[SPOILER](Orges) is a wild monster tall and big teeth and smelly body while (Asterion) like a bull but she have a shape of human-body or called beast-man.
"OSBOURNE AND ASTERION"
It was night when Osbourne returned to consciousness,
Lunaha, in wane, glittered weakly, casting a slight crimson tinge. Like blood, Osbourne thought, and then he forced that thought quickly away. If Lunaha were in wane, which of the other moons would be waxing? Luhan was nowhere to be seen. If it was indeed Lunya that waxed, Osbourne would never know it. No one saw the black moon --- no one save the Black Robes, those mages who worshipped the evil god of magic. The black moon was invisible to common folk and perhaps even to those who followed the paths of white and red magic as well.
As his senses cleared, he became more aware of his surroundings. The horse lay beneath him, its neck broken by the fall. The heavy padding in Osbourne's armor, combined with the mass of the horse, had prevented the armed-men knight's death.
He tried to rise and nearly blacked out. All that padding had not been enough to prevent a concussion. While he waited for his head to clear again, Osbourne looked around.
This might once have been a river in a time when the rains had fallen more often. Its depth, at least five times Osbourne's height, was more than enough to kill a crazed steed, even one as strong as the warhorse.
The other side of the river bed lay some distance away. Judging by the sickly growths that barely could be called plants, he suspected this river had dried up many, many years before, possibly in the early days of the war, when the Drakonqueen had sought a quick, decisive victory over the followers of Apostle.
Osbourne dared once more to attempt to stand. He found that the pounding in his head subsided to mere annoyance if he did not bend his neck abruptly or look down too swiftly. With this in mind, he succeeded in staying on his feet.
"Our...Gods." The word came unbidden, for Osbourne was only just now realizing that he was alone in hostile territory. The others must think him dead. Dead --- or perhaps a coward who had run.
A white fog was developing, sending cold, feathery fingers wisping through the ravine. He could wait out the night and begin his trek at first light -- which might mean walking into another Orges patrol --- or he could travel by midnight and pray that whatever lurked out there would be just as blind in the fog dark mist as he. Neither prospect pleased him, but he could think of no other choice.
He found that the pain in his head had lessened a bit so that now he was able to search the ground for his sword. It lay near, undamaged. His pack was another problem. Part of it was buried beneath his mount and, while Osbourne was strong, the animal's position made it virtually impossible for him either to lift the horse or roll it over. He had to satisfy himself with a few rations, a tinderbox and flint, and a few personal items, pried from the unhindered portion of the pack.
Osbourne did not like the thought of traveling by midnight, but he liked the idea of traveling alone in plain sight by daylight even less. He picked up his things and, sword in hand, started up the sides of the river bed. The mist would be thinner above, and the high ground was always more advantageous, strategically. At least, Osbourne hoped so.
~~
The fog never got worse, but neither did it get any better. Osbourne could make out most of the stars, but his ground-level vision extended only eleveb feet or so, and he was hard-pressed to make out details in the black moon's weak attempt at illuminating the shroud-covered land. The sword stayed at the ready in Osbourne's left hand. He had no shield; it must have been lost in the horse's mad flight.
Thinking of that, Osbourne could not help remembering the demonic visage he had glimpsed. If that thing were out there somewhere... His grip on the hilt tightened.
He had traveled an hour when he heard the harsh, mocking voices. Orges!! Osbourne ducked behind a rotting tree trunk. No more than eleven yards separated him from them. Only the fog had saved him. At least four, maybe six, Orges seemed to be joking over the fate of someone. A prisoner, perhaps. Although one part of Osbourne urged him to slip away safely, another demanded that he lend whatever aid he could. Carefully, he slipped closer and listened.
A rusty, grating voice jarred his aching head. "I thinks the lord himself will reward us fer this one."
A deeper voice joined the first, "Maybe he'll give us the high reward or meet. I'd like to be the one to skin him fer a rug. He killed Monpess."
"You never liked Monoess"
"He owed me money! Now I'll never get it!"
A third voice cut in. "How do ya think the Orges will kill'im?"
Osbourne strained his ears and caught the sound of a knife being sharpened on stone. "Real slow. They got sneaky minds fer that kinda stuff."
Something rattled chains, and Osbourne tried to place the location. Somewhere far to the right, he thought.
"Hey.... He's awake."
"Let's have some fun."
Chains rattled again, and a voice, resonant and spanning the distance with no trouble, responded. "Give me a weapon and let me fight."
"...Ha!" The Orgee snickered. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, scared-face? We ain't fools, ya know."
"You'll do until some come along." Suddenly the voice grunted, as if exerting great effort. The orge voices --- four, Osbourne estimated --- quieted until the grunting became a gasp for breath. The chains rattled.
"I thought he was gonna do it for a minute!"
