The Lore of Clan Goran - Chapter 3 - A Patrol of the Lost

[Kane]

Choosing the members of the patrol was easier then I expected, even though I knew that every man I chose would likely die. In some ways I was an executioner walking through my people choosing who should live and who should die; who was worthy of the food and shelter of the clan and who were excess to our needs. As I walked through the hold, there were older warriors who would not meet my eye, concerned that I would chose them and ashamed of their fear. I could not use men like them, everyone I chose needed to be more concerned about the fate of the clan then their own lives.

My first two choices were easy, two old warriors that were crippled in the never ending fighting against the Shadow. The first, Meloc, had lost his shield arm, crushed while fighting a spawn years ago. With one arm, he could not stand in the shield wall and his ability as a hunter or craftsmen were very limited. Strong of spirit and a tested warrior, I knew he would be a good addition.  The other warrior had no visible wounds; his injuries were all inside his head. Balten was one of the strongest fighters I had ever seen, but his mind was like that of a child.  He retained his skills as a tracker, but treated it like a child’s game. He needed constant care and could slip into a very dangerous berserk rage. A burden to the clan and his family, he would have his uses if we kept close watch on him.

The next three came to me, volunteering once they heard my mission. The three, Darol, Marken, and Sul, were not of our clan, but refugees of a clanhold to the east that had been cut off and unable to return to their people.  They were three brothers, part of a force sent to slow the Shadow’s advance that was too late to return and join their people. Everyone they knew and loved were likely dead, but if there was a chance to see if their hold still survived, they would take it. Over the past two years, they had been treated well by my clan, but always felt like outsiders and unworthy of living if their clan was gone. All three had proven reliable hunters and with no family, they would not be missed.

My last two choices were considered strange by the elders. The first, Ammos, was a skilled miner who had been horribly burned in a mine explosion years ago.  With the extent of his burns, and his disfigurement, it was amazing he survived. Even years later, he remained in fairly constant pain and many thought he’d be a liability. I’d known him from birth and his late father had been a close friend. Ammos knew more about the rock then anyone else in the hold and I knew I could rely on him to cover our trail.  The last choice was the oddest yet, a feral dwarf that we had captured wandering in the outer caverns.  From what little we could piece together, his band had been slaughtered by Shadow spawn and he been wandering alone for almost a year. He was kept chained at night and treated like a wild dog. With little ability to communicate and fear that he would turn on his masters, many doubted my choice. Somehow, his people had survived in the heart of Shadow territory able to avoid detection.  If I could harness that ability, maybe, just maybe, some of the patrol would survive and return to the hold.