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Reforged pt 18

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Orvig was no stranger to pain and neither the emotional nor physical variety could stall him for long. Still, the wounds he'd sustained were severe so when Faelyn the Tabashi Druid sent a cooling breeze of healing magics through him the Orc wasn't about to object. Rising again, Orvig was just in time to see Peter stand hoof-to-toe against the chieftain and strike at him powerfully. While others may not have been aware of it, Orvig himself was a Paladin and could see the holy energy fill the weapon as it struck but, even with the massive strength behind the two blows, the old Orc warrior remained standing, scarcely even seeming to register the massive wounds he'd been delivered.

Orvig shouted out his earlier warning again. "Do not kill them if you don't have to! They are being controlled!"

Harold barked out a response, even as he stood off to the side of the throne, repeatedly slamming both of his weapons against the shaman's defenses. "Play nice-- got it. I'll play real nice when they stop trying to kill my family!"

Rolling his shoulder, Orvig let his steel shield hang from his forearm by its leather straps as he pressed his gauntlet to his chest, murmuring out his call for aid, which was met in kind by divine healing flowing through his body. He offered a warning to the Gnoll. "Careful-- Orcish shamans aren't helpless in combat."

As if identifying the wisdom in the knight's words, the shaman shoulder-checked Harold, knocking him back before smacking his spiked mace into the Gnoll's abdomen then chest. The wounds were obvious, especially where the spikes had punctured his armor but, then again, had Harold been without it the blows surely would have killed him. The Gnoll spat a loogie of bloody spittle out of his muzzle. "Great... so they can try to kill us, but we gotta be gentle!"

Two bolts of magical energy whistled past Orvig, unerringly surging around either side of Peter before slamming into the chief. From the back line, Lucas shouted to the middle brother. "If it's them or us, it's gonna be them!"

Seemingly heedless of Orvig's continued reminders for temperance in combat, the middle and youngest Smith son were heedless to his requests; fortunately Peter was obviously pulling his blows, and Arthur was more intent on guiding his sons around to where they'd be most effective. The Human even shouted, pointing "Get past them-- we must stop the ritual!"

Faelyn, who was standing right behind Orvig, raised his bow and took aim. Both arrows found their mark, striking Lurnah with both; the aim wasn't to kill, which was a relief, but Orvig still didn't like seeing his sister wounded. Even more disconcerting was the way she ignored the arrows-- fortunately the impacts were still enough to disrupt her casting, but she went right back to chanting, heedless of the blood pouring out of her injuries. Orvig offered up a plea to the Tabashi "Be careful, please... that's my sister."

The cat man spoke in a neutral tone "I will do what I can... but I cannot allow the defiler to claim victory again."

Orvig's attention was pulled off to the side as Arthur moved up to support Peter only for the Minotaur to get kicked away when the Chefitain planted a foot in his sternum. The blacksmith moved to intercept the Orc's blows and did admirably weathering the first one, but the second knocked the Human's shield away and the third caught him on his shoulder; Orvig winced when he heard the sound of bone breaking. He called out by reflex "Arthur!"

Peter back in the fight in an instant, swinging his axe in wide, fending arcs, forcing the chieftain back without causing any significant damage. As the Minotaur got to his father, Lucas shouted from the rear of the group. "Peter-- get Dad out of the way-- Orvig, you'd better step back quick!"

Having traveled with the scaled pyromaniac long enough, Orvig knew what to expect out of that warning. The Orcish knight raised his shield and fell back, locking his heater to Peter's as the Minotaur helped Arthur back away. A fireball arced over their heads and landed behind the Orcish chief, sending a burning wave of heat to the battle line, fortunately their shields blocked any real injury. As the flame cleared, the Chieftain batted at his fur cloak before stalking forward, heedless of his burns.

Back toward the throne, Harold let out a growl. "Gotta end this fast... outta my way!"

Charging at the shaman, the Gnoll tightened his grip on his weapons. At first, Orvig thought Harold was going to run headlong into the Orc, but he was surprised right along with the Shaman as the Ranger jumped forward, landing on the knuckles of his paws, and then completing a handspring right over his surprised foe. Twisting his body in mid-air, Harold landed right behind the Shaman, both weapons coming down to land solid blows against the Orc's back, causing him to stumble away, and opening up a clear line to Lurnah.