"Seveb coppers'll get that he can!"
"What? You fool! You'd bet on something like that?"
"Monpess would've."
Osbourne, so engrossed in the orges, almost missed the soft tread behind him. When he did, he was sure that he had been seen. The newcomer, though,
continued walking and Osbourne soon realized that the creature, a goblin guard, could not see well in the fog. Still, a few steps more would bring the goblin close enough that not even a dense fog would save the armed-men knight.
Summoning his courage, Osbourne quietly circled behind the guard. He matched the orge step for step, save that his own stride was half again as long. Each step brought him that much closer. Only a few more....
A roar bellowed angrily from the camp. Knight and orge turned without thinking, then stared at one another as realization sank in. Osbourne was the first to react, leaping at the Orge in a desperate attempt to silence him. Sword and body caught the creature and it fell to the ground --- but not before the Orges let out a muffled shout.
"Pigs!"
"He's probably tripped on a rock again."
"Well, what's he gone and done, then --- cracked open his head? Pigs!"
"I think I should stay back here. Just in case."
"Shess's back there. You come with us or I'll give you a piece of what the bull's gettin'."
"....Okay, okay!"
The orges were making more than enough noise to cover Osbourne's movements, and the mist hid him even though one of the creatures, amazingly, had thought to carry a torch. They soon would come across the body of their dead comrade, though, and that would bring Osbourne's advantage to an end.
His maneuvers brought him close to the perimeter of the camp. He thought he saw a large shape huddled on the ground, with perhaps a horned helmet atop its head, but the mists gave it odd proportions for a human -- or even an elf or demi-human, dwarf. A campfire burned low. A shadowy, lumpy figure moved near it, and Osbourne knew this must be the Orge, Snee, who had been left to guard the prisoner.
Despite the low illumination from the fire, Osbourne had no delusions about his chances of sneaking up on this Orges. The ground ahead gave no cover, and the Orges was turning this way and that. Osbourne made out what appeared to be a wicked, two-handed axe in its paws.
Osbourne's free hand flattened across some small rocks, and the glimmerings of a plan flickered in his concussion-wracked head. Taking a handful of the rocks, he dared to get up on his knees. With a quick prayer to Apostle, he threw them to the far side of the camp, away from the prisoner.
The guard reacted predictably, much to Osbourne's relief. As the Orge scurried to investigate, Osbourne scooped up another handful of pebbles, stood up, and quietly made his way toward the back of the prisoner. Midway there, he threw the other handful, this time assuring that they would go even farther. His heart pounding, he covered the remaining ground.
Whoever the prisoner was, he was huge. Huge and stinky smelly. The helmet actually seemed to be some sort of headdress, although Osbourne did not examine it closely enough to make sure.
"...Be very still," Osbourne whispered.
Osbourne felt the body stiffen, but no reply came. From his angle, Osbourne could see that, unlike the arms which were chained, the legs were bound with rope. He reached down to his belt and pulled out a dagger, even as the other goblins suddenly let out a collective shout. They had discovered their comrade.
"Cut your bonds and run!! I'll do my best to give you time for you to run!!" Even as he said it, Osbourne wondered at his own daring --- or foolishness, it was hard to say which. He only knew that, as a knight, it was his duty to risk his life for others.
Osbourne straightened even as Shees hurried back to find out the reason for the shouting. At first, the Orge mistook Osbourne for one of its companions, but recognition followed almost instantly and the Orge brought its axe around for a wild swing at the young knight. Osbourne dodged easily and nicked the orge in one arm. At that, some sense returned to Snees, and the Orges called out for help.
There was no skill in the Orges's attacks, only brute force. Osbourne easily dodged each swing of the axe, but he knew that each moment of delay cost him greatly. Already, he could hear the other Orges stomping back to camp.
Then, the Orges who was the apparent leader gave a shout of surprise and yelled, "The Mosye's loose!"
Indeed, something was loose, and Osbourne wondered who or what exactly he had released. With a wild, primitive cry, the shadow form went tearing past Osbourne. The startled Orge dropped its axe with a clatter and followed it to the ground immediately afterward.
Unarmed and with his hands chained, the other surely could not survive against three opponents. Yet, when Osbourne turned to offer aid, his first view was of a giant, hulking form that overwhelmed the Orges as if they were small children. One had gotten too close and now squirmed helplessly in the air above the former prisoner's head. The other two were backing away fearfully. Osbourne paused, suddenly unsure if moving closer was a wise move.
The freed prisoner tossed the hapless Orge at the nearest of its two comrades, who, dodging the living projectile, squeaked and turned to flee. The two goblins collided with a bone-breaking crunch. They fell into a heap and lay still.
