The mind is a tricky thing sometimes, child.
Imagine that your memory is
A huge barn full of all sorts of grains:
Memories, skills, faces.
Sometimes, when something terrible happens,
The barn is as if set on fire from within.
The fire devours some of the supplies, and you no longer remember
Where the most important sacks were stored.
This is what we, healers, call "clouding of the mind,"
Or, as they say among the people, "the soul got lost in the dark."
Putting the grains back in place is a long business, requiring patience and care.
And not everything can always be restored, alas.
Consciousness returned with difficulty. Pictures kept flashing before my eyes, making me feel nauseous, and my stomach twisted in spasms, echoing with pain in my head.
Struggling to open my eyelids, I squinted, trying to figure out where I was.
Sand.
Yellow, wet, sticky sand clogging into my stubble and beard, gritting on my teeth.
Yielding under my fingers with torn nails and calluses on the pads of my fingers.
My head was buzzing as if a swarm of maddened bees had settled in it.
Everything hurt.
"Ka-a-az..." Swallowing viscous saliva, barely feeling the metallic taste of blood, I couldn't hold back the contents of my stomach—spitting everything accumulated in front of me. "What the hell..."
A shiver ran through my body. Every muscle and bone responded with pain, informing me that an attempt to get up would not end well. With a groan, I fell onto my side, sliding my elbow through the sand, collapsing next to the place of my awakening.
A name surfaced in my head.
Rodgirn... Steel Barrel. My own... Native and miraculously not forgotten. It was the only thing I knew for sure. This name echoed in my memory with a hollow ring, trying to pave a way through my hole-filled memory.
Managing to sit up on the sand with great difficulty, wincing every time the muscles in my back tensed, I looked around, trying not to pay attention to the stench nearby.
The ocean stretched out before my eyes. Cold and lifeless, almost merging in color with the gray sky.
Waves lazily rolled onto the shore, carrying away small pebbles and shell fragments, as if trying to reach my bare feet.
My hands ran over my body, feeling for wounds. Some fish guts, fragments of bones of sea creatures, slime, seaweed... But I studiously ignored all this shit, carefully examining my own body, flinching every time I came across another fracture or a large bruise, not even worth mentioning the cuts, there were so many of them.
An old habit, the meaning of such actions and thoroughness surfaced in my head...
A head as holey as a Goblin cauldron.
Fragments of memories kept appearing before my eyes. Trying to grasp at even one of them, I only achieved an intensifying headache, burning through my temples.
"Ancestor Spirits..." Clasping my temples with my fingers, I began to slowly massage them, reciting a simple mantra for calming the nerves, told to me long ago...
I didn't remember by whom. Only a hollow tall silhouette, looking down at me from a height.
As soon as I thought about it, horrific but clearly familiar pictures stood before my eyes.
War... I remembered war. The roar of metal, the clang of war machines, the cries of the dying, the smell of blood, sweat, and shit. A cascade of sounds from the battlefield rushed through my ears. The thundering of the hooves of hundreds of horses, battle cries and shouts... And drums. Huge drums, beating in time with the steps of thousands of enemies.
"Orcs," wincing at the mere memory of these crooked-faced freaks, I wanted to spit, which I didn't deny myself. For following the Orcs came images of other freaks, generally similar to the first, only differing in size.
Ogres, Trolls, Goblins... Vile creatures, without honor or beer.
"Oh, I could use a beer right now, I remember Uncle Rubren brewed excellent stuff on Malachite Street," a memory breaking through the veil of fog stirred something in my chest. My heart beat faster, and longing weighed down from all sides, threatening to bury me on this cold and stinking beach.
Family... friends... Did I have them? From these questions, bitterness and pain stung my heart, but at the same time, other feelings broke through them. Warmth, tenderness, fun, and a slight excitement, which was completely out of place...
But faces blurred, voices drowned in a cacophony of sounds. Hollow silhouettes, soulless shadows, dancing on the edge of consciousness. I tried to grasp them, but they slipped away like smoke.
Trying to stand up, I take a sharp breath and, unable to hold it, groan in a half-whisper, pressing my hand to my side. A shitty rib was broken... And perhaps even more than one. And even though my head now represents a crappy Human colander—the pain was real, tangible.
That means I am real too. That means life still flickers in me and everything isn't as bad as it seems.
The top of my head burned with a heat that came from nowhere. Despite the fact that I had forgotten the names and faces of my loved ones and friends, I remembered perfectly well what kind of shit had been personally carved into my scalp.
