Jake and the Opals

The differences between the races stood out as never before. Kulzag and his orcs seemed without qualm as they moved amongst their own, hacking up their dead with abandon. Stormfist detested them as he never had before. Perhaps had he known the fear the orcs held for the dead that walked he might have felt otherwise. Fear drove their blows, anxious as they were not to see bodies rise from death.

The dwarves moved in a train, their axes at the ready and their voices raised in a slow song of mourning. Together they encircled each of their dead and sang as one among them, whoever best knew the fallen dwarf, stepped forward and efficiently decapitated the corpse. As he committed his act of mercy, the warrior-friend of the fallen dwarf would shout out those qualities and deeds that best described him so that he might be remembered. As each rite was so performed, the names and deeds of the fallen dwarves were added to the song of mourning. This was how the dwarves would record and remember their fallen clan-brothers.

The men broke into small groups, as their sergeants led them off on details to account for and deal with their dead. When a face was recognized, another group would remove the body and butcher it with grim efficiency. Many of the younger soldiers, brave though they might be, heaved and grew sick at the sight. Even the veterans were not immune to grief and sickness at the cruel task they were required to perform.

The elves were the most quiet of all. Each seemed to mourn and grieve as they moved through the bodies. Death was nearly an unknown among the elves. For so many to die in one place at one time was a terrible tragedy among their race. Known to be long-lived, the elves too were near immune to sickness and disease and so every death among their kind was a heavy blow. They did not sing. They did not wail nor cry. Instead each elf looked lost and aged. With utter silence they collected their fallen and lay them out as best they could in a circle around which the elves gathered. Together they linked hands and their heads fell as one as their prince stepped forward and threw his head back in a terrible cry of despair. The cry echoed through the camp, stopping even the orcs from their wild butchering. And then, a blue flame erupted among the elven dead. Quickly the flame engulfed the fallen elves and consumed them. The flames of the pyre grew high, and yet no warmth escaped those flames. Instead, the elven bodies turned to ash and crumbled away, leaving naught behind save a fine dust which sparkled and was carried away by a soft breeze that none could feel.

Stormfist grieved, and grew wrothful. This accursed journey had become one of despair and tragedy. Even more than before he worried that desertion would cause their mission to fail. He too in truth was ready to abandon this fool's quest. How could they succeed in light of such horror?

The mages and druids stood aside from all others. They consulted amongst themselves, for although none of their kind had fallen, they realized the jeopardy their mission was in. Together they argued and bickered about what action to take. Stormfist could hear little of their words, but those that he could fired his wrath. Some wished to turn back, arguing that the dark shadow could not extend much farther, that surely it had its limits and that this quest was a misbegotten one. Other voices argued that the quest must continue no matter the cost. Did it cost a hundredfold more lives, it would still be a small price to pay to thwart this terrible darkness. Impassioned voices volleyed back and forth, until Stormfist himself strode amongst them.

He called them fools, and cursed them for not protecting his armies against the shadows which had infected his men and turned them against their brothers. A mage made as if to defend them, countering that they could not have predicted what was to pass. Stormfist rasied his fist in anger as if to strike and his gauntlet burst into white fire. The mage fell back amongst his colleagues and gasped in fear. Stormfist raged at them, oblivious to the fire which illuminated him. His voice rolled over theirs. No man, nor dwarf, nor elf, nor orc would abandon this quest ere it was done he thundered. Nor would any spellcaster or prayermaker abandon this army on pain of Stormfist's own vengeance.

The races gathered around the mages, encircling them as general Stormfist shouted and commanded. Their eyes mirrored the brilliant whitefire which seemed to illuminate the general. The elves shook their heads in sorrow. Murmuring to themselves about their fears of powers unleashed. The orcs, dwarves and men stood watching, all thoughts of fear and despair pushed aside as Stormfist's words hammered into them all.

No darkness would stop him, and no magic would slow him. Stormfist was unaware of the power reinforcing his words. He could not feel the tendrils of power exuding from him as he spoke. Power which reached out into the amassed armies, like the waves of the sea, dispelling their fear, and commanding their spirits. The druids and mages wavered between fear and desire, some few wondered if they had created a greater threat than even the shadow. To hold such power....

The camp gatherered their supplies, and prepared to continue their march into the darkness. General Stormfist seethed and stormed among them, urging them on, calling upon them to take vengeance upon the dark for the lives it had taken. The mages muttered amongst themselves and made ready, gathering up their tomes and scrolls of knowledge. A plan was needed they grumbled, but it was a plan they would have to make as they journeyed, for Stormfist would afford them no more time. The druids watched the general intently, their thoughts focused on the silver gauntlet upon the general's right hand and the five stones of power wedded to it. Many among them feared the power it held, knowing that power corrupts. Others craved it for their own, assuring themselves that they alone held the wisdom and the will to wield it.

The elves said nothing, but formed themselves up. Their prince spoke not to his followers of his fears though his eyes frequently fell to the silver gauntlet. Sadness shone in his eyes, for the fears of his folk were that the five stones of power would be uncontrollable. Already the prince had seen the way the power surrounded Stormfist. Such power in the hands of one being, who lacked the wisdom of the ancient folk troubled him. The elves had not wished to give up the stones of power unto the high council of men, but had been unable to deny them. Even with the best of ambitions and the purest of hearts, the elves feared the ability of any man to wield such power. They too feared the taint a man might leave upon the stones. Should the man be corrupt or corrupted, would that corruption also be imbued into the stones? The prince said nothing, but his fingers rested for a moment on a special arrow he carried in the quiver at his side. A faint white luminescence answered his touch and he withdrew his fingers.

With a silent nod to the elves that followed him, he signaled them to spread out and take up their positions around the army. Elven eyesight, far-ranging and sharp, would play scout for the army while it moved. Arrows were nocked and carried at the ready as the elves took up their guard. Small patrols of elves would range out keeping wary eye for sign of ambush or attack.

The dwarves, proud and strong, took up their position at the vanguard of the armies. First they would be, with their axes at the ready, marching into the darkness. The armies of men followed them, forming up into marching lines, relying upon their keen-eyed elven allies to give the alarm in case of danger. Last came the orcs who would not march near their mortal enemies the dwarves. Already had small scuffles and taunts been rewarded with blood as their racial enmity surfaced. Kulzag himself had suggested the orcs march last, not in fear, but as rearguard. His mobs of orcs, disciplined only under a firm lash, would stamp their way into the fiery pits under the gaze of the one-eyed warrior.

Stormfist approved of the orcs marching last, for he knew that any elf, man or dwarf who thought to desert would find themselves ridiculed and mocked, if not openly attacked, by the vicious orcs. The orcs in turn did not themselves dare desert while under the watchful eye of Kulzag, who marched last of all accompanied by the most lethal rock trolls and orcs ever to walk the plains of blood.

Formed up, their supply trains surrounded on either side by warriors of all races, Stormfist took up his position and signaled for the army to move. The call was passed by horn and by drum, and the diminished, but still formidable army took up the march. Step by step, deeper into the darkness. Step by step, deeper into the land of death.