Barely slowed by the wounds, however, the Shaman spun around, lashing out with his hand as he shouted words in Orcish. Orvig didn't know the specific prayer, but he immediately recognized the dark energy that coalesced at the Shaman's call, and Harold convulsed at the touch, blood pouring out of his nose, eyes, and ears before he fell to the ground, unmoving. Arthur, still nearly incapacitated by his wounds, cried out. "HAROLD!"

Orvig couldn't spare the focus to monitor Harold at that point; the Chief pulled out a long, black javelin from a holster on his back and, sneering, he raised it to throw. The knight realized at the last moment that the runes adorning it were not idle decoration and, as they began to glow, he shouted out a warning to his allies "MOVE!"

Peter shoved his father by the shoulder, sending the blacksmith stumbling one direction even as the Minotaur pushed back in the other. Orvig threw himself to the ground and, behind him and to the side, Faelyn sprang away. Scarcely three feet out of the chieftain's hand the javelin turned into a crackling bolt of lightning. In the time it took the Orcish knight to get back to his feet, Arthur had fallen to the ground, overcome by his wounds, and Peter had stepped up to face off against the chefitain.

The Minotaur's furious blows forced the older Orc back, even knocking him to the ground. At that point, with the Shaman standing over Harold with his back to everyone else, Faeyln had a clear shot and the Tabashi took it. Orvig's eyes went immediately to the first arrow, which found its way to Lurnah's shoulder. The second, which had aimed for her other shoulder found a different target as she spun; it caught her right in the neck.

There was a strange, imperceptible, almost ethereal 'pop' sensation and, just as the Shaman was readying to finish off Harold and Peter had raised his hoof to stomp down on the Chieftain, a dark presence fled the throne room and the guards, who had, until that point been paralyzed in glowing cystal, were suddenly released. Realizing battle had come to an end, Orvig dropped his sword and shield then ran to where his sister had fallen to her knees, blood pouring freely from her neck.

He knelt beside her, pressing one gauntleted hand around the arrow while the other steadied her with a firm grip on her upper arm. "Lurnah... sister!"

The Orc woman's eyes were still blurry, but cleared quickly as she blinked away the last of the enchantment holding her hostage. "B-brother?"

Orvig pulled her close, embracing her with all he had, but only for the briefest of moments as he returned his attention to her neck wound; it was bleeding profusely and already she looked pale. "Hieroneous will help us, Lurnah... I... I can heal this."

She murmured even as he attempted to inspect the worst of her wounds. "He... he is so powerful, Orvig... the wizard... Maeryk."

He had so much to tell her, and he didn't know how to start. Fortunately he was able to focus on handling her wounds, using a clean piece of cloth to apply pressure to the gushing hole in her neck. "It's alright. I understand... I mean... I know. Don't worry about that now-- we have to focus on--"

Her hand reached up and clasped his wrist. "I know about the keep... and about Sir Asler, Orvig... he... he controlled us... but he made certain we were aware of everything."

The rest of the room forgotten, Orvig focused solely on Lurnah. She was an orphan, like him. She had been adopted by Sir Asler and became his sister. For a time, she was even his lover. Their lives took different paths and he hadn't seen her in years. They were together again, however-- that had to account for something. Offering her a comforting smile, he closed his eyes, letting the divine energy flow through him. "Save your strength... we can talk more once you're better."

A sixth sense warned him of a danger he hadn't expected and he released his sister's arm, reached his hand down to grab a stiletto which had been positioned to strike through the plates in his armor. Opening his eyes, he saw Lurnah staring at him, eyes wide in surprise and horror, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her voice whimpered out a single word "I--"

Orvig was, at once, surprised and aghast. "Lurnah!"

Her eyes clouded over in the time it took him to speak her name, and when she stared back at him her gaze was harsh. Strength flowed into her arm and, for a moment, the Knight wasn't certain he'd be able to keep the blade from entering his body. Her mouth moved, but the voice wasn't hers. The voice was older... male... familiar. It was the voice of Maeryk. "Orvig Asler... I had thought you'd died in battle. No matter... I shall correct that error promptly."

