A Gathering Storm

He moved carefully, his crouched steps barely making a sound as he timed his movements to the wind swaying the tall grass he hid in. Not far from him a gelatinous mass rested, pulsing in a disturbing manner as it digested the melting corpse that lay within it's translucent acidic bowels.

Slimes, so they were called. Creatures of arcane origin that normally dwelt near swamps, sewers, caves, tombs and other places where decay might be given unnatural life. Though they never wandered far from their place of spawn this rather ample pile of muck found it's way onto a farm. The unfortunate cadaver within its belly was one of the farmhands who had not noticed it's approach until it was too late. It bears to mention they're sneaky bastards that are far more effective than they are given credit for, as far as the realm of stealth is concerned. However, if one is lucky enough, an air bubble might form within its mass while it traverses. This results in a loud audible pop, other times a sound that is akin to a very, very long bout of flatulence. The sounds are—ordinarily—so out of place it draws the attention of a would-be victim allowing them to facilitate a quick and appropriate reaction, normally a retreat.

A strike of flint gave sparks that lit the spear the young warrior held in his hand, and as soon as the flames engulfed the blade he rose to his feet and casted it straight into the slurry. At once it came alight in a great column of flame, whistling, screaming, popping until it was no more. He stood over it's remains, now nothing more than a charred piece of earth, his golden eyes gazing upon the skeletal remains of what was once an orc. He bowed his head, hand to his chest, saying a silent prayer for the fallen.

"Lothar?" a voice called out.

"Here," the warrior replied, retrieving his spear from the ashen remains.

The babe that Baldomar had rescued from the village was grown now. A tall, strong and statuesque figure, ruggedly handsome and now longer in mane. Twenty-one summers had passed since the day he was named the son of Baldomar and Karga. And so it came to pass through grit, strength and iron will that the title of Thegn was bestowed him. Marking him an elite warrior and leader of men.

Amaric, son of Osric and sworn-brother of Lothar, emerged from a nearby crop field and stopped before the ashes. Sighing at the sight before looking to Lothar.

"We found three more about the farmstead. Smaller ones though. Looks like you bagged the biggest one."

Lothar nodded, "That should be all then. Gather the others, we head for home."

"Aye brother," complied Amaric, thumping his chest in salute.

A horn was sounded and the other warriors of Lothar's warband assembled. After receiving the thanks of the freeman farmer, who none the less was saddened by the loss of his thrall and the devastation of his crops, he was pleased to no longer being troubled by the slimes. Lothar gave the order for the warband to begin marching and they fell in behind him as they made their way back to Leoham.

Amaric, marching alongside Lothar, gestured with his head back towards the farm.

"I don't like this Lothar. Two days bygone we're fighting hellhound Shucks harrying tradewagons. Barely last week draugr laid waste to a village. Now there are fucan slimes eating thralls and crops?"

"Something is definitely wrong here," Lothar agreed. "I can't hark back a time when these creatures would be so bold and invasive."

"Makes me wonder if there was something to what the shamans said not too long ago," Amaric mused aloud. "About the ancestors warning us of evil. Maybe we've been hexed?"

"I don’t know," Lothar admitted. "But something is driving these things into our lands, and we must stop it before more of our folk die."

Amaric cursed under his breath, not sure what to make of it all. As he had been saying, it seemed one incursion after another was falling upon the lands of the Rohwen; hellhounds, undead revenants, the list went on. No longer was the primary concern neighboring clans but creatures both natural and mystical. As he looked to Lothar though, his mind soon wandered to another—perhaps more pressing—matter.

"How fares our headman?" he asked.

Lothar closed his eyes a moment and exhaled heavily, before opening them again.

"Not well," he answered. "His heart grows weaker still." Lothar hesitated a moment before continuing, "He intends to step aside and become one of our elders. And spot me before the Witan for leadership."

"You are the obvious choice, brother."

Lothar looked to Amaric with a raised eyebrow, "Is that so? There are many others who would disagree with you brother."

