Trials of the Inventor Hero

Two months ago.

The icy winds sped across the hilly grasslands, kicking wisps of snow into the air. The horses huffed as they shook their heads, and their feet dug into the frozen ground. Duke Sigmund pulled his cloak tightly around him, eyeing the surroundings. No signs of any bandits.

Behind him rode two dozen men, their armor glistening in the morning light. At the end of the column were the supply wagons shielding the servants from the cold. The prisoners didn't have the same luxury.

Two of the three slave wagons were filled with bandits they'd captured this patrol. Scars from the battle, and their blood-stained clothes did little to protect them. A few scratched at the collars around their neck; a sight that did little to ease the fury burning within the Duke. The memory of their crimes etched deep within them.

Blood and ash were all that was left of the village. The dead sat in the middle of town with wooden stakes driven through them, unimaginable pain forever marring their faces. Those that lived suffer an equally cruel fate. They wept uncontrollably after their rescue, yet the tears did little to bring back the life in their eyes. A horrible sight that nearly made the Duke lose his stomach.

"I pray the rest of our patrol remains quiet." Duke Sigmund turned to the elderly warrior beside him. He scratched at patch covering his left eye. "I want to get out of this damned cold."

"Agreed Lyon." Sigmund replied, "I'm ready to go home and be with my wife."

"Are you finally going to put a baby in her, my lord." The knights howled in laughter. "Here we thought you were incompetent!"

"Do you even know which hole to put it in, my lord?"

"Don't speak ill of the Duke. I'm sure he's trying his best." The wind carried their laughter across the plain.

"Fuck you all!" Sigmund howled.

"Shouldn't you be doing that to your wife!"

"I'll show you." Sigmund said, "As soon as I get home, I'll take my wife to bed and plough her until she's with child." Cheers erupted from the knights and servants, forcing the Duke to turn away. "Damn them. Why do they keep riling me up?"

"They're simply concerned, my lord." Lyon chuckled.

Sigmund ran his thumb over his ring finger. "So am I." He said, "I'd hate to leave Millie a widow a few months after our wedding."

"Then let's finish this up and get you back into her warm bosom." Lyon smiled at him, but it quickly faded. "Seems I spoke too soon." He gestured to the north. A column of smoke rose into air behind a hill.

"Archons damn them." Sigmund sighed. "Knights, form up! Wagons, wait here until you hear the horn twice. Flee if you hear the horn once." He spurred his horse up the hill.

The horses galloped across the hills, leaving clouds of snow and dirt in their wake. The thin wisps of black smoke darkened, and the air became heavy with the scent of burnt wood. Frustration drove Sigmund to drive his horse faster, and they topped the hill, looking down upon the carnage.

Screams of the villagers barely reached their ears, and they could see the black forms of bandits pillaging the remains. Thatched roofs blazed in wild flames, burning the destruction into the Duke's eyes. A few of the houses crumbled in on themselves, sending black clouds into the air.

Fury burned through Sigmund as he drew his sword. "Weapons at the ready!" He shouted, and the ringing of drawn weapons surrounded him. "Charge!" The cavalry stormed down the hill towards the chaos.

A figure appeared around one of the houses. Blood covered his patchwork armor and his broken blade. His shouts were drowned out by the thundering hooves, and a blade to the neck ceased his shouting. The corpse was trampled underfoot as they rode into the village. Bandits swarmed the buildings, dragging out the villagers, looting the stores, and destroying all in their path.

"Knights, disperse! Save the villagers and eliminate the bandits."

The knights fanned out through the village as they charged forward. The bandits fell to Sigmund's sword as he struck them from behind, allowing the villagers to flee. Sigmund charged forward towards another bandit. He suddenly found himself weightless as his horse screamed in pain, and Sigmund tumbled across the ground. His vision was blinded with snow and dirt, and he scrambled to find his sword.

"Move son!" Lyon's voice filled the air.

