Unfettered - Part 4 - The Border to Ogrimar

Bryne felt caged for the first time in his life. Hissing frigid air, he had to remain as still as possible, naked, and utterly humiliated before the surrounding orcs. Moaning with pain, he bent forward as a black spike was driven repeatedly into his shoulder and back. The only other sound reaching his ear was the unbearable tack, tack, tack of a hammer driving that black spike. A little ways away, a line of halflings formed approaching a well-armored orc with a massive war-hammer at their side. Beside them, their mysterian mercenaries lined up, each submitting their arms and armor.

Again, Bryne's jaw clenched as the orc behind him hit a sensitive patch of skin. The orcs surely had a funny idea of a 'mostly harmless tattoo'.

Crossing the border was a harrowing process.

On the way to the border, Bryne didn't notice just how well the human side had prepared for war. In any direction he looked, he spotted a watchtower, whether it was a prominent stone structure or a camouflaged little fort near the top of a forested hill. Every few minutes along the way, the wagon master shot a magical flare into the air, while another halfling repeatedly sounded a small gong. Over and over, Bryne's ears rang and eyes watered. The halflings were making their presence as conspicuous as possible. Briefly, he resented leaving his underground home. The mercenaries seemed completely untroubled. What perplexed Bryne most, however, was that the halflings kept this up even as the hills and towers disappeared.

The forest broke, the grass grew shorter, and they began to approach a patchy, distorted, rocky and sandy earth. "Earth torn by magic and war," commented the wagon master. An earth salted by the worst mortals had to offer; neither trenches, nor hills survived. Bryne imagined the horrors that walked here, as he read from historical tomes. He wondered what the eldest must have thought of the time in their youth, when orcs summoned undead armies and humans tore apart the ground. He wondered how long it'd be before this earth ran red with blood again. When the wagon master spotted the orcish camp ahead, he ordered the caravan to an immediate halt.

Riding their iconic sapient wolves, the worgs, two orcish warriors approached. Bryne was ordered to stay back with the mercenaries, as the halfling leader negotiated. Soon enough, the wagons began moving again, and they road on to the orcish fortifications. To all sides, Bryne noticed the familiar presence of towers again. They'd crossed the no-man's-land. Every soul was deathly silent, even the oxen driving their vehicles. Instead of a gong or flares, the orcs' worgs gave a howl. It was responded to with another.

Orcs were a surprisingly impressive bunch, for all the reputation they carry. To a dwarf, a human was respectable in times of peace (At least, for most dwarves; Bryne wasn't keen on them) and an orc was respectable in times of war. The humans so varied in nature from one being to the next that it's any wonder they managed a government together, let alone one that's earned the nod of other races. In war times, however, humankind permanently scarred the world in ways no-one could have foreseen. No soul extant should trust they fully know the nature of humans, and indeed this seemed to be how humans treated one another on a regular basis. To an older soul, humankind's sins far outweigh their virtue, but nonetheless each individual is treated with fairness.

With an orc, similar variation and creativity is possible, with one not-so-subtle difference; Orcs come from a world of pain and strength, and they're very aware of the fact. In war, orcs are ruthless, but respect the land; They merely slaughter those that look at them wrongly. To say, however, that an orc knows peace is an oxymoron; Orcs respect strength, in all its varieties, above all. That is not to say that orcs have not found an alternative to permanent civil war. To Bryne, however, the alternative was almost worse.

"You approach Highborn land. State your business!" The orcish paladin spits. After a brief word with the wagon master, the orc grunts, nods, and steps aside. "The Slag will need to be marked," he growls.

Once finished with the tattoo on his upper body, Bryne is told that he'll need to remain topless for several days, and once healed, never conceal the mark at the back of his neck lest he be beheaded. The halflings, thankfully, meet their inspection with relative ease. Their stores are checked and found acceptable. The mercenaries' contracts are in order. With an orcish escort, they would be guided to the next town where they may trade; It was the only orcish settlement where outsiders could trade. Bryne, on the other hand, was free to roam at his own leisure and risk. "Those marked are treated just barely above slaves," the wagon master warned. "But it's forbidden by their laws to kill you outright. Just make sure you stick to fairly populated areas, and don't do anything stupid." Bryne nodded, and looked around. With the orcish escorts carefully eyeing the halflings' mercenaries, it seemed the Honeyfin caravan had made this trip many times before. Strength, even hired strength, made sure orcs behaved.

Orcs don't refer to themselves as orcs, most often; They are the Highborn, and rightly so. Bryne saw it objectionable at best, but he'd heard other dwarves speak of the brilliant ways that orcs manage to keep other orcs in line: An iron law, hammered into place by the paladins of their religion. Orcs managed to make their reverence for strength into a tool to corral their own people; By having the strongest orcs become Paladins of the Trinity, they assured that every generation learned the truth of their belief: Orcs are the destined, perfect, strongest beings, forged into proud persons. Because of this, they've learned to value their fellow strong, perfect orc. Sadly, compassion and mercy are seen as a flaw, a taint in their trinity, an imperfection set in motion by their 'fourth god', a demon-like being. Regardless of their senseless beliefs, one cannot deny the effectiveness of orcish faith; In little more than an elf's full lifetime, orcs have dominated an entire continent, expelling most of goblinkind, kobolds, drow, duergar, and anything else in their way. Surprisingly, peace among their own kind meant orcs were allowed to develop social and productive lives, and become more progressive as a whole.

And then, humans came along.

The trek to town was long, but Bryne would not have to suffer it. He had a different deal with the halflings, as painful as it would be to part with such pleasant company. Instead, he used his money to rent a steed from the border garrison (A strong horse, thankfully), and took with him all the supplies he'd need for a week's trip. Instead of the grand Bazaar that the halflings were to visit, Bryne intended to venture further south into the heart of the continent. After all, he had a promise to keep for Mylleile.

Bryne regretted two things most, when he parted from the halflings. The first: He regretted not taking a bottle of their home-brew drink. The second: He regretted not learning how to ride.