Chapter 2 - Part 1

CHAPTER TWO – A MAN MARKED WITH TWO BLOODS
The 19th of Zarantyr, 993 Y.K., in the heart of Droaam

The sun poked weakly from the winter sky onto the sprawling, noisy, sweaty jumble that was slowly forming at the base of a great mountain. The mountain was alone on a fertile plain, nowhere near its byeshk-laden cousins beyond the north horizon. For decades the mountain had been avoided by all, whispered to have been raised unnaturally from the earth in some ancient clash of titanic evil.

That was before. This was now.

Great waves of goblins, their croaking voices yelling together to move large blocks of stone and their nimble fingers tying secure knots and fastening pivotal structural beams, mixed in with towering ogres whose brute strength and power were directed by whips and harsh threats. Other races worked on the great city as well. Clever kobolds, their light-sensitive eyes shielded by thin stretches of fabric, dug foundation supports and installed pressure plates for traps. Orcs with bulging muscles hammered at smithies, making weapons. Tall, rangy gnolls, sadistic humanoids resembling hyenas mixed with men, stood guard over all, weapons at the ready. Overhead, winged shapes that could be anything circled with nefarious purpose. In the surrounding countryside workers tilled fields and raised goats to provide food. Those that failed at their work provided entertainment in the arena. Brief, bloody entertainment.

This was the Great Crag. This was a city that came from the will of three sisters whose drive and ferocity had created a nation, hauling it kicking and screaming from anarchy into a deadly place of their making.

An individual made his way through the weaving lanes that crisscrossed the tents of the goblins. He was tall, over six feet in height, and well-muscled. His visible weapons were a great longbow and a large sword, as well as several knives. A hawk sat on his shoulder, its powerful talons digging into the winking mithril of his armor. A straw hat set on his head, shading his face, but not quite hiding the tusks that jutted from his mouth or the puffs of condensation from his breath. He appeared wealthy, but also dangerous. Goblin menials yelled at him when he stepped too near their tasks, but the yells cut off when they saw the insignia on his tunic and belt buckle. Ignorant of much of the world, they nonetheless recognized the golden-scaled and winged lion symbol of the only Dragonmarked House that the three sisters allowed in this place.

The individual came to the checkpoint, walking casually in the chill air, but with his hand on his sword hilt. The checkpoint was manned by the gnolls, five of them to be precise, with three having already drawn arrows. The leader of the group, a leaner gnoll with gray hair around his muzzle, raised a hand and snarled. The individual stopped, eyeing the group casually, noting the whip at the leader’s side and the bars of rank on his shoulder patch.

“State you busy!” snarled the leader in very broken orc.

“House business,” said the individual, taking his hat off to show his features. The three with the bows tensed and knocked their arrows when he moved his hand. The leader rested a meaty paw on his whip. The other gnoll held a heavy mace in one hand and an alarm whistle in the other. They could clearly see the individual’s features now, and the intent, serious eyes told them that he was not bluffing. His facial features identified him as a hybrid, a half-orc, half-human. The hawk on his shoulder screamed once at the gnolls, and he stroked it, making soothing noises.

“You, um, got paper?” the lead gnoll asked, getting nervous at confronting a bona fide member of House Tharashk.

The half-orc’s hands moved so fast that the three archers nearly pointed their bows at him before they realized that he had merely tossed a tied scroll at their leader’s head. The leader stiffened, and then caught it right before it hit his eye.

“Yeah,” the half-orc said. “I got paper. I’m Delegado d’Tharashk, and I’m here on business.” He gripped the hilt of his sword firmly now.

The lead gnoll clumsily unrolled the scroll, and blinked. It was written in gnoll, common, orc, and goblin, and signed by General Gapakkaga, the gnoll in charge of city security. One half-orc bounty hunter, Delegado d’Tharashk, had a recognized bounty in the Great Crag. As the three sisters, the Daughters of Sora Kell, had allowed House Thrashk to operate within Droaam, Delagado was not to be inhibited while doing work for his house.

Attached to the scroll with hasty thread was a note to Gapakkaga reminding the gnoll general that the bargain made with Tharashk was to be maintained. The gnoll could read little of the fancy writing, even if it was in his own language, but he could make out the signature of Sora Katra clearly.

“Here sir, go sir, nobody bother you sir!” the gnoll said, handing the scroll back and waving at the others to put their bows down. He stepped aside and gestured down the road. “You needs a guide sir?”

“No,” Delagado said, taking the scroll back. He tapped his hawk on the leg, and the animal went sailing up into the sky. “But if any of your people shoot down my bird I’m going to cut them open and feed them to the vultures.”

The gnoll nodded quickly and barked orders at two archers, who ran off in opposite directions. “They go sir, tell everyones not to bother you or hawk.”

“Thanks,” Delagado said, walking past him.

“Um, there sky people, harpies sir!” the gnoll said, still trying to be helpful.

“They know better,” Delegado said, unconcerned as he walked down the dusty street.