Pillars of Age

Omens and Betrayals

HARLAN

Harlan wiped the sweat and moss from his face, murmuring, "This must be the place."

He stood in a broad, pristine cave corridor, a stark contrast to the narrow, moss-covered passages behind him. His keen brown eyes scanned the entire corridor while his left hand ruffled his spiky red hair. His right hand gripped a Spear-Sword, a unique weapon from the Horsewomen Tribe of the Northern plains—half spear, half sword, perfectly balanced for versatility in battle.

Suddenly, a male Orc stumbled into the corridor, panting heavily. The black hair along the sides of his green head was dishevelled, and his face bore an expression of panic. As their eyes met, both were equally stunned, though for different reasons.

"Why are you an Orc?" Harlan asked, perplexed by the sight before him.

The Orc didn't respond to Harlan's strange question, his attention fixed on whatever had driven him to flee into the cave. A loud roar, typical of Orcs, made the veins in his muscular frame bulge. In his hand, he clutched a large hand axe, ready to fight.

The Orc charged at Harlan with a fierce roar. Despite his confusion, Harlan reacted like the seasoned warrior he was. He positioned his feet in a stance that suited his weapon, his years of mercenary experience guiding his movements. He knew the Orc's attack pattern: a full-speed run, a leap, and a powerful axe swing, betting on overwhelming his opponent.

As the Orc closed in, Harlan adjusted his stance, timing his movements to intercept the attack. But when the Orc did not leap as expected and instead just swinging his axe, Harlan's face paled. His miscalculation had left him vulnerable.

"Not good!" he muttered, realizing the danger.

But years of training and combat experience took over. Harlan's body adjusted instinctively, his spear-sword thrusting faster than the Orc's axe could swing. The blade pierced the Orc's neck, dropping him instantly. Harlan stumbled, losing his balance from the forced adjustment, but quickly regained his footing.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harlan stood over the fallen Orc, confusion and frustration mingling on his face. Scratching his red hair, he glanced around the cave corridor.

"This must be it," he muttered, approaching a section of the wall.

Feeling along the wall, Harlan's fingers found what he was searching for. He smiled and carefully pushed aside a large fake stone, revealing a hidden room with a tall, imposing door chained shut with a thick padlock.

"Hey, it looks like someone escaped to here!"

A hoarse but high-pitched voice echoed through the cave corridor.

"There's a cave behind their main building!"

Another similar voice echoed, belonging to twin female Orcs Harlan knew well.

"Mistress Miragh and Mistress Mirigh, over here," Harlan called, still inspecting the large door and its surroundings.

"Human-Harlan, since when were you here?" asked Miragh. The Orc woman, muscular like most of her kind, wore typical Orc mercenary armor made of tough animal hides adorned with beast furs. Her bald head had a tied tuft of red hair at the back, and her lips revealed protruding lower tusks, the right one cut and the left smoothed and adorned, a custom among female Orcs.

"Probably since we started the attack. I didn't see him after we began the slaughter!" Mirigh, her twin, replied. She looked nearly identical to Miragh, except for the reversed tusk modifications.

"The unsatisfying slaughter. They said the Exiled was one of the toughest robber army in the South, but I found it quite disappointing," Cirro commented gruffly.