Cavern of Vile Rune
|Cavern of Vile Rune|
Area Lore/Back Story
The Vile Rune, a Story By Barrow Blacktusk
For years now, she had lived in darkness. The smell of fresh air and the comforting glow of the sun lingered still in her memory, but it had been some time since she had last felt either. The Vile Rune couldn't have been more aptly named; in the black recesses of that wretched cave she had been subjected to backbreaking labor, and she longed to get away from her orcish captors. But every attempt at rebellion or escape resulted in the severe castigation of all the slaves, and so the fires of insurrection were quickly extinguished.
She had not even seen her own face in years. Abducted as a child, she was forbidden to speak her native elven, and over time, she had forgotten much of the language. The gruff and dissonant sounds that comprised the orcish tongue soon became her main language, spoken only when allowed to by the orcs. They would bring only enough food for the slaves to subsist, and they gave small quantities of filthy water to the slaves to drink. Not surprisingly, the scarce water made taking a bath was out of the question. And so the life of slaves was spent: wallowing in filth and self-pity, forced to carry heavy loads and dig deeper into the cavern, expanding their prison.
But one day they came. Two adventurers clad in well-kept armor made their way down the cavern, and the death-screams of many orcs could be heard in the slave pens. Even the rarely-seen orogs were summoned from the depths to help stop these intruders. There was great chaos in the caves, with only dim, flickering torches lighting the way as monstrous orcs and orogs marched forward to meet their assailants. But the two were far too powerful - one was a dwarven holy man, armed with a fearsome cudgel, dressed in thick metal armor, covered by a white tunic. The other was a wily female elf, a mage, dressed in the furs and tanned hides of woodland beasts. Together they slew many orcs, as the slave girl watched on behind a cart of looted goods.
The two stood over the corpses of slain orcs, examining each for items of interest. Covered in their blood, the wizard woman's eyes darted around the cave, catching a glimpse of something dark moving in the corner of the cave.
"We missed one!"
Without warning, the dwarf sprang into action, and his warhammer speaking for him. With one fell swing, the dark figure was on the ground, bleeding profusely. It studdered as the blood rushed out from its cracked skull, pleading in orcish mixed with poor elven.
The elven mage stood by as the dwarf landed the killing blow. He then examined the corpse.
"Blast," the dwarf sighed, "That was an elf."