#gorum

The amulet of a dead god.

“War and strife are a part of mortal life,” Irabeth began, “waged by the righteous and wicked alike. Gorum was the god of battle and weapons, Katalmach, embodied by every sword and spear wielded in war.” 

Irabeth placed her sword in front of the young orc, still in its sheath, continuing as Katalmach listened.

“Thousands of years ago, our ancestors lived in the Darklands, deep beneath the surface. As the dwarves drove orc-kind before them in the Quest of the Sky, they emerged to a sunless world and fought for a new home. It was a battle fought for survival, in desperation, in anger, but in the aftermath stood a lone suit of armor: Gorum, the Lord in Iron.”

“Gorum was the chaos of war in its purest form, the very embodiment of mortalkind’s violent urges. It angered him to see honest combat averted by words or magical schemes, yet such anger paled in comparison to his fury at those who slaughtered helpless prisoners and those who yielded. Alas, the false believers took his rage as a portent of his favor and even those who strove for higher ideals became convinced that Gorum demanded blood to be shed for its own sake.”

Poor Morveg. Even he felt that someone had to die to wield the Fang of Malice, and he was someone who fought for a higher purpose even as he sought to test himself. One day, she would tell Katalmach what happened there, if she did not ask Seelah or the others who were there that day.

And as Irabeth realized Katalmach was frowning at the amulet, she realized how she was steering into the same mistake Kyado deliberately did in his sermon yesterday.

“Seeing the suffering his followers, perhaps his existence, brought to the universe spurred Gorum’s honor. He acted, arranging for his own death in the desperate hope that without him empowering the worst of mortalkind, its best might thrive.”

“War continues, Katalmach: your parents and most of your tribe fell in it, but did so to defy enslavement to a lich bent on godhood. If you choose to become a warrior yourself, one day that may be your fate.” Irabeth pointed a finger towards the amulet. “But the cause is not what Gorum stood for: the act of battle itself, engaged in honorably. That is what Gorum stood for, and what he perished for.”

Irabeth picked up her sword again, drawing it and showing Katalmach the artistry that had gone into her father’s sword. She smiled as he eagerly studied it - especially as he looked at the intricate pattern work that went into Solemn Hour. Despite his name, perhaps he would not lose himself in battle.

“Could you teach me?” he finally asked. “Mom said she would.”

“Of course,” Irabeth answered. She and Anevia had discussed it. “But there are many other things you need to learn first. If Gorum still resides in every blade and spear, then you must know how to treat them properly first.”

Katalmach nodded in understanding, firmly holding Gorum’s symbol, and as the snow began to fall Irabeth could feel it.

Anevia had been right: even when she felt she had no more campaigns in her, she needed a cause.