their bodies but in their hearts. Courage and determination were traits they could embody with such fervor that far surpassed his own cold-blooded instincts.
The survivors moved to stand in a double line in front of the door, holding their spears out before them aimed for the gate as the Orcs weapons began to cleave through it, splitting the wood. Taun-Lok walked his way in front of the line of spears, rearing up on his hind legs once again. The bestial grunt that escaped his throat bore some minor resemblance to the word "Help" but only barely. His vocal cords weren't as refined as humans and his understanding of how to form words with his mouth was limited at best.
The big Lizard was not useful in the line of spears, as he required far more space to wield his mace against the Orcs and trying to fit into them would only push their warriors out of range, so instead he planted himself a pace in front of the line.
<Jag-gar, Grom-tar, Tehaun, Hexuatl. Totutl, King of the Gods. Watch as I make my own destiny.> The series of growls had the semblance of words, though the names of the Five Gods may not be recognizable to the warm-bloods. Taun-Lok gripped his mace and steadied himself, tail swishing subtly from side to side, careful not to knock the spearmen about, muscles coiled and sinew tightened.Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 15, 2017 2:46:01 GMT
Taun-LokHer first thought, on seeing the massive lizard's position, was wondering if there was a more optimal spot for him to stand. If he shifted to the left, it would bunch up the orcs and put more of them in her line of fire -- but then again, that move would risk letting the brunt of the orcish charge crash into the spearmen. He'd picked the right spot after all, right where he could break and split the charge. He knew his business, as if the scars under the armour couldn't have told her that. A plank split like a bell ringing. Maybe that was the steel portion of the door reverberating with the axes. She resisted the urge to draw and fire. She couldn't trust these old strings for long, and her odds of getting an arrow through the new and narrow gaps weren't high. Then half the door splintered away and the difference became academic.
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 15, 2017 3:23:02 GMT
Taun-Lok's eyes turned to the door as it split and splintered away, Orcs crawling through hatred burning in their savage eyes. Whatever the Princess had done to upset them, she had done a really good job of it. The God's were watching their Eldest Son patiently.
The Lizard warrior's throat rumbled and a thunderous roar erupted from his open maw. They began piling through, tearing at the other half of the door even as others surged into the gap towards their prey. Like a tide of green bodies the Orcs came, screaming and shouting at the top of their lungs, crude weapons gripped white-knuckle tight.
Taun-Lok brought his mace in a wide sweeping arc before him, intent on crushing the momentum of those that came first with wide blows that swatted several aside. The primitive weapon smashed into the first rank, smashing them aside in splinters, screams of surprise, and grunts as the bodies were cast to the lizard's left. An orc leaped forward, throwing itself upon Taun-Lok, sword hitting bone helmet and cutting the lips of the lizard. A roar of pain and surprise erupted from the beast as gaping maw snapped closed around the shoulder of the orc. The Orc screamed just before the nine foot tall lizard shook his head from side to side savagely, leaving himself open to the weapons of the Orc's closest to him. But they would be of little consequence. The spearmen and archers of the Princess's guard would get those. It had been foreseen.
The future of the larger Orc approaching through the ranks however was still more of a mystery. Taun-Lok towered over the average orc, standing two or three feet larger than they, but not this one who was as wide as he was tall, only a head shorter than the Priest-King with coal black skin and deep red eyes.Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 15, 2017 3:47:12 GMT
Taun-LokAll things considered, the survivors were acquitting themselves well. A couple of them were actual fighters, or had been. The rest stood as firm as one could expect from people who'd never faced battle, and who were currently engaged in staring down an orc incursion. To their benefit, a spear wasn't the toughest weapon to learn. Even Miri knew how to use one, part of the basic training her tutors had instilled. And those who'd taken up bows, the whole second rank, did fairly well for being so far out of position. They had to fire over or between the spearmen. If she'd coordinated better with them, or at all, she'd have brought them up on the wall and stairs with her. If the situation had a silver lining, it was the density of the horde. She didn't always hit crucial target areas, but broadly speaking, she couldn't miss. In short order she'd spent two thirds of her quiver, adding her tally of dead and injured orcs to the archers' total. Five made for the base of the stairs. She dropped two before her lizard brain strongly suggested that she run. Sixteen steps, two at a time, got her back to the walltop. She jostled the lower end of her bow and the old, stressed string broke with enough impetus to shiver the weapon from her hand. From here, she needed to run along the wall and reenter the keep. That side door might hold them for a minute.
