Caleb's Journey

An alliance is struck

Skarlarth sat on his throne, slammed his clenched fist on his armrest and shouted for more wine. The sound of the impact of his right hand meeting the arm of the chair reverberated throughout his cave. It stirred his female companions, three in number, into action. They submitted to him, as did all other ogres, for he sat upon no common throne, but rather on a throne fashioned out of the bones of vanquished foes. Numbered among them were ogres who challenged him for the title of chieftain, those he had slain for the right to rule his own tribe, and the bones of chieftains he had encountered and slain to unite more tribes under his rule. It was a ponderous pile of bones. To further display his might he intermingled the skulls of humans and other races with those of his own kind as if to say nobody who enters my realm without my permission and lives.

When the wine was fetched he stood and snatched it from the hands of one of the female’s hands and he flashed his yellow fangs, which seemed to always be set in a snarled countenance. Sipping wine from a ceramic goblet in his left hand, he stroked the head of a massive mallet with his left hand. A hulking specimen of muscle, the brute measured ten feet in height. As broad as two men standing shoulder to shoulder, he cut an imposing figure. His black unkempt, long black hair hung freely well past his shoulders, nearly to the middle of his back. About his neck hung a necklace of wolves’ teeth. Clad in a bearskin tunic, artfully worn to showcase his many battle scars and ornate tattoos, Skarlarth looked every bit the of a mighty warrior king. Everything about his appearance and demeanor was devoted to a single theme, the display of raw physical power.

A dimly lit, but vast cave served as his abode. Ogres required little light in their homes due to the combination of their excellent olfactory powers as well as an innate ability to see shapes in sparse illumination, both developed over ages of cave and mountain dwelling. One of his wives, the former wife of a vanquished chieftain, for ogres took the wives of defeated chieftains, in the belief of producing strong offspring, brought a jug of wine to him and filled his cup again, lest she gain his ire. As that intoxicating event transpired, his other two wives occupied themselves with preparing his plate, carving meat from a roasted carcass.

While his home seemed poor when compared to the wealth of human and other kings, Skarlarth’s cave, the largest in the vicinity, boasted its trappings of ogre richness. Stacked upon the other on the floor, in the center of the one great room of the home were piles of armor, a testament to his martial prowess and, if sold, would fetch a coin or two. The fur of an azbler served as the primary textile for his bed, woven together with various other animal pelts, all fearsome foes, such as a bear, tigan, or some other creature that required great strength and might to defeat in combat. It was here that he slumbered and coupled with his wives. Scattered near the bed, on the dirt and straw floor were various baubles, a gold bracelet, a silver broach, a gem encrusted scepter, none of which he would let his wives wear, for

he won them in combat and they were his. Truly, he had material wealth, but cared not to show it. However, he knew its value, and kept a trove of treasure buried in a secret place in his abode.

“

Woman, come!” He grumbled with his baritone voice. “Bring me my meal.” This order could have been issued to any of his wives, for he cared not who brought him his dinner only that it was brought, as he commanded. When the female, Gunla, approached with plate in hand, he snatched it from her, took her by the wrist, and pulled her forcefully onto his lap. Gunla, startled by this act, endeavored to keep her husband’s meal intact, the sight of which, and the feeling of power that he had over his women, produced a roaring laugh from her brutish mate. She looked less than amused at this behavior, but she managed to not drop the plate and as Skarlarth’s bellow turned into a chuckle, he ordered her to feed him.

While the behemoth ate with ravenous desire at every morsel that was placed before him, when there was but a leg of meat remaining, his favorite part, for he loved to tear at the meat, he dismissed Gunla from his presence. As he gnawed at the cooked flesh a calm, cold voice emerged from the darkness.

“

Enjoying your dinner?” The voice asked.

Startled, the ogre jumped from his throne, knocking over Gunla in the process. In an instant he seized his mallet in his right hand and readied himself for combat. His left hand also gripped the weapon and he looked about to see if he could find his would be foe. The only replied that he received was a sinister chuckle.

