StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Rothcar jolted awake to the sound of the loud barking of the family dogs. He blinked for a few moments in the darkness and then pushed off the covers and rolled out of bed as fire shot through his body. The dogs would only bark if the house was threatened and unless whatever had spooked them had run off, his home could be under attack right now.

The light was poor, but his room was small and he knew it. He pulled his tunic over his head and hastily donned his breeches. There was no time. Outside, Wheezer went silent while Snowpaws had gone from barking to growling. He swung open his door to the main hall and grabbed his boots.

The Stonehand family farm was two stories with the outer walls built from stone. The floors, interior walls, and roof were wood, along with the support beams. The hearth was at the opposite end from the door, along with the bedrooms of the children. The rear half of farmhouse had a second story, which mostly consisted of his parents bedroom and a storage room. Finishing off the second story was a project for next winter, perpetually put off by more urgent developments. For now it was a balcony overlooking the front half of the house.

It was dark in the main hall. The fire provided dim light, which was just enough for dark adapted eyes to make their way around. Speedy, a big tabby, was yowling from the top of table as Rothcar put on his boots. A slender blonde girl came out of the bedroom opposite, only wearing knee length red tunic. "Anka, get back," he hissed at his thirteen year old sister. He reached back into his room and drew out his shield and spear.

The shield was circular, of linden wood covered in cow hide with a metal boss in the center protecting the hand grip. The spear was eight feet of solid ash with another foot and a half of steel. Snowpaws was silent now. "Get bent big brother," Anka said as she strung her bow.

The door groaned under a heavy blow. It was solid oak, as was the bar. A bear would have trouble breaking through it. Rothcar advanced on the door. Another heavy blow struck the door. Cracks spread through the holding bar. Two more blows thudded into the door. "Mighty Tempus, please," Rothcar prayed. "Please lend me courage. Please." Another blow and the door shuddered on its hinges.

The next one broke the bar. The blow after that blasted the door open. Dim light entered from the outside. Pale skinned figures wearing dark hides were clutching a log turned into a ram. Rothcar could only see four of them, but got the impression that there were more of them. He lunged forward and stabbed.

Rothcar got a better look at them as he attacked. They were orcs, not men. They were almost as tall as Rothcar, with broad shoulders and long, muscular arms. Their skin was pale, grey-white, and their hair was black and bristly. Red eyes glared out over a prognathous jaw armed with fearsome tusks. The stunk of stale sweat, shit, and rotting meat. He had never seen one before in the flesh.

The spear punched through the hides that the orc was using as armour, just under the collar bone and deep into his flesh. The orc fell back as Rothcar pulled his spear free. The orc next to the wounded one drew knives nearly as long as swords. Rothcar struck again, but the orc parried, forcing the spear to the side and forced his way forward, through the doorway and out to the side.

An arrow took the orc in the gut. The orc grunted and staggered, which allowed Rothcar to stab him in the thigh. Steel sliced through fat and muscle to grate against bone. Rothcar jerked the spear to the side to free it, cutting open the wound and widening it. The orc fell by the door, blood pooling beneath where it sat. A big orc with a scimitar and shield was coming through the doorway. Unlike the other two, this one wore a sleeveless scale coat.

An arrow from above struck the orc in the forehead. The arrowhead punched through out the back of the orc's skull. He fell in the doorway. Rothcar didn't need to look to know that his mother had fired from upstairs. Anka shot through the door into the orcs outside. "On your left," said Thorgen.

His elder brother took his side. Thorgen was three years older, just as tall, and fifteen pounds heavier. He had, annoyingly, a full beard. Short, but full. He was as blonde as the rest of family and as strong as their father and almost as quick as Rothcar.

"Why aren't they coming?" Rothcar asked.

"Because they're down three warriors and no wants to be the next to get through a half blocked doorway," said Thorgen. Unseen hands dragged the two orcs by the doorway away.

"You and your big mouth," said Rothcar.

