Darkwater

2. Blood Clan

Chapter 2

Blood ClanImperator Dregu sat on his throne, a mixture

of both boredom and anger on his face. He’d been listening to his

first Lieutenant and other ‘advisers’ rattle on about this problem,

or that problem, not paying attention but growing increasingly

angry at his position. Dregu had become king of the nations because

he lusted for power and c*****e. He achieved his current position

as leader by an intricate plan of deception.

Dregu had a blood lust unrivaled. He had

slain hundreds, if not thousands of opponents in battle and in the

arena. But he was also an excellent tactician.

Dregu’s scheme to displace the king was

brilliant. He set about various events to make the former King look

bad among his people. The crowning grace was the murder of the

previous king’s wife. Three days later one of the king’s mistresses

admitted to the killing, saying it was by order of the king.

Fidelity is not one of the Orc’s strong points, but conspiring to

kill your wife using one of your concubines, and most importantly,

getting caught, was, even by Orcish standards, a bad decision.

The King’s dead wife was Dregu’s sister, so

he had no choice but to defend her by challenging the King to the

arena, the result being cleaving the head of his predecessor from

his shoulders.

Of course, all of this, killing his sister

and such, was Dregu’s doing. Dregu stops at nothing to rise to

glory, even if it means killing his own family.

He thought by becoming the supreme commander

of the Blood Clan he could satisfy his lust for power and battle.

But he had become nothing more than a bureaucrat. This was no way

for an Orc of Dregu's power to spend his days, solving squabbles

among those lesser than he. He commanded the largest army in

Xenkur, half a million strong, aggressive warriors, and yet he

spent each day slumped in his throne listening to his advisers. His

counselors had great skill in droning on about this and that too

where all he wanted now was for Grummish to come and drag him to

Hades.

Born in blood and raised in battle, Lord

Dregu was in his heart a warrior. Dregu wanted to be back in

combat. He dreamed about days where he would wade through acres of

dwarves slicing limb from limb or hanging elves from their sacred

trees only to slice them from crotch to chin. He craved for battle

the way children crave for sweets. He longed to taste the blood of

his enemies and he would not find it in this dismal place.

He remembered his days as a child running

through the green fields near what the humans call Blackwater

River, hacking and slashing, killing at will. He remembered his

beautiful village with bones adorning all the hovels, the sun

shining off the jewels encrusted in the skulls of the village’s

victims. That is, until the day of the elves came. They came by the

thousands; they came with those sickening humans and godless

gnomes. They drove his people back further south into the

Wastelands.

Humans had christened this place the Scar.

The accursed elves called it “Tithlin Ilisti” translated “The

Monsters Den.” It is a huge canyon carved deep into the ground in

the Southwest of Xenkur. The Scar is full of caverns and tunnels

that run deep underground. A river sick and gray courses through

the center of the Scar; the river runs so foul even an Orcs won’t

drink the water. This is a desolate place where nothing lives and

little grows.

See, the Wastelands are hell on Xenkur. The

Wastelands are parched much like a desert. The soil is full of

potash making it impossible to grow crops. Most of the water in the

Wastelands is a sickly red color tainted with iron and sulfur,

making it undrinkable. Spikes and quills cover what vegetation

grows. Spikes large enough to pierce leather armor, most of the

plants are poisonous to even to an Orc stomach.

Temperatures rise over one hundred degrees

and the heat lasts most of the year. Rainfall is almost nonexistent

in the Wastelands and a constant wind blows. It often blows so hard

even the large Ogres can’t keep their footing. The nomad tribes

roaming the Wastelands call it “Akik bakar” or the devil’s

breath.

During the first years, many Orcs and the

congregation that followed died of lack of food, bad water, and the

savage heat before they found the Scar and its lifesaving

caves.

The caves and caverns that make up the Scar

were a gift from Grummish for the Orcs and their comrades. The

various caverns which traveled as much as a league underground gave

much-needed rest from the sweltering heat. The caves also had pools

of clean, clear water and there was a fungus that grew on some of

the cave walls that was not only edible but to an Orcs pallet

tasty.

The caves, however, were not without their

challenges, but nothing the Blood Clan couldn’t handle. Before the

Orcs arrived the caves were home to various fauna.

These caverns were filled with a large bat

type creature. Humans called them Cloakers because they would hang

from the ceilings of the caves and they looked like a black

leathery cloak. Cloakers had no formal society. They were just

individual animals living in the caverns so their eradication came

quickly at the hands of the Orcs.

The one real hurdle lived in what is now

Lord Dregus Castle. It was an Eye Tyrant. It was a nasty floating

spherical aberration with a large central eye, gaping mouth, and

these stalks grew out of its head. At the end of each stalk was

another smaller eye. Eye Tyrants are brutal nasty creatures who can

wield magic and believe all other creatures are inferior. After

defeating the Eye Tyrant life became easy and boring for the Blood

Clan.

The Blood Clan has been here an endless

amount of time, eking out a living on what little they could find.