The lone survivor did not have time to react. The tall, muscular figure reached forward with both arms and wrapped its metal chain around the panic-stricken Orges's neck. With a single jerk that gave evidence of strength in those massive arms, the chains snapped the Orge's head back. The lifeless form dropped to the ground like a sack of oats.
Osbourne came to a halt some twenty-five-feet from the prisoner he had released. Whatever it was, it was at least a foot taller than Osbourne -- no small man, himself --- and almost twice as wide. The arms looked to be as thick as Osbourne's legs, and the legs looked as if they could bear their owner through a twenty-five-mile run without any sign of strain.
The other had been satisfied to contemplate his revenge, but now as he straightened, he seemed to be studying the knight.
Again, the voice was deep and resounding. "You have my gratitude, Knight of Moon Solamn. I owe you my life, a debt I can never repay but one that I shall endeavor to compensate you for if it takes the rest of my days."
Osbourne stayed poised, but some of his unease vanished. "You owe me nothing. Anyone would have done the same."
The tall figure chuckled ominously. "Would they?" He turned to face the knight and, even in the dim light, it was obvious that the one he had freed was no man or elf. The horns were part of the creature, as was the thick, light fur that covered the top and much of the back. As the Orge had so crudely put it, the other resembled nothing less than a bull with a body of a man.
An Asterion.
The Asterion took a few slow steps toward Osbourne, as if to prove he meant no harm. Although Osbourne's training cried out that this was an enemy --- and one of the most fierce --- his natural curiosity was fascinated by this creature. Few in the region ever saw a Riolon. The creature's homeland was far away on the eastern cost of Runnielon . Still, Osbourne's curiosity did not prevent him from raising his sword to a more defensive position.
The creature's head seemed overly large, even for a body as massive as the Asterion's. Brown, thick fur covered the top and the back half, and a thin fuzz covered the rest. The Asterion's eyes were much like those of a real bull, save that an intelligence lurked within those orb. The snout was short and broad, and the teeth that the creature's grin revealed looked more adapted to tearing flesh than black grass. Osbourne remembered some of the stories about this race, and he took an involuntary step backward.
The Asterion held up his long, wide hands and displayed the chains that bound them together. The fingers were thicker and more blunt than a man's and they ended in sharp nails -- no, claws. Osbourne's own hands were like those of a year-old child in comparison.
"Unlike the Orges, who always need seven times the number of their adversaries before they even dream of attack, I think you have the advantage over me. I'm sure you know how to use that fine weapon."
"I do," Osbourne finally managed to blurt out. "What were you doing here? Why were you a prisoner of these Orge? I've always heard the Asterion were allies of the ogres."
The crimson illumination of the moon gave the former captive's eyes a fearsome look. "Slave soldiers would be a better term, Knight of Moon Solamn. We are no more than slaves to our cousins. They hold our lands and our families as hostages, though the word they use is protection. That is why we do what they cannot. One day, though, it will be the Asterion who will rule. We await that day."
"Which does not explain why you were a prisoner here." Osbourne presented as confident a face as he could muster. It would not take much of the Asterion's strength to snap the young knight's neck. He had already seen proof of that.
The beast-man dropped his shackled arms and snorted. "I killed my ogre captain, human. I struck him down with my bare hands. A good blow. Cracked his skull with one shot."
The thought of striking, much less actually murdering, a superior appalled the knight. He raised his visor and dared to step close to the Asterion.
"You Killed him?"
Sequel on chapter 2
.....
"You like ogres? Thanks to me, no lives will be lost against his axe --- and he was good, I'll give him that. Many died on that axe, human, even the weak, the helpless. I found him over the bodies of an aged male and three children, perhaps the old human's grandchildren. I did what I thought right. There is no honor in slaughtering the old, the feeble, or the young --- at least, not among my kind. Not that they would have tolerated my betrayal. I had thought it was so among the Knights of Moon Solamn, too. I see that I may have misunderstood." The Asterion held up the chained wrists once more, causing Osbourne to take several quick steps back. "Well... Either kill me or free me from these big-chains. I do not care to discuss this. The Orges have drugged what little food they gave me. This exertion has almost done me in."
Indeed, the Asterion was slumping. Osbourne came to a decision, overturned it, came to another, and finally settled again on the first. Even then, he did not act. Could he truly believe the words of the strange figure before him? The Asterion were supposedly an honorable race, but they served the gods of darkness. That was the way it was always taught.
Osbourne's sword arm shivered, as much from his thoughts as from the long, awkward position he held it in. The man-beast waited patiently, as ready to die as to be freed. The calm and faith with which the former captive faced his rescuer finally made Osbourne's decision for him. He slowly and carefully sheathed his blade.
"Which of these had the keys?"
The Asterion fell to his knees. His breath came in huge huffs, like a bull about to charge. "orghss...The one I threw. He will have them if any do. I never saw the keys. They had no reason for them. After --- after all, why would they want to release me?"
