Role

Chapter 1

The thrill of the fight to come raged unchecked through Irgech's veins. At his left and right, the low growls of Ograk and Orcag filled the air, the twin brothers acting as his comrades working themselves into the berserker's rage.
With deliberate motions, Irgech reached to his waist, the slow, metallic hiss of his blade coming free of the sheath allowed to punctuate the preparations. No fancy piece of iron, this. A guardsman's blade, for that is what he had been.
It had all seemed so exciting nearly two weeks ago now, when they had planned it. A raid at last, no more defending the tunnels of Kiadana, no more being satisfied with an intrusion pushed back or a temporary battle one.
No, these brothers were not his friends, for Irgech hardly knew the meaning of the word, but they were likeminded, and that was enough.
It was simple enough to plan once it began. All three guardsmen were assigned to the night patrol, it was a small matter to gather in out of the way tunnels and make their preparations.
The hardest ask had been a boat of any size, though once they had departed Mount Kiadana, a fisherman along the Arkham docks seemed more than willing to lend them his craft. After they removed his head, that was.
So they sailed west. Insubordination, certainly, but they would return not only with heaps of supplies, but also girded in the blood of slaughter. They would be welcomed back, of course they would.
The sea journey was not so simple as they had predicted. None of the three were any kind of sailor, and evidently it was not so straightforward as pointing the boat in a direction and rowing.
Once they were adrift in the boundless blue realm of the storm giants, every direction tended to look the same. For nearly two weeks they argued and fought, and most of all, they rowed. It was a relief to them all when land appeared ahead.
Things got marginally easier after that as they trekked along the coastline. This land was unfamiliar, but it was land nevertheless. Yet they found no people, no caches of riches, no stockpiles of food. Nothing.
Irgech had been the one to spot it, a thin trail of smoke wisping towards the night sky. They followed the plume to a low hill overlooking a large village, surrounded on all sides by a stout wooden wall.
Plans were made, weapons were sharpened, and they dined on the last of the meat they had caught here in this new land, some deer-like creature that had not been quite fast enough.
Through it all, jubilation bubbled in them. This was it. This was their purpose at last. Not to guard tunnels, but to rage unchecked.
For there was only one law, one commandment, one virtue. Strength. They would show the weaklings what that meant.