The Human From a Dungeon

Grum Ormyar

Adventurer Level: N/A

Orc - Blurpan

"How many did we lose this time?" I asked coldly.

"Four," Harmi answered. "Two dead, two captured."

I let out a sigh as I stared out over the field that the enemy stood in. Their smug eyes peered back at me from over their shields, their spear-tips glinting in the sunlight. It was obvious that this group wasn't going to follow us, either. If we had been able to get them in the trees, we would have been able to disrupt their lines and force our way through their formation. Whoever is leading them must have figured out our intentions, though.

"Did THEY lose any this time?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied tersely. "Got a couple of lucky blows in. Managed to kill two of the bastards."

Harmi crossed his arms and spat on the ground. He's much less pleased with our situation than I am. Despite growing up together and being close friends, Harmi and I are polar opposites. I'm an artist, he's a warrior. I write poetry, tenderly carve statues, and try desperately to capture the beauty that I see in the world with paint. He likes to hit people with great amounts of force.

If it weren't for the sake of tradition, he would likely be leading this defensive campaign. It isn't as if I would mind, I'd much rather be at home sweating over a block o' rock. Unfortunately, I am the son of a Great Chief, and with that comes duty and responsibility. Irksome, surely, but it is what it is.

"I don't suppose we've managed to track down any high-level mages?"

"No."

"What about the..."

"Archers didn't have many arrows," Harmi interrupted. "They're out. Fletchers are makin' more."

"Did we find stones?"

"Yeah. Threw 'em. Hit shields, not skulls."

"Well," I shrugged, "I'm out of ideas."

"Me too."

Any weapons we could craft that would be capable of penetrating their defensive lines would either take too long to make or be too unwieldy. Blurpus only has the one smith, who is also the fletcher, and she's getting on in years. Internally, the darkest part of me screamed in frustration at my inability to slaughter the enemy, cursing the vast open fields of Blurpus that I used to love playing in as a child. Externally, I sighed again.

"Tenth time, I guess," I said after a moment.

"Yeah, but at least they aren't advancing much," Harmi replied.

I looked at him, then back to the drow. Despite my mask of apathy, Harmi could tell how bothered I am by all this. We have had to fall back ten times, and the only thing that has been interrupting the enemy's advance is the damned terrain. They weren't falling for any of our traps or taunts, either.

When the bastards invaded last year, they were so incompetent that I hadn't even had to take to the field. They had practically ran straight into our axes. Now, they're being far too damned careful. The bloodthirsty drow of the past had been magically given an even temper and wouldn't put a single toe out of line.

"Fine. There isn't much we can do here," I shook my head. "Call for a retr..."

A familiar sound permeated the air. It was my father's horn, but I barely recognized tone it gave. It was a tone that had never really applied to me or any group I had led before, and one that definitely shouldn't apply here. Had his trip to see Ulurmak finally forced senility upon him? Harmi and I met eyes, our mouths agape in stupefaction.

"The hells was that?" I turned toward the sound.

"Cavalry charge?" Harmi asked. "We lent the hnarses to Yirna, though. How can they be back already?"

Nevertheless, the sound of hooves began to fill the air. I turned back to the drow, who appeared considerably less smug than they had a moment ago. From their right flank five hnarses with orcs riding them burst through the trees. I got a closer look at the riders and my jaw dropped even further.

One would expect cavalry to have a lance, hammer, or even a sword. Four of the riders were completely unarmed, and the fifth had a hunk of wood with a ball on one end. As I was trying to figure out what the hells was happening, one of the riders lifted their hand and launched a ball of fire directly into the drow. The enemy had managed to bring their shields to bear, but the fire still got a couple of them. The rider with the stick pointed it at the drow and an arrow made of wind blew through their ranks.

"Mages on hnarse-back," I whispered.

Instead of charging directly into the drow formation like traditional cavalry would, the riders began to circle them, launching spells rapidly. The drow were spinning around wildly, trying desperate to use their shields to block the various magics that were being cast upon them. Despite my shock at the situation unfolding before me, it didn't take long for me to put two and two together. The drow formation was done for.

"CHARGE!" I shouted, pulling my axe from my belt and holding it high.

My orcs snapped out of their shock and began to echo my cry. We ran at the panicking drow with our weapons high, screaming our bloodthirst as we went. The monster in me will forever cherish the looks of pure terror on their face as they realized they were now too far apart from each other to prevent our assault from ripping them to shreds.

