Hoards, Hubris and Heroics

You take a moment to finish swallowing your bread and cheese before responding. You can hardly claim to be a great expert in mortal etiquette but you know that it is frowned upon to speak with a full mouth. This also gives a moment for your great intellect to consider the relative merits of your options. It is an undeniable fact that wizards, left unattended, are often the source of a great deal of problems, and Sindri has an excellent point about clay. Yet ultimately this is Emelda's quest, and you are just along for the ride. "I think that this is your mission and your decision Emelda." you offer as your response. "If you think the best place to start is where you first became convinced there was something to investigate, I will follow." With this wisdom offered you take another bite of bread. You are not very impressed with it. Emelda thanks you for your support with a smile. "You have a point there Wryss. I suppose it is ultimately my decision." She turns back to your other two companions. "You both bring excellent points and I thank you for them. But ultimately I don't think I will be able to sleep satisfied until I have returned to where this all began for me." Sindri responds to this with a casual shrug so trademark of his infuriatingly laid-back people. Agni is much harder for you to read, considering how little you know about him, but he takes a hand to his chin and nods, saying solemnly "It is true that the decision is your burden to bear."

With the decision having been made, your companions grab their baggage and head for the door. You quickly follow suit. Fortunately, even though you haven't prepared by packing, it takes you moments to gather your traveling equipment and catch up. The walk out of the city is uneventful as the inhabitants of the Outer Ring give your group and you in particular a wide berth. Leaving the city, the trip rapidly becomes far more unpleasant, as the decaying road gives way to sodden soil. The land gives way beneath your feet with an unpleasant squish, the air grows more humid, and insects interested in your blood begin to gather. You decide quickly that you hate swamps. The unpleasant experience is made far worse by your current lack of scales. Be it the sensation of mud oozing, beneath your feet, the stinging of flies or how gross perspiration makes you feel- the sensations have you uncomfortable In the swamp and uncomfortable In your skin. Neither Agni nor Sindri seem much happier, though Agni seems determined to endure and Sindri at least seems used to moisture and the wilderness. Emelda for her part moves deftly forward, hardly bothered by the terrain. Considering your destination is an otherwise unremarkable part of the swamp, rather than a notable landmark you are all forced on her ability to distinguish a random dead tree or arched rock as the markers needed to find her former camp. You are surprised for a moment at how natural and unbothered she seems in this hellish place, but on second thought you consider that she did grow up here and spent her career patrolling it- of course she has become habituated to the terrain. You distract yourself from your horrible suffering by imagining the difficulties the others would have with the heights and colds that you are used to, and by asking Emelda about swamps- more specifically the names of swamps. "If this is the Greater Morass" you manage, as your right leg sinks deeply into the bog, "What is the Lesser Morass?" Emelda laughs at both your question and the obviously boiling wellspring of newly-formed swamp hatred you have found within your heart. "The Lesser Morass is to the far northeast, on the very fringes of the Grand Duchy. I truthfully don't know that much about it- it's much smaller than the Greater Morass I know, but it has a much worse reputation in terms of how difficult it is to traverse and the kinds of dangers that inhabit it. But if you think this is large and difficult, if you travel the Ducal road all the way to the east it ends at Brac, and beyond Brac sprawls the Land's End Swamp. It's such a barrier to travel it forms our eastern border, beyond it somewhere lies the lands of the Baron Redvine, or Marquis Redvine, or whatever title he has given himself now. Just a typical eastern thug playing at nobility. They rarely last long."

Mercifully you eventually arrive at your destination. The remnants of the camp have been rapidly retaken by the swamp, only some tattered and burnt remnants of tents. With this much time being passed there is little evidence of a fight, beyond some dried stains of blood. "Do you think you could track the enemy Sindri?" asks Emelda. "Emelda I may be a skilled hunter, but after a month the trail is long and cold. Besides, fish do not usually leave tracks and trails to be hunted, it's not exactly my skill set to follow an orc through the swamp." Emelda grids her teeth as she considers this. "Tell us about what happened." Asks Agni kindly. "In truth it's something of a blur, which is why no one took me seriously. We were on a pretty typical patrol, the five of us, we'd just camped for the night, lit the fire and were settling in. A few hours after the sunset I woke up to Ori's screams. He'd been on watch. Fortunately I always keep my axe by my bedroll so I was up and fighting in a moment. It was chaos, everything was on fire. I just remember the biggest orc I ever saw hewing down my squad like rotten timber and giving directions to his lessers. I don't remember how I got away, but I know there were no wounds on my back and I still had my axe so I didn't break and flee!" Your keenly insightful read of mortal body language makes it clear that she is highly agitated by recalling the battle. Agni merely gathers some dry wood and places it in the ruined campfire and works it into a roaring blaze. "It sounds like they may have come to your campfire. Maybe it was an orcish patrol that met yours. If they're still around they'll come to the smoke. But this time we'll be ready" Lacking a better plan you gather around the precious warmth and dryness of the campfire and wait to see if any orcs will come and try to kill you.

