The Heavenly Host

Stevos exhaled and then took a deep breath. “Today, in broad daylight, a band of twenty orcs entered the city with another twenty large, winged, orc-like beings. In the wargtown, they stabled twenty large and very mean winged wargs which the orcs had flown in on.

“Winged orcs?” Beragamos was looking quite pale.

“And winged wargs...” Moradel sighed.

Stevos nodded. “Teragdor reached out to some of his alvaren contacts — ”

“A half-orc with alvaren contacts?” Beragamos shook his head at the nearly incomprehensible thought. Hilda found it odd herself, but certainly no odder than a half-orc priest of Tiernon.

“Indeed. As I’ve said, he’s been quite useful.” Beragamos nodded and gestured for him to continue. “They told him that these winged beings are D’Orcs.”

“Dorks?” Hilda asked, not sure she’d heard correctly.

“No — D’Orcs. You need to stress the D, a slight pause and then the O, trailing with the rest: D(uh) O(rcs),” Beragamos said softly.

“What are D’Orcs?” Hilda asked, puzzled.

“They are the unholy warriors of the demon lord Orcus,” Beragamos said softly. Moradel nodded confirmation.

“Orcus? As in the supposedly dead demon lord whose warlocks I am supposed to be on the lookout for?” Hilda said with a feeling of incredible despair.

Beragamos shook his head in disbelief. “To be honest, I thought Sentir was being ridiculous, exhibiting paranoia from one of the most difficult battles any avatar of any religion has ever faced. I never seriously thought that Orcus had returned.”

“How else do we explain the D’Orcs returning to Astlan?” Moradel asked. “We sort of assumed there were scattered remnants left somewhere in the Abyss. However, they had never had the ability to enter the material planes without powerful shamans attached to Orcus.”

“So could the orcs have summoned these D’Orcs directly?” Beragamos asked.

“Ahem,” Stevos interrupted. The two avatars and Hilda looked at him.

“Sorry, sirs, but I got a few more things from my illuminary. There was a young shaman with them; he seemed, however, to be crippled.”

“A crippled young orc?” Moradel looked surprised. “Old, crippled orc warriors might go on if they can continue to fight, but young ones born deformed or maimed early are almost always left to die.” Beragamos nodded in agreement.

“Be that as it may,” continued Stevos, “he seemed to be one of the leaders, along with a large female D’Orc and a tall, but very skinny grayish-white orc with blood-red eyes. According to my priest.”

“A skinny gray orc?” Moradel looked puzzled.

Beragamos nodded. “Most likely a Soulwrecker, Soulstealer, Soulsmasher, Soulslayer or similarly named clan of space-faring orcs from Visteroth.” He shook his head. “They are particularly unpleasant, even for orcs.”

“Space faring?” Hilda asked puzzled. Beragamos shook his head and gave her a small gesture, meaning that discussion was for another time.

Stevos continued, “Also, the orcs said they were from the Crooked Stick tribe.”

The avatars shook their heads, not getting the significance.

Stevos explained, “According to Teragdor, the Crooked Sticks were once one of the largest and most feared tribes of orcs, but today are but a very sorry remnant of their former glory. They are often used as an example of the failing of a weak tribe. They’ve been reduced to only two small bands of nomadic orcs.”

Beragamos nodded. “So unlikely to have a shaman powerful enough to summon individual D’Orcs. Assuming they knew any true names.”

Moradel nodded. “That is what I am thinking.”

Beragamos sighed and closed his eyes. “Hilda, you cannot know how grateful I am for your wine locker.” He reached out and took a sip of wine. The others all did the same. Hilda tasted it. Ahh... perfection. It would have been the end of her if it had soured after all this drama.

Stevos’s eyes went wide in surprise upon taking a sip; likely he had never experienced such a fine wine. She was pleased that both senior avatars seemed to appreciate it.

“This came from your stock, Hilda?” Moradel asked. Hilda nodded. “I am going to need to start inviting you to more meetings.” The avatar grinned, and Hilda chuckled.

“Ahh, I have to admit this helps immensely,” Beragamos said. “I am going to alert the attendant archons of the Astlanian localverse and other nearby realms that were historically plagued by Orcus. We need to know how far-flung his machinations are.”

“Indeed.” Moradel raised his glass in agreement and took another drink.

∼

^{DOF +9}

^{Midnight?? (Olafa Camp, Ithgar) Ithgar Date Unknown; 16-06-440 Astlan}

“This passing-out-drunk thing seems to have some advantages,” Fer-Rog said to Rupert. “If we stared at a D’Orc like we are staring at these passed-out orcs, we would be pounded into meat coins.”

“Yeah, it’s really helpful to have a model to stare at to practice a new form,” Rupert said.