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 15, 2017 4:18:15 GMT
The surge of bodies pressed Taun-Lok and the spearmen holding the main gate backwards. Roaring defiantly Taun-Lok sweeped his mace back across the line of orcs about head high with all his might, swatting a group of them away stealing just hair more of the horde's momentum as their bodies pressed forward.
Speartip jabbed into an opening from his armor, finding the softer flesh of his stomach and piercing deep into his stomach. Pain surged through the reptilian's body, mixing with adrenaline and savage instinct. It was the wounded beast that fought the hardest, with the most reckless abandon. And to Taun-Lok's credit, he fought not with skill or superior prowess, but with sheer savagery and strength. If he was meant to block a blade, the Gods would time his strikes to do so. If his armor was meant to stop an arrow, the Gods would cause a breeze to push the bolt off course. If he was meant to die, there was little he could do to stop the Will of the Gods. It was the terrifying truth that drove him forward, for it was the Gods' will his people would meet their doom in Taun-Lok's lifetime. For him to die here would shatter that prophecy, and it would be the first of the Gods' edicts that did not come to pass and his journey would find its end.
The coal-skinned Orc shoved his way through his own horde, even hacking down one or two of his own that stumbled into his way. Heavy steel plates adorned his body, furs covered his chest, and scars littered his skin like tattoos. The large Orc advanced into the waiting Lizard Warrior, shield first.
Taun-Lok's Sun Mace smashed into the shield, sending splinters and pieces of metal flying off in all directions, but it did not stop the large porcine being. It growled and hefted the shield out of the way, Hacking downwards with its axe into Taun-Lok's shoulder. Sparks flew from it as axehead met scale, but nonetheless the weapon sunk into flesh, blood starting to flow from the gash.
Taun-Lok roared in pain, dropping his head into the black Orc's helm in a vicious headbutt, the Horned King's skull reverberating off steel, driving the Orc a half-step backwards. The Orc retaliated with a shield bash across the draconian face of the Priest-King, stepping forward, into the Lizard's prehensile tail's grasp. With a hard yank, the Orc's foot slipped forward bowling the warrior over on his back.
Another orc hacked at Taun-Lok's wounded shoulder, driving the lizard down to one knee. The Sun Mace, that had lifted the Sun into the Sky and Cast it back behind the earth for centuries before civilization, that had shattered the Star Dragon creating the Night Sky, that called the earth to the skies in the form of mighty peaks, rose over Taun-Lok's head gripped with both hands, and fell with earth shattering might into the black-skinned Orc's body.
Orcs threw themselves upon the Lizard, holding him down, stabbing at his rock hard scales and obsidian armor and the warrior disappeared beneath the bodies.Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 15, 2017 5:21:50 GMT
Taun-LokMiri's feet pounded on the walltop as she bolted for the door. Arrows hissed through the air behind her, but she didn't dare look back. As she wrenched the door open, she glanced over her shoulder. The last three orcs were down. Arrows had struck them from the courtyard, an unexpected gift from the archers of the impromptu militia. There would be no second gift. With the lizard-man down beneath a pile of orcs, the rest of the horde smashed into the ragged double line of heterogeneous defenders like a wave striking a sand castle. And with that, so far as Miri knew, she might be the last living non-orc in Ethenveld. Already more orcs were charging up the switchbacked stairs toward the walltop. Others were hammering at the keep's door, but that door was even tougher than the gate they'd chopped apart. Maybe one of the defenders had gotten inside, bolted the door, left the others to die. Maybe they'd decided together to make a last stand, and shoved the youngest of them inside. Her sightline had been focused on the orcs, and she hadn't ever seen all the survivors together in one place; most hadn't known each other. There was no telling who, if anyone at all, might still be in the keep, but it would be many. She stepped through the walltop door that led into the side of the keep, and latched it behind her. As axes thudded on the wood, she bolted for the armory. With most of the horde either inside the courtyard or aiming to get there, not much lay outside. How shallow was the moat? Did this place somehow have a hidden back door? Would getting a weapon be a waste of time? Had the lizard actually been dead? And if not, had she just locked him out of the keep?