The sun has wound its way to the highest point in the sky when Zeno, who had determinedly made his way into your travel satchel, turns bone white and rapidly makes his way out of the bag, and onto the head of Sindri. Sindri jumps up and takes one of his spears from his back. "They're coming" he says as he gets ready to throw. Emelda grips her axe so tightly her knuckles turn white and you are taken quiet aback when Agni takes off his cloak. Not only have you never seen a human with such a strongly defined physique but also his abdominal muscles are literally glistening with oil in the sun. Wasn't this guy a cleric of some sort? Your train of thought is rudely interrupted by a scream of "FOCUS WRYSS" from Emelda and of the course the attack of an orcish warband.

Advancing towards you and your companions through the swamp are nine orcs, their bone swords raised high. Being sculpted by an evil wizard from clay for the purpose of conquering the world, they are like a parody of the human form, built strong but lacking true detail. Behind them is the aforementioned largest orc that Emelda has ever seen. You are profoundly disappointed when the "giant" is about a head and half taller than a typical orc and not an actual giant. Unlike their smaller peers they are armed and armored in bronze rather than bone. The orc in front goes down with a coral spear in their head, the result of a strong throw by Sindri. The lead orc assigns two orcs to each of you with a simple gesture before advancing on Emelda with a smile.

With two orcs focused on fighting you, you stop paying attention to the rest of the battle. The rest of the fighting isn't nearly as important as the combat that involves you most directly. With your offhand you conjure a ferocious blast of frost at one orc while with your new sword you block the blows from the other. A blade of sharpened bone is hardly the most advanced weapon you have ever seen but it is driven with considerable force and your bronze sword isn't actually cutting edge itself, you are forced backwards as you absorb the blows. Eventually you see an opening, and also resolve to hold back less and with a horizontal slash you drive your hooked blade through the clay chest of the orc, nearly bisecting it. No longer directly engaged, you scan your eyes to your companions. Of Sindri's two orcs, one is also impaled with a coral spear and the other is unmoving on the ground with an octopus on its face. One of Agni's two orcs has melted while the other is trading blows with Sindri. Emelda drops one of her lesser orcs before she is sent flying by a glancing blow from the lead orc and lands by Agni. The greater orc orders its subordinate to finish off the fallen before turning towards you. You manage to spot Agni healing the blow with a flash of light and Emelda getting up before you are occupied with a definitively large non gigantic orc's onslaught. You don't really want to drop your sword or staff, but also don't want to try blocking any attacks one handed, so you are forced to deign to dodging.

Unfortunately, being generally above such things you find yourself rather poor at it. Adventurers make the whole thing seem easy, but you find yourself short of breath and sweating as you barely evade blows, not to mention struggling to find the moment to unleash your own attack. After a failed roll leaves you sprawled in the mud you decide to stop dodging and just absorb the blows directly. After all, regardless of outer appearances this creature isn't nearly strong enough to actually hurt your true form. Fortunately for your perfect disguise it is at this point that your companions, having dispatched all other foes, rally to your sadly undignified fallen form. Seeing the odds turned decisively against it, the orc turns to flee and outpaced Emelda's exhausted pursuit even after a spear lands squarely in the small of the back as it flees.

Your companions are silent for a time, catching their breath, only the natural sounds of the swamp filling the void. "Not really much of a giant was it then. I'm profoundly disappointed." You begin, having recovered faster than your "peers." Strangely, laughs at this. 'I suppose ... .that in the darkness and chaos I did exaggerate a certain amount. The Archon Militant wasn't entirely wrong. But that Orc was genuinely huge by orc standards, and did you see the way it was equipped and acted? That is not normal! I'm not making things up."

You nod thoughtfully, since you don't actually have much of a barometer on what makes a "normal" orc. Sindri shrugs. "I don't really know much of what is normal for an orc," he says. "Orcs aren't made, they're sculpted. The more sophisticated the sculpt, the more advanced and dangerous the orc. Ordinally an orcish tribe is a persistent but minor threat. As long as there's still clay it's all but impossible to wipe them out, but a simple orc only makes more simple orcs." offers Agni. "Aye. Nothing turns an orc tribe from nuisance to menace like an outsider displacing the leadership and crafting a new generation of much more dangerous orcs. And that most certainly screams a more sophisticated hand. A hand that can sculpt at a greater scale as well." Elaborates Emelda. As he tries to pull one of his coral barbs from the inert clay of a dead orc, Sindri opines "So your suspicions are confirmed, but we don't exactly have hard proof. Do you want to try and push on and pursue or try to convince your archon again with a better description of events. I'm still in fighting shape, though I need a moment to retrieve my spears."

"Chasing that orc through the swamp to the rest of its kind is unwise I think. I still think we should call upon that wizard. A wizard moves to the swamp and suddenly more dangerous orcs are being made? No way it's not linked. Who made orcs in the first place? Wizards." Agni nods in agreement with himself. Emelda takes her time to consider the next move. It is the perfect time for you to add your own cutting insight.

[ ] The absolute best thing that can be done is getting out of this awful swamp as soon as possible. You may not have a perfect picture of what is going on, but something is clearly wrong. Trying to properly warn the Archon is not only wise, but it would also involve leaving the swamp.