"Because you are human? That doesn't matter Lothar," Amaric declared tapping over his heart with his fingers. "What matters is that you are an orc both in heart and gast. More so than even those who were born as orcs."

"So you say, but one of the backbiters is my uncle. Though it would pain him greatly to hear me call him that."

Eumer, the brother of Baldomar, was whom Lothar was referring to. He was one the staunchest opponents of Lothar's ascension into chiefdom and made no attempt to hide his disgust of Lothar having been brought into the clan in the first place. To be fair, it wasn't so much that Eumer detested Lothar for being human, though that was part of it. The real reason for his apprehension was that Lothar was likely Kardian in origin and thus could not be trusted. He believed Lothar would be keen to drag the clan into the Empire's sphere and right into the chains of his trueborn kin. He was joined by many others and their opinions as to Lothar ranged from having him merely barred from chiefdom to outright exile or execution, though the latter were far less vocal in public about it. For the present moment that is.

Matters were becoming worse though, as the question would be put to the clan sooner than what would have been hoped. For Baldomar had contracted a disease whose nature the shamans and healers could not understand. What was clear is that it was affecting his heart and it made him short of breath and brought spells of great weakness. He would not be able to lead the clan properly soon enough and so was deciding to step aside and raise Lothar up. However, he clung onto the mantle in the hopes of ensuring Lothar's succession without the prospect of a civil war. Thus far, all his attempts at convincing his brother were for naught, and Eumer demanded to ascend to the chiefdom himself instead.

"Eumer is a drit-eater," Aramic scoffed. "Your father should just kill him already and be done with it."

Lothar said nothing. Though he usually deferred to the judgement of his father, he couldn't help but agree with Amaric. It was going to come to blows sooner or later and Lothar couldn't imagine any sort of argument that Baldomar could present that would change either Eumer's mind or that of his followers. But as a son he could not stand against his father openly, and that was doubly so in Lothar's case. Showing an over eagerness to claim the chiefdom would not sit well with the Witan, a gathering of peers that included thegns, huscarls, elders and shamans, who together ultimately decided who would become the next chieftain of the clan. Though sons of the previous chief were given preference, orcish law did not stipulate primogeniture and thus the son of the previous chief could be passed over for another if he was deemed an unworthy heir. Lothar had enough casted against him in criticism from his detractors, and being seen as power-hungry and tyrannical would not be welcome additions. So he bit his tongue and trusted his father. He whispered a quiet prayer to the gods and the ancestors, hoping that perhaps they might intervene for the sake of his clan. Though Lothar oftentimes wondered if they even listened to him.

The warband continued to make its way through the rolling hills of the Taroan Highlands, the wind whipping through and around them as they marched. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the landscape. They would reach Leoham soon enough where they hoped to relax before a hearth and partake in drink and good meat. Well earned after a hard days work. The questions of the future could be answered another day. Or so Lothar hoped.

***

"Gah!" Baldomar gasped, nearly falling over as he gripped his chest and held onto a stone wall for support. His breathing was ragged and beads of sweat ran down his forehead and weathered green face. His heart hammered within his chest like a war drum, each beat a painful thud that threatened to tear him asunder. He closed his eyes and focused on his respiration, trying to calm himself, as the wave of agony subsided as quickly as it had come.

Fortunately no one was around to witness this spell and when he was able to walk again he did so, though much more slowly this time. Careful to avoid unnecessary exertion and conjure another bout before the eyes of others.

The keep that served as his home as well as the center of clan administration and governance, had also a dual purpose of practical secondary defense should Leoham's walls collapse before an invader. It was situated at the center of the fortified town, atop a great motte that overlooked the bailey upon which the town was built. It was fashioned from mason, it's roofing from thatch and wood. Most importantly however, it had many passageways unknown to all save a privileged few. And it was these passageways Baldomar found himself using more often to traverse the keep. As what just happened moments ago could be endured without prying, speculative eyes.