“

Laugh all you like. You snuck past my guards and hide in the dark, but I’ll find you, kill you, and grind you into dust. Nobody invades my lands, let alone my lair!”

The voice replied, in a much more subdued fashion, as subdued as possible, for him, for it was none other than Nostarius, having made the trek to find Skarlarth, locating him by any means necessary. That means including a few terrified individuals, and several dead bodies, in other words, his standard traveling affair. “Mighty ogre king, I have no desire to hide from you since I came here for an audience with the champion of his race.” Now the vampire emerged from the shadows and removed the enchantment that had rendered him invisible to Skarlarth and he materialized some fifteen feet away from his unsuspecting host and his wives. The hood of his black cloak hung about his narrow, graceful shoulders, sharply contrasting with the breadth of Skarlarth, and the rest of Nostarius’ capacious garment reached down to his boots. As he stood revealed, the three women moved behind their husband and protector in fear of what dark magic this intruder had used.

“

I bring you greetings from my master, Xerax, Lord of the Undead. He has need of your services.”

Offended by his unwanted guest and at the idea of rendering services to anyone, living or undead, Skarlarth moved towards the vampire, mallet in hand and ready to strike. He roared, “I kill all who try to command me! I don’t take orders, I give them.”

Nostarius held up his hand as if to arrest the forward motion of the ogre. At the same time he raised his hand and mumbled an incantation that made him levitate towards the ceiling and out of striking distance. “You’d be wise to put down your weapon and speak with me,” the vampire said in a matter of fact tone. “Let’s start with names, you are known to me already, Skarlarth. My name is Nostarius.” Here, he bowed as a sign of respect to the sovereign of the land.

Ogres, as a rule, had a genuine fear and distrust of magic. Access to its power through spells, potions, etc., lie beyond their knowledge. Thus, they had a hatred for it as well and viewed those who employed it as cowards unwilling to do battle and rely solely upon their skill and might. Still, legends of Xerax had reached Skarlarth and many others, and if the tales of his power were true, then the ogre considered it a wise and fortunate decision to entertain offers from his emissary.

Confident in the impression that the use of Xerax’s name had produced in effecting the cessation of hostilities Nostarius lowered himself to the ground and slowly walked forward to greet his host in the custom of his people, a firm grip on the forearm of each other. Skarlarth relished the opportunity to show his strength by exerting as much force as possible on the body of his guest. However, when he did so, Nostarius gave nary a wince or grimace of pain. Instead, he gave the ogre a friendly smile and said that the two were well met and held back some of his own physical prowess in the exchange so as to belie his true strength. Slim, clean, erect, well-dressed, and well-groomed, the figure of the vampire contrasted sharply with the thick-browed, dirty, modestly attired, hunched over hulk.

“

Greatest of ogre chieftains, your fame has led me to you. Tales your power and might stretch across the continent.” A lie to be sure, the kind which Nostarius loved to tell, especially when spoken with all sincerity. “Among your kind you have no equal. Truly, you stand peerless amongst the throng of many warriors. All ogres heed your command, making you the leader of a vast army, the size and scope of which the Light King does not know, but if he did know, would be troubled in his sleep, for who wouldn’t tremble having attained such frightful knowledge? It is between my master’s armies and the forces that I have just mentioned that I was dispatched to unite to lead an assault on the human stronghold on the frontier and to reduce it rubble.”

An incredulous look formed the countenance of Skarlarth. For a moment his eyes grew wide as he remarked, “Attack the ’umans?” He barked more words at the vampire, “Too many ’umans and ’umans hide behind walls and shoot ogres. We not march to death. If they come and stand and fight, they know that we crush them. That is why puny ’umans are cowards and shoot us down with arrows from top of walls. My army is too small to smash walls and ’umans. Your master is crazy.”

