Beneath a violet-colored sky, atop a precipice, and surrounded by a barren wasteland that stretched further than the eye could see - The ruins of an old temple were in the process of being picked apart by scavengers.
The temple was massive, especially when compared to the other ruined buildings scattered across the mountain. Back when its floors still shined, its pillars still stood upright, its windows remained unbroken. This temple was a beacon of hope for the masses.
Pilgrims made annual journeys of hundreds, sometimes even thousands, of miles just to spend a day wandering its halls… But that was centuries ago. Now, the only thing of note about the place was the tonnage of gold lying about the place.
The precious metal was everywhere. It was woven into tapestries, inlaid in patterns on the floor, handles, doorways, walls. There was so much gold, it’d even been used as legs for the many marble benches found throughout the place.
Entire twenty-foot-tall statues of solid gold could be found in ten of the temple’s thirty-four prayer rooms.
This place was any scavenger's dream… Or it would’ve been, were it not for the dense haze of Miasma that filled the halls and rooms to the point of dyeing the very air purple.
Inside one of the temple’s many prayer rooms, a group of scavengers scurried about under the watchful eye of their chosen watchdog - er - ‘Manager.’
“Let’s get a move on, people! The Lord wanted this mine up and running yesterday, so stop slacking and get back to work!” A dwarf shouted from atop the giant head of a collapsed statue; his booming voice further augmented with mana so no one could escape his warnings.
The dwarf was on the shorter side, even for a race known for their… vertically challenged nature. However, what truly made the dwarf stand out was the color of his skin and beard.
Early balding had claimed much of the hair atop his head, forcing him to shave the rest or risk looking like a newborn bird. But his waist-length beard and mustache remained as full, and lucious as ever - and was as colorless as new snow, almost to the point of transparency. The only color to be found in his hair came from the braid of gold he’d woven into his beard to act as a centerpiece.
Now, normally, white hair wouldn’t be all that remarkable. Afterall, with age came wisdom - and a head of white hair. But this dwarf wasn’t old enough to have so much white in their beard - at least, not by dwarven standards.
So, where did it come from?
Simple - He was a Drauger.
Draugers or “Dark Dwarves”, if you wanted to be racist about it, took a slightly different evolutionary path than their more numerous cousins. Namely, that Draugers evolved to survive in the darkest pits imaginable.
So, while they share many of the same qualities as other dwarves. They are lacking one key ingredient that differentiates them from the rest.
Melanin.
No Drauger, no matter how aged or how much time they spend under the sun, carries an ounce of color in their blood. Their skin, hair, and eyes are all colorless… So, why was it that this particular Drauger’s skin carried a greenish hue?
Likewise, why did the other people nearby also have odd appearances?
There were twenty-eight people in the dilapidated room of the abandoned temple. Many of them were the usual suspects, Dwarves, Elves, Humans, Gnomes. And all of them appeared strange - off - not quite right. Almost like someone had tried to draw these species from memory and it’d been a long, long time since they’d seen the real thing.
Gnomes were a race of Fae. Older than their elvish cousins by a few dozen millennia and rarely standing more than four feet in height. Gnomes and Elves normally shared many of the same physical traits - Grace, beauty, gemlike eyes, flawless skin, the usual stuff that made humans rage about the unfairness of it all.
However, the eight Gnomes scattered around the room had skin covered in infected sores, stiff limbs that made it difficult to walk, and eyes that were slowly losing their luster.
One Gnome, a scion of a fallen noble house, now relegated to shoveling dirt for a few copper bits a day, had already progressed to the final stage of this transformation. The ruby eyes he was once so proud of, that were adored by his mother and wife alike, had turned the color of tar.
One human, the daughter of a well-respected merchant, once known far and wide for her business acumen. Now, her life revolved around pushing a wheelbarrow full of salvaged gold out the door to a drop off site and returning a minute later to repeat the process.
Her vibrant golden locks were forever stained with an oily darkness near the roots. Her baby blue eyes were infected by a cancerous orange tint that made any who met her gaze horrified… Yet mysteriously aroused.
A half-orc sellsword stood watch over the only entrance. He was famous back home, known for a hundred miles as the “Hammer of Olmthu.”
As half-orcs share much of their blood with the brutish, ape-like Orcs. Few would ever consider them a ‘handsome’ race. However, occasionally, someone like the Hammer would pop up - someone who carried the blood of their other parent very well. And while the Hammer would’ve never been voted “sexiest man alive”, he had his own grizzled charm that brought many a woman to warm his bed.
However, he would find even that small comfort difficult to attain now.
Once a hair over seven-feet tall, the orc was now well over eight, growing taller, and stronger by the day - if the pains in his knees were any indication. Three-foot long tusks pierced through his lower lip, causing yellowish blood to drip from his chin. The bleeding would soon stop, it always did, but he would be uncomfortable until then.
