'Friendship?" She says, "with an orc? The orc does not seek peace, but only dominance. Violence is a way of life for them." The warrior says this calmly, matter of factly.
"To say otherwise is to deny them the truth, to ignore what makes them the potent foes they are." Another pause then, "Your choice of words is well done, young warrior. Come, tell me, tell me of this bridge you intend to build."
The older woman accepts these words carefully, calmly. When she speaks however, she begins pacing slightly, her armored boots ringing on the dark stone.
"I was not always the guard on the bridge. Despite the orc-ish legends it is not truly haunted. There has been an unbroken line of defenders, called by the goddess Sarenre, each brought here in turn to tke up the mantle." She touches her white hair, "My time is coming at an end, and my successor surely coming. I thought it might have been you, when I first spotted you heading toward the river. It would have been nice to lay down my burden."
She waves her arm, "No matter. Anyway, I am from Lastwall, the land of crusader to the south. I spent my youth hearing stories of the vicious orcs past the borders. When I came of age I went on missions deep into the Hold, and spilled much of the blood you speak of."
Her eyes are stern, 'I regret none of it. The world is a hard place and the orcs of Belkzen some of the hardest in it. You, perhaps, have not seen the burned villages, the raped women, the spoiled livestock..." She pauses, looking at the flowing river, lost in memories.
After this she stirs, looking at Korz, "But violence for the sake of old violence is not an answer. It is, at best, a stasis. You offer something better? How do you build this bridge? How can you overcome a river of blood, much deeper and stronger then this humble stream/"
Her face looks old and lined as she asks this, true sadness in her tone, 'A stream that I have spent my entire life feeding."
'Orcish ways...Do you really think they are compatible with peace? Even among their own kind they quarrel endlessly, kill for any or no reason at all. Violence is in their very nature, part of their being, far more then any human."
The woman sheathes her sword however and says, 'A different world....one where bridges are open and not guarded perhaps?" She seems to smile a bit stronger now.
Then it fades away as she gazes at Korz, "My goddess has given me orders to not let this bridge suffer the cruel hands of the orc. Here lies my foe before me. What should I do, bridge-builder? Defy my holy oath?"
The woman turns away, looking back over the muddy river. 'Your words are good, Noche'wa of the Shoanti. If I was master of my own fate I would do as you say, and let you go about your mission without further hindrance or test. In fact, I would help your cause, for who wants peace more then I, a warden of such a long watch?"
The white hair shimmers as she shakes her head. Turning to face Noche'Wa directly, her face looks sad but peaceful, 'But I am not master here. I serve another and one whose wishes go beyond mine."
"But I will not fight in such a fashion, having not given you my name or un-armed." She tosses her head voice louder, 'My name is Gaverlla Herimos, of Lastwall. I have served this bridge and my God for nearly 30 years and I do it now." Noche'Wa has a feeling she is not saying this to him, and there is a note of bitterness in her overly formal words.
'As for the second, what weapon would you choose?" Her voice is calmer now, as if asking a musician what instrument they played or carpenter which tool they preferred. 'There is great store above."
'Then we fight and let the victor decide how best to judge." There is a note of hope here as if she sees a way out of her choice.
That ghost of a smile flits across her face, clearly visible this time. When she speaks however, she has mastered it. "You are a bold one, human. But very well, see what you make of it."
With carelessness she tosses the greatsword directly at Noche'Wa, the blade cutting through the air.
Noche'Wa catches the blade out of the air, barely grabbing it. It was traveling faster then he thought, as he stops the momentum. For a moment he marvels at how light the massive blade is. Some kind of magic...
Then he feels a surge of power erupt from it, passing from the polished hilt to his bare hand. It isn't exactly pain but a sense of will and power here, not just a sword but something far more. There is a sudden shift as the sword gains weight, as if someone had tied an invisible boulder to it.
It clatters to he ground, ringing on the black stone.
'Did it burn your hand?" Gaverlla asks, curious. Noche'Wa hand tingles but there is no pain there, certainly no heat.
"No? Then your are unworthy but not by far. This is good." She smiled again. 'Would you fight me unarmed then?" She spreads her arms wide as she asks the question.
Noche'Wa barrels into the paladin, his shoulder catching her in the chest. He heaves her back, but the armored woman is heavier then he thought, She manages to catch herself right on the edge of the water-washed stone.