Orvig had always been the strongest in his family; neither his adopted siblings nor his father could ever match his strength but, in that moment, he was hard pressed to keep his sister's knife from cutting into him. Even as his arm began to shake, so too did hers and and he saw a faint glow within her eyes behind the faded nothingness of magical control. Combined, his strength and hers managed to pull the blade away from him but, even as Lurnah's attention was transfixed to the blade, her other hand began to move unbidden, and Maeryk's voice emerged from her lips, continuing the chanting of the ritual.

Peter's heavy hoof beats echoed through the room as the Minotaur came running to his aid but Orvig realized that his fellow paladin could not reach them in time. Looking down to his sister he grit his teeth, tears falling down his face. Her clear eyes gazed back up at him, blinking once, as if providing him a silent understanding of what would need to be done. He wasn't certain whether it was her strength or his that buried the blade into her breast, but he did know that the ritual ended with her death and with her gone, it was his hand holding the hilt. Bereft of father, home, and sister, Orvig Asler no longer silenced his sobs.

* * * * * *

It was morning when Arthur awoke; sitting up in fine bed and wincing at the dull ache of his wounds turning into a sharp pain. Peter was by his side in an instant, hooves clopping mutedly on luxurious carpet before he took a seat on the padded mattress beside the Human. "Careful, Father... you're still recovering."

As his son helped him sit up he found out that he'd slept over 30 hours. The group had been Sir Wasker's guests during that time, ever since he had been freed from the spell holding him prisoner in his own throne room. Having seen Harold fall in combat, the moment Arthur made sense of his surroundings he asked after his middle son. "How is Harold? That dark magic that got him---"

Peter calmed him with ease. "Harold is fine, and resting. Whatever was done to him was severe, but no worse than what you faced, Father. He came around this morning after a day and a half of magical healing and he's been cursing up a storm ever since because he missed the conclusion of the altercation."

The Minotaur's wry smirk was enough to make Arthur laugh; he knew exactly what his eldest was trying to convey with the statement-- Harold always had been quite headstrong. Once their mutual chuckles subsided the blacksmith reached out and rested a hand on Peter's forearm. "And everyone else? We stopped the ritual, but what about the Chieftain? Orvig's sister?"

Peter's smile disappeared. "The Chieftain survived none the worse for wear. He left this morning with his Shaman to return to his people, but Lurnah..."

The way his eldest son's voice trailed off told Arthur everything he needed to know. "Oh my... I can only imagine what Orvig is going through."

The Minotaur nodded sadly. "Yes... he did it himself-- said it was the only way to stop the ritual. I-- were I in that position, I-- I don't think I could find the strength."

Arthur gave his son's arm a gentle squeeze. "And how is he? Have you seen him?"

Peter elaborated in a succinct and matter-of-fact tone. Life had continued; Orvig had spoken on the group's behalf to Sir Wesker who, according to the Minotaur, identified the Orc without much trouble. To Peter's surprise, the Knight didn't so much as bat an eye. In that time, based on what his eldest son reported, apparently Orvig was given a writ to sign under Lord Wasker's watchful gaze and, acknowledging his seal, brought it forth to court explaining that Peter and his sons were under the orders of Sir Asler's son, who had taken over his title as Lord of his holdings.

Peter offered a soft smile. "It isn't really a falsehood if you think about it. Nobody other than Sir Wasker knows who Orvig really is, but now he gets to act with the authority he's due. I'm glad he has such a stalwart ally."

The door to the room creaked open and Lucas showed himself in, skittering across the room until he could pull himself up onto the bed and curl up next Arthur. "Yeah... it's shit that he actually needs the endorsement just cuz he's an Orc."

The Minotaur flicked the base of one of Lucas' horns. "Language!"

The Kobold took the reproach well, letting out a sigh as he cuddled up against his father. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Dad. Peter's been trying really hard to keep Faelyn around, but that damn--" he paused as his eldest brother shot him a look, "--that DARN cat hates the city and keeps talking about leaving."

Peter nodded. "I've convinced him that our chances are better as a group and, besides, according to Sir Wasker's aides, it sounds like we'll have more of an opportunity if he stays with us... Orvig and I spent a lot of time yesterday making plans."

Sitting up a little more slowly, Arthur reached down to rub just behind Lucas' eye ridge, right where he knew his youngest son liked it. "Plans, eh? And just what do those plans involve, pray tell?"

