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The Human From a Dungeon 47
🕑 Added 2024-04-15 13:55:01 +0000 UTCChapter 47
Grum Ormyar
Adventurer Level: N/A
Orc - Blurpan
"Well, can't say much for their craftsmanship," Harmi said with a grunt.
"It's not pretty, but it looks like it'll hold up to an extended assault," I shook my head in disgust.
We finished our examination of the enemy's encampment and turned back to our own. Harmi and I had decided to personally confirm the scout's reports. The drow had erected wooden barricades around the village and were keeping them wet to prevent fires. They had made the barricades high enough to make it difficult to get attacks over them, too. Any mage that got close enough to send a spell over those walls would also be close enough to suddenly sprout an arrow from between their eyes.
"What was this village's name?" I asked as we walked.
"Dunno," Harmi shrugged. "It isn't on the map because it isn't a recognized settlement. It's too close to the border for that."
"Really? I wouldn't think that they've had issues with the drow before. The buildings look like they've been there for quite a while."
"Yeah, well, they probably have been. Lofin's armies usually do their thing quite a ways to the east of here, so these guys were probably left alone for the most part. Maybe got a visit or two from our boys now and then, but they've probably never even seen a drow. Until now."
"But they're still close enough to be in the settlement prohibition zone? Do you think they knew that?"
"They would have had to. Whoever they got the land from, a rancher probably, would have had to tell them. Plus that settlement is large enough to have applied to be a village, and there's no way they'd miss out on the benefits by choice. If they applied, they would've been told to vacate the area."
"Damn. If they knew, why'd they risk it?"
"Well, after enough repetitions things become routine, and routine tricks you into believing that you have an understanding of things. That combined with how cheap the land would've been probably led to this."
"So what do you think..."
"They're either dead, slaves, or hostages now, Grum. Hells, probably worse if your pa's right about the vampires. Put them from your mind, we've got shit to do."
"Yeah," I nodded solemnly.
We entered the camp we had made yesterday, and a quick look around confirmed that it was bustling with activity. Axes were being sharpened, cooks were stoking fires, and the mages were tending to their hnarses. Our forces now totaled one thousand infantry and thirty mounted mages. The drow may have more soldiers than we do, but if we were to fight them afield we'd be able to wipe the floor with them. Unfortunately, they seem to have realized that.
"Chief Ormyar!" someone shouted.
The shout sounded as if it was directed at me, which caused my head to snap toward the sound. One of the newer scouts was running toward me. I ceased my stride and crossed my arms, affixing the approaching scout with a glare. I noticed a rare smile on Harmi's face as the scout caught up to us.
"I'm not the chief, my father is," I said firmly.
"S-sorry, sir," the scout said, trying to control her breathing. "I've got a report."
"And I'll hear it in a moment. I want you to be sure that it doesn't happen again. My father is the greatest chief Blurpus has ever seen, and I won't tolerate any semblance of disrespect toward him. Understood?"
"Y-yes sir."
"Good. Report."
"We found the caravan from Yirna that had the supplies to make weapons. It was attacked."
"Any survivors?"
"We don't know for sure. They burned those that fell, drow and orc alike. Loaded them into the carts and set them ablaze. Couldn't get an accurate count of the remains."
"Were you able to get eyes on the force that ambushed them?" I asked, uncrossing my arms and placing my hands on my hips.
"No, sir. They were hit right after they crossed the border into Blurpus. Scout-master says that it had to have happened days ago, according to their itinerary."
"Understood. Tell the scout-master to get back to regular patrols, then."
The scout nodded and began jogging away. I took a deep breath through my nose, stifling my rising anger, and let the air out with a heavy sigh.
"Fuck," I grumbled under my breath.
"Good call, sending the scouts to check on the caravan," Harmi noted. "It is fortunate that we now know that we can't rely on archers."
"Yeah, that's one way of looking at it. Whoever this little bastard is, he's far too clever for my liking," I said. "Not only was he able to tell that we had sent our smithing supplies to Yirna, he was able to determine that we would be having them shipped back and where they would be."
