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A Cleric Saving Livesby Greywolf-ELM
The Orcs wait with bridled bloodlust for a few minutes after the last sound of the bell dies away. Suddenly light pierces the night from a small building just past the human house of worship. Surely that could be the only reason for the walled area out back, with rows of evenly spaced marker stones. A man comes out holding a torch. As he slowly makes his way towards Gorga, the nearest Orc, the torch is made out to be a glowing mace instead. The light was too constant to have been a torch. Gorga licks his lips with barely concealed desire on his face. This is magic, and it could make him more powerful if he can use it
"I don't know what I'm doing." The good father thinks. "Who knows how many Orcs are waiting out here to kill me and eat my heart. I'm a cleric to the Holt, god of harvests, not Hextor, or Heironious." With trepidation pushed quietly and resolutely aside, he discharges one of his duties; protect the people of this town.
"Wait!! Stop the killing!! What are you here for?! Are you here to kill everyone? Or are you looking for something?" Father Gilthen realises that he may have just pushed the limits of Orc intelligence by asking all these questions together. He holds his mace above his head, in a non-threatening way, with palms out.
Common is understood by some of them at least. "Drop your weapon pink-skin" Gorga growls at him. "Or you die a slow painful sleep." Father Gilthen knows the Orc means death, but he's not about to try correcting his grasp of Common right now.
"Stop killing my people, and I will help you find what you want."
"Drop your weapon, NOW!!! No more will die, and we will leave soon, if you surrender, and tell me where I can find weapons and armour for my Orcs." Gorga steps forward, the others all look on with interest. The Cleric complies, and his mace falls to the dirt at his feet and nods his agreement. He almost wishes he was clergy to a more combat oriented god, but realises the end result would be little different, he is biding time for the people of this town, and a swift death in combat would not buy much of it.
Gorga grabs him roughly by the collar, and forces him to his knees, with a kick to the back of his legs. "Now, off with your armour."
At this point, the door to the smithy opens, and Dubro the town smith makes his entry to the town square. Two Goblins, and a wolf meet him at his door. He has a torch, and a forge-hammer for all the good it will do him. Ierkh ambles up to the smith, and towers over the big man.
When Dubro tenses up for a fight, Father Gilthen shouts out to him, "Don't fight them Dubro, they'll kill you and the rest of the town, let me talk to them." Ierkh pats his rock and starts to grin. "Rock Good" he repeats to himself. Dubro gives his hammer and torch to the waiting Goblins, and they roughly search him, and move into his forge and hut. Quickly searching through the hut, they find some blankets, a cot, a table and chair, a couple of eating knives, and more equipment for the forge.
The wolf stalks back and forth behind Dubro as Sharraxtharkhul commanded. Gorga continues to strip the Cleric of anything useful, and slides the Chain shirt over his frame. It's a little snug in places, but it's better than nothing. The cleric is a little worse for wear, with cuffs and bruises through the ordeal.
The Goblins come back out of the hut, "Where is the money pink-skin? We found nothing inside." Rhgl seems to plead with his beady little eyes as he asks his question.
"I only have what's in my pouch, these farmer's are poor, and they pay with food and drink."
The Goblin can tell he is lying, but does not try to force the issue. Gorga gives direction again "Check under the Anvil Ierkh, maybe it is hidden." Ierkh pushes the smith out of the way, and squeezes under the overhang. "This?" as he picks up the large hunk of metal mounted on a block of wood, big around as a tree. Sharraxtharkhul rushes over to pull at the dirt under the Anvil, "Yes Ierkh, now no dropping it on me."
Gorga resumes his questioning of Father Gilthen, and learns that there is a Keep down the road, with the only supply of weapons and armour for miles. He sees the Cleric is speaking the truth, and tells the others to search the nearest buildings. With the search at the forge completed, Sharraxtharkhul and Ierkh come back to the town square. Scrag calls for Ierkh to open the door to one of the larger buildings. The door is quickly smashed open, and the town store is busted open for looting. A short fat human is trying to hide behind a counter; When Scrag takes command of the room. The town general store is quickly looted, and the shopkeeper's box of money added to the pile of loot. The shopkeeper wets himself with fear, while handing over the box.
They now have backpacks, rations, water skins, rope, sacks, blankets, and many other items to bring back to the tribe. Some means to carry what they found is now at hand.
The last building to be raided ends up being the Tavern, which used to be the area jail. Stonewalls and thick oaken doors, and barred windows are surely strong enough to deter these Orcs. Maybe a normal group, but this group has the best darn door opener known to Orc kind; A Half-Ogre. Two massive kits from the Half-Ogre and his "Good Rock" and the door brace snaps in half. Scrag, Ierkh, and Drusilla all file in, to gather some barrels of pink-skin liquor, and the money box from the tavern-keeper as well. The cudgel taken from his grasp as a final insult.
Gorga calls for Scrag, "Come get the Human Shaman, he comes with us." Gorga stalks over to Dubro, and gets face to face with him. "Now where is your stash of Gold human?" The menacing presence and threatening glare, not to mention foul smell, convinces the smith to answer. "Buried in the corner, under the bed." Gorga waves the Goblins back in the hut, "Now find it this time!" After some digging, the Goblins reappear with a metal box.
Everything is gathered together, and the Smith and Cleric tied up. Dubro watches as everything is packed up, and the Orcs head west, out of town. "Thank Moradin and Holt, they didn't search all the huts." He thinks. "The women would have been taken as well. May the gods watch over father Gilthen."
He can still hear Gorga shouting orders, "Rhgl, Sharraxtharkhul you and the wolf scout ahead!"
Next up: Some Darokin Soldiers get tangled up.