The first drow I encountered raised his shield and spear, but it was useless. Without the formation to protect him, I easily brushed aside the spear and yanked his shield out of the way. My axe met his skull, splitting it and ending his life. Before he even crumpled to the ground I was onto the next one. Then the next, and the next, and the next.

Drow began to drop their spears and shields and try to run, but the cavalry cut them off. One more drow lost their life before they threw their hands in the air and begged for mercy. The fight was over, and we had finally won.

I shouted the order to capture them and looked at my axe. It, my arm, and a good portion of my shirt was drenched in blood. I felt my stomach twist in revulsion, the gentler part of me wanted to weep and scrub myself clean. A small fear rose within me. Will the blood on my hands stain my art?

I felt raindrops patter against my skin, and I looked to the sky. I cannot weep in front of the soldiers, but the sky wept in my stead. A small, sad smile made its way onto my face at this realization. As the sky opened up, helping clean some of the blood off of me, I felt eyes settle on me. I glanced around at my orcs, and they were looking at me expectantly. Oh, right.

"VICTORY!" I shouted, raising my axe to the mournful sky.

They shouted and raised their axes as well, freeing me from their gaze. The soft thuds of a hnarse's hooves came from behind me, and I turned to see Great Chief Tormon, my father. His eyes met mine with a mixture of sadness and pride. He knew of my gentle disposition and wished the best for me, but he couldn't help but be proud of how well I carried out my duties. Or maybe I'm just imagining things.

"Grum, my boy," his expression changed to a grin. "I've brought a little help."

"Your talent for understatement greatly exceeds any of my own talents, father," I laughed, putting on my mask. "A little help? You brought us this victory."

"I can only take partial credit. The High Chief moved quickly to make this possible," he gestured to the mounted mages and laughed. "Clever bastard. Remind me to never pick a fight with Ulurmak."

"There are a great many reasons that we won't be doing that," I shook my head with a grin.

Someone whistled, and I looked around and saw one of my orcs standing next to the freshly tied drow. He pointed at the prisoners and raised an eyebrow.

"Search them for concealed weapons, then take them to camp," I shouted. "If they try to resist or run, cut them down and leave them where they lay."

"You wish to remain out here?" my father asked. "These are all the mounted mages we have right now, you know."

This was a good point. Everything I had discovered about the drow commander screamed of someone with a legendary case of narcissism. We had destroyed one of his units, and he had obviously worked hard on their training, so it was likely that he wouldn't take that very well. This position was going to receive a visit by many more drow.

"No, actually. I don't," I sighed. "Alright everyone! Pack it up! We're heading back to camp."

"What do we do with the bodies?" Harmi asked as he approached.

"Leave them for the forest or their comrades," I shrugged. "We don't know their burial rites."

"Can't we check their pockets?" one of the soldiers asked.

"No," my father said. "Not a damn one of you need the coinage badly enough to invite the ill-fortune you get from robbing the dead. I pay you better than that."

The soldier looked properly chastised, and my father turned back to me.

"My trip was quite eventful. Let's hurry to camp so we can talk about what comes next."

I nodded and gave the proper orders. The drow were tied together and had their pockets, shoes, and belts checked for anything sharp or poisonous. Half of my soldiers formed up in front of the drow, and the rest formed up behind them. I led the ones in front, and Harmi led the ones in the rear.

As I gave the order to march, my father and the mounted mages formed up on either side of the drow. The rain began to soften the ground somewhat, but despite this we managed to make good time. In my youth I had made a name for myself by running great distances for fun. Even so, the soft terrain and water in my boots was playing hell on my feet and legs. Half a day passed before the camp was finally in sight.

"Fuckin' finally," one of the soldiers behind me muttered.

"Agreed. Halt!" I shouted. "Secure the prisoners and tend to your gear!"

My father rode up to me as the soldiers began to perform their tasks. He dismounted and passed his hnarse off to a nearby soldier, who also took the reins for some of the mages. The rest of the mages passed their hnarses off to other soldiers. As Harmi approached us, I gestured to my command tent, and we all went inside.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I took my seat and kicked off my boots to let my feet dry. My father and Harmi did the same, but the mages just stood there nervously. I massaged my sore calves as my father began telling me of his trip. I listened in awe as he explained the creation of a mage cavalry and Ulurmak's idea about a magic academy.

"I was held up at the city gates, and these five caught up to me," he explained. "They were sent by the Adventurer's Guild to join me. The High Chief works damn quick, it seems."

"So there's going to be more on the way, Great Chief?" Harmi asked.

"So I've been led to believe," my father laughed. "Ulurmak's not much of a liar, so I've got no reason to doubt him."