"Nah, he probably set up multiple ambush sites. That's what I would do. I'd put a team on any path big enough for a cart."
"Yeah, you're probably right," I absentmindedly agreed, my mind already on what our next steps should be.
The caravan didn't just have weapon-making materials, it had actual smiths and fletchers. Smiths that can perform maintenance are a copper a dozen, but the ones that can create new works from raw materials are worth their weight in silver. Proper fletchers are even rarer, and it would take quite a while to find one willing to travel to Blurpus.
If we had been able to outfit our archers and train some new ones, we would have been able to assault the enemy camp. Archers can fire faster than mages can, which may have allowed us to suppress the enemy behind their barricades long enough for the mages to lob spells over their walls. Hell, they might have even been able to get close enough to use spells that would destroy the barricades entirely.
Most archers know how to maintain their bows and make arrows in a pinch, but most of them don't know how to craft bows or mass-produce arrows. Their makeshift arrows are also a lot less accurate than those made by the professionals. No matter how I look at it, it looks like we're going to have to lay siege to the drow and try to starve them out.
"Oh, here we go again," Harmi said, gesturing at another scout jogging toward us.
As the orc approached, I noticed that we were mistaken with our initial impression. This orc wasn't a scout. The two axe handles smacking against his thighs as he ran was a dead giveaway of his status as infantry. As he drew closer, I tried to figure out why he would possibly be running to speak to us.
"Mornin' chief-kin," the large orc said. "Sernt Balug wanted me to get you."
"Sergeant Balug? What for?" I asked.
"It's a surprise, sir."
"I don't like surprises," I crossed my arms again. "Tell me what he wants."
"Sernt Balug's a lot bigger than you," he chuckled. "Erm... Sir. Plus, we all wanna see your reaction."
"Balug may be bigger, but the chief-kin can have you flogged," Harmi interjected.
The big orc took a moment to think about this, biting his lip as his brain worked harder than it likely ever has.
"I guess so, but even if you flog me to death my mum'd recognize the body," he shrugged. "If I ruin the surprise and the boys get at me, she won't even recognize my big toe. Sir."
"It's that good of a surprise?" I asked incredulously.
"Oh yeah. Your reaction'll be worth taking a few licks from the whip. If you want me to. Sir."
I shared a glance with Harmi, who gave a defeated shrug in the face of the country-orc's stubbornness.
"Fine," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Lead on."
The unruly infantry-orc led us through the camp and into the woods. Being unused to traveling without a path, I made certain to watch my footing. Despite my care, I quickly fell behind. The other two seemed to be able to predict the roots and divots that littered the ground and had to stop and wait for me to catch up repeatedly. By the time we arrived at Sergeant Balug's location my embarrassment and frustration was at a boiling point.
Once the ground was clear of obstacles, I pointedly marched after our guide, ready to be harsh with whatever I was about to be shown. However, all of my anger quickly melted away once I saw the surprise. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped.
"The fuck?" Harmi asked with a shocked softness.
"Ah, chief-kin! Oh, and you brought cap'n Harmi too!" Sergeant Balug exclaimed. "Surprise!"
A mewling whine came from a gigantic creature that had somehow been trussed up. The sound was disturbingly similar to a pupper that had just been told off, but much louder. Its head was covered in metallic looking spikes, and the creature's red and yellow hide clashed horribly with the various greens of the surrounding foliage.
Each of its bound arms and legs ended in three enormous claws, which were also tied together. It struggled against its bindings to no avail, and whined again. As it did so, I caught a glimpse of rows upon rows of sharpened fangs within its maw.
"What in the hells is that?" I asked, regaining some of my composure.
"It's a gift from the gods! A Nahalim, to be specific. Young one too, judgin' by its size," Balug said with a prideful grin. "One of our boys was out takin' a leak and found it while it was nappin'. Once he let me know about it, we grabbed all the rope we could carry and tied it up good and proper."