These ‘oddities’ in appearance were seen everywhere in the temple and seemed to follow a racial pattern. While not every human appeared strange, those that did shared the woman’s orange eyes and oily-black hair.
Not every half-orc was different, but those that were had grown larger, more imposing than ever - and sported tusks that hadn’t existed before. So, while every race was different than they should be - they at least took comfort in the fact that their ‘uniqueness’ was shared by the kin they worked with.
It made them family.
Aldritch of Clan Blackshield stood on a hill overlooking the temple. He watched as the repugnant scavengers picked at the bones of the fallen temple - had he been younger, more impulsive, he wouldn’t have simply stood by.
Their very presence was a stain on the floors of Oakairo’s temple, and they would’ve been treated as such… But he’d allowed the temple to fall into this state for a reason. He’d deliberately chosen not to clean the floors, so why should he be surprised to find roaches scurrying about?
No, their presence at the temple wasn’t what was surprising to him. It was the simple, undeniable fact that there was someone else alive.
Aside from Oakairo, who lived on inside Aldritch’s mind, the half-giant had been alone for centuries. Without being facetious, Aldritch could confidently say he’d never been happier to see a bunch of worms defiling his Lord’s great temple.
Yet, that’s exactly what he was.
Happy.
“What skill or craft would have allowed them to survive all this time?” Aldritch thought, sending his words along the mental bond he shared with his God.
“I have not the faintest notion..” Oakairo replied, peering down at the intruders through Aldritch’s eyes.
“Do you sense any divine mana?”
“I do, yet none that might preserve them as thou hast. The god is far too feeble to shield them all from the miasma. Moreover, the god is but a fledgling, far too young. I greatly doubt they didst even exist ere the miasma wrought its dread and choked the life from the world.”
“You mentioned that earlier - they’re truly that young?” Aldritch would be surprised if that were true. It was odd to think he could be older than an actual god -
“Tis not so rare a thing; gods oft arise from the needs of mortals. I hath known gods but decades old, aye, even younger in the days ere the collapse. Nay, what doth astonish is the age of this one in particular. To have been born so long after the collapse - mayhap they be a mortal ascended, rather than a trueborn God?”
“Maybe… One way to find out.” Aldritch muttered. “Is the god here, now, or are they elsewhere?”
“Nay, 'tis naught but the god's mana here. And by the scent, I scarce believe the wielder hath seen fit to offer a prayer unto them in many a cycle.”
“Then our course is set.” Aldritch nodded and began moving toward the temple - only to freeze after a certain scent passed through his nostrils.
“Is something amiss?”
“Devils.” Aldritch hissed, as if the very word burned his tongue.
“Art thou certain - perchance thou hast erred?" Oakairo asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “The devils no longer wander this world. Thou knowest this."
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Aldritch slightly lifted his head and took a certifying sniff… “No mistaking that foul stench - Like rotten eggs fermenting in vinegar. It’s enough to make my stomach churn.”
"Mayhaps... A more direct approach is called for? If a devil is involved, we shan't allow it to slip through our grasp."
Aldritch nodded his understanding and continued moving toward the temple.
A couple workers sitting on the marble steps near the entrance saw him approaching and jumped to their feet. A few inaudible sentences passed between the two gnomes before they scurried through the front door.
Seconds after the gnomes disappeared into the temple, a trio of half-orcs and a couple of stocky dwarves emerged to block Aldritch’s advance - seeing the two dwarves brought a small smile to the half-giant’s face.
It was nice to see another dwarf after so long… Strange though, they were shorter than he remembered.
[“Halt!”] The tallest dwarf said, raising his hand to stop Aldritch. [“I don’t know how ya got in here, Pal. But we’ve already claimed this spot. And if you’ve come here to die - Do it somewhere else, we don’t have the time to clean your blood off the steps before our lord arrives.”]
Aldritch listened to the dwarf speak, processed his words as best he could, and understood one important detail.
He couldn’t understand a word the dwarf was saying.
He’d first assumed it was a matter of accent. But by the second sentence, he’d realized the dwarf was speaking a language Aldritch had never encountered.
How… novel - A language he’d never stumbled across in a thousand years. Maybe this was a birthday present after all?
"Gor'karn Hillkin, en' Aldritch'en Khalan Khal-Dran. Drazh'karn toth'ras - darak toth'ras. Vornak’eth Torvornak zar-nak, dor'na? (Greetings Hillkin, my name is Aldritch of Clan Blackshield. A pleasure to meet you - all of you. Do you happen to speak Torvornak as well?)" He asked while meeting the eyes of the assumed leader dwarf.
[“Hah?”] The dwarf replied, his voice a mix of confusion and mocking laughter. [“Did anyone catch what the giant’s muttering about?”]
[“He talks like an actor in one of those old plays.”] The other dwarf laughed.
