Jake and the Opals

The air was full of it. The rank fetid smell permeated the dark sky. An unhealthy mist clung to the stones, hiding the perils that lay beneath them. It was a treacherous place that resented life. One that longed to bring the living with it into decay and ruin.

The ruins were called Gothmordra. The orcs feared this place. It was a place that no orc went to given free choice and a place that few returned from. It was whispered that even the Nazragath feared to walk in the shadows of this place. The orc drew a small chuckle from the irony of that thought since in the orcish tongue "Nazragath" meant "Shadow Walker." The chuckle broke the eery silence that lay upon the ruin, disturbing it. The walls almost seemed to project their disapproval. The sound felt flat and lonely, alien to this place.

The half-orc checked his weapons for the hundredth time since arriving here via the magical mists of the lady sorceress. The feel of the leather grip of his blade was small comfort. Another of the whispers about Gothmordra said that cold iron was of little use against its denizens. There were also whispers about what the denizens of this place were. Memory of those whispers did nothing to reassure the orc.

Jake spoke as if to combat the silence. "This place is evil."

"Evil is a word that seems inadequate," the sorceress answered. She shivered, clutching her arms about her for a moment to ward off the chill air. The orc dared to chuckle once more and then nodded mutely.

The lady of Avalon glanced about, her sharp eyes taking in the ruin searchingly. The orc understood her gaze. He too felt as if eyes watched them with malevolent intent. It was not a precise thing. It was if the land itself was aware of them. The orc attributed it to magic and snarled to himself. He despised magic. Magic was what the Nazragath did. Unclean things were the Nazragath. They were tainted by the magic they worked.

No honest orc would choose the path of magic.

Tendrils of dark fog clung to their limbs, permeating their clothing and chilling the two companions with its corrupted touch. The orc shivered, even through the thick leather it was uncomfortable. The damp air sapped at their energy.

The orc turned to face the sorceress. "Tell me again why we had to come here?" While awaiting her reply he knelt down over a small cluster of damp wood they had scrounged up in a vain effort to start a fire. As he worked at his flint and stone the sorceress nodded.

She slid her hands into the sleeves of her dress. Her face took on a distanced look. Raven hair haloed her face as she began to speak. Her eyes took on a light as if seeing things from some other place. "There is a darkness here that threatens to wake. One that would consume the land, not only of your kind, but those of man as well. It is imprisoned." Morgan le Fay frowned for a moment. "The Lady has shown me what will come to pass should it escape its fetters. She directs that I discover the state of its prison." The sorceress shivered from a cold that was not caused by the decaying ruins they inhabited.

The orc grunted to himself. The fire stubbornly refused to catch. The damp wood glowed sullenly, but only for moments before snuffing out. Sparks continued to fall from the flint as the orc refused to give up, but the wood continued to deny him.

"The Sight is blocked here. I could not see the prison from Avalon. It was needful to come here in order to determine the prison's integrity." The sorceress frowned more deeply as she continued, "Why this land is shrouded from the Sight is one of the mysteries I would like to solve."

The orc paused in his labors to gaze at the sorceress. It was a quandary. The need to trust her sorcery to battle the forces here felt alien to him. "Why only us two? Wouldn't it have been better to bring an army in here?" And safer, the orc thought to himself, though he did not voice it aloud. It would not have been seemly for the orc to profess his fear of this place, though in all likelihood the sorceress already knew.

Morgan turned to the orc. "The darkness is enchained, but as it awakens it grows stronger. Its senses are dulled by time. It has been chained here for many ages. It cannot yet sense our movements, but it would surely sense an army and, even enchained, might be able to react."

"No," she continued, "this needs be done by a small group. One that can move secretly and quietly beneath its notice. To steal away before it can become aware of us and react to our intent."

The orc grunted but said nothing. This was not a kind of mission he understood. The way of things was simple. The mighty defeated the weak. The larger the band, the more mighty it was. Brute strength was his way.

For all that the orc believed this to be true, it was also true that he was only half-orc. And his mind was more cunning than the average orc. A mind cunning enough to understand when brute strength alone was not enough. A mind cunning enough to acknowledge when magic was needful, even when it was loathed.

