Ramblings of a Ravaged, Revenge-run RavenSong

Hmm. That does sound heartless. Perhaps I should explain. You see, I had given up my life and so I thought I had no time for the dead. Perhaps that is why the denizens rumored to haunt the Path of the Dead did not trouble me on my southern journey. Though I walked among the living, I felt I was not one of them, for I was on a quest of vengeance. I would either kill Jakk and his Tornclaw war band, or, more likely, die trying. And so I followed the trail away from the massacre, tracing the orcs back to their lair, marking it as I went so that the others could follow as they may.

It was good that I did so, for it was the brutal efficiency of that noble trio that later saved me. I had taken out one patrol, and had just finished hiding the bodies when a second came upon me. It was a close thing, but I saw my death in their eyes. I slew three before I was beaten. The orcs recognized me, tormenting me with my failure, taunting me that even now Jakk was retuning to my homeland, and reviving me whenever the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness would claim me.

And then…

I was saved. Whatever draught it was that Xon gave me, it renewed my spirit and healed my body. I had tasted death, and was on its border, but with the aid of those fine people there was still a task left before I would willingly cross over.

Quickly, we decided to press our advantage of surprise, counting on the orcs knowing only of one headstrong captive and not the pure force of righteousness that would soon be crashing over them. Mere moments found many of the orc band drawing their last breaths. When we found a lift mechanism, Falahara jammed it so that we could fully explore the upper reaches of this orcish warren without worrying about more orcs coming from below, not that this upper level was of any great extent. All that remained was an ancient grave with an animated corpse trapped therein. We quickly dealt with the ghoul before returning to the lift.

There were but two more live orcs, and five dead ones, in that place. Apparently, even the foulest beings can tell the truth, for Jakk and his guards had indeed already left. If the dung-eating orcs were to be believed, they were retuning to the mountains of the north to raise another war band, raze a more towns, and bring Jakk one step closer to his orcish empire. In his stead, we fought and destroyed an abomination of a man. We failed to surprise him, and even while Falahara and Xon dealt him punishing blows, he managed to summon a ghastly blob of molten flesh and claws from the Fiery Pits of the Nine Hells. Resistant even to Falahara’s most deadly attacks, this creature charged past, striking at Oarhan before it disappeared. With all that happened, I don’t know if it was Xon or myself who struck the final blow, but the dark-haired man fell to the ground with flesh rotting in one of the more disgusting sights I have ever witnessed, just moments after Falahara fled the battle screaming in terror. I guess it is well she was spared that sight, though at that time I thought it unfortunate she lacked the courage I had hoped for.

We exhaustively searched the complex, and encountered only one other threat, and a small amount of loot (two cloaks, steel shield and a mail shirt, an old book and a wand). We stashed the bodies of the eight orcs that fell to my rescuers in the hall outside the supply room so they would not upset the townsfolk that would help return the recaptured goods and foodstuffs. This was Falahara’s idea, and while she and Xon did that, Oarhan and I organized what little healing supplies we would be able to take back with us that evening on the horses.

Having cleared the orcish complex, destroying over half of the Tornclaw war band, I could see the end of my quest neigh at hand.

Perhaps, just perhaps, I had begun to reclaim my life.