Breathing hard he seems a smile on her face, 'If I was younger, I'd show you a trick or two."
She snaps her fingers and her blade, now sitting alone behind Noche'Wa suddenly springs to life. It scrapes along the stone, sending up a sheet of blue sparks. The sword leaps into her hand where she lightly seizes it. Seeing his look of shock she inclines her head, "Divine favor has its uses, Shoanti."
She takes a five foot step around, moving her away from the water. The paladin doesn't attack however, setting a guard about herself. Her holy blade glows slightly, some sort of enchantment being cast upon it.
Noche'Wa steps back and vanishes out of sight. Instantly he steps back, revealing nothing.
Gaverlla raises an eyebrow, 'A clever trick. You are not to be underestimated.'
She carefully takes one step forward, away from the water. The paladin calls out, "I am curious what you will try next..."
Noche'Wa feels 4 invisible versions of himself flicker into existence. As he steps aside the paladin looks even more unsure. 'What are you up to, Noche'Wa? Some clever trick?"
She side steps again, now standing next to Korz's still motionless body. "The day passes...."
Noche'Wa flashes into vision, along with his four mirror images. The paladin's eyes widen at the sudden appearance of so many foes. In that instant Noche'Wa again launches himself at the aged warrior. The paladin is a formidable fighter and even this strange event doesn't totally surprise her. She gets one swing with her blade...
The blade ripples through one images and it flickers away.
Noche'Wa tackles the woman to the ground, jarred as the heavy armor clangs on the stone platform. Under him she struggles to break free of his clinging grip.
She fails however, and the brawler has the upper hand for now.
Noche'Wa has spent long years wrestling in fighting pits and taverns, and knows most of the tricks. While this paladin is stronger then expected, looking at her age, he pins her firmly, locking his legs around her.
She grunts in frustration and tries one last time to throw him off.
She fails, and relaxes. With a long sigh she says, "I think the victory is yours, Shoanti. Well fought." With a clang, she drops her sword (now useless) to the ground as a sign of surrender. 'I yield."
Gaverlla holds out a hand, grasping firmly. "Before you leave, I have something..." She hurries away up the stairs, her steps light. It is obvious she is pleased at how the combat went.
He looks at Korz and notes the orc move slightly, shifting on the dark rock. Is his friend awake? Before he can be sure, the paladin returns, carrying two items.
She tosses him a longspear, as fine (or better) then the one he lost. 'Consider it repayment for the gremlims. A reverse toll, if you will."
In the other she holds a small ring set with three stones: blue, green, and red. "This a Ring of return. Consider it a prize for victory. It has rested long here and in your hands, perhaps it can do some good."
"As to where to find me...I should be here, unless another comes to replace me. If so, I will leave word with them as to my whereabouts,." She salutes him, 'Again, well fought, Noche'Wa of the Shoanti, bridge-builder. May you have success in your worthy task."
Leaning over the orc, he can see Korz is awake and aware, but trying to appear knocked out. His friend catches his breath when Noche'Wa nears but remains silent.
"How is your friend, the orc?" The paladin asks, smile fading from her face.
Gaverlla shakes her head, "No, let me help you carry him up. Frankly, regarding the superstitions the orcs have of this bridge, it would be kinder to wake him up off of it. He might have a heart attack if he is awakened int his place..." The paladin starts to walk over, obviously looking to help lift the heavy orc.
The paladin pauses, "I suppose, but allow me to escort you at least. Not only to guide you, but I am loath to allow an orc, even unconscious, roam my home unsupervised." She points up the winding stair, "He won't be light to carry up those stairs."
Gaverlla stands back, half-hidden by the shadows of the bridge. The stairs are steeo and Korz is heavy. Soon Noche'Wa is sweating buckets, carrying the fully armed orc in the humid river air. In his ear he hears Korz hiss, "You fought well. between us, we could take her, you know."
"This bridge would be useful to my people, in many ways. We could free it from her grip."
'bah, you lack nerve, Shoanti." Korz mutters but he grows silent at Noche'Wa words.
The way is long and hard but finally, Noche'Wa reaches the flat of the bridge. It is a broad, flat expanse of black stone, running perfectly smooth and level from shore to shore. There are only the faintest signs of battle and fighting here, long covered by centuries of wind and rain. Along one area, he sees a simple hut built, huddled against a pillar. It looks like a lonely place to live.
