The Wrath of Rrenn..*

(*All spelling errors faithfully reprinted from the original, now onward! Oh, unless you want to get back to the history section, obviously..)

Vlad and Perkins grinned."We'll be back by high noon." and they faded into the shadows. They were the high Rogue Lords, leaders of the thieves and outlawsOnly the richest could afford to hire them, for they were never known to have failed a single hit. That day, Damia the evil cleric, she whom they called the Grim Hacker was the target. It was a fine day, blue, cloudless sky disturbed only by the occasional pillar of fire displayed by some mind-twisted hoo-ha warmage.

"Rrenn?! wanna get me some kit?" That was Mando, a budding rogue but always relied too heavily on others. You could never trust anyone, never. Not in this world. I pretended to be asleep and heard the slam of the trapdoor as he left the guild.

Myste was probably around in the nearby village, tricking some fool into losing everything, most likely including his underpants. She was the rogue Pride, object of lust for ALL men. "Lucky me" I thought and chuckled to meself. I could here the beginner rogues practicing their little backstabbing tricks. The banging on the wall was probably Damage trying to break it with his head.

I decided that I needed a break having recently failed my most recent mission. The sly monk sure left quick. I looked at my broken arm. "I'll get that Wintermute if its the last thing I do." The knife between his shoulder blades felt good as the blood trickled down, but it didn't kill him. Even MY backstab had failed. Saxon would probably gloat over this. That was one loud mouthed thug.

The small village was east of Drakenwood, and it was there I had met the druid Rkel. He was one honest fellow, too honest if you ask me. Myste was probably in the bar. The rumbling of the heavens indicated the coming of a storm. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. As I approached the village, Inoticed columns of smoke. Rogue instincts told me, there was trouble, BIG trouble and I was in the middle of it. Soon, in the distance I could see two figures, standing alone in the village centre, surrounded by what seemed like endless hordes of orcs. Lightning flashed down on the cursed creatures, limbs went flying, the smell of sick blood filled the air. The place was in utter chaos. The situation was grim. The two figures were most probably druids; Chauntea of the Scyamore and Rkel the Initiate. They would never survive....

I looked around for Myste. Where was she ? Orcs were everywhere, plundering, pillaging and they did rape. After that, they burned the people alive. I spat. Even we didn't do that. Bloody orcs. I sneaked into town, from shadow to shadow.

Many an orc died that day, but among those who survived there goes a rumour that when lightning arcs across the heavens, its is the sign of the war god to go to battle. Those who disobey and hide in the shadows, become headless corpses. That Jet Dagger, given me by Vlad sure had a keen edge.. I continued searching for my wife.

It could have been the blood, it could have been the torn red flag. But I saw her. Eyes closed, probably unconscious. The Orc Chief had her dangling from his large hands, held by the hair. On the floor lay an Orc Champion still holding the decorated Champion sword, but the corpse had lost an arm and leg. Good ol' Myste. Trust her to massacre the bastard.

Maybe the ugly creep was a warlock or something. I saw a huge crystal ball float high into the air and as if alive it became a slimy eyeball. Then it stared right at me. The Orc Chief then looked me straight in the eye, through the shadows, grinned, and lifeted Myste's bodyless head.

I can't really remeber what happened next. I think he pointed at me. But there was this roaring in my ears. I smelt blood, tasted blood, saw blood. Never have I fought like I did that day. Don't even think Merlyn the dragon- lord could have done that. Twist, counter, backstab. The hordes kept on rushingat me. The only thing I saw was that grin, that bastard of a grin. Then my daggers broke. I carried on forward getting nearer to that grin. Nearer and nearer.Slash... slash....

Memories flicked past, of Morrigan teaching me the knife, Perkins about the ladies, Vlad showing me the trip. These flooded my head and then it seemed I entered a void.

All black, all dark. And then the silhouette of the bastard with Myste's head filled me again. I reached into the void dragging out my seeting, flaring fury, my cold naked hatred and my painful screaming agony. The Earth began to tremble, bright flashes arced the heavens and crushed the earth, I looked up and howled and then I blacked out.

The clerics of Drakenwood did a good job. My new arm looks and feels exactly like the old one. Many say that the evil spirit of the Chief Orc still lurks in the area, haunting the unwary traveller, looking for a body. They say that Chief Orc was possesed by some infernal entity thus bestowing the powers equivalent to the Archmages upon it. Even after its death, it still curses the land. That small village exists no more.

Neither does Rrenn. I am Rrath, reborn. Arch Druid of Drakenwood, Leader of the Guild of Druids.

1st Sunari, 10th year of the Western Realms.

Back to Fiction
Back to History

Just wanna play?
Email webmaster@elephant.org with any questions about this site.