Cheap ale and a bad (w)omen

Orestes and his generals talk late into the evening. Ale is flowing freely but the mood within the large, animal skin tent is upbeat and unified.

It’s Aurelius who again causes the conversation to alter course.

‘My leader, none of us has the experience to know what is to be done. Our people have been fractured for so long. Too long. Our traditions are all but lost.’

The middle-aged orc looks into the younger faces of all those around him before continuing.

‘Many orcs answered the gnomish call. Mostly male warriors but the very young and old also. Women looking to help also came. Some of them warriors and a few who’d kept safe the old ways...’

Momentarily locking eyes with Orestes and finding support there, Aurelius dares to continue.

‘There are only a few. Wise women all but the wisest one amongst them can foresee the future.’

Bodan grimaces ‘I distrust magic. Steel is all I put my faith in’.

Orestes though, understands what Aurelius is alluding to. ‘Send for her. If we’re to rebuild this clan, then we need to rebuild the old ways’.

A messenger is sent and after a short while, the tent flap is pushed back. An ancient looking orcess edges in. Her grey hair is matted, her back bent and through a toothless mouth she introduces herself.

‘I am Klok Gumma. Keeper of the ancient secrets.’

She shuffles forward and peers at Orestes, ‘Let me see this would-be-chief.’

Her eyes are wide but surprisingly clear.

Snorting derisively, she squats down in the middle of everyone and noisily retrieves objects from her sack…

A large wooden bowl, a silver knife, some dried leaves, a live chicken and some finger bones inscribed with orcish runes.

The wizened old orcess, sets fire to the dried leaves and wafts the smoke around the tent. The smell is acrid and makes everyone’s eyes burn.

Then she cuts the head off the chicken and pours some of its blood into the bowl. Muttering half-formed words, Klok Gumma takes the inscribed bones and tosses them into the bloody bowl.
Agitiating the small bones with her fingers, the wise women begains to relate what she can see...

'Your reign will begin with fire. Many of our people will die in a terrible battle but they will die willingly. They will die by the sword and so be delivered direct to Gruumsh. More fights will follow but eventually the dawning of a new sun will signal the end of our struggles… Adversity is what we must suffer under your stewardship but we will survive. We will remain a unified tribe.’

Orestes looks disturbed but surprisingly the others don’t.

‘Don’t look so concerned’ says Aurelius reassuringly. ‘Did you imagine everything would be plain sailing?’

Bodan laughs out loud at this.

‘Did you actually WANT it to be easy? What kind of orc are you?’