And out of the woods there arose such a clatter, Sarkon and Grüshnag ran over to see what’s the matter. When out in a clearing they saw it appear, a small caravan led by man with a white beard being harassed by 6 white tail deer. Confused as all get out, the 2 left the clearing to continue looking for bandits
Sarkon and Grüshnag continued on past the edge of the village. They followed the main path out for several hours, crossing a few streams and nasty dips in the road. Thankfully, their small pack of supplies provided little weight to slow their progress. They traveled in near silence, brooding and anxious for the fighting. Off in the distance, the pair hears the sound of a caravan, maybe? A large group of revelers? Some group that is large and loud. Sarkon pauses.
“Would that not be on of the best targets for these bandits?” Sarkon asked.
“Maybe. Man-flesh can be smelled from here. How about we hurt them just a little bit to get the bandits attention?” Grüshnag said with a hint of sadistic pleasure.
Sarkon pauses to think on the options when suddenly Sarkon yells “DUCK!” He hears the incoming whistle of a crossbow bolt heading straight for Grüshnag. Instinctively, Grüshnag does as he is told and drops not a second too late, seeing the iron tipped bolt connect with a tree behind him with a solid thud. Meanwhile, Sarkon looks around wildly in the direction of the bolt, looking for who may have fired it and if they were friend or foe. A group of men and a few elves yell towards Sarkon to run and they will slay the beast! Sarkon’s acute senses kick in and he shoves Grüshnag off the road and yells at what appear to be mercenaries to cease fire!
Grüshnag snarls in anger but takes cover behind a thick tree and undergrowth. Sarkon stands poised for action in the middle of the path. The men and elves, positioned on small ledge just off the road, look more confused than ever. “Friend, what seems to be the issue? We only meant to slay the dark creature and gain the reward of free drink and warm beds at the tavern in Nardth. Am I right boys?” The group around the man agrees and grew excited at the thought of hot food and a warm bed.
“Not a creature of the dark lord anymore. This orc is mine. He has rejected his former master and sworn his fealty to me. And I to him. Have you not heard of the great Grüshnag, Warboss?” The look upon the men’s faces said more than their words.
The group apologized profusely, claiming that they never expected to meet the famed white Orc who, rumor has it, fought against Sauron himself. Some of the men held back to alert the traveling caravan that it was safe to proceed and a rather large group of oxen drawn carriages, horses and wayfarers appeared from around the bend. As Grüshnag got up from under the brush off the road, the group stopped and a woman’s scream erupted from within the caravan. A rash of hushed voices continued on; the only word that was decipherable ... “ORC!”
Several seconds of tense silence gripped the air. Tired of waiting, Grüshnag turned to Sarkon. “Perhaps we travel with this lot. Protect them on their way back to Nardth. What say you, friend?”
Sarkon slanted his head towards the group, speaking louder for the group to hear. “Yes old friend, I think Sarkon and Grüshnag would be a formidable force to help these poor travelers. The bandits are bad, we hear, and we could lend a hand in case your group is attacked on the way in. It’s what? 3 days travel with this size group?”
Grüshnag nodded. “Maybe more. Men are soft. Need more rest on the road.”
The women and children and caravaners alike relaxed hearing the travelers ahead were willing to help and not a part of the bandits. Also they murmured that Grüshnag's name sounded oddly familiar to some. A rumor perhaps?
Night quickly approached and the group set up camp just off the road in a small clearing. There were two distinct camps set up around small but warm fires. Grüshnag and Sarkon decided to each watch over one camp. Sarkon made mention to the caravan leaders to treat his friend with gratitude and respect if they want his full help. They relayed the message to the groups but Grüshnag’s group, still hesitant, kept their distance. Being used to such treatment, Grüshnag took his food and made camp for himself in the forest a little ways away. Before turning in for the night Grüshnag looked on the caravan watching Sarkon laugh and drink merrily amongst the other members of the travelers. He was glad to see his friend enjoying the company and he took his last horn of ale and retreated back to his small area of the forest for the night.
Grüshnag sat up on watch late into the evening. The fires died down low to hot embers and most of the men had turned in. Grüshnag didn’t remember it but he must have nodded off from the days travel and the strong ale.
The next thing that Grüshnag remembers is waking up just as the loud rustling mixed with the grunts and shouting of men. A flurry of activity and shouting filled Grüshnag’s groggy mind. He quickly jumps up and runs into the main camp, now in tatters and filled with men fighting each other and goods scattered across the ground. Seeing an opportunity, Grüshnag grabbed a heavy yet sturdy ax and started in on the fighting. With the same ruthlessness orcs are famous for, he dispatched bandits and a few caravaners by mistake.
The fighting was over in but a few minutes. The last group of bandits stood off from Grüshnag. “Orc. You fight well. Your savage nature may be better served in service of me. Are you even able to understand me?”
“Of course I can,” Grüshnag said slowly. Weighing his options carefully and seeing no friendly faces replies, “Hmmmm. You may have a point, man. What be in it for me?”
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A ferocious roar pierces the morning silence as Grüshnag awakens in a cold sweat unable to move. He realizes that he has been restrained and a figure is attempting to talk to him but he can’t quite make out what it’s saying. Moments pass as he gains his strength and he uses all his might to break the binds keeping him place. His arm breaks loose and grabs the figure in front of him, picking him up and roaring then tossing it 10 yards in front of him against a tree. Grüshnag then attempts to rip the ropes on his other arm before feeling a small slender hand on the back of his neck and left shoulder... A familiar voice calling to him to stop, he isn’t in danger? It’s his friend Sarkon! But if that's Sarkon, who was the man?
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