The orc had asked why they two had gone alone. In truth the orc already knew the answer. He was the muscle, and she the wisdom. Hers was the knowledge of what need be done. His was the brute force to protect her and to guide her through lands that only his kind knew. Hers was also the power to see beyond what he could see. To sense the dangers that ensnared his kind.

The orc paused in his efforts to bring life to the fire. Life was something that was resisted by this place. In his haste to meet her call, the orc had not had time to collect the gear he would normally have carried for a journey of this kind. He carried only the hardened leather armor that he wore, and the assortment of weapons that were so natural to him that they were buckled onto his body without thought in much the way that he pulled on his boots every day.

The sorceress did not seem properly equipped either. Her long dress of deep shimmering green, girdled by a net of silver chain, and with its loose flowing sleeves seemed more fit for a day of casual activity than a dangerous sojurn into the lands of the dead. Yet, despite what must surely seem a deadly lack of perparation, the sorceress seemed unconcerned about these things. The orc could only imagine that again her wisdom required his trust.

As the evening darkened into night, and the air grew yet more chill, the orc tried once more to bring life to a fire. It worried him that a fire might attract unwanted attention, but that was countered by the very real danger of the cold. The sparks from his flint dropped onto the resisting wood determinedly. The orc paused for a moment. As he did so, the sorceress interrupted him, "Here, perhaps I can help." The sorceress leaned in and cast a fine powder onto the wood. The wood burst into flame as the powder touched it.

The orc flinched back and hissed, "Magic..."

The sorceress shook her head. "Nay, not magic. A simple trick. Nothing more. The flash powder is just something to startle the naive." She added with a small smile, "and perhaps start the occasional fire."

The orc grumbled, still convinced it must have been magic.

The orc shifted the wood about carefully, nursing the small flame into a stable fire. The light and warmth, small though it was, encouraged them both and they each settled near the fire to await moonrise, each gaining what rest they could.

When the pale moon, which was only days from being at its fullest, broke through the cover of the fog the sorceress roused and stood. Alertness returned to her gaze as she moved. The light of the pale moon illuminated the ruins in an ominous way, and yet under its gentle light, it also seemed more at rest. The malevolent presence seemed muted, sleeping. The orc too roused himself and began stamping out the tiny fire. He kicked the wood apart and carefully stomped out the glowing embers. While there was no danger of the fire getting loose to burn, it only made sense to put out the light that might betray their presence to watchers.

Morgan was gazing at the moonlight, and following its beams of soft radiance to where they slipped through the fog. The orc watched her without comment until she turned back to him. Before he could ask, she spoke, "The Lady's light is our guide. It will show us the path."

The orc said nothing. Magic was not a thing he understood. The prospect of chasing moonbeams seemed as profitable to him as would asking his sword for directions, but the orc again trusted that she saw beyond what he could see. Gathering up what few things they had between them, the orc tightened his belts, and adjusted his harnesses, making sure each of his weapons was securely in place. He drew each of his two swords in turn and inspected their blades in a ritual so habitual that he was not even aware he performed it. Going over each blade with a knowledgeable eye, the orc reassured himself that each was whole and ready for use. Each was sheathed, one at each side, their grips riding at his hips, ready to be pulled in a moment's notice.

The sorceress too made her preparations. She once more traced the path of the moonlight, and then began a careful walk about the clearing they occupied. Once, twice, thrice she walked the circle. Each time she spoke quiet words and upon the conclusion of her walk she turned to the orc and nodded. "We may leave."

The orc cocked his head to the side and looked at her. "I have done what I can to mask our presence. Any who chance upon our resting place will find it difficult to detect whence we go from here. It is a small thing, but mayhap it will aid us later." She said answering his unspoken question.

Together they left their resting place and struck out, heading deeper into the ruins. Menacing shadows lay amongst the fallen and crumbling stones. The orc picked his way carefully, his superior nightsight finding the safest path through the stones, while her gaze and the beams of moonlight that only she could interpret guided them towards their destination.