Skarrigg rode and brooded – which he often did. He brooded and...he remembered...he remembered the time after he avenged his sister. He stalked through the caves killing any of his former tribesfolk that he came across...most of the male ogres were already dead, killed by the unnamed group of invaders, but Skarrigg cut down any female ogre he came across. After all, he had suffered more from their cruelties than almost any male.
He remembered the endless march in the cold, always east to the fabled lands. There to the ancient Tower of the Wode Masters...to which the sword pulled him relentlessly...
But tonight he mostly remembered the harsh lessons learned at the hands of his teacher, Wode Master Malgrim, a great hobgoblin swordsman. He was old, yet strong as a bear and as fast as a wolf, his gray-green hide was battle-scarred from a thousand wars – the worst was the left side of his face, burned by the arcane fire of a simpering elven mage before Wode Master Malgrim had ended him. His eyes burned a strong hateful orange, like hot coals. He was as much a philosopher as a warrior, and his lessons in both had shaped Skarrigg.
"There is an unremembered cretin, he was of your mother's race, who once claimed that 'the pen is mightier than the sword'. Obviously this coward had never faced an enemy in battle." He lectured Skarrigg as he went through the endless drills and forms with a sharp, slightly curved practice blade. "For what greater glory can a warrior claim then battle? And what better weapon for a warrior than the sacred sword? The tool of strike or thrust, the tool of parry and riposte? Oh many other implements of battle do indeed exist. The war-club? The mace? A simple log...fancy? Yes. But a log nonetheless. The flail? A weapon originally crafted to harvest grain. None have the artistry of the sword."
On another night years later as they sparred, Skarrigg was hard pressed by the ancient hobgoblin: "What does it mean to be a warrior? To devote yourself utterly to a set of moral principles? Bah! Leave morality to priests. To seek a stillness of your mind? No. A warrior must embrace his passions. No, to be a warrior, a great warrior, a TRUE warrior, one must master the way of the sword." Wode Master Malgrim taught him as they parried and struck furiously.
And Skarrigg remembered the last night they trained: "Remember my student, that peace is a lie. There is only hatred. Through hatred you shall gain power. Through power you shall achieve your destiny. Therefore with hatred are all things possible. Soon my student, very soon, you will leave the tower of the Wode Masters to continue your quest – oh you look surprised? Yes your quest is known to us. That is the reason you were allowed into the temple of the Wode masters to begin with." Wode Master Malgrim said to him.
"You...you know about the sword?" Skarrigg was indeed surprised.
This caused Wode Master Malgrim to nearly pause. "The sword? Of course I know the Way of the Sword you great simpleton! What do you think I have been teaching you these past years?" He sputtered.
"No Master. I meant my sword. The one I had when I came here to you." Skarrigg humbly answered.
"That sword? You mean that fine battle blade you brought with you? Of course I have examined it many times. Truly it is a fine weapon and will serve you well." Wode Master Malgrim replied.
"Serve me? ...I thought I had imagined it." Skarrigg said to himself as much to his master. Skarrigg did not notice the confused look on Wode Master Malgrim's face.
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The following morning Skarrigg made his final preparations. Prior to leaving, he retrieved the great cleaving blade – the blade with which he had murdered his hated sire. The moment he hefted it the soft, sinuous voice echoed in his mind: ah, the boy I led to this place has become a man...and not just a man but a warrior. Have the Wode Masters taught you the way of the sword my child?
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The Tale of Skarrigg and the Nine Crimson Stones
FanfictionA broken half-ogre warrior follows a voice in his mind to reclaim a series of artifacts.
