Chapter 7

Tamerand Tower stood in the distance; fire belching from every window. Panicked people jumped from the parapets into the crowd below. Their screams were drowned out by the clash of steel on steel as the battle raged throughout the city streets. For two days, the Orc hordes had pounded the walls and gates of Tamerand until finally a breach let them in. Fire had eaten its way through the housing section and much of the merchant quarters was already leveled.
From the overlook on Rinnak pass, the entire town could be seen. Four people stood there, solemnly staring at the battle below. Wilgars voice was the first to break the silence. “We’ll need to get their attention. We’re too far away to help directly.” A soft, sad voice spoke in response, “What element do the Orcs fear the most? I can get their attention.” Cirox stepped to Vannahs side as he answered her “They fear little, but they consider fire to be a sign of power. If you opposed that power, you’d gain their notice.”
Her voice seemed to perk up. A mix of cheer and malice, “I’ll see you all in town.” Vannah gave Oshiah a quick kiss, said some mystical words, and ran down the side of the mountain. As she ran, her steps carried her higher and higher above the surface of the mountain below her as if the air itself turned solid to allow her an invisible walkway. The three men watched as her whispy form disappeared into the night headed toward the crashing waves on the shore. “Quite the amazing woman you’ve got there Oshiah” Cirox said, admiring the grace with which she bounded into the sky. “She is amazing” he replied, seemingly lost in thought “we’d better get moving or we’ll never be in position before the show begins.”
Back in the city, the guard retreated to the plaza in the center of town from attacks on three sides. As they gathered there in a circle, the orcs swarmed in around them. The fate of the inhabitants of Tamerand was sealed. Or so it would seem. A rumbling sound slowly overtook the sound of the buildings collapsing from fire damage. Orcs and men alike, looked around to find the source. It seemed to come from every direction. A shout from one of the men brought all eyes toward the sea.
A great wave rose above the city as if the entire ocean rose up to consume Tamerand. As if responding to the gasp of fear from the crowd, the wave stopped moving. It stood like a vertical lake leaning dangerously over the city, but refusing to fall. From the crest, droplets began to fall and a steady rain poured down soaking everyone and everything. At first, everyone began to cower, but the hiss from the fires gave them some comfort. The guard looked at each other and then cheered. The Orcs backed away a bit, not knowing if this was the wrath of some diety or magic from an unseen warlock, but knowing full well that it was meant as a boon for the humans and a bane to the orcs.
A piercing wail from the darkness snapped everyones attention back to the moment. The Orcs parted and a serpentine creature crawled forward. A huge orc sat astride it, coated in plate armor. Blood and gore still dripped from the spikes and blades protruding from various points on the armor. Gleaming red eyes almost glowed through the smile of the skull helmet. He held a thick staff in his left hand. The top of the pole passed through an almost complete circle of steel. A great, flat crescent blade painted white like the moon, streaked with blood from the battle reflected an eerie light that seemed to have no origin.
His deep grating voice suddenly spoke; “Show yourself sorceror. Clearly you want to negotiate, otherwise you would’ve crushed my army by now with your water trick.” A silence fell and several moments passed as everyone anticipated the response. Finally, a voice from the southern wall spoke “You always had a flare for dramatic entrances.” All eyes turned to see a man gifted with unnatural beauty and presence standing upon the steps of the ruined south tower. A howl arose from the orcs on the ground as several of them charged at the unarmed and unarmored man. Cirox tilted his head, keeping his eyes on the mounted orc chieftan. “I almost forgot.” He said, as he backed against the half-wall behind him, his hands appearing from beneath his cloak in preparation for the inevitable assault. The first two orcs, brandishing axes, charged at Cirox together. He quickly slapped aside the axe of the first, almost knocking the attacker off of the steps and ducked under the second, letting the axe clang against the mortared wall. With a flick of the wrist, Cirox lashed out with a thrust to the throat of the second attacker. A gurgle and a gout of blood were the response to this surprise attack. A steel edge shimmered as it withdrew from the orcs wound. Cirox winked at the Orc as it grasped its throat. “I came here to talk. I don’t want any trouble.”
The four Orcs waiting for their opportunity to engage the newcomer, found a fight they were not ready for. A scimitar reached from beneath the stairs and disemboweled the first. Th e others roared and then lunged into the darkness, hoping to avenge their brother. Clangs and hard thuds implied they’d hit something hard. A round shield thrust from the shadow, shoving all of their weapons back. Oshiah stepped forward, very boldly, and twirled his scimitar around in a violent cutting motion. The twin faces on his shield seemed to mock the Orcs, one laughing and one crying, as their wounded companion slumped to his knees and then to his face.
“Persist and you’ll all die unnecessarily.” He spoke, hoping to bring an end to the attack.
Meanwhile, up above, Cirox’s foe regained his balance. As he turned, he whipped his axe around wildly, meeting only air once again. Coming up from a crouch, Cirox stuck the dumbfounded Orc with a hard el bow to the chin, knocking him from the stairs and onto the three now facing Oshiah.
The three Orcs scrambled to regain their feet, the fourth lay unconcious with broken teeth and a bleeding nose. Oshiah stood, shield in front, scimitar poised like a scorpions tail, waiting for one of them to advance. The Orcs snarled and hissed, but held their ground. Oshiah’s pink eyes narrowed as he looked from foe to foe, determining which one would attack first, if any, and how. Suddenly, their mood shifted and they all backed away slowly.
A large man stepped from the shadow behind Oshiah. Covered top to bottom in plate armor. The ominous glow from the mace hanging from his right hand spooked the Orcs. The grim glare he cast them reinforced Oshiahs ultimatum. As the three Orcs backed up, their Chieftan strode forward on his mount. The glistening blade of his weapon, showing the pride and power of the Crescent Moon Tribe, loomed overhead. Wilgar stepped forward and presented himself; “I am Wilgar the Cleric, War Priest of Titane and I come to speak with you peacefully.” The mounted Orc replied; “As you well know, I am Sorris Pale, Chieftan of the Crescent Moon. I am well within my rights to have you all beheaded this day.” Thick droplets of water hit the saddle all around the Orc Chieftan, a not-so-sublte reminder of the great wave hanging overhead. Looking down at the wet spots on his saddle, the chieftan smiled and looked up to Cirox-Thong. “But there’s no need for that this day. I will spare this town further ruin while you speak your words.”