[“Is that what you are, big man?”] One of the half-orcs said, stepping forward to face Aldritch - Who smiled at the similarly sized man without an ounce of fear. [“Are you an actor? Will you put on a show for us if we promise to throw you some gold?”]
The half-orc got a round of stifled laughter from his kin, and amused grins from the dwarves.
They all knew what was about to happen. With the amount of work their master had put into finding this place, there was no chance this guy was walking away with his life. So, why not have some fun with him first? If he knew he was destined to die as soon as their conversation ended, he’d probably thank them for delaying it - even for a few minutes.
Aldritch glanced at the five men standing before him, then peeked over their heads at the shadowy figures watching the interaction from the safety of the temple. “Kaznar... Nez'nar thok'zar nar'na do'kaeth... Dar, Vornak’eth drak'zor - nar'zar kath’nak, vorn'tar? (You know... I don't understand a thing you men are saying... But the language of disrespect - that's universal, isn't it?)" He said, his voice dropping any show of amusement near the end.
Aldritch scanned each of the five men in turn: Two greathammers, one battleaxe, one pair of eight-inch cleavers, one ten-inch saber - Aldritch frowned at the buckler strapped to the man’s upper back.
That’d be inconvenient to reach in a hurry.
“And a host of unknowns lurking in yonder shadows. Makes one yearn for the days of old, does it not?"
Aldritch’s eyes landed on the leader dwarf and scanned the man from head to toe: Shoddy chainmail, loose-fitting breeches, axe chipped in four places. “Indeed. We had respect for our enemies' time and efforts… And knew how to spend our own.”
[“I don’t like the way this guy is looking at us, Bari.”] The first dwarf said to the second, his hand moving to the double-bladed axe holstered to his back. [“Reminds me of those bloody nobles. Always looking down on us from their fuckin high horses.”] He announced his intentions by pulling the axe free from its holster and pointing it at Aldritch’s nose - Aldritch grabbed the axe between the index and thumb on his right hand, moving it slightly aside as he did.
The dwarf’s eyes widened in shock at the strength the giant casually exerted. He tried to move the axe, attempting to free it from the giant’s grasp. But Aldritch ignored him and turned his focus inward, (“Comprehend languages.”) he willed his magic into the spell, forcing it to activate.
The spell activated at the same time as the dwarf leader opened his mouth to speak - “Don’t just stand there, you idiots - Help me!” The dwarf shouted. He put a foot to Aldritch’s knee and put his entire back into prying the axe free - Aldritch barely noticed.
“What’s wrong, Gadrin?” One of the orcs laughed. “What happened to that ‘level twenty-one’ strength you were so proud of?”
“I told you he was lyin ‘bout that.” Another orc said. “There’s no way a dwarf could have higher strength than an orc.” He said, pushing his chest out and pointing his thumb back at himself.
“Gadrin? You just foolin around?” The second dwarf asked, uncertainty filling his heart.
“No. I. Ain’t!” Gadrin said through gritted teeth. He jumped up, wrapped his legs around Aldritch’s beefy arm, and put all his strength into an arm bar. Either the giant would release his axe, or he’d snap the bastard’s arm.
Aldritch listened to them all talk, and talk, and talk… He wondered why they hadn’t attacked him yet. If the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have stood around running off the mouth.
Granted, he was thankful they were doing that, as it helped his spell. But it just proved their inexperience.
Gadrin’s face turned blue from the effort of attempting to move Aldritch’s arm. His own arms were beginning to shake from the exertion, and Aldritch could see fat beads of sweat pooling on the tip of his ear.
Aldritch partially ignored all of this in favor of staring down the dwarf’s four allies.
The second dwarf was wearing mostly leather - which is lightweight, but brittle if improperly treated.
The first orc was wearing heavy armor that didn’t fit his body. It was obviously not tailored for him, and hung off his body in places that shouldn’t move.
Second orc was wearing leather everywhere except for his boots, which had an obvious metal plate on the toe. Could be useful for breaching doors or breaking bones, but it’d also give him away if he wasn’t careful.
Last orc was also the least armored. He was shirtless, exposing his well-defined chest and arms to the world. But he also wore leather gauntlets to protect his hands from damage while attacking.
Odd choice, but okay.
“Well, don’t just stand there, you idiots. Help me.” Aldritch muttered in the language of the scavengers.
“So, he does speak.” The second dwarf muttered before drawing his cleavers. “Look, I don’t know if you’re dumb or just naturally this infuriating. But you need to put Gadrin on the ground, now.”
“So, he does speak.” Aldritch repeated, tasting the language on his tongue.
“Do you think this is some kind of game?” One of the orcs shouted.
“Do you?” Aldritch replied while meeting the orc’s dark eyes. “I can assure you; I’m taking this as seriously as you deserve.” Aldritch bent the elbow Gadrin was attempting to break and placed his free hand atop Gadrin’s head.
“I apologize for the delay. I wasn’t aware of your language until today, and it took a few minutes to familiarize myself with its rules.” He said, dipping his head at them in greeting. “I’ll repeat myself for your benefit - You have the honor of standing before Aldritch of clan Blackshield. A pleasure to meet all of you.” As soon as his introduction was finished, Aldritch tightened his hold on Gadrin’s head and - Squelch
The dwarf’s spine was pulverized by the force Aldritch exerted on his head. The giant pushed Gadrin’s head in, causing his skull to sink into his chest cavity until naught but the tail of his black beard was visible. “By chance, were any of you responsible for that sanctuary spell earlier?” He asked four horrified men.
“I don’t smell any divine mana on these guys.” Oakairo said slowly, trying out the new language for himself and finding he liked it.
Gadrin’s corpse fell from Aldritch’s extended arm, his body smacking against the ground like a blood-filled sandbag.
Aldritch lightly flipped Gadrin’s axe to allow for an easy grip change. Now, with the axe held firmly in his right hand, Aldritch was free to do as he liked with it - So he dropped it into the corpse’s open hand.
Aldritch looked down at the corpse, as did the four men who’d known Gadrin for nearly five years.
They’d eaten together, camped together, and in Bari’s case, Gadrin was married to his sister! How was he going to explain this to her!?
“Would one of you mind guiding me to the person in charge? I’d like to ask them a few questions-”
“I’ll kill you!” Bari shouted. He dove for Aldritch’s legs with his cleavers poised to smash through the giant’s limb - His forward momentum was instantly redirected into upward momentum, and he was launched skyward by a large boot connecting with his throat and upper chest.
The dwarf was with his brother-in-law before he could hit the ground.
“It’s incredibly rude to interrupt me when I’m speaking.” Aldritch said in an emotionless tone. “Honestly, doesn’t anyone teach these kids proper etiquette, anymore? Case in point-” Aldritch moved his head to the side, narrowly dodging the tip of an Orc’s saber and grabbing the offending wrist with his left hand.
“Sabers are a slashing weapon. While you can certainly stab someone with it, it’s much more effective doing this-” Aldritch used the brace on his right arm to parry an orc’s greathammer, then lightly shoved against the trapped orc’s wrist.
The orc’s entire body spun out of his control and the dull saber cleaved through the third orc’s neck. By the time the orc had regained control of his body, his friend’s head was already rolling across the ground.
Aldritch swayed back, avoiding the other orc’s hammer by a hair, and grabbing a fistful of the orc’s ponytail. The half-giant said nothing as he yanked the ponytail out by its roots, then slapped the orc’s chest.
The giant’s palm slammed into the orc’s metal breastplate with a mighty Bang! that left a huge handprint in the orc’s chest.
Aldritch watched the orc fall to the ground with foam spilling from his mouth. He’d paralyzed almost every organ in the orc’s body with that slap. However, the orc might’ve been able to survive the trauma if Aldritch had put a little less strength into it.
He was rustier than he’d realized.
The sound of metal on stone reached Aldritch’s ears. He sighed, raised his right hand, and caught the buckler aiming for his jaw. “Has no one taught you how to fight with these?” He asked, shaking the shield - and the orc’s arm - for emphasis.
“Bucklers are a lightweight form of protection designed for parrying strikes and deflecting thrust attacks. Not bashing someone in the face.” Aldritch sighed - He forced the orc’s hand back, punching him in the face with his own knuckles.
Without releasing the orc’s hand, Aldritch quickly twisted his wrist - *Crack!* The orc screamed as the bones in his wrist and hand snapped like dry twigs.
The scream was cut short as Aldritch placed his left hand around the orc’s throat and lifted the seven-foot-tall man off the ground.
The orc thrust the saber into Aldritch’s belly - But Aldritch deflected the blade with his wrist guard and grabbed the orc’s hand.
The orc felt a moment of pressure, followed by a white-hot pain as the bones in his hand were flattened alongside the pommel of his saber. Wood and metal, flesh and blood fused in a disgusting mixture that seeped through Aldritch’s fingers.
And yet, despite all that pain, the orc couldn’t make a sound. Aldritch’s vice-like grip on his throat prevented anything but a tiny stream of oxygen from passing his lips -
Crack!
The orc’s head collapsed to one side; his neck having collapsed beneath the giant’s fist.
Aldritch wiped his gore covered hand on the orc’s armor before tossing him aside.
With the five of them dealt with, he turned his attention towards the shadowy figures waiting inside the doorway.
“Hello, everyone.” Aldritch said loudly while walking up the stairs of the temple. “You have the honor of standing before Aldritch of clan Blackshield. The pleasure is yours.” He finished with a calm smile that sent shivers down the spines of any who saw it.
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