I took a moment to digest this information, then turned to look at the sergeant. He towered over me, but despite his appearances... and upbringing... and mannerisms... he's one of the most educated orcs I know. When he says a gift from the gods in this context, it could mean literally anything.
"Okay, so what's a Nahalim and why is it a gift?" I asked.
"Please don't tell me you're planning on trying to eat the fuckin' thing," Harmi added. "Pretty sure those are poisonous."
"Venomous, not poisonous, and no. They taste like shit. Anyhow, to answer your question, chief-kin, a Nahalim is one of them ol' biological weapons that they were usin' during the cataclysm wars. They were mostly meant for crackin' open castles, but they also saw some use as anti-infantry. You see 'em now and again on the edges of the wastes, where I grew up," Balug's grin somehow grew. "And it's a gift cuz if you've got the balls, you can train it."
I nodded along and then froze once he finished his sentence.
"The fuck did you just say?" I asked, unable to believe my ears.
Balug's men tried to hide their laughter. Unsuccessfully.
"Train it, sir. There was a guy who lived in the wastes who had a couple of 'em as pets. Hunted with 'em and everything. Said they're just like giant puppers, so long's you treat them proper," he nodded sagely. "Of course, they ate him in the end, but we're pretty sure he died of natural causes first."
"Pretty sure..." I repeated.
"Yep. Give me a few days and I'll have this boy... or maybe girl, it's hard to tell... Anyway, I'll have it ready and rarin' to tear up some drow in no time."
"What are you going to feed it?" Harmi asked.
"We got drow prisoners, don't we?" Balug raised an eyebrow.
"Absolutely not," I said. "We aren't feeding our prisoners to this thing. Not only would that be morally repugnant, it would also be in violation of the law of the land and the High Chief would certainly have our heads."
"Well, what if we kept it a secret?"
"You're willing to gamble your life that none of your boys will get too sauced and tell this story? Fat fucking chance, sergeant. No."
"Damn. You got a good point, sir. Well boys, what do you think?" Balug turned to his orcs. "Willin' to go on half-rations to feed the beast?"
The sounds of not-quite-suppressed mirth died out immediately and was replaced with a tense and contemplative silence that was only broken by the occasional whine from the Nahalim. The soldiers looked between their sergeant and the Nahalim studiously. The subject of their internal conflict was painfully obvious, the stomach is one of the two organs that infantry does their thinking with. The other organ they use to think is somewhat up for debate.
"Fuck it, I'm game," one of the soldiers said.
The other soldiers looked at the one that spoke up, and a few of them shrugged. One by one they gave their assent to the sergeant's plan. Once everyone was in agreement, Sergeant Balug turned back to me.
"There you have it, sir. We'll feed it with our own rations, and get it nice and trained up for an assault on the enemy," he said with a smug grin. "Will that be alright?"
"If you can't train it, will you be able to kill it?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. It bleeds just like everything else. Worst case scenario, we lose a few. But I got a look at the enemy's barricade earlier, and I'm pretty sure that we'll be losing more orcs without the Nahalim than we would if it went wild."
"You might be right. How exactly are you gonna train this thing? We don't have cages big enough to hold it."
"Oh, we'll secure it in such a way that it can't run around and let it get familiar with us. Positive reinforcement and the like goes a long way with these big bastards. By the end of the week, I'll have it eating out of my hand."
The sergeant was making a good case. If Balug's able to train the Nahalim, it will save a lot of lives on our side of this conflict. If he fails, though, we'll have lost good orcs and still have to face the enemy's barricade.
We could try to starve out the enemy, but their leader has fully demonstrated that he isn't a fool, so he probably has a plan for that course of action. I looked at Harmi for guidance, but the furrow in his brow told me that he was just as lost as I. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth.
"Fine," I said. "Train the Nahalim. We'll try to use it in an assault on the enemy fortifications once it's ready."
"Thank you, sir. You won't regret this."
Comments
ItsDirector
Oh... I've inadvertently created an eldritch Garfield and Darth Maul hybrid, haven't I?
David Ellis
I know the description doesn't quite match, but my head canon is that the Nahalim is a demonic Garfield.
