UO Second Age

“I have faced Lich Lords and their most vile curses, Ogre Lords and their most fearsome blows, and arachnids and serpent men from lost lands, even the demon spawn of hell, yet there is but one thing I fear throughout all this land – the thing that is even more terrible than an army of a thousand orcs is any group of orcs that act upon their own volition!

While these creatures I have mentioned do indeed wield great powers, they do so individually. Even an army of orcs is usually controlled by one master, with one focus for destruction. But a legion of orcs which have no master? No clear purpose? Even the heroic gods of Valhalla, who are accustomed to every kind of act that could be contrived during the most vicious of wars, would shudder in the presence of such defilement of nature."

Turbo raised a class high over the solid oaken table, “Let me tell you know about a man who, armed only with a stick and a generous basin of courage, faced such fear with nary a thought for what would befall him should he become captive to this terrible pestilence. Melix the Stranger of Yew!”

I met the man just outside of Yew. I had heard rumors about a vicious clan of orcs that had established themselves south west of the village graveyard. Supposing, as any knowledgeable warrior would, that this band of orcs was being controlled by some villain set on the destruction of Yew, I made my way to the ruins. It is common legend that if you wish to reap vengeance upon an enemy you can venture forth to these ruins and attempt dominance over the liches that lurk there. I was sure I would find the source powerful enough to control the orcs there. No sooner had I arrived than I found several lich corpses fallen to the ground, their decrepit bodies lying beaten apart beyond that which even the weight of their graves could not have done. I saw him, as he struggled for his life against the last stagnant corpse, still alive enough to spout curses. Melix is the only name he would give me.

Seeing my work done before I had a chance to perform it myself, I gave Melix all my gratitude. Surely with the liches dispatched, the orcs gathering under the banner of Shadow would disperse! We made our way to Yew and rested just outside the Empath Abby. That’s when we saw it, a gruntling of an orc, but an orc none-the-less! Daring and able to cross the borders set forth by King Britain without suffering swift and instantaneous death! And upon his defiled crest he bore the clear mark of the Shadow. Surely they should have fled by now. That is when a felt a pit in my stomach akin to the force of Jupiter falling out of orbit. These orcs knew no masters but themselves! Melix and I quickly dispatched the vile bugger, but not before he dashed my armor to pieces!”

Turbo looked over the audience that now filled the Abby, “Ye men of Yew, I have told you this tale as a warning! No longer can you wait upon the King’s pretended concern for your land. By the time the good King learns that his treasured source of the finest lumber is lost, you will already have born the most dreadful tortures imaginable, and it will be weeks or months beyond that before any of the royal guards arrive to clean up the destruction.

You must call upon your farmers and your spinners! You must sharpen your plowshares to swords! Turn in your hearth for a helmet and your oak doors for a shield! It is time to call forth your mighty militia!”

His blade was drawn before his chalice slammed to the table as he cried out "Call forth your militia and White Harbor shall fight with you!"

It has come to my attention through my trusted Shadowmancer, Darkoth that such an incursion is indeed at hand. He encountered just such a creature within the Yew graveyard. The brute was summarily flushed from his place of hiding among the mausoleums then "gently" coaxed to leave the hallowed grounds which are under our protection.

Such things are being closely watched by my Deathguards and Nightblades, who just recently have been hired to conduct covert surveillance of certain areas of interest.

*pauses in thought* Perhaps we will see the once great Yew Militia rise again..........perhaps, but of course such things of the mortal realm are of no interest or consequence to us.

The Baron Zeddar sat at the back of the Abbey, his plain gray traveler's cloak pulled closed, the wide brim of a dusty, floppy hat hid his face. His eyes were locked on the man speaking, but he heard few of the words. His mind was already racing, that cold knot of fear in his stomach was small, but persistent.

Something about this man's tale tugged at his memories.... his old ones....the ones that seemed to come and go with the winds. He could remember orcs invading Trinsic, ransacking the great halls of that city, rampaging along the once impregnable walls and casting off citizens and soldiers alike. An army of orcs, ogres, trolls, and ettins had burned Vesper to the ground. The dead had washed ashore in Britain for weeks.

It was the beginning of a darkness... an age of shadow and sorrow.... an age that had long since passed away into myth and legend....an age that was yet to come.

As summer follows winter, and winter summer....so too turn the pages of history.

Zeddar's breath caught in his throat, and he nearly coughed. It had been a long time since he'd actually heard Abysinthe's voice in his mind. She had been a friend to him, nearly a sister, so many ages ago. With a hard swallow, Zeddar stood and slipped out on of the servants' entrances and into the night. The breeze was cool and he stood in the darkness a moment, letting the chill sink into his face, refusing to shed a tear. He'd wept for Abby already, and there was work to be done.

As Zeddar whistled softly for his mount, he smiled as he heard Abby's voice in his head again...

So long as a single candle burns, the darkness cannot triumph.

Zeddar swung into his saddle, and heeled his horse into the night, his cloak flying open behind him.