Chapter One: Part Two

Flinter on the Young Orcish Village in Hartshire Forest by Sage Triddion

Orcs are a sorry lot, yes indeed, cursed with short meaningless lives. They are a menace to my society, the High Elves of Hartshire. The orcish village you ask of is an exception to this pattern of menance. These orcs have found a little piece of refinement in their quaint existences and somehow realized that causing random destruction to nature will not fulfill their lives in the slightest manner. Whatever separates these orcs from the rest is beyond my breadth of knowledge. I am a woodsman, not a scholar; but if asked to guess it would be that the wretched devils have found some sort of idol to believe in. It probably is a strange religion based on, well, something rather crude I would ascertain, but exactly what I am not sure. They have a culture based on craft, mostly in the form of architecture and furniture. While their wares are not really worth much in the way of aesthetic value, they prove to be quite sturdy and somewhat skillfully crafted. Thus my original theory that orcs are aggressive since they have no skills is invalidated. They are aggressive because they lack the intelligence to focus such skills. The idea that they follow a simple religion makes sense. This is the focus that they use to keep from being hopelessly barbaric.

Now, when these orcs moved into the northern portions of Hartshire, we were not unjustly both worried and confused. Orcs have always meant war, but never before had they settled in our beloved forest. Our forces were already quite weary from a constant war with an underground village of trolls, so they were not at all pleased with this arrangement. To make matters more awkward, the orcs had begun chopping down trees at an uncomfortable rate. As I said, these orcs were crude craftsmen and needed this lumber to perform their trade. The tactics they used to gain this lumber were of a highly destructive manner. I was sent in to access the situation and advise His Majesty on what measures should be taken. While scouting out the area, I noticed that these orcs were in general much smaller than the ones I had encountered before. Also, they were not very well decorated in the normal orcish motif as you might stereotypically picture one: a bearskin hat, tattoos of decidedly poor quality depicting horribly bloody events, bone piercings, and the whole lot. They were wearing those ridiculous tabards that orcs make a habit of wearing, torn and bloody as they always are due to that preposterous tradition they have of keeping their first tabard until death. The pictogram on their tabard, though, was not the normal animal head or axe that orcs tend to wear with pride. It was some letter which I was unable to read, not ever having learned to read orc, though I do speak a few words of it. This helped me to catch snippets of their conversation. They were speaking of engineering, building, and plans for a permanent residence.

They had axes and saws, being the tools of the lumber trade, but not the usual weapons of war that orcs bring along. No sickles or maces, no sledges or halberds. Still, an orcish settlement is reason enough for concern, and the presence of axes makes it all the more worrisome. I was puzzled, as orcs generally do not use tactics like colonization, being unskilled with the art of using and transporting of materials. These orcs did seem skilled, though, so the whole situation had me dumbfounded and I had resolved to suggest to the king the use of scare tactics to get them out of the forest.

One other thing bothered me as I left the orcish encampment. One of the orcs was of monstrous size, unlike the rest. He was reffered to as the best lumberjack and was destroying trees at a frantic pace. He seemed to be very funny, at least to the rest of the orcs, unfortunately he was also soft spoken so I could not understand exactly what he was saying. He was not the leader, though, a hunchbacked one they called "Groblub," which I believe means talker, seemed to fill that role. He seemed neither strong, nor stern, but everyone consulted him for his opinion, which is another inconsistancy, as the usual orcish creed is "Might Make Me Right."

I went back to His Majesty?s palace and told him about what I had seen. I gave him my suggestion of scare tactics, and he seemed a bit surprised at being so lenient to orcs defiling our fair forest Hartshire, but having trust in his always-loyal scout, he sent out his archers to harry the orcs in their work. I requested that I be put on advance duty to ensure that it was not some sort of clever decoy to distract us or lure us out. I did, however, have an ulterior motive. My curiosity at the strange disparity that these orcs displayed from the normal behavior drove me to make this request.

Thus, I went out scouting, an easy enough job as there was only one direction that such an attack could conceivably originate. After three days of solitude in the wilderness, I found no one coming either in or out. Such a desolate time made for long nights. I was quite glad to return to His Majesty after my work was done. I asked him for the progress on the orc situation and he looked at me with downcast eyes. The King was in sorrow, over what I did not know, but I soon found out from a friend that the dread troll had taken His Majesty?s wife. It was most certainly a sad day in Hartshire.

This event managed to produce a strange sort of luck for the orcs who were ignored for about five days. In this time they had burrowed themselves quite a nice little niche that they were very reluctant to leave. The king ordered the archers to harry the orcs once again, this time with full conviction. Even though it was not meant to be a lethal tactic, it is my assumption that some vanguard archer took it upon himself to speed along the removal and shot down two of their number. Even after this blatant strike against them, the orcs did not attempt to war upon us. They chose to simply soak up the loss and stay. This situation was indeed a queer one as they were not truly doing purposeful harm, but they were not taking care to heal the damage they were doing to the woods. Like ivy on a house, it slowly destroys while looking relatively harmless. Not totally harmless, obviously, they were still orcs, and suspicions were running deep as this situation and the dread troll were the only things that were ever heard in any tavern or church alike. Some optimistic and manipulative people thought of trying to play the two against each other, but such an idea had no real merit. The troll had a deep-seated hatred for our king, while we had already killed members of the orcs encampment. Neither had any real reason to trust us.

This situation was indeed one that needed a resolution. We had no desire to commit a full-scale assault on the orcs, and most of our men were scared of the dread troll, with sufficient reason. The troll was both ravenous and vengeful, though what past sin he thirsted to serve retribution for is well beyond my simple knowledge.

Our luck turned, though, and we became a bit more hopeful when an outside party of adventurers came. One of them we knew quite well as the resident hermit of Hartshire forest, Dashiel, the former captain of King Lernot?s honor guard. The company he kept was quite strange, consisting of a particularly vile smelling dwarf with a beard that he actually took the time to braid in some sort of sloppy weave that would be sooner cut than untangled. Also, with him was a fisherman who lived in these parts. He was a simple quiet man who had the strange habit of carrying around a very large glaive. A bit disturbing really. Lastly was an elven whore, I?m sure that?s what she was. It seemed she never learned the real purpose of wearing clothes. It was revealed that they had befriended the orcs, who asked them to talk to His Majesty about stopping his harrying tactics on the orcs. Well, the King, using his ability to manipulate strangers, fooled the party of misfits into hunting the troll for us in exchange for the orcs to stop cutting down the tree! All the king gave up was a few coins from his purse and a man to teach the orcs proper forestry.

They burned the dread troll out for us, and made the orcs stop their destruction of Hartshire. After

the event they asked some strange questions about the troll, saying that he spoke strange words. I went to investigate the cave on my own. I, of course, could not make out the strange beast?s features with his body burnt so badly, but on his finger was the sigil of Hartshire. Something seemed wrong, and I noticed that the troll had Elven ears. I could not return home after seeing that. Something was not right at all. The king must have cursed one of his subjects into trolldom. That was the only explanation. That is why the dread troll could speak and stole the king?s wife. I suddenly wondered who was more savage, my king or that large orc destroying our land. I am an ignorant scout, but now a little bit more wise to the ways of the world now. I cannot leave the service of His Majesty, despite my unfavorable opinion of his choice of action. I am bound to protect my homeland, because even though it?s king is cruel, it?s people are still just.