"Move away from the doorway," bellowed a voice from behind.

"What?" Thorgen asked. Then an arrow whipped by his head. "Gods blood!" he swore as he broke left while Rothcar broke right. Another arrow struck Rothcar's shield while a third clattered off the wall. One nicked Thorgen in the thigh while Anka and their mother fired into the darkness.

"Ketl, Byorni, flip the table and push it up! Keep low!" their father ordered. He was just behind Rothcar. "Ease back son," he said as he stepped forward. Othgar had used the time to dawn his hauberk and helmet as well as belt on his sword.

"What now father?" he asked.

"Depends on how many of them. Don't like the look of the ram though. Means they've been planning for this."

"Dogs da!" said Anka. "I can hear dogs!"

"Good," said Othgar. "That's the neighbors then. That means they'll get help, but that won't be for a while."

"They're going to fire the house," said Thorgen. "Aren't they?"

"Maybe," said Othgar. "But only the roof is wood and it rained yesterday night. Won't burn easy and they get no captives if we burn so they'll probably try to force it again. Like beasts, they're brave enough when they think they have the upper hand."

Ketl and Byorni pushed the table up to them. "Up to the door boys, and then get back." The boys pushed it up so it blocked the bottom two-thirds of the doorway and then scampered to the side. "Get heavy things and pile them up behind the table."

The sound of axes on wood came from the sides. "They're destroying the shutters," said Othgar. "They're going to rush us from all sides at the same time. I'll hold the door. Rothcar, hold the right. Thorgen the left. Don't let them take any of your sisters alive."

An interesting start, what part of the Realms is this set in and where in the timeline?

Avrjoe wrote: ↑2019-05-30 01:40am An interesting start, what part of the Realms is this set in and where in the timeline?

The Sword Coast (high nerdery: the pseudo Norse names are Illuskan) and a while back from the current timeline.

As his sons rushed to check the windows Othgar looked down at the wounded orc that was clutching his side and sitting in a pool of his own blood. Their eyes met. Then Othgar's spear punched through the orc's face and withdrew. "Ljota!"

"Yes!" she yelled back. She had opened the shutter on her bedroom window to look out into the darkness. A javelin bounced off the window sill and back into the night. Clouds blocked out the moon and many of the stars, but there was enough light to see the orcs by. There were nearly a dozen on this side of the house. She loosed a shaft and drew back.

"I'm busy shooting orcs!" she shouted back. "What do you want, husband?!"

Othgar grinned. "Keep it up. I married well!"

Rothcar entered his room to see an orc pulling himself through the window. The fit was tight and the orc was at a diagonal angle, trying to push himself through with his hands. Rothcar stabbed. The orc tried to knock aside the spear, but was too slow. It was a poor thrust, sliding off the hides armouring the orc's shoulder.

The orc grabbed for the spear shaft. Rothcar pulled it back, cutting the orc's hand. He thrust again, catching the orc in the shoulder at the bast of the neck. Blood poured from the wound. The orc choked on the blood bubbling up from his throat, gargling curses at his killer. Rothcar left it there, dying, blocking the window.

As Rothcar went to the next room, Ketl and Byorni pulled the orc bodies behind the table. Othgar peeked out into the dark and then ducked down as an arrow came back, striking the top of the table. He shouted back in Orcish. "You shoot like you smell, shit eaters!"

"I got one," said Rothcar as he came back into the main room. "The windows are too narrow for their liking."

"Get your gambeson and helmet on," said Othgar. "Ketl, Byorni, watch the windows. They might try and sneak a runt in."

"Yes, da," the boys chorused.

"Anka, get upstairs and support your mother. Remember they see well in the dark so don't linger in front of any openings."

Rothcar put his helmet on and put down his spear and shield to don his gambeson. He quickly tied the laces. "Why aren't they coming?"

