Orcblood Legacy: Skirmishes: Orcs by Bernard Bertram (good inspirational books .TXT) 📕

Reaching the end, the path turned a corner and Bitrayuul gasped aloud as hundreds of dotted flames illuminated the massive cavern to reveal the dwarven city.

As he scanned the expansive community, the half-orc could only look on in wonder. What vastness hid beneath the strength of the mountain stone! Each building was carved from the stone as if they had been built into the mountain all along, waiting for a sculptor to grant them life. Glittering trim of iron, steel, and gold alike traced the edges of the largest edifices, giving the impression of wealth and fortitude simultaneously. Once more, Bitrayuul found his mouth open in shock.

Tormag clapped a hand against his son’s arm with a smile wide with pride. “Welcome to me home, Bit.”

DEFIANCE

Within moments, every dwarf around took note of the large half-orc and cautiously approached. Stares of fear and distrust could be seen on every face as they eyed the hulking visitor up and down. Bitrayuul didn’t miss their gazes but paid them no mind as he was too enthralled by the dazzling city before him.

Pulling his son onward, Tormag pushed deeper into the city—with more than a few of the curious dwarves trailing. Before long, an old dwarf with a withered beard of gray yet thick, brown braided hair approached.

“Commander Tormag, ye return!” the elderly dwarf greeted in a harsh voice. Despite his absence of youth, the seasoned veteran carried himself with a sure step of experience that commanded respect.

“Senator Theiran, a welcome sight! Glad t’ see yer stones yet t’ break,” Tormag replied with a genuine smile. The pair clasped arms and butted their heads together, drawing a confused look from Bitrayuul. The half-orc could only assume such was customary, though this was the first encounter he had seen of his mentor and another dwarf of standing.

Theiran returned the commander’s smile in kind, truly relieved to see his old friend well. Once his eyes had shifted to the tall half-orc, the senator raised an eyebrow. “Friend o’ yers?”

“Aye, he’s mine. Taken as me own, sure as stones. I be seekin’ the council’s blessin’ in keepin’ ‘im by me side.”

Bitrayuul watched intently for a sign of disapproval on Theiran’s face. Based on the current reactions he had received, he knew his presence in the city would not be a welcome one. Yet, the senator simply stared blankly in silence at his old friend before asking, “Ye certain?”

Tormag didn’t hesitate to nod in confirmation. “By Bothain’s Hammer.”

“Then I shall speak t’ the council of such a request, else ye be met with quick rejection, don’t ye doubt.” With that, Theiran bowed low and clasped his friend’s arm once more before turning to take his leave. After taking a few steps, the old councilman turned his head back to the pair. “What’s the lad’s name, eh?”

Bitrayuul cut off his adoptive father’s words before they could form, replacing them with his own. “Bitrayuul. I am Bitrayuul.”

Theiran nodded, hiding any thought of discontent at the orcish name that certainly would stir distaste within the council. As the old dwarf faded into the city, Tormag broke the tension that had risen. “C’mon, Bit. Let’s get somethin’ t’ eat. Me belly be screamin’.”

◆◆◆

The dwarf behind the counter—and the other score of patrons within—all rose in bewilderment as Bitrayuul followed Tormag into a nearby tavern with a sign marked The Emberforge. Each of the dwarves’ stern gazes drilled deep into the half-orc, hands clutching the mining picks and hammers at their belts. It was clear that this was the first occasion in which many had seen a half-orc at all, and certainly the first that had ever graced their homeland lacking shackles and wounds.

“Hal thild vant gar’thurim,” Tormag stated to the beady-eyed onlookers. Slowly, the furrowed brows of the dwarven patrons began to wane before each turned back to their mugs. Satisfied, Tormag approached the bar, though the innkeeper still employed a hard scowl as the half-orc struggled to wedge his large frame between the table and stool beneath.

“What be yer drink,” the disgruntled owner stated more than asked, never removing his glare from the young orc-blooded creature, even as Tormag called out a request for two ales. With a grumble, the barkeep grunted and turned toward the storeroom to retrieve the commander’s brew.

Bitrayuul watched the dwarf stomp away with stubby legs thundering against the stone. “Will it always be like this?” he whispered to his mentor. “And what did you say to get the others to back down? Why did it not have the same effect on our host?”

Tormag waved the notions away, signaling it wouldn’t be wise to discuss amid those who would catch wind of unfavorable answers. Bitrayuul held back his disappointed frown as the innkeeper reappeared, a single mug in hand.

The cup was slid down the slick bar toward Tormag, stopping perfectly in front of the commander. Tormag peered down at the tankard, then back to the owner. With a smile on his face, he slowly slid the brew in front of Bitrayuul, never breaking eye contact with their host.

The dwarf behind the counter quickly turned to anger at the commander’s heinous act. Before the irritated innkeeper could act, Tormag waved his hand in the air nonchalantly. “Eh, ‘scuse me, barkeep? Seems I’ve misplaced mine, could ye fetch another? Many thanks, friend.”

As Tormag finished the words, Bitrayuul nearly coughed from gasping so harshly. His stomach twisted in concern as he watched the owner of the inn go red with anger. Glancing to his sides, it was also clear that the once-calmed patrons seemed to return to displeasure at the commander’s antics.

Despite the rage simmering within, the barkeep kicked open the storeroom door and stormed in before returning with a small iron cup filled partially with water. Nearly all the contents were ejected from the container as it slid viciously down the bar into Tormag’s waiting hand.

The petty innkeeper’s face twisted into a smirk. But the expression instantly washed away as Tormag lifted the cup to his mouth