Runes of the Oath of Vengeance. Ancient Dwarven Dialect.
And at the same time, words of a language binding me in a vile connection to an Old God.
A memory surfaced before my eyes again. All around was a mass of water. Bubbles enveloped me from all sides while I repeatedly drove a fragment of some crooked knife into a huge snake-like wench, ripping open the creature's guts.
No sooner had I pushed the bodies away from me, continuing to spin alone in the Maelstrom of a very fast current, than a whisper was heard from the darkness. My Armor... the diving suit—creaked at the seams. The bones of fish-creatures and snake-like freaks crunched, threatening to burst from the tension, and then, from the darkness of the boundless ocean, he looked at me.
Yellow eyes... Yes, I remember his vile, giant peepers.
They stared from the darkness, piercing right through me.
A thunderous whisper... a thousand voices merged into one long howl that made my blood run cold. And I know who it was. A foul monster from the depths of the earth. A Brute I just wanted to run away from.
"And I ran," ignoring the pain, I rise to my feet, then show a stream of indecent gestures toward the ocean, "and I survived! And you're still sitting there, you thousand-eyed piece of shit! I hope every one of your foul blinkers can see perfectly well everything I think of you!"
As if understanding my words—and in principle, it's possible that's exactly how it was—the sea erupted with a torrent of new waves, much more aggressive and high, which hurried to crash onto the shore. The wind finally disheveled my beard, and lightning struck in the distance beneath the rumble of clouds.
"Tfu..." Spitting one last time toward the ocean, I hobbled away from the shore, hoping to quickly find anyone who could explain where I was and answer the rest of my questions.
Coming out onto something resembling a road, I managed to walk for only a few hours before my strength began to fail me. My legs ached from the long walk over rough terrain without good boots. Every step became harder, and my empty stomach desperately demanded grub and booze... and it wasn't clear which one more, which was irritating.
No pipe. No flask. Not even a weapon!
Kicking a small pebble in frustration, I was about to move on, but from the bushes where the stone had flown, I heard a quiet sob. I stopped, not knowing what to expect.
My left hand felt a bit worse, while I clenched my right into a fist, preparing to fight an unknown opponent.
Minutes passed, but no one appeared on the road, causing my already poor mood to sink even lower. My patience was running out, and the wild fatigue and desire to lie down only pushed me further toward reckless actions.
"I know you're there! Come out and fight me." Aggressively bristling my beard, I shake my fist toward the thicket. "Even if I don't have my faithful axe, I'll show you what real Dwarves are worth in battle! Especially me—Rodgirn Steel Barrel!"
I waited for a few seconds, already thinking I'd have to crawl into the bushes myself, but then the foliage parted before my eyes under small hands, and a small but terrified family tumbled out onto the road, led by a mother who stood before me with difficulty.
Haggled by a hard life and the hardships of the journey, the woman held a child in her arms, while another stood beside her, clinging to his mother's skirt.
All three looked unremarkable. Ordinary peasants, thousands of whom work in the fields and cities. People you might see once and forget, for they are no different from the rest.
"Master Rodgirn, is it truly you?" Stepping forward, the woman scrutinized me for a few seconds before tears welled up in her eyes. Emaciated, with tangled hair and bruises under her eyes, in a dirty, worn dress that had clearly seen better days. Nearly falling to her knees, standing only on sheer willpower, she covered her face with her free hand, trying to hold back the oncoming hysteria. "I am so glad we met you... Surely the Holy Light has shone upon our paths..."
Taken aback by such a turn of events, I froze in place out of awkwardness and not knowing what to do next. The mention of the Light brought a new memory before my eyes, echoing with pain in the runes on my head. A flash of golden fire. Pain and fear—replaced by hope.
"I urgently need to find someone who understands this."
Making a mental note, I stepped closer to the weeping woman; I suddenly had several questions that required answers, and apparently, there would be no other sources of information in the near future.
***
"I heard that Stromgarde has fallen... What a tragedy," carefully taking the young mother's shoulder, I gently squeeze it, trying to calm the woman who had gone into a tailspin again, "and now these monsters have reached here... Holy Light, what will happen now?"
Aside from these periodic hysterics, which she could hardly restrain since my appearance, giving vent to all her accumulated fears, thanks to Anishka, I was able to learn many interesting things... though I can't say the news was good.