"Not eager to die," his father replied. "Windows are too narrow, the door is blocked, and we've killed them. It isn't going the way they wanted. They were supposed to kill the men and take the women and children as slaves. Didn't work. They can hear the neighbors' dogs. They know they're running out of time and their leader doesn't want to leave empty handed."

"So they're getting restless," said Thorgen.

"Which means they're going to leave," said Rothcar, "or a big rush."

Shouting came from outside, harsh, barking voices. Weapons clashed against weapons and thudded into shields. There was a cry of pain and rough, hooting laughter. "What's going on?" asked Thorgen.

"Leadership challenge," said Othgar.

"At least one fewer orc," said Rothcar.

"Tymora willing, more than just one," said Thorgen.

A horn blew in the distance. Another joined it. Outside there was hooting and jeering in the harsh, barking tongue of orcs. A voice shouted out orders and the orcs ran into the night.

"Don't go out yet," Othgar. "There may be ambushers with bows. Wait until the neighbors arrive."

-----

It was near dawn when a score of their neighbors arrived. The day was overcast and drizzling. They had dragged the orc corpses outside and piled them up for burning. Not much talking ensued, but grim looks exchanged by the older men and women said volumes. Othgar said almost nothing, but made a few gestures. The group broke up and he returned to his family.

"Thorgen, trim some wood for a new bar for the door."

"Yes da."

"Rothcar, dig a grave by the old tree for the dogs."

"Yes da. Da, what are we going to do?"

"There's going to be a shield meet in town. We're going to secure the house. Odds are they'll try another house if they come back, but we're not taking any chances."

The dogs' bodies lay on yard, struck down by orc arrows. They were gently lifted up and buried at the foot of an ancient and gnarled oak close to the house. The younger boys wept openly, the adults eyes were hard and wet.

"Chauntea," rumbled Othgar, "Earth Mother, hear this prayer. I don't have fancy words to say to you, but I have honest ones. They were good dogs. We beg you to treat them kindly in the next life or see them reborn into the house of good folk. Thank you and praise to your name."

They covered the bodies in earth and returned to the house. Othgar spoke. "There's going to be a meeting in the market square. We're all going. No one goes out alone, not until the orcs are dealt with. Wear your armour at all times, even to bed if you can sleep in it. Always have a weapon within reach."

"What's going to happen?" Rothcar asked.

"You'll stay ready and out of trouble," rumbled Othgar.

"The men will talk a lot," said Ljota. "When they get tired of jawing, we'll settle on how to fight them. We'll send to Luskan for help and track them back to their lair. Then it depends on how many of them there are and how hard it is to get at them. It's probably a small tribe that got bounced out of its territory by a bigger one. If its a bigger one moving into human lands, then it'll be bad. We'll need a lot of help. Might lose the land."

"That itsn't going to happen," said Othgar. "They tried to take this land from us before and we are still here. Twenty years ago they came in numbers. We won then and we'll win now. Just mind your elders and stand firm."

"I'm not standing back," said Rothcar.

"You won't son," said Othgar. "Just do as your told. You'll get enough opportunities to wet your spear. More than enough."

Rothcar bent down to pick up a smooth pebble, cocked his arm back, and threw it at a flat trajectory at the pond. Instead of skipping across the surface, it went straight in. "Beshaba's brats," he cursed.

"Painful cuz," said a familiar voice behind him. "Almost as painful as that peach fuzz you're trying to call a beard." He turned to see his cousin Kethra sitting on rock behind him. She was as silent as a ghost when she wasn't running her mouth, which meant that everyone could here her coming most of the time. She was on the tall side, muscular from a life of working outdoors, and pretty in the way that made male relatives over protective of their female relatives all the world over. She took a lot after he father, Rothcar's uncle.

She dressed like him too, wearing a forester's wool and leathers instead of dresses. The bow she carried was her own work, using the skills she learned from her father. "How are you doing?" he asked.

She tossed back her shoulder length dark brown hair. "Not bad, not bad. But I think that's my question to ask you cuz. I know no one got hurt bad adn the house is still standing, but how are you?"