It comes as no surprise the Blood Clan sends out raiding parties to

attack the various nomad tribes that scattered the area.

“I would die in combat rather than set

another day in this hole,” thought Dregu. He tired of this life. It

had been months since he had seen battle and even longer since he

had killed anything with his bare hands.

“Enough!” Dregu shouted, slamming his huge

fist so hard on his throne the bones of the seat cracked and

creaked. “Send me the Seer.”

Orcs and goblins quickly set about finding

the King’s Seer. Everyone knew that you didn’t keep Dregu waiting.

Dregu had no qualms about relieving you of various body parts if he

became dissatisfied with your performance.

No one questioned the King’s authority and

for good reason. You see Dregu was no ordinary Orc. Your average

Orc only stood about 5 feet tall and maybe weighed two hundred

pounds. Orcs were typically short, stout, and muscular. Dregu was

something different. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall, and

he weighed three hundred pounds. But none of that was fat. It was

all sinew and muscle. He was so strong he could wield a two-headed

battle-axe in one hand. Dregu was massive, far beyond anything

anyone had ever seen. And to get on Dregu's bad side meant you were

leaving his company with blood dripping from somewhere.

It took a great number of servants to find

Xomath, the Seer. Dregu's castle deep inside the Scar was vast with

an uncountable number of rooms and chambers and antechambers. All

the rooms were lined with bones and skulls of enemies and those who

displeased him in one form or another. The king had no need of all

of these rooms; in fact, he had not been in most of them. Lord

Dregu has but three places he visits in his massive castle: the

throne room, once a serene place to brood, his beloved map room; if

not in either of these he would be with one of his many harlots in

his bedchamber.

✼✼✼✼

Xomath made his way from his scrying chamber

through the vast underground caverns that were Lord Dregu’s Castle.

He hurried along as quickly as he could for he knew not to leave

Lord Dregu waiting.

The King’s Seer was meek by Orc standards,

but, he had unparalleled scrying and divining skills. Xomath had

been adviser even before Lord Dregu became king of the tribes known

as the Orcan Nations.

The Orcan Nations was a generalization. Orcs

composed only one race that made the Scar its home. The vast canyon

was also home to many races considered not worthy to live among the

green fields and cool crystal rivers of the humans and the elves.

These included goblins, hobgoblins, kobolds, bugbears, ogres, and

even the occasional human or outcast dark elf. Orcs are not the

strongest, most dominant race living in the Scar. However, they do

hold the majority and that’s what prevented stronger, more

aggressive races such as hobgoblins and bugbears from taking

over.

As Xomath made his way through the maze that

is Castle Dregu he thought lovingly about his job as a Seer. Poking

and prodding the lives of others without them knowing it brought a

thrill to the Seer’s heart. The part of his task he found least

pleasurable was dealing with Lord Dregu's unpredictable and abusive

nature. His cruelty was well-known, even to those servants, he

needed to keep his kingdom running smoothly. Xomath was no

exception to this abuse. Many times Lord Dregu had injured Xomath

simply because he didn’t get the answer he wanted. The King’s Seer

was now careful how he answered Dregu’s questions.

Xomath made his way across the great Halls

towards the map room where he knew Lord Dregu impatiently waited.

Two of Lord Dregu’s personal sentries fittingly called the Blood

Guard flanked the closed map room doors. They were tall, broad Orcs

dressed in plate armor and stained with the blood of previous

conquests. It's Orcan tradition to not wash your armor or weapons,

but to leave them battle hardened. So it’s common to see warrior’s

armor stained with blood and weapons that still contain bits of

skin and hair.

Trying not to betray his fear of Dregu,

Xomath entered the map room, head bowed, eyes down. “I am here as

you sought, great Lord Dregu.”

It had been some time since Xomath had seen

the map room. He had forgotten just how enormous was the chamber.

Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Each shelf filled

with all manners of maps, from small maps you carry in a pouch or

on a person to maps that would take four or more servants to open.

There were maps made from just last season by the King’s mapmakers

with help from the various raiding parties sent into the

Wastelands. And maps made long before the Devastation that his

ancestors held or stole from other races. There were brightly

colored maps from the elves, underground maps from the dwarves,

maps that listed human settlements and Lord Dregu’s prized

possessions, the exquisitely detailed maps that gnomes create.

Lord Dregu was fond of the gnomish maps.

Gnomes had painstakingly created the most detailed of maps. The

gnomish maps included all types of settlements. They took expert

care to list waterways even down to the smallest stream. The maps

even pointed out which way the river flowed and whether the water

was drinkable.

In the center of the room, a stone table

that fed at least thirty rested. There were no chairs in the room.

When you were in the presence of Lord Dregu you stood.

Dregu was in the center of the room at the

huge table covered in an equally enormous map, a map of the entire

continent of Xenkur. Dregu stood before the map resting his hands.

He leaned his massive body forward with such force you could hear

his fingers crack. Cold eyes pierced into the Seer. “Xomath, I have

need of your skills.”