Skirmish (Bitrayuul): Tarabar
Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.
Bitrayuul’s mouth was agape as the marvelous gates came into view, so vast they could be seen even while still at the edge of the Lithe. His march slowed, taking in the grand spectacle, as Tormag continued without notice.
The doors stood the height of twenty dwarves, lined with sharpened spikes and intricate carvings alike. Tormag had often spoken of the artisanal craftsmanship of his kind, though the gates of Tarabar gave evidence to such claims. The enormous steel barrier protruded only just from the base of the mountain, with much more hidden from view.
Tormag finally caught on to his halted son. The dwarf couldn’t help but smile as he recognized the wondrous stare painted on the half-orc’s face as he admired the beauty of ancient dwarven ancestor’s efforts. The dwarf beckoned Bitrayuul forth, breaking the half-orc’s trance. In short time, they stood outside the gate.
“What be yer purp—” the guard started from his station along the top of the structure, a bucket of oil and torch at the ready. “Bothain’s beard . . . Commander Tormag?” he asked incredulously after recognizing the emblems on Tormag’s worn armor.
“Aye, lad. It’s been a bit, don’t ye doubt,” the absent commander replied. “I’ve been busy these past six years, bahaha!”
More dwarves poked their heads over the short wall lining the path atop the gate and shared their comrade’s excitement at the return of their commander. That is, until they noticed the half-orc adjacent their long-lost ally that had somehow escaped their view.
“Have ye been captured?” the first guard asked hesitantly while staring at Bitrayuul. Each of the guards held their vats of pitch more closely.
Tormag looked around curiously, as if some sort of orc or troll army lay in wait along the forest to prompt such a question. Finally, the dwarf caught on to their meaning and he let out a boisterous laugh. “Bahaha! No, lads. He’s with me.” His hand fell to Bitrayuul’s bicep in reassurance—both for the half-orc and the suspicious guards.
The dwarves manning the enormous gate spoke amongst themselves for a moment before two pairs each retreated within the small holes in the mountain on each side to operate the hidden mechanisms and open the large steel doors. Tormag and Bitrayuul both breathed a sigh of relief as the barrier was pulled apart, allowing them entry.
Bitrayuul was met with nervous stares and thick-fingered hands resting upon weapon hilts as he followed his mentor into the city. The spectacle caught him by surprise, for once the light piercing the opening at their backs closed behind them, the city returned to blackness, save for the lining of hundreds of illuminating torches and lanterns. Grateful for the orcish blood running through his veins, Bitrayuul’s eyes shifted, allowing his view to see much better in the dark. What he had assumed was a city in the abyss, lit by only the sparkle of a few embers lining its streets, had turned to a community of grand proportions.
Now that his eyes could better view the city ahead, the half-orc could only look on in wonder. What vastness hid beneath the strength of the mountain stone! The city stretched as far as his eyes could see—and beyond. Each building was carved from the stone, as if they had been built into the mountain all along, waiting for a sculptor to bring them to life. Small abodes, large edifices, and even great structures sporting crafted statues of dwarves of the past could be seen, only adding to Bitrayuul’s awe.
Tormag clasped a hand against his son’s arm once more. “Welcome to me home, Bit,” he said with a smile as wide as ever.