He looked into her dark eyes. "Fine. Had the shakes after, for a bit, but I'm fine. You shouldn't be out alone."

"She isn't," said a voice from a copse of trees. Herolf the Ganger was so clearly Kethra's father that for a while there was a joke running around the village that he could have caught five men in bed with her mother and still be certain of his paternity. No one had said it where he could here it and none said it at all since she had been carried off by a sickness so bad a priest of Chauntea's magic couldn't save her.

"Uncle!" said Rathcor, with genuine happiness. Herolf kept to himself most of the time, but when he chose to socialize he could be good company. "I thought you would be at the meeting."

"The meeting," said Herolf as he raised a wineskin to his lips and drank. "The meeting hasn't started because the representatives from the other villages hasn't arrived yet. And when they do, they'll jaw around it for hours trying to avoid what is fucking obvious. Around nightfall they'll come around to what needs to be done. And none of them wants to hear from me and fewer would listen if I did say anything." He took another hit from the wineskin and then tossed it to Rathcor.

He caught the skin and took a drink for it. The wine the thick and strong. He handed it Kethra. "Thanks uncle."

"You're welcome. Some say you're not really a man until you stick an orc or stick it in a woman." Kethra rolled her eyes and took a drink. She passed the wineskin back to her father. "That's shit. I've known men who've wetted the spear and lain with a dozen women who are nothing but overgrown boys. That doesn't mean what you did doesn't matter. It's a big thing, killing a thinking creature. More when you're defending your family."

"Thanks," Rothcar replied. Herolf took another drink and then turned around. "Hi boys."

Anders and Bran waved as they walked towards them, coming from the direction of the village. Anders was big, tall as Herolf and broader, blonde as Rothcar, and a lot smarter than he looked. Bran was dark haired, short and slight. He was also fast. The two were almost brothers and as thick as thieves.

"Well well well," said Bran. "What do we have here? Looks like Stonehands are ready for war."

"That's what's coming boys," said Herolf. He took another swig of wine. "Your fathers should have told you as much."

"My da never talks about it," said Anders. "And no one knows who Bran's da is."

"Yeah yeah yeah," said Bran. "You're a funny man, Anders. You'll still be laughing when I knife you in the kidneys."

"Twenty years ago we took this land," said Herolf. "The orcs came down and burned some farms. Killed people. People I knew. People who were friends." He paused to take another drink.

"So we did what we're going to do now. Every grown man and woman, and more than a few boys and girls, took up their weapons. All the villages together. We sent to Luskan for aid and they sent a couple score men at arms and a handful of wizards from the Arcane Brotherhood. We fought them in the field and we then we hunted through the forests. The survivors ran to the Spine of the World or hunkered down in the old Keffen Mines.

"So we got some engineers from Mirabar and burned them out. They built some kind of bellows device like a dragon's throat. Bloody work, but not hard. We pushed them back, hard. Hard enough that we thought it would be safe to take this land. And so we did. New land, new farms, new villages. We made it ours. And for twenty years, we were right." He took another drink. "Now we aren't."

Rothcar looked up at the sky. It was still overcast, with rain drizzling down. "So we track them down then kill them?"

"Yes," said Herolf.

"With tracks that could lead into rough terrain, with it raining."

"Going to get harder, each hour."

"So better to do it now, instead of when they make up their minds and the track might get lost." He jerked his thumb back towards the village.

"You sure you want to do this?" Herolf asked.

"Yes uncle, I think I do."

"Some day," said Herolf, "we need to talk about this. Now I'll give you a man's courtesy and take you at your word. I'm coming with you."

"And you don't even half to ask about us," said Anders. "It's not like Bran has anything to live for."

"Funny guy," said Bran. "Of course I'm in."

"And so am I," said Kethra.

"Kethra," said Herolf sternly.

"What? I can't come? You're going to throw me out of the house if I do?"

"None of that foolishness. Forgive a father for worrying."

"I do, but how much did your father worry about you or Uncle Othgar going into battle?"

"Hells if I know. You've met your grandfather. He's mellowed. He was a meaner bastard back in those days. Scareder of him than orcs. I was right too. I killed orcs, couldn't get away with killing him."

"So it's settled," said Kethra. "Let's go out and find those fuckers so we can burn them out before they do us."

The Meet was still arguing when they left. They were adults, in the eyes of the law and custom, but they still lived in the houses of their fathers and they were young. Better to come back crowned in valor than to argue over whether or not to go than to argue with the men who owned the rooves over their heads. They detoured, but not by much, to reach Herolf's cottage and add food to their satchels and waterskins they could fill by the streams.

"Not likely that we'll be going far," said Herolf as they walked through his brother's fields. "None of the orcs had much in the way in supplies on them. Orcs are hardy, but they don't like going without. They're close, hours out. Maybe a day or two at the worst."

"So we could walk right into them," said Anders.

"Not likely," said Herolf. "They make too much noise. Most of the wood craft they have is to laying snares and ambushes. We'll see them first."

"And if we don't?" asked Anders.

"Then we're dead," said Herolf. He paused. "I know you boys want to be seen as men in the eyes of your fathers. I wanted the same thing too, until I realized that would never happen." He looked at Rathcor. "Your father never seem to realize that, but your grandfather is under earth and stone where he belongs now. You're men, in the laws eyes, and your blood is up. You're inclined to go out there and do something to prove that you're men so I'm here to make sure you don't do anything foolish while everyone else talks their jaws off. Damn fool nonsense, only one thing to be done."

He held up his right and and index finger. "We are doing one thing: finding the orcs. We aren't fighting them unless things go very bad. We find them, we come back. We tell everyone. By then they'll have decided to send for help and then we lead the way and kill them all. Now is just finding and only finding."

"Yes, da," said Kethra.

"Yes, sir," said Anders and Bran.

"Yes, uncle," replied Rothcar.

"Good."

They walked in silence for a while. The orcs were too many and the ground too soft to do much to hide their tracks. Not that they tried to do so. From field to wood to wood again they went as the rain drizzled down from overhead. The village and farms receded as they moved from the settled lands harvested by men to the wilder lands that were never that far away in the North and the Silver Marches.

These woods did not know the frequent hands of men. Herds were seldom grazed here, charcoal was not burned, branches were not shaped or cut. The tracks continued and they followed a game trail through the trees. Soon they came to the edge of a fat bodied stream.

"Too wide, too fast, and too deep for crossing safely," said Kethra. "Stream bank is rocky but we should be able to find where they forded," she said pointing downstream to where a islet pocked out from the middle of the stream, "but I'm thinking there."

"No," said her father.

"What do you mean-oh," said Kethra.

The others stared for a moment. "Those are the cursed woods, aren't they?" said Bran.

"Yes," said Herolf. "We go around."

"That'll eat some time," said Anders.

"Better than being a fool," said Herolf. "Whatever is in that patch of woods likes to be left alone and men have died for it to have its way." He started walking down stream. "There's a ford this way, far enough down."

"How about the orcs?" asked Bran.

"I can see prints on the islet," said Kethra. "They crossed here. And didn't get eaten."

"Maybe they were too many, maybe it was asleep, maybe they got permission," said Herolf. "Maybe it only took one. Not going in to find out."

"Do you know what it is, uncle?"

"No."

"Any idea what it might be?"

"Several. One's likely than the others. All can kill us. Keep your distance and keep on moving."

It hadn't taken that long. Herolf passed his spyglass over to Rothcar. "Look."

Rothcar took the glass and peered into it. They were down on their bellies, beneath the brush, at the top of a wooded hill. Rothcar took the glass and looked at the orc camp. It was centered on the ruins of an old hilltop tower fortress, long since razed down to its foundations. Trees had been felled to create rough shelters and barricades, a process that was ongoing. Smoke rose from half a dozen fires as pale, nearly naked bodies dug at pits in the earth. "What are they digging for?" he asked as he passed the glass to Kethra.

"Under cellars," replied Herolf. "Pull down the walls and collapse the entrances if you're going to abandon a fortress. So the enemy doesn't make use of it. The foundations probably go back to Illusk."

"It's not stopping the orcs," said Anders.

"Better they have a little instead of a lot to work with," said Kethra. "Fighting uphill, in the woods, against defenders behind in short walls of wood and dirt? They'll bleed you hard."

"And the orcs will dig another fortress beneath the ground," said Anders.

"Won't be enough if we get the right help," said Herolf. "Dwarves from Citadel Mirabar, wizards from Luskan, fighting men from both. Adventurers, if we're lucky. We've seen enough, let's go."

They kept low and behind cover as they climbed down to the other side of the hill. Once the hill was between them and the orcs, Herolf lead the way into a loping jog. The youngsters followed in his wake. Herolf was irritatingly effortless, a quality that Kethra also possessed. Rothcar, Anders, and Bran were soon breathing hard, but mostly managing to keep pace.

They ate up ground, running down the hill and onto the flat land. Herolf kept up the pace as they moved along the game trails beneath the tall trees. The leafy canopy sheltered them from the rain, but not from the demands of Herolf's pace. Bran, with the shortest legs, felt it the most. "Do we have to push this hard?" his gasped.

"I'm carrying more gear than you and I'm not complaining," said Anders, from just ahead of him.

"You're a fucking tree," Bran replied. "Could . . . cover . . . you . . .with . . .ten . . .men's . . .harness . . . and-"

A deep screech cut through air. Branches snapped as a massive, dark shape pushed through the underbrush. It was covered with dark fur and stood on two legs like a man, but it was not a man. It wasn't quite as bulky as a bear, but it was heavily built and stood close to eight feet tall. Red eyes burned from pits deep in its skull and massive, saliva dripping tusks protruded from its long jaws.

Herolf ran backwards, out of the reach of the beast's sweeping arms. Kethra unslung her shield and spear as Rothcar joined her. "Back!" said Herolf.
The beast shrieked again and Kethra lunged. Her spear took it low in the belly and skidded off its skin. "Tempus's blood!" she swore.

"Put more muscle behind it!" Anders yelled and threw his own spear. It struck the beast in the head and bounced off. The beast swung at Kethra and she took the blow on her shield. She staggered back under the force of the blow. Rothcar thrust hard into its thigh and the point slid off its hide.

Herolf drew back his bow and fired an arrow into the beast's chest. The shaft sank deep into the beast's flesh and bright red blood spurted from the wound. The beast squealed and swung its head back towards Herolf. The older man dodged behind a tree and knocked another arrow. "Run!" he yelled. "You can't hurt it."

"Dad!" Kethra yelled.

"Run!" he yelled. The beast stormed around the tree and came at Herolf. He half rounded the tree. "Go!"

They ran. The beast circled the tree and Herolf shot a second arrow into its left thigh. The shaft sunk into the meat of the limb and the beast howled and staggered. Herolf leapt back, turned, and ran.

The beast lunged forward on its right leg and leapt with its arms outstretched. The beast's paw closed on Herolf's heel and pulled him down. His screams followed the youngsters to the edge of the forest.

Well, that was a nasty thing.
Tusks, so not an owlbear. Damage Resistance? What is it?

LadyTevar wrote: ↑2020-02-03 09:39pm Well, that was a nasty thing.
Tusks, so not an owlbear. Damage Resistance? What is it?

Lycanthrope of some kind, most likely.

Rogue 9 wrote: ↑2020-02-03 10:27pm

LadyTevar wrote: ↑2020-02-03 09:39pm Well, that was a nasty thing.
Tusks, so not an owlbear. Damage Resistance? What is it?

Lycanthrope of some kind, most likely.

Furry and Tusked would be WereBoar, in that case.