Chapter 6

“Someone must want you dead. Someone of great influence.” The voice of an angel spoke. “Did they get their wish?” asked Wilgar. “Not this day Titanian.” As his eyes cleared, he could see the cloudy sky above. Looking toward the voice, Wilgar saw a beautiful woman kneeling over Cirox-Thong. “You and your friends are very fortunate,” She said softly. “Are they all ok?” he asked while attempting to get back to his feet. “Yes. It seems the three of you took the harshest of the punishment brought by the ocean. The captain and his crew have already moved on. They seem to fear me, but they left you in my care.”
Staring at her nearly naked form, Wilgar asked, “And who are you?” Turning and smiling, she stepped over Oshiahs limp body and approached. Bowing, she spoke, “I am Vannah Galadriel of the sea kingdom.” He hadn’t noticed before, but Wilgar could now see the womans skin was a pale shade of blue and her hair was adorned with various seashells. Her gossamer dress clung to her still-wet body. Bowing and then taking her hand “I am Wilgar the Cleric, High Priest of Titan…ian… you know… of me?” Brushing the mossy hair out of her face and tucking it behind her pointy ear, “Yes, I’ve heard of you. Oshiah has spoken often of you.” Tiptoeing back to the spot where Oshiah lay, she knelt down and kissed him on the lips. Raising his eyebrows, Wilgar turns to secure his gear. Down the beach a ways, he could see Dante as he strode happily with a large mass in his jaws. Shaking the water out of his ears, Wilgar moved to check his two companions. Neither seemed to have more than a few scrapes on them. The vague memories of the ship shredding beneath his feet were confirmed by the spinters of wood floating in the nearby surf. Kneeling between Oshiah and Cirox, Wilgar whispered a word to Titane and they both sat up abruptly, fully awake and alert. “We were attacked by something in the sea,” Wilgar explained. “Some creature from what I remember. By Titanes will and the help of this sea maiden, we triumphed.” Looking around, both mens eyes focus on the beautiful elvish woman standing to one side. The tide pushed debris onto the shore at her feet and swirled foam about her ankles. “Vannah!” Oshiah exclaimed as he lept unsteadily to his feet and greeted her with a big hug. Settling her back to the beach after a twirl, “I wasn’t sure if you got my message, but I’m glad you did.”

Chapter 5

The sun arose out of the ocean like a great fiery serpent to begin its trek across the cloudy sky. Daylight was a welcomed gift as the sailors loaded supplies and rowed them out to the ship anchored in the harbor. A cold morning wind caused the ships flag to snap to life and the sailors adjusted their collars to keep the chill out.
On the beach, an enormous black dog chased the tide and played in the surf. At the edge of the beach, bare feet dangled from the shroud of a tree. Oshiah dropped onto the sand without a sound and crouched low. His breath slow and shallow as his pink eyes focused out to sea.
The great black dog, Dante, suddenly turns and runs up the beach, barreling full tilt toward the tree where Oshiah spent the night. As he neared, Oshiah lept up from the ground in an all out run toward the war dog bearing down on him. A gutteral growl arose from both of them as they closed. At the last possible moment, Oshiah dropped to the ground and slid in the sand as the dog bounded over him.
They both recovered quickly and then grappled each other in mock combat. The dogs great jowels locked onto the bare skin on Oshiahs right arm. Oshiah slipped from under the dog and clutched it around the neck with his free arm. The dog rolled right, throwing the pale-skinned man to the ground and then pounced onto him locking his massive teeth onto the neck of the nomad and growling a low rumble. Oshiahs outstretched hand raised quickly and patted the dog on the side twice and the dog let up. Oshiah back-rolled to his feet and laughed as he began wiping the sandy drool from his neck.
“Good job Dante. Very good job. Always use your oppenents weight against them. And always finish them. A foe left living is a failure waiting to find you again.” Dantes ears perked and Oshiah turned to see two men walking down from the small manor overlooking the beach. Following behind them are six more men hauling crates and trunks. He recognizes both of the lead men as the two men he sat across from for most of the night. They drank expensive Elvish wine and Gnomish cordials while telling tales of their grand adventures. Although he’d been travelling with Wilgar for some time, he knew the bond the Cleric had with Cirox-Thong had existed for much longer.
The two men wore thick cloaks to protect them from the icy bite of the morning wind. Oshiah retreated to his tree and pulled down his pack and began to dress. The other two stood upon the beach watching the sun rise from behind the wooden ship in the distance. Wilgar was the first to break the silence of the moment. “So, tell me again, Cirox, how you know this Captain Goras and why you trust him.” Cirox pondered the question for a moment before he replied. “Come now Wilgar, you know I’d never put you in the hands of someone if I thought they might betray you.” Wilgar only nodded in response. “In any case, I shall seek guidance from Titane before we set upon this journey. Too many powers align against us already.”
Cirox gestured to a point barely visible in this light along the beach “There is a flattened mound that may serve your purpose. I remember your communes to be quite… vigorous.” “That they are, but how else would one gain the attention of a war god? Would you care to join me?” Cirox smiled, “I’ll pass. If Titane will grant you insight to the safety of this journey, then I needn’t exert myself. Besides, I must meet with Goras to insure things are progressing as they should be.” Wilgar turned and called over his shoulder “Oshiah, I’m heading to that mound over there to commune with Titane and then we’ll be under way.” Sheathing his scimitar, Oshiah ran over to Wilgar followed by a bounding Dante. “Well, you speak with your god then. Tell him I said hi.” Oshiah smiled. Wilgar didn’t. “You need not worry Wilgar, I fear not the sea.” Oshiah said as he knelt to secure Dantes armor about him.
Standing high upon the mound, Wilgar swirled his mace above his head. His feet shifted as he moved in a rythmic pattern as if fighting multiple attackers to the beat of a drum. The intensity increased as his swings smashed through their invisible foes and his breathing hastened. Divine words spilled from his lips as sweat dripped from his brow. As his ritual came to an end, Wilgar dropped to his knees and closed his eyes.
Breakfast was served upon the bridge of the Wavecutter. At the head of the table sat Captain Goras, a veteran seagoer and shrewd merchantier. At the opposite end, Cirox-Thong sat, his magnificent hair dancing in the wind. To each side, the officers of Wavecutter sat quietly waiting for the Captains nod. Oshiah and Wilgar sat to either side of Cirox, also waiting patiently. “To a magnificent journey” the Captain announced as he stood, lifting his cup in the air. The others raised their tankards and shouted, almost in unison, “to the journey!”
The rest of the trip was quick and uneventful. The wind seemed to carry the Wavecutter to its destination. Even the captain was amazed at how easy the journey was. “See?” Oshiah commented, “nothing to fear from the sea.” Wilgar replied, “We’ve not yet set foot upon the shore, but it does seem we’ve had a fortunate voyage.”