Page 2 of X’nath (Dark Orcs of Helfallow)
2
Shadows in the Fog
X’NATH
T he trek through the forest felt less like a journey and more like a descent into madness, each of us navigating twisted roots and ominous shadows that loomed like specters. The air was thick with mist, swirling around us like a ghostly shroud, and the deeper we ventured, the more it felt as though the woods were breathing, alive with malevolent intent.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” I called out, my voice echoing against the trees. “This isn’t just a stroll in the woods! There are horrors lurking in the shadows!”
“Like your face?” Greag quipped, dodging a low-hanging branch. The others laughed, but a chill settled in my gut. We’d all heard stories about this forest—whispers of lost souls and creatures twisted by dark magic. Most of our clan rarely ventured this far unless absolutely necessary, preferring to send out weasels and scouts to do the work for us. There were enough horrors on the other side of the mountain to worry about, threats we had to keep at bay to protect our home.
As we pressed on, the ground squelched beneath our boots, the muck of the swamp oozing between our toes as we transitioned away from the canopy of the forest. The closer we got to the shore, the more the air throbbed with an unnatural energy. The trees grew thicker and their branches twisted unnaturally, swaying slightly despite the stillness of the air.
“Oi! What’s that?” One of the younger orcs, Karg, suddenly pointed, his finger trembling.
We turned to see a tangle of vines coiling ominously around a weathered stone. It looked almost like a gnarled hand reaching from the ground, its fingers claw-like and beckoning.
“Just a plant, you softie,” I scoffed, though the sight sent a shiver racing down my spine, making me grip the hilt of my axe tighter. “Probably just wants to shake our hands. What’s it gonna do—give us a hug?”
“Or pull us down into the depths!” Greag added, his eyes wide with mock horror. “Right into the muck, where we’ll be lost forever!”
But before we could joke any further, a low, eerie howl pierced the air, sending a chill through our ranks. “What was that?” Karg whispered, his eyes darting around, weapon at the ready.
“Probably just the wind,” I said, but my heart was racing in both excitement and trepidation. “Or a very lonely wolf. If it wants company, it should go find Greag’s mother!”
The group erupted in soft laughter, but it echoed strangely, swallowed by the fog. It was a reminder that we were intruding on something ancient, something that didn’t welcome visitors.
Suddenly, my weasel partner halted beside me, his fur bristling. He crouched low, staring intently at a thicket. “What is it, Yargol?” I whispered, dropping to one knee beside him.
A pair of glowing eyes blinked slowly from the underbrush, almost lazily. My heart raced. “What the?—”
Before I could finish, a massive creature emerged: a bloated frog the size of an orc, its mottled skin glistening with a layer of swamp slime. It croaked loudly, the sound reverberating through the trees like a death knell.
“By the ancestors, that thing’s ugly as a bog orc!” Greag exclaimed, recoiling. “Is it going to eat us or just sit there and give us nightmares?”
“It might be a guardian of the swamp!” Karg croaked, readjusting his grip on his weapon, unsure if it was an enemy.
The frog blinked again, and with a mighty heave, it let out a loud belch that sent a cloud of fetid gas wafting our way. The stench was overpowering, thick with rot and decay.
“Great! Just what we needed—an ogre-sized toad with the breath of a troll,” I muttered, waving my hand in front of my nose. “Let’s keep moving before it decides we look tasty.”
As we trudged on, the swamp began to come alive with bizarre noises: distant whispers that sounded almost like laughter, rustling branches that felt far too deliberate, and the splashes of something large moving just out of sight.
A piercing scream shattered the stillness. We froze, exchanging uncertain glances.
“Was that—” Karg began, but I cut him off, knowing he’d be better off taking a few more missions with the men before he spoke up on these matters.
“Just the wind,” I said with a calmness I didn’t feel. “Definitely not the sound of our impending doom.”
Greag rolled his eyes and let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Right. Just wind. And I’m sure that’s not a headless spirit following us.”
I shot him a glare, my patience thinning. "Shut it, Greag! Focus!" I snapped, trying to keep my bravado intact. "We’ve got a shipwreck to raid and pretty faces to charm. No ghostly interruptions!"
The headless spirit was a tale we’d all heard as children, spun by our elders to keep us in line. They said it roamed the swamps, a restless, decapitated figure that hunted down those who ventured too far from the clan. Of course, no one really believed it—not any of us, anyway—but it was always the first story to scare younglings into staying close to camp.
It was probably a deranged old female orc, one who’d lost her child and her sanity, doomed to wander the world alone, consumed by grief.
Greag had always loved to joke about the tale, and now, with the eerie howl still hanging in the air, I could feel the weight of those old stories creeping back into my mind. I forced myself to push it away, focusing on the task at hand. There was no time for ghosts or old tales. We had a shipwreck to loot, and I had no intention of letting anything, living or dead, stop us.
"We've got bigger things to worry about," I continued, trying to shake off the unease. "Like getting to that ship without tripping over our own feet or ending up in whatever foul mess lurks around here."
Greag raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You sure about that, X’nath? I mean, if the ghost of some old swamp dweller shows up, you could always try to charm it with that face of yours."
The others chuckled at Greag’s teasing, but I saw the flicker of unease in a few of their eyes. They may have been old enough to know better, but even the most battle-hardened orc wasn’t immune to a little superstition.
I clenched my fists and refocused. "We stay together, keep sharp, and get what’s ours. Nothing else matters."
