The Sharpening

Joint Post between Winteroak and MDMan

A few fires burned around the camp where the mercenary band gathered in groups of four or five, sharing food, drink and warmth. Although the Great Desert of Skulls was not far away, winter nights in Arcadia were always harsh.

Others would come and join the Bloodletters as they traveled towards the Horde. Most would simply be fodder for the battles to come. Never to become truly part of their band.

This newcomer however intrigued Wurm. He spoke of Spirits and visions and alright he was Umnac and their minds were always poisoned with fire, he had to admit he had been impressed with what he had witnessed.

Nodding at Mayfly he sent the brute gather the man while he sharpened his axe.

Ch’Truta observed the man sharpening the axe. He understood the importance of a sharp weapon. His blade, Ch’Truta had to keep sharp. If not sharp, the it would not cut through the sacrifices.

He looked at the man he killed as a sacrifice. It would not be good to travel alone. Perhaps Ch’Truta should have brought five of the finest warriors the brood had to offer. But then, who would defend the Brood. Who would capture the next sacrifice.

“These people must be pushed from Arcadia,” Ch’Truta insisted. “I have foreseen my people being killed off. Not by weapons. By sickness. The strangers bring plagues with them. Plagues we cannot fight.”

Ch’Truta watched as Wurm worked his blade upon the stone. “How long do you think before we must fight?”

The answer to this would give Ch’Truta the answer as to when it would be best to seek the Spirits again. “I will seek the spirits before battle,” Ch’Truta affirmed. “They will guide us in victory.”

Wurm listened to the shaman. He had often traded with some of the northern broods, closest to Barren Top but never a shaman. He had not heard of many travelling outside the valley.

Wurm continued to shared the edge of his axe pondering the question and the declamations.

"We must join the Horde first. We are a few weeks away from the Stone City." Came the reply from Mayfly, not Wurm. The brute seemed to be a mouth piece for the man.
"The largest war the continent has seen. We will swim in blood for weeks." The brute laughed.
"And the Ozainae coin will be well used..."

“Hopefully,” Ch’Truta added, “it will be the shortest. Hopefully, they will turn tales and run, much like a lone swamp dog. Run to from where they came.”

Ch’Truta couldn’t imagine being away from the brood for years. Hopefully, this would be a one and done battle. That way, he could return to the brood assuring them that they were safe and secure from the coming threat.

Wurm stopped running the whetstone over the axe.
"They will not run. They have nowhere to run to." Mayfly said as Wurm admired the sharp edge of his blade. "They will stand to the last, we think."

Wurm took hold of his wine skin and passed it to Ch'truta.
"Impressive what you did early." He said with is usual dour tone. "Was it the blade?" He asked.

Ch’Truta gently pulled the blade, displaying it for Wurm’s inspection. He would be able to see its crude construction. A sacrificial blade and no more.

“No,” Ch’Truta declared. “It was the berries I held in my closed hand.”

Ch’Truta hoped this truth-telling would form a trusting bond with Wurm, despite his deceitfulness. Ch’Truta knew he could help their cause. Why else would the spirits send him?

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