Blood Vengeance (Part One): Dorull Saga

By Dan Mat

After freeing the orcs of Khoill, from the spell and torture of their deranged witch-doctor Phall, young half-orc Grodish, the new king of Zhinnaeg, can finally begin acting upon his vengeful wishes and dreams. With the armies of two orcish towns, now at his disposal, Grodish's vengeance is almost a certainty, as the first step of his wrathful path, leads towards the human mining town of Gollvin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Mat
• Release date: Jan 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201591304

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

As they were spending their lives deep underneath the surface of the earth, in the holes, tunnels, caverns and caves, goblins attuned their eyesight to darkness. The underground exploration often left them without a source of artificial light. Something which didn’t bother them at all. For many, especially the youngest ones, rarely venturing onto the surface, stronger light than that of a torch was unthinkable, and usually not needed.

While he was falling into the abyss near Khoill, Moorg asked himself why his eyes couldn’t penetrate through the thick darkness of this ominous place. Far above him, a barely visible and weak line of light, from the gap in the ground, in which he so suddenly decided to jump, was shrinking rapidly. What frightened and worried him at this time, more than the surrounding darkness, was sudden and total cease of communication with the amulet. Prompted by the explicit command to jump. To find salvation in the abyss, was the only reason why he found himself in this situation. Since then, however, despite all of his questions, the medallion has remained silent.

Stale, musty, stagnant air was choking Moorg more and more, with every passing second. The pungent stench of decaying flesh, meant only one thing, goblin was quite close to the bottom of this horrendous pit. Below him were undoubtedly a lot of bodies. The heavy odor of rot was unbearable.

Help me! I am not stopping! I need to stop! Moorg almost cried, involuntarily brushing the medallion.

Immediate and highly anticipated answer, or any reaction for that matter, was absent once again. Goblin was confused because of it. He felt scared. His fickle, skittish mind, would always think of the worse. He trembled in fear, by the notion of this incredible power, finally deciding to flee from him. Was this it? Why couldn’t he feel the magic anymore? Did he do something wrong? Did the amulet abandon him? The mere thought of that terrified him more than anything. He couldn’t cope with being alone again.

However, when all seemed lost, a sudden, mild, tingling sensation he felt in the tips of his fingers, gave him hope. Medallion was still with him, trying to reconnect. Trying to communicate with him. The veil of darkness surrounding him was becoming ever so thinner. The sporadic flashes of magical energy, followed by the incoherent sounds, begin seizing his body in waves. As if they were trying to break through something, to reach him.

Dark veil that was surrounding him, surrounding this entire place, clearly interfered with the energy transfer. That became apparent, once it started to fade. This temporary weakness, that sense of helplessness soon disappeared too. Moorg felt the magic returning, like an adrenaline surge. It filled his entire body. It gave him back his lost confidence. The amulet will save him again, surely. It will safely land him, onto the ground. It will show him the way out of this awful place, so he could continue with his journey. With his mission.

Forgive me. Suddenly, a barely audible whisper came from within.

It came from the medallion. A few moments later, Moorg perceived all the hopelessness of the situation. The void that was surrounding him, suddenly disbanded. Goblin could now see much clearly, although he immediately wished that was not the case. The ground was just twenty yards below him. He reached the bottom of the abyss. All hope of a safe landing, vanished in an instant. Nothing, not even a miracle, could save him now.

The impact was vicious, much more than Moorg could ever anticipate. His face distorted in pain. His feet shattered, almost fusing with the ground. Both of his legs became wedged. Unnaturally curved backwards, tight like the crossbow limbs, until the pressure became far too great for the goblin’s bones. His ligaments and tendons gave up first. Then his knees caved in, crumpling like they were a piece of paper. Out of his ruptured muscles and veins sprayed a significant amount of blood. Dozens of sharp, needle sized shards tore his flesh and skin with ease. Moorg’s abdomen filled with blood, as his pelvis moved up several inches from the sheer force of the impact. In a violent jerk, the goblin's head fell forward, shattering his neck vertebrae.

Moorg could clearly feel every injury, until the pain became unbearable. Until it seized his entire body. His every nerve screamed out of agony. It drove him insane. His eyes were bulging, he opened his mouth. He wanted to yell, to try and ease the pain. But the shock made him mute. And as he became nauseated, Moorg’s body reached the threshold of the pain. His breathing slowed. Cold sweat came over him. Moments later, he fell down on the stone ground of the pit. He was dead.