War. The Second War with the Orcs, or to be more precise, with The Horde—was now in full swing, and it couldn't be said that the Humans were winning. After the fall of Stromgarde, the Orcs threw all their might at Thoradin's Wall—breaking through it and doubling the slaughter throughout the area near the Wall. They besieged Durnholde Keep and advanced further, all the way to the river that opens the way to Southshore of Lordaeron, where they were finally stopped.
King Terenas's army stood to the death, sparing no lives to stop the Orcs' advance, but that didn't save the people. Thousands of refugees tried to break through the bridge or hoped to swim across the turbulent river...
According to Anishka, she was one of the few lucky ones who managed to do it, but as for the rest... Corpses literally filled the river, staining it in crimson and black colors. And since a lone woman with children managed it, it won't be long before the members of The Horde can cross the river too.
And this wasn't the first time this had happened to her. A native of Stromgarde, she had been fleeing the war for almost a year now, trying to save and preserve the lives of a couple of other people's children who had fallen into her lap during the flight.
A terrible fate, full of horror and pain, which is why I didn't say a word about her hysterics and tears; on the contrary, I was amazed by the endurance of this young but brave woman.
Familiar words mentioned in Anishka's story helped me remember a lot, especially the maps and the locations of key places. It's just a pity it didn't help much with names, although the name of the King of Stromgarde—Thoras Trollbane—echoed with a pleasant warmth in my heart.
While the woman was recovering, I sketched out approximate landmarks in the sand, and the more I drew, the gloomier my expression became, slightly frightening the older boy named Davet.
The fair-haired lad sat next to his foster mother, gripping her palm tightly and not letting go of his little brother's hand with his other.
Ignoring the boy, I estimated the approximate balance of forces, and it all looked just terrible.
Having broken through Thoradin's Wall, the Orcs opened a second road for themselves through the mountains, and most likely the Wildhammer Clan fortress is already under siege. Butting heads with the Humans at the river near Southshore, they can calmly clear their rears, and they have no particular reason to hurry. Although one should assume the worst, and most likely some Orc clans are already on this shore, prowling through the forests or villages, undermining the rears of the Lordaeronian army.
My eyes slid toward the eastern shore. Former territories of the Amani Trolls, in the clearing of which I also once participated, though I don't remember in what exact role...
Now these lands are likely swarming with Orcs. I doubt the tiny Shield Fortress could have stood under the onslaught of these creatures while Thoradin's Wall fell...
And that means the bastards could have reached as far as Darrowshire or even further.
"I shouldn't make assumptions, but it's better to assume the worst-case scenario."
Frowning with my burnt and torn eyebrows, I adjusted the bandage on my arm, where an impressively sized bruise remained.
And it's still unknown what is happening in the Alterac mountains, as Anishka simply couldn't know about what was going on there, though I suspected their situation was no better.
Lost in thought, I didn't notice that the exhausted woman had simply fallen asleep, hugging the two boys. Night was already in full command, and the meager ration of nuts and mushrooms didn't help much to satisfy hunger and go to the land of dreams following the trio of refugees.
Exhaling through my mouth, I clasped one knee with my palm, aimlessly staring at the crooked map drawn on the ground. Various thoughts swirled in my head, some more nonsensical than others, but gradually I was able to come to a meaningful decision.
Even if my memory now has gaping holes, that was no reason to sit still and feel sorry for myself. These were hard times, and the personal problems of one Dwarf were just a small drop on the surface of the ocean of shit that the Orcs brought with them.
"And those creatures can do it, the cursed savages."
Stirring the fire with a stick, I was about to throw in a bit more for kindling when footsteps and the crunch of branches and leaves underfoot were heard from the forest. Someone was approaching us, and confidently at that, without changing direction.
"As if there wasn't enough joy..." As soon as the first bearded and rotten-toothed face appeared from the bushes, I had to rise to my feet, leaning on the charred stick as a cane.
I locked eyes with a couple more skinny men. With a couple of knives and an axe in their hands, they looked with interest at the sleeping Anishka, glancing at each other. It was more than obvious that these "knife and axe" workers were just pathetic scum feasting on the sorrows of refugees, and therefore...
I gripped the improvised weapon with both hands, then confidently headed toward the men who were taken aback by such an approach. For a few seconds, they stared silently as a half-naked and battered Dwarf walked toward them, not even knowing what to do next.
Well, and then... Then it was too late.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan