Dur’dan waits for the Shelic doctor to finish with the sutures. To Barris (and to Kahn if he is present) “Barris tell the Clans to feast and drink and rejoice that they survived, and toast to the men that didn’t. Let them know that their Warlord lives, and will address them in the morning, and that this call to arms is not over yet. Unless you have anything to add, you are dismissed.”
When Kahn arrives, he will look to him with a smirk, “I killed a giant.” and with a hearty laugh he will send the Shelic woman caring for him for food and drink for him and Kahn, and Hob shall he wake.
“No. This was my first time.” John is oddly quiet and reflective. “We did well, men. Very well indeed. But soon we must begin clearing out the ancient Dwarven delve. More lives may be lost.” He looks up. “I don’t want a human life to be among those.”
The Ironbeard camp consists of a ring of wagons formed on the southern edge of the Shelic settlement, tarps and blankets draped over the vehicles to form simple shelters. At the center of the wagon circle is a Shelic tent repurposed for Dur’dan’s use and at its entrance a bonfire. There are fifteen or so dwarves in the camp and walking through it Khan can see that they are not in high spirits. Some sport minor injuries but they’re healthy for the most part. Their faces tell a different story: They are somber, some cleaning themselves of the grime and gore of battle, others eating or drinking in silence and what’s left merely sitting either at their makeshift tents or the central fire.
A dwarf with a wax tablet is leaving Dur’dan’s tent as Khan arrives. He is professional and says nothing but the gaze he levels on the shaman as he passes is sharp with bitterness. The newly-proclaimed prophet steps inside the tent and exchanges nods with Dur’dan and the longbeard that’s with him. A Shelic woman is attending to Dur’dan and Hob is unconscious on the far side of the room. Dur’dan speaks to Khan with a smirk as he enters: “I killed a giant.” Dur’dan returns his attention to the dwarf with him, who was speaking to him before Khan’s arrival.
The longbeard, Barris, continues in dwarven to Dur’dan, who cuts him off with a single word. Barris pauses and then continues before Dur’dan silences him again, this time with a shouted response. Barris speaks another few words and leaves it at that.
Dur’dan switches to Arcadian for Karikhanot’s benefit: “Barris, tell the Clans to feast and drink and rejoice that they survived, and toast to the men that didn’t. Let them know that their Warlord lives, and will address them in the morning, and that this call to arms is not over yet. Unless you have anything to add, you are dismissed.”
Barris stares at Dur’dan in silence for a few long moments before responding, in dwarven.
“Never thought I’d be fighting alongside savages and dwarves, I’ll tell you that.” Trimere is middle-aged and overweight and doesn’t seem at home in his leather armor. Still, he handled himself quite well in the battle.
Yesh gives a quiet response. “Won’t let you down, cap’n.” After a few moments, “You’ve been to the delve, right? What’s it like?” The idea of going so deep underground to fight undead is obviously unnerving him. What person wouldn’t be unnerved at the thought? And John knows that skeletons aren’t all that lurk below…
Dur’dan pauses and thinks to himself, and as Barris is about to leave, he says, “Oth Ungrill Crookback.” He nods to himself with satisfaction.
He turns his attention once again to Khan, “That is the Dwarven name for this battle, it roughly translates to the First Battle of the Crookback. We were victorious but we sustained heavy losses. More than what was acceptable. All because of my foolish mistakes. I broke formation and led my men to slaughter like a runt.”
Dur’dan rubs his head and beard and is obviously unsettled.
“The delve? It’s glorious, I’ll tell you that. Big as a city, every inch of stone masterfully carved… it puts anything around in the world today to shame. Makes the place the dwarves live now look like a rabbithole. And filled with metals that will map us all very, very rich.” He laughs shortly. “One day soon we’ll come back here and build a monument to our fallen comrades.”
Karikhanot forces a smile. “I hear you had the help of brave and selfless soldiers,” he says noncommittally.
In that moment, Khan realizes that he is not the prophet of his own people. The Shelic are not the protagonists in this chapter of the Voice’s glorious history. His brothers and sisters were the catalysts, the spark and kindling, but the dwarf before him will be the fire that roars in greeting to a new era.
The dwarf’s destiny lays before him, and Dur’dan marches (and stumbles!) blindly toward it. Karikhanot can see the Ironbeard clearly now, his eyes opened by the majesty of the Voice. The realization does not fill Khan with joy, or celebration, but for the first time in his life, he finds himself questioning the Voice.
Him? He is unsure and headstrong. He is rash, reckless, and hot-tempered. There must be a mistake…
But immediately Khan crushes the thought. He will deliver Dur’dan to his destiny with fidelity. The dwarf certainly does not yet realize his own role in the glorious saga, and would not understand even if Karikhanot attempted to explain it to him. The shaman is nearly overcome with the impossibility of his task. He must keep Dur’dan alive, despite the dwarf’s casual disregard for his own safety.
Dur’dan nods, “I softened it up for them… distracted it with me beard.”
He finds the pipe in the unconscious Hob’s pocket, along with the pipe weed and helps himself, offering the pipe to Khan as well. After a few tokes he says, “Me and me Dwarves held up our end of the bargain, we laid down axe and shield and helped your people in the plague of their land. Now I must know that you and yours will do right by our agreement and fight our fight. Like I said before, we suffered heavy loses and without your help we are too few to reclaim Nal Oddosk.”