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 15, 2017 5:47:39 GMT
Taun-Lok bellowed in pain and rage, many small wounds appearing on his body and hide as the Orcs dog-piled him, stabbing, punching, kicking, hitting him with sword pommels. He tried to surge back to standing but found himself unable to, too many bodies and too many injured muscles.
<Tehaun, I call to you. Open your Eye and let the Gaze of the Gods burn those that would slay your eldest son.> At the call from his prayer, the closed eye on his left gauntlet snapped open, a shining rainbow colored pearl plucked from the deepest ocean sat within it. For a moment there was nothing, still pain and distress throughout his body and then, there was light.
Blindingly bright light poured from the eye in a beam of burning energy from the Priest-King, channeled through the focus of his Goddess's Eye. At first the Orcs tried to shield themselves from the light and it was not until the first turned to ashes that they realized the true horror that had befallen them. Taun-Lok burned through a small group, going so far as to grab some of them with his gauntleted hand an hold them until the light burned out their eyes and tore through them.
The divine light burned for a moment, searing skin and blistering metal, shining pure white rays through the Priest-King's hand until it was no more and the Eye closed, hiding the pearl once more. Panting and wounded Taun-Lok grabbed the unconscious black orc by the ankle hauling it backwards.
A pair of spearmen crowded around the lizard as they fell back to the keep, the Orcs outside having retreated for a moment to regroup and reassess the situation, taken by surprise by Taun-Lok's light. Those that remained inside fighting against the heavy wooden door weren't aware of what had happened until they heard heavy footfalls behind them, turning to see the Lizard warrior dragging one of their captains bodily through the castle towards them.
Taun-Lok roared at the top of his lungs, tiredly smashing his mace into the closest one with a thud. One of the spearmen impaled a second, leaving the third to make a hasty escape, the fight having gone from him. The Lizard warrior knocked upon the wooden door "OPEN!" he said with a mighty adrenaline fueled roar. Already the Orcs were recovering from the shock and surprise of the Eye of the Gods being turned upon them and beginning to investigate and reform their attack on the castle. Time was of the essence and Taun-Lok needed to know what his next steps should be, what of this place was important and why? What should he do? As much as he wanted to shatter the prophecies of the Gods, he desired to see his people flourish and cancel their apocalypse instead of merely postponing it.
The door to the keep opened just long enough to allow the Lizard and his compatriots through, a single maid clutching a bow with her back against the door, tears streaming down her face. Panting the warrior dragged the now groggy orc into the closest room to the keep's door, tossing him into armory. The Sun Mace clattered to the floor as the Lizard let it drop so that he could grab the waking orc by the collar and pull him onto the table. A very noticeable blood trail followed him as he leaked viscous fluids onto the stone floor. Taun-Lok for all his strength and resilience was fading and could not go forward.Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 15, 2017 23:32:07 GMT
Taun-LokArmed with another bow, this one a bit lighter than she'd like, Miri paused in a spiral stair and peered through the door to the entryway. Apart from the muffled axes, she'd heard sounds of exertion and wails of fear or pain, coming from this room. She kept an arrow on the string, but she'd primed herself to run if this was orcs. If she had to run, she'd spied a window at the same level as the walltop. She might survive a jump into the river that served as a moat, if she could arc her fall beyond the rocks. She'd never leaped into water from that height, though she'd heard any number of relevant stories from fellow students who'd visited the pools and waterfalls of Vadisi. In theory it could be done. For now it remained only a backup plan. As she squinted in the gloom, it became clear that she could put that plan to rest for the time being. The armored lizard-man had lived. Bleeding from dozens of points, he'd dragged himself and a gigantic coal-skinned orc inside the entry hall. A small handful of survivors stood around the perimeter of the room, some weeping or clutching each other. Some were armed; most were not. For reasons unknown, the lizard-man had shoved the huge orc onto a table. What had to happen was clear enough. Miri let out a slow breath and left the stairwell. "Those of you who're unarmed, get upstairs, take spears from the armory, and come back," she said, as if she expected to be obeyed. "The rest of us, let's push that display case in front of the door." Obeisance got drilled into the working classes in most places, and many people, in crisis, responded well to a voice of authority. If someone could tell them what should happen and how to survive, fear tended to make them compliant, even mindlessly so. There were often outliers, but none presented themselves. A few people passed her and ran up the spiral stair, presumably heading for the armory. She laid her bow aside. Keeping the lizard-man in the corner of her eye, she helped the rest of the survivors brace the keep's main door with sturdy furniture. As they reclaimed their weapons, she approached the injured lizard-man and the barely-conscious orc on the table. She pulled a slim knife pendant from around her neck, unsheathed it, and rested the blade against the orc's neck as he blinked awake. Though her hand shook, he froze. "Why is he alive?" she said to the lizard-man. "And what aid do you require?"
