Journal #4 - The Butcher’s Pit

There were eight cage doors built into the walls of the pit, and an entrance way leading to back-chambers. In the corners, orcs were looking through window-grates with polearms to strike at anyone that drifted too close. There was a small pool, and a fallen tree and various rocky outcroppings. A dozen or so half-folk, most armed and poorly armored, congregated in the center.
 
I remember seeing a strange little half-folk, standing near the pool. When things started getting hairy, he filled a bucket up with the stagnant putrid water, and doused himself. He seemed to disguise his scent, and the next thing I knew he’d disappeared.
 
Many half-folk died there, charging with fierce bravery. I will commemorate them in song, as soon as I am able. Improvised weapons wielded by a less-than-three foot tall hero, against a warg large enough to threaten even the strongest orc. Amazingly, some even landed blows, killing multiple wargs, but few survived themselves.
 
In the blink of an eye, it was over. Three of the wargs found meals and sated themselves, retreating to their cages to eat in peace. The remaining five were slain. Lug blocked open half the gates with an overgrowth of plants, and we scavenged some weapons from racks inside. Then the exit gate opened.
 
Three orcs came in following a Hyena-man, suggesting they’d reward us for slaying five wargs…five of us would be granted rest in their cells, the others would sit in the cold and the wet, and when the rain came, blood-sucking worms would come out of the soil to feast on us and prevent any meaningful rest. I didn’t trust these knuckle-draggers and I tried to communicate to my friends reject them - I could summon all the shelter we needed. Perhaps for the best, others insisted though, saying they wanted to play along and seem like they were participating in the orcs’ demand for ‘entertainment.’ A mixture of our party and the half-folk took the cells, and I provided shelter for the remainder, though there were several gates still locked open, so we could come and go there in some fashion.
 
While the Hyena-man was still there, I tried to persuade him to use our great abilities to strike down the Butcher and he could take his place, but I don’t think he bought it. I did convince one of the orcs that my offer was a threat though, and he warned the leader that he must be loyal – the non-orc didn’t care for the assumption of his lack of allegiance, and he threw the orc into the pit to stay the night with us.
 
I tried getting in the orcs head in due turn. He didn’t really take to it, so I resorted to intimidating him. He seemed under the false impression that he was safe with us, but I suspect I set him straight in that regard.
 
We rested within a dome of magic, and in the morning the Butcher spoke to us through the grate high above us. He gave Orlando a choice - free any one of us, at the price of sacrificing ten of the half-folk up above. He declined the offer, and instead said to let them go. Then the Butcher said he had five wolves – one for each warg we’d slain the night before. He was going to let them out after the half-folk, who were now fleeing for their lives. Orlando managed to convince him to wait five hours, instead of one hour, five again for the number of wargs. He liked that idea, and then asked Orlando if he wanted to fight for his freedom. We were instructed to wait in our cages, and we hesitantly did so.
 
Orlando had to fight a large orc on his own, but he came through. Ghiravont was freed, and began the trek topside. Another fight began, this time against a giant Ettin. It wasn’t looking nearly as well as the last engagement, and then everything went crazy.
 
I heard fighting up above, and the Butcher was thrown into the pit. He started yelling in a rage, and he mentioned the Red Witch, which piqued my interest, as well as the Five Kings. A man who I was later told was Orlando’s former instructor appeared, and freed us all from the cages. He told us to run to the surface and help Ghiravont take care of the pens in the center of the town, while he and Orlando battled the Butcher. On my way out, I finished off the Ettin who had taken a turn for the worse.
 
A few seconds later, and I was on my way up. I passed the orc who thought he’d be getting out today, still locked in a cage. I decided to spare his life, but I warned him if I ever saw his face in the Woods of Woe again, I would kill him.
 
Right as I was leaving, a troop of orc reinforcements arrived at the opposite door. I heard them erupt in rubble, Lug seemed to have a handle on them.
 
I was clothed only in a loincloth, and armed with a longsword in one hand, and a rusty shortsword in the other as I charged towards the pens, dodging arrow fire as well as I could. I passed Ghiravont on the way, who was liberating our possessions from the Butcher’s house. The next I saw, Orlando was being launched out of the pit by some magic of his master, who’d done the same to Domino a few minutes earlier. That was the last thing I noticed before I met the horde of orcs in battle, from their rear as they fought against the half-folk, who’d been freed from one of the entrances to the pens.
 
I was in a rage, and singing a song of battle and bloodlust. I did my best to inspire those around me, as I gave in to the joy of combat. The tides were turning. Right as I was striking down orcs up above, Domino’s instructor sacrificed himself in a final blow to the Butcher, mind-controlling his own wargs to eat him alive. In the distance, I saw the orc I’d warned bellowing at his fellows to flee back to the mountains.
 
As I came out of my trance, smoke billowed throughout the town, and bodies piled high. Groups formed to heave down the oppressive orc structures. The pit was turned into a mass grave to start with. One of the half folk approached me as I labored, asking to know who I was. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. Clearly, I am not like those who destroyed Gloedan, but I fear my clan is under a similar control, the Butcher mentioned the Red Witch by title after all. I simply said I came from far away, and hope to lead my people to a better path.
 
Some of our dwarven compatriots left for the mountains to inform them of the happenings. And slowly, things returned to normal. We spent the next few months rebuilding the town, with our labor, our magic and skill, and Lug’s wallet (and a few others to be fair). We’re treated as folk-heroes here now, it's an experience I never thought I had, and I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with it yet.
 
We’re still debating where to go next, but it sounds like Orlando is heading north to the mountains of Dunwarr, to warn the dwarves whose realm this technically is a part of, of the dangers and trespass. They may fund a fortress, or we may build one of our own. It's getting to be time the rest of us moved on, Orlando said he’d meet up with us. There’s a long list of people in need we still intend to aid, and all are to the south. Who knows where the road will lead us.