Out of sight behind a small rise, Noche'Wa releases his burden. With a squawk Korz hits the ground, then moves to a sitting position.
At Noche'Wa's questions he says, "You don't understand." Sighing the orc goes on, 'Dying on a battlefield, for an honorable cause, is worthwhile. Taking that bridge would have been something that would have gone done in legend." he holds up a callused, greenish hand, "Hold your peace, pinkskin. I am not finished."
Taking a deeper breath he says, "I understand your mission, although it is strange to me. To mix orc and human together...is unnatural. It is like trying to form heated clay, it cannot be done. Or so I think.'
'But I have traveled far with you, have I not? To give you a chance to come to Urgir and plead your case to my Chief. Is that not a vote of confidence in your scheme?"
The orc nods, 'yes. As I said, when I crossed far to the east, near the Ghostlight Marsh. And it is a wet crossing. This bridge would makes things easier and simpler, even fit for carts and wains."
The orc grimaces, 'She didn't seem very fond of my kind, however. I doubt even your silver tongue would get orcs crossing, at least alive."
'They are indeed great challenges." Korz says seriously, "But in this dry land, they are also often the lifeblood. Such is the way of things in the Hold. Danger and life, intertwined."
'As for Urgir, we have a week or so of easy travel north. Then we will reach the outer farms, and the roads will be smooth and well-kept. I am curious to see what you make of it.."
The journey north is as smooth as Korz says. The land is still mostly dry scrubland, with short rolling hills covered in brown grass. Korz explains that in the early spring this land turns green for a few months, and becomes alive with both animals and plants.
'A fine hunting ground.'
One day they top a rise and Noche'Wa sees a weird sight ahead. It appears to be a shallow valley, flat and broad. It is filled with cracked and dried mud, edged by small rocks.
'The Flood Road." Korz says pointing, "For two months in the early spring it is full, from bank to bank with raging water. It is a time of peace among the orcs, and even the most violent clans lay up their arms. Instead we hunt the migrating aurochs, storing up meat and hides for trade." He grins, 'You like the sound of that? Peace among orcs has precedent."
He spits and says, 'We take the Flood Road north. It is easier to walk and we are unlikely to be attacked. It is considered neutral ground, or at least controlled by my clan. Same thing, for our concerns. We may even meet other travelers headed toward the City."
For two days they trek north and Noche'Wa can see the signs of impending civilization. He can see wagon ruts in the dried mud all around them, the signs of old campsites, and even passes a few small orc villages. Korz hurries them along saying, "We should not linger. Too many young ones would want to test your strength. As amusing as it would be, I don't have the patience."
Then one night, they spot a large caravan ahead, making camp. At least a dozen , brightly painted wagons are circled tightly, with a roaring bonfire in the middle. Noche'wa can see silhouettes against the flames and hears human laughter. Even better, the smell of roasting meat is on the wind.
Korz sniffs, stomach growling, 'Shall we chance a visit? With you at my side, they may even let me near the fire."
'At least it is better then gruel..." Korz agrees, and they walk over the dry riverbed, toward the wagons. As they approach Noche'Wa notes many of them aren't simply flat wagons, but wheeled cages, with strong iron bars and many chains. For now all were empty but they obviously carried something large and dangerous.
Just as they get close, a voice rings out, 'Ah, who's there!" A figure, previously hidden by shadows, jumps off a wagon. In the flickering light Noche'wa can see it is a young man, holding a bow at the ready. Despite his youth he is a tall, strongly built lad. Staring at Noche'Wa he shouts over his shoulder, 'Strangers."
There is a commotion near the fire at the news, but finally two more figures emerge into the darkness around the caravan. One is a stoutly build woman, with a jug of ale in one hand and an axe in the other. Her dark hair is cropped short and sensible.
Next to her is a giant of a man, with massive shoudlers and a neck like a bull. he clutches a massive spear, whose metal tip gleams in the dancing firelight. Long gray hair trails down past his shoulders, framing a tanned, lined face that has seen many winters.
All are wearing well-made but primitive animal skins.
'And who might you be?" he asks, in a deep rough voice, Common with a strong accent.