Dugbúrz's Story by Artano

Whispers of the Past

It had been several hours since Dugbúrz and his six companions exited the long, narrow tunnel that twisted through the bedrock away from the peaks of Thangorodim.  Hours since they had crept out of inky blackness into the darkness of a starless night and began their journey away from all they had known.  With the warning about the harsh terrain they would be crossing echoing in their ears, they had packed plenty of water, hoping it would be sufficient until they could find a precious urn left by those who had escaped before.  If there were any left.  Since they had left the foothills and entered the parched plain, they had seen several shattered pots, their shards crunching softly under foot as the orcs passed by.  Now, as the blackness lightened slightly, Dugbúrz and his allies curled up among a few boulders, praying to whomever would protect any such as them that they would escape notice.

They rest all that day, not daring to stir so close to the keen eyes of the guards positioned in the mountains towering behind them, even in the twilight cast by the thick vapors blocking the sun.  Only after the darkness thickens into another starless night do they sip a little water from the pouches they carry and continue their journey.  Slowly, as the hours pass, the mountains diminish behind them.  But Dugbúrz remains vigilant, for the danger of patrols remains a constant threat to his little band's safety.  The night passes quietly, and as dawn begins to lighten the sky, they again make camp among some boulders.

They rest through the day, uneventful expect for a patrol passing a few hundred yards away.  Fortunately, they remain unseen, looking like nothing more than smaller boulders in the twilight under the dark, vaporous clouds  above. They set off again at night, journeying farther into the parched, dusty plain and passing more shattered pots, a reminder of their own dwindling water supply.  Dugbúrz and his companions make good time and the mountains continue diminishing behind them throughout the night.  Around midnight, they pass beyond the normal reaches of the patrols, but they remain silent as they walk, the close brush with a patrol during the day reminding them just how far the hand of the High King could reach.  Many miles pass behind them the rest of the night.  As the sun begins to lighten the sky, Dugburz realizes that the vapors above are thinning so far from Thangorodrim, allowing him and his companions to see further in the gray dawn.

But the brighter light reveals a problem: there is no cover nearby.  After a hasty conference, the band decides to travel further, and they pick up their pace, feeling exposed under the thinning clouds above.  After a few hours, they reach another boulder field and swiftly slink in among them, slipping into their shadows.  Dugbúrz sips from his near empty water skin and curls up to rest when suddenly a low call rises from several boulders away.  Immediately, he rises to a crouched defensive position, his long knife in his hands, alert for danger.  But another call sets his nerves at ease.  "Water!  There's water here!"  He moves towards the voice, the last of his company to arrive, to see Pushdug holding up a blue urn, cradling it in his hands as he stares at it with wonder.

Pushdug looks up at him as he approaches. "The stories are true. They left water for us," he says softly, fragile hope blooming in his eyes.  There was someone out there looking out for them; perhaps they had a chance to make it to freedom after all.  Dugbúrz moves towards him, his eyes fixed on the precious water.  "Divide it among your water skins," he orders. "And don't drink too much; we don't know when we might find another one."  Pushdug nods and pours some into his water skin, handing it to Dugbúrz next.  Dugbúrz's breath catches as he stares down at the water sloshing from the movement, the blue-glazed pottery shining like a jewel through it.  "It looks like...like the sea," he whispers after a moment, mesmerized by the waves rippling in the urn.  At his words, the other orcs gather around and stare at the water.  They all had heard whispers of the sea, passed down from orc to orc: murmured tales of a great blue water, sparkling in the sun, stretching as far as the eye could see, and of a paradise, free from all pain and sorrow, somewhere beyond the far horizon.  Some said the stories heralded back to the first orcs, that some of them had once lived in the paradise.  But it was unreachable to all now.  Yet stories still persisted of its wonders.  And some whispered that upon death, an orc's soul might be able to return there, beyond all reach of the High King or his Lieutenant.

After several long minutes, Dugbúrz takes a deep breath, tearing his eyes from the water and looking up at the orcs surrounding him, his expression resolute.  "Until we are free or we meet beyond the Sea."