While the exhausted defector rested, Osbourne went over to the Orges and checked the numerous pouches wrapped around the creature's waist. Each held a large number of items, many of them disgusting trophies of war --- knowing Orges, more likely looted from the dead --- and a few unrecognizable. In one of the pouches, he found the keys.
The Asterion's eyes were closed, and Osbourne suddenly worried that one of the Orges had, after all, inflicted some mortal wound. At the clinking of the keys near his face, though, the burly figure opened his eyes.
"You Have My thanks," he said, after Osbourne had freed both wrists. "By my ancestors thirty generations back, I will not rest until I have balanced the scale. You have my oath on that."
"There is no need. It --- it was my duty as Osbourne."
Somehow, the Asterion managed a very human expression of skepticism. "Nevertheless, I will honor my oath as I see fit. Let it not be said that Tax is less than his ancestors."
Osbourne stood. "...Can you walk?"
"Give me a moment." Tax looked around quickly. "Besides, I have no desire to be out in the open tonight. I would prefer some sort of shelter."
"From what?" Osbourne could not imagine what would worry such a powerful fighter unless it was a dragon or some creature of similar proportions.
Tax rose slowly. "The captain was a current favorite of the lord. I fear he might have unleashed some of the renegade's pets."
"....I don't understand."
The Asterion suddenly turned his attention to acquiring a decent weapon. He spotted the axe dropped by Osbourne's first opponent, picked it up, and tested it. "Good. Probably dwarven." To Osbourne, he replied, "Let us hope there is no need. I do not think either of us would live through it."
In the hands of the Orges, the axe had looked large. Tax, however, wielded it with the ease of one who was used to weapons of even greater size. The axe was meant for two-handed user... the Asterion needed only one massive paw to grasp it.
"Hey... In which direction did you plan to go?"
"West."
"To?"
Osbourne hesitated. He knew that many knights, even Warren, would never have released such a creature from its bonds. They would have marched it at sword point through the forgetting land. Most certainly, they would never tell the Asterion the final destination. If the so-called prisoner was in actuality a spy-man, such a slip of the tongue might prove fatal for more than just Osbourne. Yet, Tax seemed a person of honor.
Osbourne held back only a moment more, then finally nodded. "Yes, Sodania. I hope to rejoin my comrades."
The Asterion swung the axe over his own shoulder and attached it to what Osbourne realized was a harness designed for just such a purpose. It was one of only two pieces of clothing Tax wore, the other being a sort of kilt, or perhaps a large cloth.
"I fear that Sodania is an unwise choice for now, but I will not argue you out of it."
"unwise?"
Tax gave his imitation of a human smile, a smile filled with anticipation.
"Sodania is now the front. My cousins, the ogres, must be there even as we speak." He chuckled, sounding again like a snorting bull. "It will be a glorious struggle. I wish I could be there."
Osbourne grimaced at the obvious pleasure in killing that his new companion expressed. Some of the tales concerning the strange Asterion were evidently too true.
Steeling himself, Osbourne wiped the drying blood from his weapon. He glanced only briefly at his newfound companion, who seemed to recognize some of the revulsion in Osbourne's face.
"You may come with me or go back to your own kind, Tax," Osbourne said. "Whatever you desire. You may find the knighthood of accepting you as a deserter."
Tax did not hesitate. "I know some of what you feel, Knight of Moon Solamn.
I understand all too well our many differences. Still, I owe you a debt and I would rather face your comrades than return to my own ranks and to a slow torture before I am executed. I have no desire to face Orges' tender mercies."
Something howled in the night, far away. It was a wolf, Osbourne decided, yet not a wolf. It was too cold, too --- evil.
"We had best be off," Tax quickly decided. "This is no place to be at night. The scent of death is sure to draw visitors here and I, Knight, would prefer to move on."
Osbourne's eyes were still staring back at the direction of the cry. He nodded sharply, suddenly much more pleased with the Asterion's companionship. "Yeah... Agreed." He reached out his right hand in friendship. "My name, friend Tax, is Osbourne."
"Osbourne." The pressure exerted by the hand that covered Osbourne's was not enough to crush every bone, but it came close. "A strongest name, that. A warrior's name."
Osbourne turned quickly away and picked up his bags. How wrong the Asterion could be! A warrior, indeed! Within his armor, Osbourne could feel every portion of his body shiver. He tried to imagine Bennett in his place, acting in the proper manner of a knight born to command. The thought only frustrated Huma more, for he knew that warren would never have ended up in a situation such as this.
They left the camp, with its dying fire and scattered refuse, and headed in the direction Osbourne had chosen. Neither spoke now, for varying reasons. Behind them --- thankfully, sounding no closer than before --- the cry again.