- Messages
- 1
- Character Biography
- Link
An imposing fortress lit by a crack of lightning. There in the heights of the Spine its walls rose, the labor of a great many Spine orcs and their Blight orc benefactors, and so did they name their black creation: the Druga.
From the Druga poured forth raids into all the surrounding lands. West into the Valen Wilds, south into Campania, north and east into the mountains and territories held primarily by Belgrath. Terror and fire they brought wherever they went.
Several challenges had been made against the Druga, and all had failed.
For a great evil claimed dominion over the Druga and guarded the fortress with its fell might. The Blight orc warlord Logash Kron commanded his raiders from atop a beast of beasts, an ancient creature dredged up from the depths of the Blightlands, a monstrosity neither living nor dead. Its name: Gormeddon, the Dread Wyvern.
And wherever Gormeddon flew, all the sky would turn to black, day to night, and in the darkness the devouring would begin.
Outside the Western Gate of Gild lay the Martial Fields, flatland devoted to large gatherings of citizens and troops. So it was today. Close to a thousand men and women had assembled, for the call to arms had been issued in the Forum and throughout the squares of Gild. The Senate had authorized the raising of an army, to be commanded by Damir Gildal, whose objective would be to join with an "allied" army of similar strength from Omma, the Iron Aristocracy, and assault the Druga.
"Allied", of course, because Gild and Omma were not on the best of terms with one another. Gild had surrendered to Omma years prior, and had since been forced to pay an annual tribute of silver; Omma tended to arrogantly view Gild as a sort of client state of theirs in the wake of it, which Gild naturally denounced. But here they had a common enemy in the orcish raiders of the Druga, and so after diplomatic talks this joint attack had been agreed upon.
But Ruka Kargatal was blissfully oblivious to all the political machinations going on in grand chambers and behind closed doors. All of it went well over her head. What she knew was this: there were enemies, and enemies needed hewing!
In the Martial Fields several platforms had been erected. Noblemen and Beyars stood before these platforms (for the speeches were done), lines of Gildans willing to fight were queued before them, giving their names and swearing their oaths and being enrolled into their maniples. Ruka was next up in her line. Before her was a dwarf of Clan Ironhammer, Yudun Ironhammer.
"Salt and silver, ogre," said the Beyar dwarf. "Glad you came to my line."
"Ruka Kargatal!" she said, declaring her name with glee. All smiles, Ruka. "I will fight!"
Yudun scratched his beard for a moment. "Ruka...Ruka...where do I know that name from?"
"Gildan enemies fear me!" she said, flexing one of her large arms.
"I don't doubt it, lass, but I swear I've..."
"I do fighting before?" Ruka suggested helpfully, though it halfway sounded like she was asking the question herself.
"Ah! That's right. Anfisa mentioned you. You're an Aedile, aren't you, Ruka-gazi?"
Ruka pounded a fist against her heart and declared proudly, "YES!" The loudness of her exclamation drew a few brief looks.
"Well—" Yudun jerked a thumb to the far side of the Martial Field, close to the Western gate of the city, "—got a special unit being put together over there. Damir-gazi's orders. It's Praetors, Aediles, some foreign mercs I think. I'd love to have ya, but you've got to go over there."
"Maybe next time!" Ruka said. "Bye-bye!"
And indeed there was a small gathering of fighters where Yudun had pointed. Ruka went that way, carrying her battleaxe on her shoulder, smiling as if she were going to a dance or party and not to battle.
From the Druga poured forth raids into all the surrounding lands. West into the Valen Wilds, south into Campania, north and east into the mountains and territories held primarily by Belgrath. Terror and fire they brought wherever they went.
Several challenges had been made against the Druga, and all had failed.
For a great evil claimed dominion over the Druga and guarded the fortress with its fell might. The Blight orc warlord Logash Kron commanded his raiders from atop a beast of beasts, an ancient creature dredged up from the depths of the Blightlands, a monstrosity neither living nor dead. Its name: Gormeddon, the Dread Wyvern.
And wherever Gormeddon flew, all the sky would turn to black, day to night, and in the darkness the devouring would begin.
* * * * *
GILD
THE MARTIAL FIELDS
GILD
THE MARTIAL FIELDS
Outside the Western Gate of Gild lay the Martial Fields, flatland devoted to large gatherings of citizens and troops. So it was today. Close to a thousand men and women had assembled, for the call to arms had been issued in the Forum and throughout the squares of Gild. The Senate had authorized the raising of an army, to be commanded by Damir Gildal, whose objective would be to join with an "allied" army of similar strength from Omma, the Iron Aristocracy, and assault the Druga.
"Allied", of course, because Gild and Omma were not on the best of terms with one another. Gild had surrendered to Omma years prior, and had since been forced to pay an annual tribute of silver; Omma tended to arrogantly view Gild as a sort of client state of theirs in the wake of it, which Gild naturally denounced. But here they had a common enemy in the orcish raiders of the Druga, and so after diplomatic talks this joint attack had been agreed upon.
But Ruka Kargatal was blissfully oblivious to all the political machinations going on in grand chambers and behind closed doors. All of it went well over her head. What she knew was this: there were enemies, and enemies needed hewing!
In the Martial Fields several platforms had been erected. Noblemen and Beyars stood before these platforms (for the speeches were done), lines of Gildans willing to fight were queued before them, giving their names and swearing their oaths and being enrolled into their maniples. Ruka was next up in her line. Before her was a dwarf of Clan Ironhammer, Yudun Ironhammer.
"Salt and silver, ogre," said the Beyar dwarf. "Glad you came to my line."
"Ruka Kargatal!" she said, declaring her name with glee. All smiles, Ruka. "I will fight!"
Yudun scratched his beard for a moment. "Ruka...Ruka...where do I know that name from?"
"Gildan enemies fear me!" she said, flexing one of her large arms.
"I don't doubt it, lass, but I swear I've..."
"I do fighting before?" Ruka suggested helpfully, though it halfway sounded like she was asking the question herself.
"Ah! That's right. Anfisa mentioned you. You're an Aedile, aren't you, Ruka-gazi?"
Ruka pounded a fist against her heart and declared proudly, "YES!" The loudness of her exclamation drew a few brief looks.
"Well—" Yudun jerked a thumb to the far side of the Martial Field, close to the Western gate of the city, "—got a special unit being put together over there. Damir-gazi's orders. It's Praetors, Aediles, some foreign mercs I think. I'd love to have ya, but you've got to go over there."
"Maybe next time!" Ruka said. "Bye-bye!"
And indeed there was a small gathering of fighters where Yudun had pointed. Ruka went that way, carrying her battleaxe on her shoulder, smiling as if she were going to a dance or party and not to battle.
