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

Letting out a soft sigh, the half-orc wondered if he should even stay in Tarabar at all. Perhaps it was time to give Tormag his life back? But he knew the dwarf would never abandon him. And if Bitrayuul was cast out, Tormag would surely follow. Such knowledge was both a comfort and a curse. He felt like a helpless whelpling that others thought couldn’t survive without supervision. All while Fangdarr was out in the wilderness in solitude—hopefully still alive.

Bitrayuul looked up after bumping into Tormag, not realizing the dwarf had stopped. He looked up curiously to see a large golden building lined with gemstones that dampened the appeal of all other buildings surrounding it. “Is this the council building?”

“Aye, lad. This be the one.” Tormag smiled upon seeing the awestruck expression on his son’s face.

“It’s magnificent,” the half-orc said softly. “How is such craftsmanship possible?” His eyes scanned every minor detail, from the thousands of runes etched into each pillar to the inlaid gemstones that sparkled from the light of three large braziers outside the walls. The building seemed much smaller than he would’ve thought, but it didn’t diminish its beauty in the least. After staring in wonder for a long while, Bitrayuul could feel Tormag tugging his arm.

“C’mon, lad. We’re needed inside.”

Bitrayuul followed his father, still gazing at the masterful details as they grew closer. Finally, they arrived at a large door made completely of steel. The half-orc twisted his face in confusion. “Tormag, why is the rest of the building covered in gold and baubles, but the door isn’t?”

“Bahah, ye don’t remember all I told ye? Gold be pretty, sure as stones, but it be weak. Steel is tough an’ resilient. Most every buildin’ in Tarabar has a steel door for protection—not that it’s ever been needed, mind ye.” Tormag raised his hand to the portal and bashed it with the side of his fist. A moment later, the thick steel wall began sliding up from the bottom. As the door continued to open, a pair of steel boots could be seen on the other side, then legs, then the tip of a beard. Soon, Theiran was revealed in entirety, a welcome smile on his face despite the bandage around his head to cover the chunk of ear that had been bitten off.

“Welcome, Tormag and Bitrayuul,” the senator began, his joy never fading. “It’s good to see ye.”

HISTORY

Tormag passed through the threshold first, grabbing the senator’s arm in greeting. Behind him, Bitrayuul hunched over to fit through the dwarf-sized doorway. Once through, the half-orc similarly clasped Theiran’s arm.

“Glad to see yer still with us, lad,” the councilman expressed. “And thank ye again fer savin’ me. On Bothain’s hammer, I owe ye me life.”

Uncomfortable at the prospect of such a debt, Bitrayuul simply nodded with a smile.

Tormag cleared his throat to break the awkward silence that had followed. “Right, best be headin’ in now, Bit.” Motioning onward with his hand, he added, “Lead the way, Theiran.”

Offering one last gesture of gratitude, the senator turned and started walking through the hall. Bitrayuul had failed to notice the grandeur of the interior from his interaction with the dwarf, but now he couldn’t help but gaze at the sights within the hall. He had been impressed with the exterior’s craftsmanship and allure, but it was nowhere near as marvelous as the details hidden within. Two dozen statues of gold lined the hall, each shaped like a different dwarf in life-like realism.

Theiran caught the half-orc’s open-mouthed awe and let out a chuckle. “Aye, I had much the same look me first time here. Those be the past senators.”

Jaw still slack in wonder, Bitrayuul replied, “The detail is exquisite. Who crafted these?”

Another chuckle came from the senator. “No, lad. Those be the past senators. Casted in gold to be remembered in our history forever.”

Bitrayuul blinked in confusion, staring back at the statues. “You mean . . .?”

“Yep.”

The half-orc nearly shuddered after learning the truth. It almost seemed barbaric, to freeze the corpses of past leaders in a tomb of gold. But he kept silent and continued walking, a new perspective on dwarven culture in tow. Though, with each golden grave he passed, Bitrayuul couldn’t help but stare each in the eyes.

At the end of the path ahead stood a large door. Along the wall to its left was a series of three barred windows, a dwarf behind each. In front of the windows waited short lines of others as if waiting for something. Bitrayuul watched as one of the workers behind the bars passed a small handful of coins to the dwarf on the other side before the next in line stepped up. The half-orc was completely puzzled at what was going on but continued toward the door.

He knew this was the portal the council waited behind. Now, upon being so close, his anxiousness returned tenfold. The nauseous feeling crept up his throat and Bitrayuul was afraid he’d vomit, right there in front of the doors. He felt Tormag place a comforting hand on his back.

“Don’t worry, son. Ye’ll be alright.”

Theiran nodded in agreement. “Take as long as ye need, lad. I’ll see ye inside.” Stepping away, the dwarf opened the door and slipped in.

In the small gap from the opened door, Bitrayuul could see a raised semicircle of seats lined the far end of the small amphitheater. In each seat was an elegantly dressed dwarf silhouetted by shadows cast by the dancing flames of torches behind them. The foreboding image nearly pushed the half-orc over the edge, and he clutched his stomach in agony. Staring wide-eyed at his father, tears began to form. “I-I can’t do this, Tormag! They’ll send me away! Or kill me!” Though he tried with all his might, the half-orc let his fear get the best of him. Kneeling, he hid his face in the dwarf’s shoulder. “Please don’t make me go in there . . ..”

Tormag ran his hand over Bitrayuul’s hair. “Don’t worry, son. No matter what