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 16, 2017 3:03:16 GMT
Taun-Lok panted as he held the Orc down, looking over its stomach armor for an opening or place where his arm could fit through when Mirielle approached. She asked him a question and he opened his mouth, orc blood staining his sharp teeth and painting his tongue. He had to think of the words and how to form them, struggling through the whole process as he did his best to growl out, "No mortal. Gods help."
The Lizard warrior's eyes shone with savage maliciousness as his claws pierced the Orc's stomach flesh. The black-skinned creature flailed, shoving his hands up into Taun-Lok's face while the Lizard's hand disappeared into the being's stomach moving upwards under his ribs.
Screams and shouting filled the room as the Orc realized what was happening, feeling the foreign object shove through his organs, pressing against his lungs and spleen, clawed hand gripping heart.
With a sudden jerk the screams stopped and the lizard's arm was released from the orc's insides. Holding the heart of his foe in his blood covered arm Taun-Lok's eyes closed, a prayer muttered from his lips <Totutl, Your Wisdom I seek. This blood I give to you. This heart I devour to connect with your heart.>
Taun-Lok squeezed the heart, draining its blood over his own helmet and head, splattering over bone and scales until it was empty. And then the heart was gone, devoured in an instant. For a moment there was nothing, and then the rumble of thunder resounded far above and a shimmering blue spirit appeared over the orc.
Its form coalesced into the shape of a Crokodon wearing ornate armor covered with bright feathers. Ancient power radiated from the spirit and Mirielle would recognize it spoke both Common and the Langauge of the Lizards simultaneously. "What wisdom do you seek my Son?"Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 16, 2017 4:34:01 GMT
Taun-Lok Some part of her must have understand before her conscious mind, because she stumbled back before she put two and two together. She realized the import of what he’d said, in keeping with an essay she’d done on sacrificial principles a couple of years back, but she only thought of it after she’d put her back against the wall. Her little knife was still in her hand, down by her side. Who she meant to use it on, she couldn’t say. Licking her lips, eyes refusing to focus, she resheathed the knife and hung its chain around her neck. She tucked the weapon into her dress as before, until only its pommel showed above her very proper neckline. A moment later, orcish blood spattered the room. Thick brown drops soaked through her dress on contact. The orc had capacious lungs, and the entry hall had good acoustics, and she’d never heard anyone scream in such pain and fear. Certainly not someone that big. She gripped the knife’s hilt through the front of her dress, unable to move. In the back of her mind, she understood the simple logic of the angle the lizard-man’s arm and claws were taking. She knew the goal long before the orc’s heart was visible. Likewise, she understood the nature of the sacrifice: the heart, the valor, the strength of the strongest enemy around, both absorbed and offered as a worthy gift to one’s gods. Such things were entirely outside her experience, so where did she get this almost psychopathic practicality, this intuition for the physics and metaphysics of murder? That question stuck with her right up until the god appeared. It had a form comparable to the lizard-man, except for the feathers on its armour. It glowed, she could see through it, and in all respects it seemed to be a ghost. All respects apart from the weight of power it carried, the pressure she felt in her heart, the primal ferocity and patient age of its magic that she sensed in the back of her mind as nothing more than an inkling. Whatever it was, her education had no words for it. <<What wisdom do you seek, my son?>> said the god, and somehow Miri could understand. An urge rose up in her, a suicidal desire to interrupt, introduce herself, bargain for aid against the orcs much as the lizard-man must be bargaining. When faced with all available facts and inferences, though, she had to conclude that the spirit seemed to respect only two things. She didn’t share its blood, so what did she have to sacrifice?
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