He arrived in the council chambers where the others: Eumer, Osric, Brithun, Allowin, Farno and Odotho to name a few, were waiting for him. The room was rectangular, a long table of dark oakwood sat in the center with chairs arranged about it. Upon the walls hung tapestries depicting the history of the Rohwen Clan, their victories, their heroes and their gods. A fireplace crackled in muted flame along the east end of the room, providing a measure of warmth against the chill of the night air that seeped in through the curtained windows.

Eumer rose from his chair when Baldomar entered. The two brothers stood in silence for a moment, the only sound being the snapping of the hearth. Eumer was tall and muscular, much like Baldomar. In fact the two were very much alike but whereas Baldomar wore his hair long and was bearded. Eumer kept his hair short and was clean shaven. Both had the same piercing blue eyes and they burned into each other with a hushed intensity. Eumer was younger by a few years, but carried himself with an authority that belied his age.

The stand-off ended when Eumer, slightly, bowed his head. A gesture that was returned by Baldomar.

"We were worried," Eumer began. "It's not like you to be late."

"I am sorry," Baldomar apologized. "I was stalled in a matter with the servants."

"Of course," but it was clear from the way Eumer searched his brother's eyes that he was not at all convinced.

Baldomar sat at the head of the table and then gestured with his hands, "Shall we begin?"

A scribe sitting behind and to the right of Baldomar rose up from his seat and the council session began. First the old business unfinished or unanswered during the previous council was addressed. Following this were the recommended items presented by Baldomar which included the recruitment or even levying of new warriors to deal with the recent spat of attacks throughout Rohwen land. This received unanimous support with every thegn and huscarl pledging to increase their retinues and levies. It was when new business was to be presented that tension once again descended upon the room.

"The matter of succession," Eumer spoke. "Stability is important to the clan, headman. Now more than ever. Your health is failing you and you will need to step aside. It is time a new Chieftain is chosen to take your spot."

Osric snarled, "And I suppose you believe that you should be that replacement?"

"As he should," Allowin, a thegn aligned with Eumer, interjected. He crossed his arms as he leaned back into his chair. "Who else is more worthy?"

"My son for hap," Baldomar growled.

"Your son?" Eumer rose up slamming his fist onto the table. "Your son? That mongrel is no kin, no kin at all!"

Baldomar snapped back, "You forget yourself!"

"No!" Eumer pointed. "It is you who forgets brother! After all it is not me who is handing the forthcoming of this clan into the hands of an outsider."

"Lothar is my son!" Baldomar roared.

"He is not!" Eumer shouted in return. "No matter how many times you say it will not make it so! Curse the day you brought him into our midst, curse the day you did not wend a deaf ear to that failure of a woman and sire yourself a true-."

Blink and you would have missed it. So fast did Baldomar's fist find Eumer's jaw that it seemed as if Eumer had merely fallen over without any cause. The council erupted into shouting and chaos as men rushed to divide the feuding siblings from each other. Things were only made worse when Baldomar's chest began to heave and he fell back into his chair wheezing and gasping for air.

"Send for a healer!" shouted Brithun, as he looked at Baldomar helplessly.

Farno, High-Shaman of the clan, rushed forward driving his staff into the floor repeatedly to silence the raucous.

"Enough! Enough!" he bellowed.

When the room fell silent, he spoke again.

"Enough of this, our headman is not well. Rest assured we will gather the Witan and all candidates will be considered. Anymore foul play, bodily or wordly and I will see to it the one blame-worthy will be cursed by the gods. Now begone, all of you!"

Those assembled save for Osric, Brithon, Farno and Odotho exited the chamber, grumbling and nearly starting another row between the two factions on their way out. Odotho, Karga's brother, gritted his teeth as he watched Eumer disappear behind the closing door.

"Nithing! Fucan arseling! To speak of my sister in such a way!"

"This cannot stand," Osric added. "Give me the order headman and I will slay him in a trial!"

Baldomar could not speak but his mind was filled with dread. As he coughed and hacked, holding his chest, he realized that he could not hold back the tide any longer. The dam had broke. Unless Lothar could gain the majority of the confidence within the Witan...

War within the clan was inevitable...