CHAPTER 2

The brig of the Garhmier’s mercantile guild cut the calm waters of Kabial lake, heading fast towards Vallsynk. Lull which lasted for the past three days, forced them to lie dormant. It was no wonder the warm southern breeze was greeted in such a high spirit. But with the chief regent of Garhmier’s mercantile guild on board, any other reaction would be unthinkable.

The order to immediately set sails was a common practice, which usually served to check the readiness and general ability of the crew. First of all, it was necessary to procure the supplies that would last for the entirety of the journey. After which the sailors could proceed to load up the cargo, and then sail some five to ten miles from the shore, where they were obliged to perform several maneuvers under the watchful eyes of the port authority observers. If and when they were to satisfy all of the norms and criterias, the ship was allowed to return to the port. Not before. And they had only one day to finish it. Otherwise, the exercise would be invalid. But soon enough, everyone realized, this was no ordinary test. This was the real deal. It was apparent they had to set sails. And with the news of some very important passenger, soon coming on board, it was all but certain, they were going north.

A brand new, black, noble carriage made its way to the docks, towards the merchant ship. Large wheels rattled and creaked over weathered, worn, cobbleroad. It was escorted by six horsemen. Six elite soldiers, from the golden dagger branch of the Garhmier military, serving as a security to those most powerful, important and richest people. And Teer Scejvor, chief regent of Garhmier’s merchant guild, was certainly one of them. Before the doors of the carriage even opened, sailors knew the identity of the passenger.

He was wearing a dark, tight suit and white, silk shirt, tailored in the newest elven fashion, with the low-cut leather shoes and a matching cylinder hat. Teer was a middle aged man. His pronouncedly white, pale skin, made him look even more slender than he actually was. His thick, dark, neatly trimmed beard was a product of daily care, from the town’s most expensive barbers. It was obvious he rarely ventured outside. He was not quite sure what to do, once he exited the carriage. Luckily for him, his servant was there to whisper a few suggestions, and advise him how to proceed.

In a couple of swift, strong strides, the chief regent climbed onto the ship. He was adamant to go under the deck as quickly as possible. To go to his quarters, and avoid socializing with these sailors at any cost. Scejvor was adamant to do that so quickly, he almost collided with the captain of the ship, who rushed to greet the regent, once he noticed the arrival of the carriage.

Captain Wilsen. Scejvor said May I ask your permission to come aboard.

It is an honor and a privilege to welcome you to Fuwalda, ser. the captain bowed slightly A couple of cabins in the far back of our sleeping area are empty for you and your escort.

Thank you very much. Scejvor answered politely, although he wasn’t all keen to the idea of sharing the same quarters with the ship’s crew.

Main part of the merchant ship was the storage area. The brig was designed and constructed, so it could carry as much load as possible. Because of that, all of the luxury had to suffer. Every room had to be smaller. Even the captain’s quarters at the stern. Cargo vessels had no ballista gallery below the main deck. On those larger warships or even traveling ships, officers had separate chambers from the rest of the crew. They would eat from the separate kitchens.

But not here. Teer Scejvor found that out, once he accepted to travel to Vallsynk on Fuwalda. Then again, she was the fastest ship in the fleet and as such, the most logical choice. News about suspicious deaths of mercantile councilors in the north, had to be thoroughly researched and investigated. If it turns out it was the act of an assassination, guild had the duty to respond accordingly. With that in mind, chief regent Scejvor, ventured on this journey.

When will we be ready to leave? the chief regent asked.

As soon as we finish loading the supplies. the captain retorted By midday, I presume.

Very well. Scejvor nodded I’ll be seeing you later.

Mercantile regent proceeded towards one of the cabins, captain Wilsen left for them. This one was just for him, he thought as he hastily closed the doors behind. His entourage, his private protection, the golden daggers, had to make way into the other one. Scejvor had no intentions to share the room with them. He had no intention to mingle with them, or anyone for that matter. If it was up to him, he’d love to avoid them altogether, for the duration of this trip.