The group shook off the tension as best they could, the sound of clanking weapons and boots crunching in the swamp mud filled the air once more. But as we pressed forward, the fog thickened, swirling around us like a living thing. Shadows danced between the trees, and the deeper we went, the more I felt the weight of unseen eyes upon us, crawling over my skin like insects.
Suddenly, Bolg let out a series of panicked squeaks, darting back toward us. “What now?” I growled, turning to face whatever horror had found us.
From the shadows, a twisted figure emerged—a crone, her skin sagging and her hair a wild mass of vines and moss. She cackled, her voice like brittle leaves crunching underfoot. "Lost, are we? Come to seek your fortune?"
A brief chill ran through me, a fleeting thought of an old legend, of the orc mother who lost her child. But I shook it off. This wasn’t some wandering spirit; just another crone of the swamp.
She leaned on her crooked staff, eyes glinting with malice. "Not here for treasure? Or maybe something... else?"
"We’re here for what we came for," I replied, trying to mask my unease. "Stay out of our way, old woman."
Her grin widened. "The swamp doesn’t give freely. It takes… and sometimes, it keeps what it wants."
I tightened my grip on my axe, the air thick with a sense of something darker. Whatever she was, she wasn’t just an old fool.
“Uh, no thanks,” I replied, taking a step back. There was something not right about her. “We’re just… passing through.”
“Passing through?” She leaned closer, eyes glinting with darkness. “You’ll find more than you bargained for in these woods. Care for a snack?” She held out a handful of what looked like rotting fruit, its flesh writhing with maggots.
“Uh..we’ll pass!” Greag shouted, nearly tripping over himself to back away. “We’re good. No snacks needed.”
The crone’s laughter turned to a rasping wheeze. “Suit yourselves, but the swamp remembers. It hungers, and it will take what it desires.”
With a shudder, I turned, and we bolted, the crone’s laughter ringing in our ears, an ominous echo that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
As we stumbled back onto the path, I could still feel her eyes on us, like a noose tightening around our throats. “Never thought I’d say this,” I gasped, "but I’d take my chances with the frog over her any day.”
“Agreed,” Greag panted, glancing back nervously. “Let’s just get to the shore before we run into something worse.”
We pressed on, the fog thickening to a suffocating degree. The air felt heavier with each step, and a sense of unease gnawed at my gut. I could hear something moving in the darkness—dragging across the ground, something unseen but very much present.
Then, out of the mist, it emerged.
A massive shape slithered from the swamp—a mutated crocodile, its scales slick with slime, its body bloated and distorted. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural yellow hue, and its gaping maw revealed rows of jagged teeth like sharpened rocks. The creature was easily the size of two orcs, its massive tail whipping behind it, sending sprays of mud into the air.
“By the ancestors…” Karg muttered, his eyes widening in horror. “How does a creature even become this way?”
It lunged for the closest orc who immediately leapt back and swung his weapon down, missing the creature’s head by a breath.
“This thing is unnaturally massive,” Vakgar growled, firing his pistol at the creature. The shot echoed in the air, but the bullet ricocheted off its tough hide and struck a tree with a sharp crack. He cursed and swung the butt of his weapon against the creature's back with a grunt. “We’re not going to win this one with just numbers!”
I scowled, my hand instinctively gripping my axe. “You should’ve stuck with a proper weapon. Those pistols are a pain—they need reloading every time, and in a fight like this, there’s no time for that.”
Vakgar shot me a quick glare, but he knew I was right. The pistols, while powerful, were useless in the heat of a fast-moving battle. Reloading them was a hassle, and in a moment like this, where every second counted, it was more of a liability than a help.
The croc hissed, snapping its jaws with a deafening crack, the ground beneath it trembling. It lunged at us again, its huge body crashing through the trees, faster than something that size should be able to move.
With little time to react, the creature surged forward again, swinging its tail like a battering ram. Greag and I scrambled to avoid the blow, but a younger orc wasn’t quick enough. He was sent flying, landing with a sickening thud.
“Get up!” I shouted, helping him to his feet. "We’re not dead yet!"
“Hold your ground, you fools!” Korrin shouted, his voice a gravelly command. The seasoned warrior didn’t hesitate, slamming his jagged hammer into the croc’s side with a brutal, earth-shaking impact. The creature roared, its glowing eyes narrowing in fury.
“Come on!” Gorruk barked, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "Hit it now, while it’s distracted!"
With Korrin’s hammer blow to its side, the croc reared back, and for a moment, its deadly attention shifted. It was just enough for the rest of us to regroup.
“This worth it?” Vakgar muttered, breathing heavily, his jagged hammer dripping with swamp water. “I’m starting to wonder if we’re wasting our time here.”
“Shut up and keep fighting!” I snapped, though his words seeped into my skin more than I cared to admit.
The croc lunged again, but the older warriors, grizzled and relentless, were quicker. Korrin and Gorruk dodged its jaws, landing strikes that caused the beast to stagger, weakening it bit by bit as the rest of us added our own attacks when the opportunity arose. Together, we pushed forward, driving the creature back. Adrenaline surged through me, shifting the fight from uneasy tension to a rush of exhilaration. With a final, brutal blow from my axe, the massive beast collapsed, its body crashing to the ground with a wet thud.
The swamp fell eerily silent, save for the sound of our labored breathing. Yargol swiftly climbed onto my shoulder, his whiskers twitching as he scanned the area, ever alert.
“We’ve got a shipwreck to raid,” I muttered, wiping mud from my face. “And we’ll do it, no matter what this damn swamp throws at us.”