Mysteries of the Moonsea
The initial reports from scouts had vastly underestimated the Orc encampments strength. The Rashemen war party engaged a Orc Force 3 times the expected number prepared for. With the spirit of the lands behind them and Lady Ravenrain, “The Tempest,” leading them into combat their will was strong.
The arrows rained down upon the camp as hard as the rain. Javelins striking their targets like streaks of lightning matching the thunder that was overshadowing the sounds of combat below it. The warriors of Rashemen stormed down the hillside towards the Orc encampment, cutting through their front lines. The might of a Rashemeni Barbarian was worth that of twice as many Orc savages but the Orcs were becoming over whelming in their fight to hold their ground on the outskirts of Mulptan.
The ground was stained red and green, pools of blood and cleaved bodies piling up all around. The Tempest spit fire from her hands and lightning from the sky, scorching the life from many an Orc hearts. She now found herself alone, staring at her protectors body knelt before her, javelin tip just appearing through the hide on his chest. As his body falls to the ground a Figure is made clear behind him. A Large Orc, Gray of skin and one eye sewn shut in apparent homage to Grummsh, wielding an axe still dripping of fresh spilt blood. With a scream of battle fury he points at the Hathran. The battle cry of the Orc Champion draws the attention of the other surviving Orcs that there is still fresh blood to be spilled.
For a brief moment she took in her surroundings, acknowledged that she was alone and that this was to be her end. Her eyes widened, not in fear, they filled with rage. If this was to be her end she would remind these lesser beings how she earned her name. Her scream of fury pierced the air around them drowning out even the thunder rolling above her. The winds that surrounded her grew stronger deflecting all matter of arrows and javelins intent on silencing this masked banshee.
Green and Grey flesh seared in agony as they push through waves of Flame and streaks of lightning. The earth ripples below their feet, spikes of stone streak upwards stopping some in their tracks gripped with death, unable to fall until her will allows it. The force is overwhelming and she is unable to handle them all. She turns to the raised blade behind her in time to see it lopped clean from the body wielding it. He stands behind her blade in hand breathing heavily from the distance covered in such a short time. She was no longer alone; he stood by her side complimenting her attacks as if they had done this before. Any Orc or Ogre wishing to harm her now had to pass through him, this Unknown Great Stag.
The javelin pierced the head of the ogre standing next to him through the left eye and the ground shook as it hit the ground next to him. The Orc Champion now stood alone in front of this Rashemi Defender as rain rolled down the scales of his armor. He strode forward looking forward to a true test of his skills faithfully believing he would prove worthy of Grummsh this day.
As he looked down upon his hands on the ground still furiously clutching his axe struck cleaning from his body, weakness drops him to his knees. The Rashemi could have ended him swiftly in the moment, but the Witch commanded otherwise. She strode forward tired but victorious. Lightning arced between hear fingers as she opened her palm and reached out towards this Champion of Grummsh gripping his face; “I will send you toward your god now monster, when you speak with him, tell him I say he is not welcome here.” His headless body falls to the ground at her feet with a crackle of light and a spray of blood.
Lady Ravenrain picked up her former guardians sword from the ground. “The spirits thank you great warrior. I and the dead among us thank you and you honor them with your service. What is your name warrior?”
“I am just performing my duties my Lady, I am not yet worthy of your praise.” Dropping to a knee before her, “I am Dravin Veilguard of the Great Stag Lodge.”
“I would be honored if you might allow me to escort you to safety, as the day has been won and scouts had reported another horde is but a few days away moving in from the north and we must rejoin our forces.”
“Agreed, Rise before me Dravin Veilguard, but rise not as a temporary escort” presenting the sword to him, “Rise as my new guardian, Protector of Witches, Hero of Rashemen.”
Heindar, closes his book, filled with great pride as he looks around the lodge. He had read this story so many times, that opening the book was just a formality. He had it memorized a long time ago. The story reminded him what he had to live up to and the glory that awaited him. He was after all a Veilguard, 4th generation since the Battle for Mulptan. Since that moment the first born males of his family had earned their right to be guardians of the Hathrans. No longer would they are just members of the Great Stag lodge, but an honored Rashemi lineage.
Not yet a man in the Lodge’s eyes, Heindar still looked across the table at the man at the other end drinking the others around him under the table. Raseerin Veilguard was an honorable Rashemi who enjoyed coming back to his little lodge in their home town whenever he could. Despite his services being required regularly by his Hathran he always made a point to comeback to this lodge.
“Father, why do we come all the way here when you get time away from Lady Stormfire and not to the big lodge in Immilmar?”
“Heindar, we come here because this is home.” Looking around the room at the trophies among the walls, “This is where the name Veilguard meant something long before your elder changed the course of our lineage. We protect those who protect Rashemen, and this is the Rashemen they are protecting.” Raseerin places his hand upon his son’s shoulder, “We must not forget where we came from and what we are protecting. It is what gives us our great strength.”