The Heavenly Host

After the four glasses were poured, Beragamos reached out and raised one up. “My friends, let us toast to faith! Toast to our faith in Tiernon and that his will be done!”

“His presence be known!” Sentir added.

“His foes be vanquished!” Moradel said.

“His will be done!” Stevos continued.

Beaming brightly, Hilda finished, “His glory and light to shine throughout the multiverse forever and ever!”

“Amen!” They all finished in union before drinking simultaneously.

∼

Tal Gor had wandered off from the room to explore a bit more, get his bearings. He somehow found himself back in the Temple of Doom. It was weird to physically be here, so different yet similar to being here in his dreams. To see one’s dream made physically manifest! It was amazing. The proof it demonstrated — all of this demonstrated — in his and his people’s faith.

Gods were real! Orcus, the lost god of the orcs had returned as Lord Tommus, stronger and more powerful than before. Lord Tommus would set things right for the orcs and the D’Orcs and vanquish those who had sought to thwart his will and harm his people.

The temple was empty now, the normal watchers out at the ceremony. It was highly unlikely that anyone would try to contact the temple at this time. Other than the shaman from Gormegast, everyone who would try to contact Lord Tommus was already here. He, Tal Gor, apparently was the only one to come uninvited, so to speak. Uninvited, but not unwelcomed. Tal Gor grinned to himself. It felt good to be a part of something so much larger than himself, larger than his tribe or the orcs on his own world. This was a venture that would span the multiverse, bringing redemption and renewal to orcs everywhere. No more would humans and elves be able to treat his people as refuse, as garbage. With Lord Tommus to lead them, those who had shunned and spurned them would have to respect their strength once more.

Lost in thought, he almost did not realize that someone else had entered the temple behind him. The scraping sound of a boot against stone alerted him. A sound he knew well, the sound of someone with a limp. Tal Gor turned to see a very unusual figure in the room behind him, staring at him.

The individual was about the same height as Tal Gor; however, he was quite hunched over. He appeared to be quite old, although at one time quite handsome, Tal Gor supposed. He was also quite muscular. He had no wings, so was not a D’Orc, and certainly not an orc, but he was clearly jötunnkind.

“Hello,” Tal Gor said cautiously. The man did not appear threatening, but he was looking Tal Gor up and down quite seriously.

“You are Tal Gor of the Crooked Sticks?” the man asked abruptly.

“I am,” Tal Gor replied.

The man nodded. “You came to this temple on your own? Not called?”

“I did.” This was a rather odd conversation, or inquisition.

“That miserable fartbag from the depths decided you were a worthy rider and finally left the rest of us in peace?”

“Schwarzenfürze came to live with me. She took over my entire tent, in fact.” Tal Gor shook his head.

The man shrugged. “Sounds like her. Going to miss the bitch. Might have to visit.” He looked down at Tal Gor’s bad leg. “You a cripple?”

Tal Gor frowned. “I am not crippled. My leg was damaged fighting a wyvern, but I hold my own and provide value to my tribe.”

The man chuckled. “Me, I’m a cripple and proud of it!” He started turning around. “Come with me, boy, I have something for you!”

He started limping out of the temple.

Tal Gor frowned and followed. “Who are you?”

“Völund,” was all the odd man said.

Tal Gor frowned and thought for a bit as they went out into the corridor. He had heard that name. He blinked as memories of the stories came back to him.

“The smith?” Tal Gor asked.

Völund snorted. “Of course.”

“The smith who forged Caliburn? Arthur of Avalon’s sword?” Tal Gor asked.

“Called by humans Excalibur. Yes. You know human history as well as orcish?” Völund asked.

“When it comes to great weapons. And Durandal?”

Völund sighed. “And that.”

“And Gram? Destroyed by Odin and later reforged by Regin for Sigurd to slay Fafnir?” Tal Gor continued.

“Do you simply wish to recite my back catalog, or will you follow me quietly so I can remember the path?” Völund asked.

“I am sorry. But I am honored to meet you,” Tal Gor said. Völund shrugged, apparently not caring.

The two wandered down multiple tunnels, going deeper and deeper. Tal Gor began to be concerned about finding his way out. Eventually they came into a very large and complex chamber. The chamber was easily one hundred feet tall and thousands of feet in each direction, with large ducts crisscrossing the room to and from various holes in the walls and into giant buckets with what appeared to be large furnaces or lava pits below them.