While he wanted to give a mocking, smug reply, Nostarius knew when to hold his tongue, a trick he learned well in his present occupation, so he chose a more measured reply. “My master possesses the full use of his wondrous faculties, I assure you. He would not waste your valuable time were he not prepared to demonstrate his sincerity by sending his most trusted advisor. At this very moment he raises an army and they march under the leadership of a general of unmatched tactical skill. Should it meet with your approval, they will join up with your army at Yord’s Gulch, not that far of a march from the human stronghold, Attalis, and together you will crush them. Be prepared to march in thirty days. That gives you ample time to marshal your forces, construct siege apparati, and to appropriately outfit your army with food and weapons. When we break through the stronghold, which I know we will, for I wish you to call the gnolls join us as well, expect a great triumph over our common foe. They will flee before our combined strength!”

“

Skarlarth and ogres get what for helping?” Must tell other ogre chiefs and my people of prizes we take, besides ’uman skulls.”

Stifling his desire to attack the individual that he deemed a brutish dimwit, cripple him, and drink his blood, Nostarius instead continued to appeal to the ogre’s vanity. He reasoned it a necessary sacrifice to his long-term plans, no matter how tempted he felt to inflict great bodily harm upon the ogre. He imagined performing this violent act and began to grin, his thin lips continued to pour out their honeyed words, “Prizes. Why you shall be granted more land than you can imagine for the lands beyond the stronghold are not so well guarded and the next castle lies many days beyond. The humans are vain to think that their fortress can contain your might. Think of it, you will be the first ogre chieftain to successfully invade the lands of the humans. Tell whoever you need to tell that instead of living in caves and scratching out a living on barren terrain and fishing in small streams that you shall know abundance. No more will you live on the land you currently occupy, the refuse of other races, but fertile enough land to grow and feed your people shall be your reward. In no time you will rule the largest country in the world. Think of it, mighty king. You, great Skarlarth, shall deliver your people from this existence, skulking about in caves, and claim your seat at its rightful place, the head of the table of all races, instead of where you currently reside, on the floor of that great feasting hall, like a dog, waiting for table scraps. I bet the humans also have gold stored at Attalis, gold you could use to rally any dissenting ogre tribe to your cause.”

“

You use big words, I don’t know them all, but I think I know what you say. Ogres not dogs and we have plenty of space and nobody comes into our lands for a long, long time.” While Skarlarth spoke true, his tone betrayed feelings that lie deeper within him regarding the disdain and contempt that many races had for ogres. Even the gnolls, a creature with the head of a jackal and a furry, lean, powerful body, weren’t enamored with the gray skinned brutes. Ogres had no desire to socialize or interact on any level with the humans, elves, dwarves or tigans. They harbored a burning hatred of these races for the string of ignominious defeats that had been dealt to them on the battlefields and the one-sided terms of peace that had been shoved down their throats centuries ago.

Trusting outsiders was not a strong suit of ogres and Skarlarth had to number among those who took that to an extreme, as his throne of bones testified. However, he did see a chance to unite all of the warring ogre tribes under his rule by appointing him as representative of their forces. Trusting in his martial prowess, he knew that none of his kind would challenge his self-nomination and that in joining forces with Xerax, no ogre would want to be left out on the chance to share in the spoils of victory in terms of blood and treasure in defeating the humans. He told himself that when the humans were crushed that he’d destroy what remained of Xerax’s army, kill Nostarius, and then with a fanged smile he nodded and agreed that they had

a deal to unite armies and meet at Yord’s Gulch in thirty days.

“

Splendid decision your highness. You are a wise as well as strong king. When our armies unite and march on Attalis the ground will shake and fill the hearts of the humans with dread. After the assault begins and the dust settles Attalis will lie in ruins and the dawn of a new day, your day, will begin.” Now, he gripped Skarlarth’s forearm again and their eyes met, the lifeless gray orbs of the vampire’s looked into the green eyes of his new ally. Skarlarth squeezed his arm again and spit on the ground to signify that they had a deal. Nostarius stepped back, bowed, then with his supernatural speed, whirled about and dashed out of the door so quickly and vanished into that night that it stunned Skarlarth, but not nearly as much as he stunned the ogre when he gripped his forearm the second time, revealing more, but not all of his strength, just enough to leave Skarlarth wondering as to the true extent of his nature.