A shadow blocked the light peaking in through the cracked door and Harold, his left arm in a sling slid into the room. "Well... got one up on Maeryk this time... finally stopped him before he made good on his plans. That's a win, in my book."

Peter stepped to the side as the middle son approached. The Minotaur reached out and ruffled the Gnoll's mane. "And several of us almost died in the process... but, yes-- we were victorious this time."

Harold climbed up onto the bed, sliding around to Arthur's side before snuggling up against him. The Gnoll's broad muzzle pressed up against the Human's shoulder and he took in a deep breath, slowly leaning against him as he let it out. "And we'll win next time too... and the next time... and as many times as we have to."

At that point, Peter, not to be left out, settled onto the bed on the other side of Arthur, pulling everyone into a huge embrace. "Hence the planning." he explained. "If we are going to continue opposing Maeryk then we need to be prepared-- which is what Orvig has been spending time talking about with Sir Wasker... and why Faelyn will be such a big help."

Lucas piped in, eyes almost glowing with excitement. "We're gonna be adventurers!"

That simple statement started a talk that lasted the rest of the afternoon.

* * * * * *

By the time nightfall arrived Arthur and his sons had gone around and around in a lengthy discussion as to why a family of smiths could or could not possibly be successful as an adventuring party. Many good points were made on both sides and Arthur still wasn't convinced. They were joined for dinner in a guest hall by Orvig and Faelyn; their host, unfortunately, had matters of state to attend to-- with a crazed wizard on the loose he didn't have the time to spare for pleasantries.

Orvig, by all appearances to Arthur, seemed to be able to maintain his composure, but a previous spark of urgency had been replaced by a dull coal of pain; the Human could empathize, and promised himself he would be there if the Orc needed a shoulder. Faelyn, on the other hand, seemed by all appearances to be a housecat who had not been let outside in far too long a time. During a lull in the renewed conversation about becoming adventurers, Arthur reached out and touched the tuft of fur at the end of the Tabashi's elbow. "Are you alright, Faelyn?"

The cat man scowled but the expression returned to neutral and the smallest smile replaced it. "I have not enjoyed my time in the city, Arthur, but now that you are better at least I can say one good thing has come of the days spent here."

It was the first (mostly) unmitigated nice thing that the Human had heard the Tabashi say, but he didn't have a lot of time to reflect on it as Lucas slammed a balled up talon into the table in objection. "But that doesn't explain why WE have to pay for them! They were Sir Wasker's men! HE should pay for their final expenses!"

Orvig, the target of the objection just grunted, a scowl darkening his already dour features, but Peter interjected. "We discussed it, and thought that it would only be fitting for us to take a pension for their families out of our reward due to our hand in their death. Even if Lord Wasker isn't holding us liable we cannot just pretend as though we--"

Arthur, having spent a lot of time minding his family's finances at the smithy interjected. "What funds, and what reward?"

Lucas spoke up before anyone else got a chance. "Sir Wasker paid us a reward for saving him from Maeryk. THEY wanna give some of it away."

Orvig turned to regard Arthur, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone despite his obvious annoyance at the objection. "Sir Wasker generously provided us a letter of writ, acknowledging our help with the protection of his birthright, and with it was an award of 3000 gold pieces."

Arthur, who had just about to sip some wine, thankfully held off long enough to avoid spraying it across the table. "Three THOUSAND coins? GOLD coins?"

Peter nodded. "Minus one thousand to split among the families of the guards who died in service to Sir Wasker."

Lucas folded his arms across his chest as he pouted. "They didn't ACTUALLY do anything... WE did all the work."

Harold nudged his little brother. "Including immolating them... don't forget that, Sparky."

The Kobold shot a dirty look at the Gnoll, "I'll show you imm--"

Arthur put an ending to their fighting with a decisive, authoritative "Boys. Enough."

Orvig waited until everyone was quiet, and then continued. "I spoke with Sir Wasker about our desire to bring the fight to Maeryk and he agreed it needed to be done, but he has to secure his own lands first-- it's his responsibility to his people. He said he'd provide what support he can, but said that we will have to go it alone beyond that."

Peter nodded, and picked up where Orvig left off, producing a scroll. "He suggested that we obtain an Adventuring License for the party... there's a guild here in town, and he provided us a letter of endorsement so we can enter as full members rather than initiates."