Dur’dan inhales deeply. “We need to wait and make sure that we are all well before descending back into the lost delve…” he motions to Hob. “…but remember this: every minute lost is a minute closer to the fall of the Clan Ironbeard.”
“There is more going on here than you know. Do you really think I would sacrifice any member of the Yellow Suns for someone else’s cause? Especially one for people like the dwarves!” Arrow said to Tusk and all the other Yellow Sun members who might be questioning his decisions.
Arrow will walk around the battle field searching for Goro’s body.
Tusk and Kittix accompany Arrow out of the camp. There is hardly any light out this late and even Arrow has difficulty seeing. Tusk halts the others, “Wait a moment, rather ‘n’ stumbling around…” He takes a minute or so to produce a torch from his pack and get it lit. The hundred yards to the site of the battle are passed in silence. There are carrion birds out among the dead: They can’t quite be seen beyond the perimeter of the torchlight but they can be heard, flapping from one choice carcass to another, their fighting kept to a minimum by the simple abundance of food. All of the trio are capable of seeing perfectly in poor lighting (and even in pitch darkness in Kittix’s case) and begin the hunt for Goro’s body.
All these bodies are of greenskins. The Shelic and dwarves place high importance on the collecting and treatment of corpses and collected their dead over the last few hours. Kittix has his mind set on profit and scours orc and goblin corpses for anything of value. Fifteen minutes into their search he finds a fine leather belt, of Shelic make by the looks of it, strapped to a dead goblin who likely looted it off of a recent victim from the northern tribes. The lizardfolk examines it before looping it around his own waist and carrying on.
Eventually Arrow finds the site where he and the others with him made their stand. The area is thick with goblin corpses. “Arrow, what do your elven eyes see?” Prompts Tusk.
Arrow is pulling goblin corpses from a pile, at the bottom of which is Goro’s lifeless body. “Does he have jewelry?” asks Kittix.
John lays back and looks at the ceiling. He sighs. “So many great men have suffered already for our cause. To fail now would mean to dishonor them. Besides… There is more than my personal gain at stake here. You’ve seen our world, and how poorly the weak are treated. I’m going to fix that. The small amount that I can fix, at least. Nowadays, money buys power… And you can do anything you want with power.”
Karikhanot stays with Dur’dan for a few minutes, until realizing suddenly that he would rather be alone. Khan dismisses himself tactfully, and begins a slow trek toward the battlefield. His wounds scream, and his muscles ache, but he pushes forward. He will not allow himself to rest.
Eventually, he reaches his destination. Bloodjaw’s corpse lays before him, abandoned to the desert. “Even you were an agent of Fate, in the end,” Kharikanot muses. He does not stop, but walks around the body toward the mighty boar, cleaved by its own master’s axe.
“A fine spirit, indeed. Relentless. You bore the burden of destiny as surely as the orc you served. You will serve a new purpose now, champion. Your burdens are not yet over. I am sorry, great warrior.”
Trimere has done all he can for Gub. “Right, well, I’m off then.” He pats John on the shoulder as he passes, disappearing down the lanes of makeshift beds and into the jungle of tents on his way west towards the lake. John can either remain with Yesh and Gub or head off in search of the others or a place to sleep.
Tusk and Kittix give each other looks but don’t say anything. Kittix tries scratching at the tough desert floor with a found axehead but the ground has very little give. “Hard ground, Arrow. Maybe easy with shovel.” Suddenly there is a flash of light from the south and Kittix stumbles over a pile of greenskin corpses in his fright. Shelesian chanting is filling the night sky from the distance and there is the sound of snorting pigs and the stamping of hooves.
The half-orc spits. “Fuckin’ savages.” Tusk pulls one of Goro’s lifeless arms over his shoulder. “Come on, Kittix, get the other end of him. We’ll put him in the ground by the lake an’ hope the barbarians don’ make a golem of him.”
The morning of the day after the battle has arrived. The area is thick with carrion birds gorging themselves on the feast that has been laid out for them. The heat of the sun pounds down on the camp and soon the air will stink with the burning and rotting dead. More of the flying scavengers are beginning to harass those goblins undergoing their shuntas: For them slow and unimaginable deaths await.
Karikhanot is seen returning to camp walking alongside a massive boar remarkably similar to Bloodjaw’s, though this animal seems somehow more vital and lacks the dyes, brands, piercings and chains that adorned the warlord’s mount.
Dur’dan wakes with a start in his tent, drenched in sweat. Barris is standing at the flap entrance. “You’re awake, m’lord,” he salutes as he speaks, continuing on in dwarven, “Two of the wounded died in the night… and this heat isn’t helping morale. Any orders?” Hob remains unconscious on the other end of the tent.
John Fredrickson is still at the center of camp with his men, face layered with sticky sweat. “What I wouldn’t give for a brothel and a bath,” Yesh complains. “How much longer are we gonna be out here?”
Arrow is still lounging in the shade on the shore of the lake. There is a small mound under which Goro has been interred for his final rest. Tusk is sitting a small distance off, drinking occasionally from a flask. The others may be bored but the half-orc seems to prefer things slow. Kittix is underwater in the lake, somewhere. Trimere made a short appearance during the night but gods know where he is now.