[ ] Pushing deeper into the swamp is overly zealous but retreating to the city is too cautious. Calling upon an unknown wizard to pointedly ask questions, however, is absolutely the right amount of risk. There's no way that Xolair doesn't know anything.

[ ] From your understanding of how adventurers tend to work, their default methods are to just continually chase trouble until they're dead or heroes. You haven't finished looking for trouble yet, and besides so far you have had a distinct lack of plunder. It would be best to chase down that orc and try to find the dwellings of the tribe.
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Hi folks. A few months ago, I had a dream that was similar to the plot of this quest. A few weeks ago, I was pretty sick and had nothing to do while lying in bed but write. This quest is the product of that literally feverish productivity. I've tried a few quests on this site before and run several GSRPs and generally I'm far better at coming up with cool ideas than actually keeping them going. For some reason this one is the one that I've kept going longer than much further than a lot of my other ideas. Thank you for voting in my silly little tongue in cheek story.

Emelda is silent for a time, considering her options. "I don't think we should let it get away," you opine. The idea of letting enemies escape you just offends your sensibilities. Your companions may be winded but you're literally perfect and therefore mostly unscathed. Also, you have no idea what you're getting into which means you cannot possibly be concerned. The silence is broken by the sickening squelching noise of the barbs of a coral spear being drawn out of the clay form of a dead orc. "Orcs don't bleed really, but I should be able to follow fresh tracks," says Sindri. "It's a risk to keep going, but it's likely just as big a risk to let it get away and warn its tribe of our presence. We're going deeper and we're going fast." Emelda says, making the call. There is no further debate, just silent nods and then movement. As much as you hated going through the swamp when you were traveling with a set destination and at your own pace, the swamp is much worse when in a hurry. Compared to your companion you are much less deft at navigating the terrain and find yourself continually hustling in the rear to keep up. At one point you trip on a root and slam face-first directly into the muck. You stand up dripping and coughing. Swamps are the absolute worst. Mercifully for your horrible suffering as the pursuit continues the terrain dries as you begin to ascend more hilly terrain.

After a few hours of rapid pursuit in a south easterly direction you finally crest the ridge and catch up to your quarry. You also come upon the dwellings of the orcish tribe. And what dwellings they are. Though it hardly compares to the size or sophistication of Banngard the settlement is guarded by walls, simple ones of stone, a larger one ringing the limits and a smaller inner ring higher on the hill. Because of the walls in the way you cannot make out what exactly lies within the walls, but several ziggurats peek out from the inner ring's walls and one even towers above it. Your distraction on inspecting the orcish encampment is rudely interrupted by a bone club hitting you squarely in the chest. Having chased the warband leader to their home it seems that a few orcs have sallied from the gate to renew the skirmish while you were busy staring at the ziggurat. A lesser being might have died for such a lack of concentration in battle, but you are fine beyond taking several steps backward and having the wind knocked out of you. For the temerity of this assault, you conjure a dozen razor sharp icicles and launch them at your new opponent, quickly rendering them less an orc and more an inadequate porcupine. You repeat this magic trick on an orc charging Sindri, enabling him to continue throwing his spears to whittle down the pack. Even you can tell that it's best to leave Emelda with her third duel with the same orc and instead take up a position by Agni in the gate as you try to prevent more enemies from joining the fight. This unfortunately robs you of the visual spectacle of watching a short woman with a giant axe attempt to fight an orc about a head and a half taller than her, but you're pretty sure when the sound of struggle turns into a triumphant scream that she's avenged her squad. Without those damn walls in the way you can actually see into the settlement, which is nice because no one seems to be attacking, giving you a moment to observe without being rudely interrupted again. Unlike the human settlements you've seen you can't really tell one dwelling from another as the square buildings almost flow into one another going up and down connected by ladders and, presumably, inwardly as well. With the exception of the simple stone walls all the buildings are made of mud bricks, which is frankly rather disturbing if you think about it- considering the nature of orcs. The mental image of a human town made out of meat flashes into your mind, and you do not like that image. You also observe signs of metal working and even an irrigation network coming from the nearby lake. Judging by the sharp inhale of breath given by Emelda when she joins you in the gateway, at least some of those details are unusual for an orcish settlement.

The silence that comes after battle does not last long before you hear from deeper into the settlement the piercing resonance of horns blowing, soon joined by drums and the less musical sound of growing activity. You've yet to penetrate into the heart of things, but you've also poked the hornet's nest. They know that you're here now. You turn to Emelda and shout so as to be heard over the din of alarms and marching.

[ ] "If we keep going we're sure to find their leaders by those ziggurats in the inner wall, we've risked this much why not risk it all"

[ ] "There's too many of them, we've got to retreat. Banngard is too far. We should be able to make it to the wizard's tower though, and even if he's a threat we can handle him ourselves if there's a fastness keeping the horde at bay.

[ ] "There's too many of them, we've got to retreat. Banngard has stout walls, if we make it there we can warn the Archon and be safe.

[ ] "There's too many of them, we've got to retreat. Banngard has stout walls and can defend itself, we should try and make it south to Buda and warn them."