Skirmish (Bitrayuul): History

Skirmish (Bitrayuul): History

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.

Tormag passed through the threshold first, grabbing the senator’s arm in greeting. Behind him, Bitrayuul hunched over to fit through the dwarf-sized doorway. Once through, the half-orc similarly clasped Theiran’s arm. 

“Glad to see yer still with us, lad,” the councilman expressed. “And thank ye again fer savin’ me. On Bothain’s hammer, I owe ye me life.”

Uncomfortable at the prospect of such a debt being owed, Bitrayuul simply nodded with a smile. The three warriors all sat in awkward silence.

Finally, Tormag cleared his throat. “Right, best be headin’ in now, Bit.” Motioning onward with his hand, he added, “Lead the way, Theiran.”

Offering one last gesture of gratitude, the senator turned and started walking through the hall. Bitrayuul had failed to notice the grandeur of the interior from his interaction with the dwarf, but now he couldn’t help but gaze at the sights within the hall. He had been impressed with the exterior’s craftsmanship and allure, but it was nowhere near as marvelous as the details hidden within. Two dozen statues of gold lined the hall, each shaped like a different dwarf in life-like realism. 

Theiran caught the half-orc’s open-mouthed awe and let out a chuckle. “Aye, I had much the same look on me face my first time here. Those be the past senators.”

Jaw still slack in wonder, Bitrayuul replied, “The detail is exquisite. Who crafted these?”

Another chuckle came from the senator. “No, lad. Those be the past senators. Casted in gold to be remembered in our history forever.”

Bitrayuul blinked in confusion, staring back at the statues. “You mean . . .?”

“Yep.”

The half-orc nearly shuddered after learning the truth. It almost seemed barbaric, to freeze the corpses of past leaders in a tomb of gold. But he kept silent and continued walking, a new perspective on dwarven culture in tow. Though, with each golden grave he passed, Bitrayuul couldn’t help but stare each in the eyes.

The long path ended with two large doors on each side. To the left, a series of three barred windows could be seen, a dwarf behind each. In front of the windows waited short lines of others as if waiting for something. Bitrayuul watched as one of the workers behind the bars passed a small handful of coins to the dwarf on the other side before the next in line stepped up. The half-orc was completely puzzled at what was going on, but turned to the other door to his right.

He knew this door was the one the council waited behind. Now, upon being so close, his anxiousness returned tenfold and his stomach twisted. The nauseous feeling crept up his throat and Bitrayuul was afraid he’d vomit, right in front of the doors. He felt Tormag place a comforting hand on his back.

“Don’t worry, son. Ye’ll be alright.”

Theiran nodded in agreement. “Take as long as ye need, lad. I’ll see ye inside.” Stepping away, the dwarf opened the door and slipped in. 

In the small gap from the opened door, Bitrayuul could see part of the room in which he was meant to enter. A raised semi-cirlce of seats lined the far end of the small ampitheatre, a finely dressed dwarf in each seat and silhouetted by shadows cast by dancing flames of torches behind them. The foreboding image nearly pushed the half-orc over the edge and he clutched his stomach in agony. Staring wide-eyed at his father, tears began to form. “I-I can’t do this, Tormag! They’ll send me away! Or kill me!” Though he tried with all his might, the half-orc let his fear get the best of him. Kneeling down, he hid his face in the dwarf’s shoulder. “Please don’t make me go in there . . ..”

Tormag ran his hand over Bitrayuul’s hair. “Don’t worry, son. No matter what happens, I’ll be with ye, don’t ye doubt.” He looked into the half-orc’s face and wiped away the tears with his thick fingers. 

Bitrayuul continued to cry for a moment, though his fear was beginning to subside. Tormag always knew how best to calm him. The dwarf was the best father he could have asked for, a fact that he was eternally grateful for. Taking strength from his father’s assurances, Bitrayuul sniffled away his tears and took a steadying breath. After his nerves were driven back, he stood and turned to face the large door to the council’s chamber. 

Looking back to Tormag, the anxious half-orc asked, “Will you come with me?”

“Aye, lad,” the dwarf replied with a smile. “Always.”