orcs

Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there.

Click here to read Part I: Misadventure in Fornost

My dear Cedwyn,

Dragnar "Goldenbeard" notes:

The mountain wind carries their foul voices. Even further does it carry their stench. The pursuer on their tail ensures she makes no sound, bare feet taking careful steps on the stony path. She hastens. The chase nears its end. 

They came out of the ancient Dwarf-Mountain in the north. A retinue of ambassadors no doubt, dressed in their best rotting hides and assorted filthy trophy-skulls. On wolves they rode across the Vales, but now a pack of eight is left and they move on foot. Evidently the Bear-Men didn't let them escape their realm unscathed. 

Coward

Angrinc sat, and the fruits of his labour were scattered about him.  He glanced toward his mailed gauntlets, soaked in blood and gore, shaking in terror even now that the danger had passed.  He could feel the pounding of his heart, each fierce beat both a welcome relief and cruel reminder of the terror he had felt scarce minutes before.

You’re nothing but a coward