"What kind of counter-measures do you think the drow will come up with?" I asked.

"You would know better than I would, my boy. But... Ulurmak seems to think that this invasion has vampiric backing."

"Vampires?"

"Yes, and I'm inclined to agree with him. There's too much that's fishy about what they're doing and how they're doing it. It practically screams bloodsucker involvement."

I gave Harmi a doubtful look, and he shrugged in response. We don't like disagreeing with my father, but he's practically fanatical in his hatred of vampires. He has a borderline paranoid hatred of them, and it's likely that even if High Chief Ulurmak completely misread the situation my father would still firmly believe that vampires were involved simply because things haven't been going well for us.

"You don't believe me," my father crossed his arms sternly.

"Well, there's one way to find out for sure," I sighed as I pulled my still-damp boots back on. "I'll be back."

I left my command tent and looked for the tent that the prisoners were being kept in. The rain was pouring heavier than it had been previously, and the ground had turned into an uncomfortable mud. To my horror, I found the prisoners shivering in the rain, tied to a stake in the ground. Thankfully, my soldiers weren't dumb enough to leave them unguarded, so I grabbed the nearest guard by the shoulder.

"What is this?" I demanded.

"The prisoners, sir," the soldier answered with an expression of bewilderment.

"Why are they outdoors in this weather?"

"We... uh... I think it's cuz we don't have somewhere to put them, sir."

"All that is securing them is a stake. In the MUD," I whispered.

"Yeah, but we've got swords, sir."

"Swords that would let them cut their bonds if were they to overpower you. Move them to the mess tent. Now."

"Y-yes sir!"

The guard went to work explaining my order to the other guards, and they began to move the prisoners out of the rain. As they started to march, I noticed that one of the drow had clothing that was of a higher quality than the rest of them, and on that clothing was a small emblem on the breast.

"Not that one," I said, pointing at the potential commander. "He's coming with me."

The guards didn't argue, and after a bit of shuffling they managed to separate him from the rest of the drow. The prisoner looked concerned, but didn't protest as I grabbed his rope and dragged him back to the command tent. All eyes immediately turned to the drow as we entered the tent.

"Oh. Yeah, that'll do it," my father nodded his approval.

I tied the prisoner to an extra chair, gestured to Harmi, then took my seat and once again removed my boots. Harmi stood next to the bound drow and crossed his arms, prepared to loosen the drow's tongue at a moment's notice. I let my feet dry as my father and Harmi began asking the prisoner some standard questions.

Harmi's intimidation turned out to be unnecessary, as the drow was very forthcoming with his testimony. He confirmed his rank, told us of his patrol route and orders, and even told us what he knew of the patrol routes of the rest of the drow army. There was absolutely no hesitation until my father brought up vampires. The drow seemed perplexed by the question, and denied seeing any sort of vampires or brood.

The conversation didn't go much of anywhere until Harmi asked about what had happened to the orcish prisoners. The drow explained that they were being used to make a storeroom, and when asked about their health he admitted that he hadn't seem them since they were handed over. This raised red flags, and we asked many follow-up questions that didn't have concrete answers. Finally, the interrogation was over and Harmi took the enemy commander back to the rest of the prisoners.

"I don't get it," I said. "I thought vampires have free will. Why would they want to turn orcs into vamps when those orcs hate drow?"

"Vampires don't start off with free will," my father explained. "Not really. For the first few years, the magical being within the vampire is somewhat enthralled by the vampiric sire that allowed it to enter the body. Sometimes the victim can override the... enhanced persuasion that their sire has over them, but veteran vampires can usually tell who has this capability. At least, that's how Eyivas Tolroth explained it to me."

My father very much enjoys name-dropping Eyivas Tolroth every chance he gets. Tolroth was a vampire who hunted other vampires, and had been instrumental in the drow rebellion. As far as I can tell, he's the only vampire that my father didn't completely hate.

Tolroth and my father had slain many vampire covens over the years, before Tolroth was killed by a dragon. Tolroth was known for mocking his opponents with a skillful application of gargalesis during fights. But as it turns out, dragons are a little faster than most and really don't appreciate being tickled.

"Okay, I'll admit that things are sounding suspicious. So you're thinking that the prisoners they've taken are being converted into vampires?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied coldly. "And if we don't do something to stop them, we're going to end up having to fight an army of orcish vampires."

A deep frown settled over my face. Both orcs and vampires are known for being sturdy opponents. A combination of the two would definitely be hard to deal with. A suppressive feeling began to take hold in my chest.

Why is it that just when things start to look up, something terrible happens to be waiting just around the corner?