Nearly two weeks had passed, before anyone from the crew saw or met with him again. Teer Scejvor soon realized he had no need to go outside. His bodyguards provided him with food and drinks. What else was there to have, or do. As if he could find anything of interest on this ship.

Born in a rather wealthy family. Protected and sheltered from any and all troubles, cocooned in his small, carefree world, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend the beauty and the appeal of differences. Teer Scejvor didn’t understand life like other people. He was raised to look down on those of a lower class. He was raised a bigot. Raised to avoid those who were not rich or powerful. He had no real contact with anyone outside of this tiny circle, until he was deep into the second decade of his life.

His servants were just the tools. One step above animals, above pets. Or sometimes, he thought, as equal. Trained to perform most simplistic tasks. Because for anything more, they simply had no capacity. They were not worthy. Scejvor looked at these sailors in the same light. They perhaps did more useful work than his old maid, but not even close to deserve his respect. Size of one man's wealth was the best indicator of his importance. And these seamen appeared quite poor. Chief regent had no idea this journey would show how wrong he was.

Two weeks into their monotonous trip came the lull, completely surprising the sailors. Wind was pretty much a constant until then. There was no sign it would shift, or in this instance, completely disappear.

Lower the sails boys, and tighten those ropes! the captain yelled, as he climbed onto the deck Make course alterations by one degree due east, in let’s say every two minutes.

The flag is asleep. one of the sailors reported from the crow’s nest.

Be on the alert. I want to know the instant the wind returns.

Captain Wilsen knew there was nothing more they could do. Only to wait, in hope the lull will pass soon. These phenomenons weren’t rare. Usually they were the  indicators of brewing storms. But they never appeared like this, out of nowhere, without warning. The skies were clear and blue, the captain couldn’t spot a single cloud. This confused him, and at the same time worried him a bit. The storm had to be far away from them and at the same time it was surely quite a massive one. How else would even be possible to feel the effects of it. Wilsen knew he didn’t want to be here when it hit. He hoped they wouldn’t be here, in the open, when it arrives.

I want the regular shifts, and don’t slack. We have the guests on board. the captain knew his sailors very well.

They’d seize every opportunity to muck about. Somewhat understandable, seeing there wasn’t much to do, except waiting for wind to return. And with chief regend on board the ship, waiting for the lull to disappear could easily become unbearable. Wilsen did not know how he would react to such news. Teer Scejvor was quite clear before. They had to reach Vallsynk fast, no matter what.

It took nearly half a day, before the mercantile regent realized that something was wrong. Air became a bit stifling and stale, as the temperature in his room started to rise. He began noticing they were standing still for quite some time now. But that could very well turn out to be just the figment of his imagination. He needed some answers. Fortunately, it was almost lunch time. One of his guards should soon bring him some food and with it, the explanation of this unbearable heat.

Soft knocking on a flimsy, wooden, tight door of his cabin, showed him that he was right. One of the soldiers from the escort entered soon thereafter. Scjevor did not know his name, as any others for that matter. But he noticed and remembered, this guard was the youngest looking of them all. His age was presumably the main reason, he got this duty of bringing the food. The rest of the soldiers must’ve put this, surely humiliating task, on him. That would surely explain why he was the only one coming into chief regent’s room. And despite all of that, young soldier never complained. On the contrary he was always smiling. He was always quite warm and kind. And Scejvor find that very unusual, somewhat strange.

Awfully hot today. Scjevor said as soon as the soldier closed the door.

That’s because of the lull. a young guard retorted, as he set the plate onto the small table, next to the bed.

Because of what? regent asked, not knowing what that word means.

There is no wind. the soldier explained Occasional, and sparse breeze is far too weak for sails to pick it up.

How is this even possible? Scejvor couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Sailors are saying that lull portends the rough, and stormy weather. the soldier said, But no one knows how long it is going to last.

Unfortunate. Highly unfortunate. the chief regent immediately realized he would be late.

And also, that he will be staying on this ship longer than planned. This prospect horrified him. With that in mind, Scjevor sat at the table. Sure sign for his guard to leave the room. Fresh, just cooked fish smelled wonderful. And it tasted even better. With perfectly seasoned salad and a piece of homemade bread that complimented the fish, it was a complete and surprisingly delicious meal. One, Teer Scejvor would enjoy eating back home, on a regular basis.

The food somewhat improved his mood. For a moment, he forgot about