The Last Raid of Kergan Tordal

The Goblin settlement of Skritch Hollow clung to the edge of a sulfur-choked ravine like a cancerous scab on the Undershroud’s skin. To the Red Hand Orcs, it was a feast waiting to be torn apart.

Kergan Tordal stood at the edge of the warband, his massive Great Axe resting across his broad shoulders. Forged from scavenged steel and etched with crude symbols of conquest, the weapon was as much a mask as it was a tool... Brutal, loud, and dumb. Just like they expected him to be.

At 7 foot 5 and 300 pounds, Kergan was still a runt of the tribe. But none dared say it aloud anymore. Not after the last raid, when three rival veteran scouts had fallen to Kergan's blade, a fate expected to befall Kergan, not his foes. A situation he had been shoved into, as if someone, likely on of the tribal witches, sought to test, or to end, him.

He’d made it look like luck. Like rage. Like brute force. But it had been magic.

As the warband charged, Kergan whispered a syllable no Orc should know. His fingers twitched along the haft of his axe. A Goblin sentry crouched behind a jagged rock suddenly staggered, his limbs heavy, his grip slack. Hex.

Kergan surged forward, his axe cleaving through the Goblin’s chest with theatrical fury. The others saw only blood and steel. None saw the spell.

The raid descended into chaos. Goblins shrieked and scattered, some rallying behind a towering Berserker clad in rusted chain and wielding twin cleavers. The brute barreled toward Kergan, eyes wild, mouth foaming.

Kergan raised his axe, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. The Berserker was too fast. Too strong.

So he whispered again. A word of protection. A flicker of celestial moonlight, invisible to all but him, flared around his chest even as his Hex sapped at the awesome strength of his enemy. Shield.

The cleavers struck, and bounced. The Berserker reeled back for the briefest of moments, confused. Kergan roared, spun, and brought his axe down with a crack that echoed across the ravine. The Goblin fell, twitching.

The Red Hand cheered. None saw the shimmer fade from Kergan’s skin. None saw the sweat on his brow from the effort of hiding the spell.

But Kergan didn’t stay to celebrate.

As the warband looted and burned, Kergan slipped away, his steps silent, his path already chosen. He climbed the jagged cliffs that bordered their Undershroud valley, each handhold a promise of freedom. The cursed opalescent fog thinned as he ascended, and the air grew colder, cleaner.

Above him, the city of Ravelle gleamed like a dream, its dark spires piercing the sky, its walls untouched by Orcish blood. To the Red Hand, it was a treasured target, always too powerful and out of reach to assault ...yet. To Kergan, it was a never whispered hope. A prayer left unspoken.

Kergan Tordal, the savage brute, the hidden warlock, the silent liar and survivor, climbed toward a new life. Toward safety. Toward power.

And behind him, the Below burned.

*** Kergan's Backstory***

Hiding.

Kergan Tordal had always been in hiding.   

An Orc born and raised in the Below, as the dead lands under the Shroud are known by the soft folk above.. and being the runt of the litter, at only 7 foot 5 and a meek 300 pounds, Kergan, from day one, never truly fit in among a Redhand Orc tribe of barbarians and witches. But his choices were limited. Pretend to fit in, or continue to suffer the ridicule and beatings that not fitting in brought. And so, fit in he did.... or seemed to.

Fitting in only became more difficult, and more vital to survival, as Kergan began to develop small, inexplicable, abilities. Magical Abilities. Abilities seemingly gifted to him by a Celestial being, (a Shard of First One Moon???), and not Grumsh. Abilities that would mean instant death were they to be revealed.

For, among the Grumshak-Doom tribe, Magic was a Blessing, granted by Gruumsh himself. A Blessing that meant the tribe held Gruumsh's eye. A Blessing that rose the tribe to favor among the Redhand. But, only if that Magic was imparted on the women. For a male child to be born with 'the taint, the tribe believed, would only mean hardship. Hardship and loss, for the entire tribe until the child was culled.

So Kergan learned, as his earliest lessons, the necessity to deceive, to mislead, to lie. To give an audience what it expected. Well did Kergan learn his lessons, and well did his magics respond. He learned to keep signs of his castings hidden even as he used his abilities to further his rise. To guide his strikes, to make his suggestions irresistible, to secretly lance his opponents minds with pain even as he laid about, only marginally effectively, with his weapons.

Through years of bluff, bluster, subvocal magics, and straight out Intimidation, Kergan worked his way through the tribe's social structure to become a scout and outrider. A trusted, and favored, protector of the Grumshak-Doom. An outsider looking in.

As the tribes wanderings brought it to near below the town of Ravelle, known to be a location that even the Redhand Orcs were allowed, if still not trusted or liked, Kergan took advantage of a tribe raid to fan wide and slip away hoping the tribe would assume from his disappearance that he had died, or at least that his head start would see him successful in his escape.

Once he arrived in Ravelle, Kergan immediately gravitated towards what he knew... The simple brutality of the street fighting pits. Utilizing his size, subtle castings, and towering, fearsome, appearance to press his way to a position of some small renown among the pits, Kergan played the games he knew.

But, eventually, he learned that there were ways he could apply his talents in other, "safer", ventures, and, after a few years of living in the streets and studying his options, he applied to and was accepted into the comforts of House Nightingale, the House of Desire. A place where he could continue to use his unique skillset to his advantage, but without the risks of the street. A place he could rise without having to always stare over his shoulder to see the next danger slipping up behind him.

A place where he could finally feel safe. A place where his true story begins.