Jake and the Opals

Their rest had been short. The orc had been anxious to continue the march. His gaze sought out the distant horizon so frequently Morgan wondered if he heard some call. Not the call of a bird, or man. Nothing audible to the ear, but instead something that called to the spirit or mind. She was familiar with such calls. The Lady had called so to her upon occasion.

As they journeyed, the orc marched as if in a different time and place. The sorceress had feared he had been possessed by some malign spirit. The warding stones had spoken of shadows that would possess the body, and cause them to turn against their brother, but that did not seem to be situation with Jake. The spirit that possessed him seemed driven to some purpose.

For now it seemed best to follow the orc and see where his path led. Perhaps the mystery would unravel as they neared Jake's apparent destination. In the meantime, when their pace would allow it, the sorceress attempted to draw out information from the spirit, hoping to determine its intentions. "Where do we go?" She refrained from calling him Jake deliberately. She knew that Jake did not know the answer to the question, but perhaps the invading spirit did.

The orc did not answer for a long while. His stride was measured and forceful, but finally he slowed, blinking as if recovering from a daze. "Go?" His voice was whispered. "Go...."

Eyes narrowed and searched the landscape. "I have to save my men. They will be slaughtered." The orc frowned. "No...my men are already dead." He shook his head angrily. "I must get there in time. I must." He strode off again, whatever force impelled him to move forward was insistent. "I have to prevent him from getting free. It's all my fault. I should never have allowed him to...."

The orc drifted off again. Morgan was loathe to try using her talents to coax the information out of him. Who knew how the spirit would react to her attempts to use magic? Still, information was needed. Perhaps a delicate nudge further back into memory could be used. Doing her best to keep just even with him she spoke in a neutral voice, suggesting nothing even as she sought to elicit a conversation with whatever ghost walked beside her. "The men are afraid."

It was a chance. Morgan did not know if the ghost would be able to differentiate between the now and the past, nor if the past it referred to was the same as the one inscribed in the warding stones, but her intuition told her there was a link.

The orc nodded, his jaw was tight. The sorceress could almost hear his teeth grind. "With each night the danger grows. I do not know where the foul creatures will strike next. If we do not reach the ziggurat soon, I fear the men will desert."

"We must get there soon. The druids say they cannot ward off the creatures. The land here," the orc gestured about, "does not permit it. They say it is under a spell of death that inhibits them."

Morgan nodded in agreement, muttering a quiet noise of agreement, willing him to continue his monologue. The orc frowned angrily, "Pah! They are worthless! I do not know why I agreed to bring them! All they do is cast worried glances at the gauntlet as if...." The orc's gaze had fallen to his hand, perhaps seeing that he wore no gauntlet.

The sorceress frowned, she had hoped he would continue longer, but at the same time, if the spirit-possessed orc had indeed been looking to his arm for the gauntlet, and it was the self-same gauntlet mentioned upon the warding stones, then she knew who the ghost was that walked beside her. Her mind reeled with the thought that the ghost was that of the Stormfist mentioned upon the stones. Surely this was too great a coincidence to be pure chance. She remained quiet, pondering his words, striding with the orc into the distance and whatever it was that awaited them.