The trajectory of the discussion, especially learning that the deal was all but done was enough to give Arthur a moment's pause. Questions aplenty hammered around in his skull; what young boy didn't dream of one day becoming an adventurer? Then again, he was no young boy-- he was a man, and he had responsibilities-- all of whom were staring at him from around the table. Were they expecting input from him? He could only come up with questions., but selected a simple, utilitarian one out of the bunch. "Have you looked over the application yet? Are we certain we'll qualify?"

Lucas blurted out a loud "HA!" followed by his impression of the situation. "Sure they will, Dad! I mean, we just saved Sir Wasker and he wrote a letter of support. There's no way they won't let us in."

Looking to Peter next, Arthur realized that his eldest son was very down-to-earth and he had a good head on his shoulders. "And you're okay with the idea?"

Orvig chuckled. "It was Peter's idea, actually."

Surprised at the Minotaur championing such an idea, the blacksmith looked back to the blushing bovine face looking at him. "Oh it was, was it?"

Peter nodded. "It was, Father. After spending so much time on the road I've seen that there is much to be done to make the world a better place. We have to stop Maeryk, that much is true, but I fear we don't have enough resources or experience to bring the fight to him. Taking the time we need to build up both is our best chance at one day defeating him."

Faelyn's claws unsheathed, sheathed, and unsheathed again as he flexed his paws. "And, in the meantime, we can get a better understanding of the world around us... and hopefully not spend so much time within cities."

Harold struck his glass with a fork. "AND make a name for ourselves... get some gold... head out there and uncover what we can about Maeryk, maybe find out where he is, and then plan our next step-- I mean, we can always just sit around here and wait for his next move, but wouldn't our time be better spent put to use preparing to fight it instead?"

Nodding, Arthur realized all of his sons had a point, and he finally looked down at the scroll; it was almost completely filled out. He realized that the application was for a full adventuring party of six, and included information about all members. One thing stood out. "Orvig and Faelyn Smith?"

Orvig looked down and away when Arthur glanced his way; the Human was certain he saw a blush on the Orc's green cheeks. Faelyn, on the other hand, was much more forthcoming. "It's how we entered the city in the first place and, besides, I no longer have a clan or tribe, and Orvig still wants to preserve his identity. You DID offer before, did you not?"

Arthur smiled, realizing that he had indeed, and not minding the idea one bit. "Alright, Boys-- then it looks like the only thing you left blank was our group's name... it says here that all registered groups need a name."

Orvig nodded decisively. "We wanted to get your opinion on the matter so we chose to wait until you could have a say in it."

The Human was honored, and said as much. "Well... I'm honored... but I still want to hear what you've come up with."

Lucas flicked his forked tongue out "We couldn't agree, so we said we'd all accept whatever you chose."

Peter smiled, touching his fist to his chest with conviction. "If we have to choose an official name for our group it should be Smith and Sons!"

Harold rolled his eyes. "Nah-- it should be something more catchy, like Claws and Paws."

Lucas reached up to smack the Gnoll on the back of the head. "Stupid! Dad and Orvig don't have either of those. May as well call us Lucas' Fiery Inferno at that rate."

Faelyn, standing off to the side, despite how hard he attempted to remain stoic, had his neutrality disrupted by the faintest of smirks. He hid it quickly by interjecting "It does not have to be anything complicated... Arthur is undoubtedly our leader, so we can be known as Arthur's Group."

During the discussion, the blacksmith simply nodded in thought, enjoying all of the input that his sons and their companions had to offer. Like him, Orvig was also mute on the topic, but, when he met the Orc's gaze, Orvig offered a gentle smile. "What do you think... Father?"

One idea did come to mind. Each and every one of them had experienced loss. Over the course of barely a fortnight their respective trajectories had turned upside down; they had all been torn from their homes, people they'd cared about, and their entire lives. By all accounts, they had been irreparably damaged, and yet they still fought on.

Back when Arthur was first learning the blacksmithing craft he'd been under the assumption that some damaged weapons could be mended but others were beyond saving. After many years at the forge, however, he realized just how naive he had been. What one man may have considered lost, a smith with more life's experience realized that it would need more time exposed to heat and pressure. It would have to be reshaped and remolded, but, if such a weapon survived the process without breaking it would often end up stronger for the experience.

Looking down to the adventuring license, Arthur wrote down the title that fit them best: Reforged.