Sigmund rolled, and heard the ground beside him break apart. Shaking the debris from his vision, Sigmund rose to his feet ready to fight, but he wasn't expecting the massive orc in front of him. Its massive axe was covered in blood and dirt, and behind it was Sigmund's horse, crying out for its missing front legs. On the other side of the square, Lyon fought against two of the monsters, barely keeping them at bay.

Sigmund barely blocked the heavy blow. It sent pain surging through his arms, making it difficult to strike back. He hadn't faced an orc in over a year, but he didn't remember them being this strong. The orc's speed and ferocity kept pushing him back, and each blow he parried nearly broke his arms. Sigmund's chest burned from the exertion of staying one step ahead. The sunlight glared off the axe head, and Sigmund's eyes trained on it.

It shimmered with the teal shine of arcane metal, and runes were carved roughly into the blade. Sigmund's sword also shined teal, but its blade was chipped and slightly bent. The orc's weapon was still intact and ready to strike. The orc's wide smirk and held his arms wide, taunting him to attack, and in desperation, Sigmund charged. Sigmund stabbed his sword forward with all his might, but the orc vanished before him, and unimaginable pain seared through his entire body.

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[Lethal damage received. Health 25/300]

[Condition applied: Paralysis (Severed spine)]

Sigmund's screams drowned out the orc's laughter. He frantically urged his body to move but it wouldn't. His legs remained twisted beneath him, and his arms outstretched to each side. His sword was barely out of reach; his fingers betraying his will to grab it.

"Pathetic human." The orc laughed at him. His shadow cloaking Sigmund from the light. "You'll make a fine trophy."

Sigmund braced himself for the strike, but it never came. Instead, the orc bellowed in pain, and Sigmund found himself tossed over the rear of a warhorse.

"Forgive me, my lord!" Lyon poured a healing potion down Sigmund's throat. The disgustingly sweet liquid burned as it went down. "I'll get you back to the castle. The priests can heal you as soon as we arrive." He quickly mounted and spurred the horse forward and blew a single loud note from his horn.

The pain slowly faded, but the duke's body still failed to move. "How many have we lost?" Sigmund croaked towards the ground.

"Over half our knights. The orcs presence surprised us, and they were able to dismount many of our men." Lyon's curses vanished into the wind. "What is the Horde doing here?"

"I don't know, but it doesn't bode well."

Drums shook the air as the prisoners marched into the courtyard. The last remnants of color left them as the wooden gates shut with a deep thud. The orcs jabbed a burning brand into the human' skin, leaving a glowing, jagged scar. The tall, muscular monsters tore the new slaves away from each other. The slaves fruitlessly fought back. Geega'Bulmesh watched the pandemonium from the broken balcony.

The orcs were brutal when assessing the new stock. Each human was stripped bare in the freezing cold as the Slave Masters inspected them. The men deemed strong were given thick furs to clothe them and immediately put to work fixing the ruined fortress. The women chosen to be desirable were sent inside to present themselves to the chief. All others were taken to the Farm, a small fenced off section in the corner. There, they were left to their kin.

The bandits ruled the small camp with an iron fist in hopes of currying favor with their overlords. Fights broke out as the newcomers tried protecting the rejected women. The vain exercise immediately broken as each man was pulled into single combat, leaving the women to the whims of the others. Several orcs gathered around the fence watching the humans beat each other for amusement. One match stood out from the others.

A hulking bandit with misshapen ears fought against an unremarkable opponent. Geega expected it to be a quick fight like the others, but not the way he expected. The bandit chased his opponent around, desperately swinging. The orcs' jeering driving the bandit into a wild frenzy. At some point, the bandit ended up on the ground being pummeled. The orc Slavers broke up the fight by dragging the victor to the fence. Two pairs of hands pulled the human over the fence and tossed him into the snow. Two she-orcs dragged the slave away to the tents set up in the back, the three disappearing into the nearest one. Geega turned away in disgust at the barbarism on display.

The orcs of the Feral Tusks were some of the most barbaric monsters he'd ever seen. What he'd witnessed was daily occurrences in the fort, and their violent nature led to many deaths. However, it was that same nature that led to their strong foothold. Each day, more monsters joined their small army, hoping for a taste of victory. Soon, they'll have enough soldiers to implement his latest plan. A twisted smile came to his lips as he entered the workshop built into the fort's old library.

At the back of the room, Zchrek, the goblin smith, ran a hand along the flat of a green blade. His fingers ran along the markings carved into the sword and his touch lingered on one rune, a semicircular rune with three lines coming off the curve. His bulbous nose became deeply wrinkled as he pressed his face closer.

"You look like you've been summoned for breeding duty." Geega cackled.

"You shouldn't laugh." Zchrek simply replied, "You have a greater duty to produce progeny than I." A cruel smile came to his lips. "And you missed breeding season this year, didn't you?"

"The last thing I need is a nagging female. What has you concerned?"

Zchrek handed him the sword. "It's the damage enhancement rune." He said, "It doesn't make sense to engrave one onto a weapon. There are more efficient ways to increase a weapon's damage."

"Like enhancing the wielder's stats."

"Or boosting the weapon skill, but to enhance the weapon's stat is the least efficient way." Zchrek's voice shrieked with annoyance. "It would be one thing if this was a mithril or adamantium sword, but it's made of arcane bronze. The rune would make it as deadly as an iron weapon."

Geega scratched his nose, finally understanding Zchrek's consternation. "Why not make the weapon out of iron?"

"Exactly!" Zchrek shouted, "This is something an inexperienced apprentice would make, but the craftsmanship is that of a master. So, why would he do this?"

"Perhaps we should ask him?" Geega said cruelly, "Come, let's go speak with the warlord." The two goblins hobbled out of the workshop and down the halls.

The human slaves kept silent under the watchful gazes of the orc slavers as they tirelessly repaired the broken fort. Windows were covered with wooden boards to keep out the winter chill, and lanterns lit up the dark corridors. A broken stairwell, once made of stone, was hastily being repaired with wooden planks. The slaves groaned under the weight of the stone slabs as they carried them outside to be reused in the repairs. Despite his brutish nature, Warlord Vysrek was receptive to their guidance and made repairing the fort his top priority.

The two goblins stopped at a set of double doors with guards flanking each side. With a curt nod, the guards opened the doors. The large hall was filled with the spoils of war. Fur pelts lined the walls and floors, and gold was piled into a corner. A bed of pillows and furs sat next to the fireplace. At the back of the room, next to the gold, sat a throne made of bone and wood and behind sat the dungeon core, filling the room with magical light.

The warlord watched the two goblins approach from his throne as human females tended to him. The women wore nothing but furs as they served Vysrek, and they all kept their faces downcast. One of the slaves brought Vysrek a large tray filled with assorted foods.

"Is there something you need?" The Warlord said, tearing into a piece of meat.

"We're here to give an update on our research." Geega replied with a bow.

Zchrek stepped forward, copying Geega. "Thanks to your raiders, I have enough resources to mass produce weaponry. However, there is only enough arcane metal for a handful of enchanted weapons. I will need more arcane metals, or magic crystals."

"Magic crystals are out of the question." Vysrek growled deeply. "The core hasn't taken to this location yet."

"Then we must find more arcane metals, and I believe I know where to find some." Geega said, heading towards a large table. "During my last expedition, I came upon a castle. The soldiers from this castle were all using enchanted weapons." He ran his hand along the map, tapping on a single location. "This is the place."

"Castle VuRant?" Vysrek said, "It's not that far, but how are its defenses?"

"I skirted around it, so I wouldn't know. We'll need to scout out the area."

"Then do it." The Warlord sternly said, "I'll send a shaman to the Gates to recruit more members into our Horde."

Geega bowed deeply again. "As you command." He said, dragging Zchrek with him.

"Do you think this will work?" The blacksmith whispered.

"We need to get our hands on that crafter." Geega replied as the doors closed behind them. Then onto the dungeon. His lips curled into a twisted smile.