Legends of Belariath

Mozenwrathe

Kajmeir Zyzsynski - Transgressions

A modest priest, Kajmeir (pronounced like the fabric cashmere) never had a head for the more complicated things in life. Even as a lad, Kajmeir's passion for hearth and home prevented him from journeying far from the meadows and towns of his homeland. The largest place Kajmeir ever went was to a minor port a scant sixty miles from the house he was born in, and even then did the young man feel homesick, leaving in the darkness of night rather than wait for the safety of day. Prefering to serve in the temples of the halflings, Kajmeir just wanted to bestow upon his fellow halfling the joy and love he felt whenever he was in the temple of Gaea. Unfortunately for him, Kajmeir's fate was to be far from peaceful or simple...

Transgressions If not for me, many of my people would lay dead in the village. If not for my actions this night, could I know for certain in my heart that the young people of my quaint home would now be in chained or disemboweled and hung like garlands across the very trees they were climbing in the morning. If it were not for my quick thinking and swiftness of hand, would my eyes have been consumed by the eager jaws of death, and my body used as stew meat in the pots of the ogres of Gnikcip Ehtrof - right along side my favourite pony Tersion-Greth. In the hearts and souls of many would I be considered a hero and tales even now be woven about my cleverness to be sung in taverns across the land.

Then why do I feel as if I have done something horrific - so much so do I know I shall never be clean of this taint which coats my spirit even now? Maybe if I go back far enough, can I properly recite for you what transpired, and then you may draw your own conclusions.

Given my calling, I would believe it would be best to go to where I spend most of my days - at the small temple outside of my village where many of Gaea's worshippers go to be heard. I go there on a regular basis for a good reason - I am a servant of Gaea in the most humble of ways, administering her blessings and wisdom to the laypeople of my village whenever and wherever I can. To put it simple: I am a priest of nature. We of the smaller folk understand our place in nature better than most of the taller races, mainly as we are closer to the soil we ought treasure and care for than they are. This is not to say that some sylvan elves and centaurs are completely ignorant when it comes to Gaea; we just seem to be more humble and treat where we live with more concern than humans and high elves, for example. But I digress.

Two days ago I was in the temple, sweeping up the dust and brambles the worshippers trekked in with them. It is not a glorious task, but it is a necessary one. Morning prayers were long over, and the midday services were yet to be. I cannot say whom for sure was to be in that day, but I remember the nymph Elowyn Brightbranch was to stop by our humble temple later that day. For some reason, she had mentioned in a letter she had to "lose someone" in order to complete her own tasks that day, but she had not been more thorough in her script. I worried not, for she was always a source of interesting news and fantastic humour when she would make her routine visits. Still, something in her letter left me to wonder as to the rumours which had been traveling around the dale recently about her having to serve another who was supposedly working on translations for Gaea. I shook my head, and left such contemplation to busybodies and mistresses of espionage - such things were not for the likes of my mind to worry over. The sweeping fills my head, as my thoughts turned to song and service. A quiet hum emanated from my throat, and it was not an unpleasant sound to be heard. (I may not be a very good singer, but I can hum along with the best bards who drop by our way.)

Suddenly, in came a group of gore-covered ogres and their hobgoblin kindred. I have dealt with their kind before, and I know they are prone to violence just like the humans are. Dashing for cover (as I was the only one within the temple at the time), I hoped they were only interested in pillage and not determined to destroy the building itself as practice - if nothing else, for the future razing my village. They stank of old and dried blood, and their every step left flakes of grime and soot and undetermined chunks of their previous meals... or their victims. I did not try to get a better look, for their very voices left me trembling in my soft leather boots. Every word they spoke was in the common tongue, but it was a grand effort of theirs to swirl their thickened tones around the phrases. The conversation reminded me of when I first saw a freshwater kraken which managed to beach itself upon the side of a riverbank - slimy, horrendous, and completely out of its element.

"So then, Gutenfrahk, have you decided as to what we are doing here?"

I assumed by the loose way the first voice spoke that Gutenfrahk was the name of the largest ogre. There was no scorn or hatred in the tone as far as I could tell, but there was something akin to fear or respect in it - maybe both. From my vantage point, I could look through one of the cracks in one of the pews we had been able to get from one of the high elven towns fairly close by. They were old but sturdy, and at this time was I thankful for their extensive usage. Gutenfrahk stood at least eight feet tall - more than twice my meager height. The axe by his side looked like it weighed more than I myself, and the sword appeared to still be dripping from his last conquest.

"Yes I have, Orenxun you Mehrial-lusting battle-hound. We shall take the others tonight to camp close to the halfling village close to here, and on the morrow shall we feast on their terror and watch their guts slide down our blades. These little folk are small and weak, and as such are the perfect prey for slaving and a good dose of hunting. Make sure your allies and clanmates do not get over-eager again, as we do not wish to give these little bastards a running chance - at least not until we are ready for sport. Their womenfolk are purported to be homely but sturdy enough to withstand a good beating inside and out. I have yet to sample one of their women, but I do intend to by tomorrow night!"

The other four ogres with Gutenfrahk began to laugh and pound each other on the back. Obviously they were all looking forward to whatever wickedness they had in store for my innocent friends and unsuspecting family back home. I was far too nervous to realize how my creeping backwards was going to knock over the candleholder behind me. When it fell and clattered to the floor, I knew I was going to die a horrible and merciless death far enough from home so that my soul would be doomed to be a ghost forever.

"What was that?"

"I KNEW I smelled something foul within these walls! Ssobhsorf, Yadotpraw - go and find whomever did that and bring them before me ALIVE. I want to know what they heard before I string their bowels up before me and roast their liver over the pyre of their ancestors!"

I could barely make out the names, but the intent was all there before me like I was reading it off of parchment. Their leader had just sent two of his goons to pick me up and drag me before him. Just before they reached me (which was a lot longer than one would thinkwhen your life is flashing before your eyes), I came upon an idea - one that would never work, but it was better than facing death with mouth ajar and eyes bulging.

I closed my eyes as if I were asleep, and began to snore - LOUDLY.

Within seconds was I being hoisted from my hiding spot - which, of course, required them to physically hurl the long benches away from where I was resting. Cleaving them to pieces with their swords, the pair of ogres grabbed me by the arms and carted me before Gutenfrahk. Throwing me down to where his nasty dirt-covered boots were, the two ogres drew back from their leader and sheathed their weapons - more than likely at a gesture from him to do so. Needless to say, my legs were badly bruised as I crashed against the floor of the temple, as it was made with long planks of fallen wood. The only thing I could think of doing is not seeing my death come to me.

My eyes remained tightly shut as one in deep slumber, and my snoring increased.

I felt a boot crash into my ribcage, almost shattering it from the force. Never before had I been struck with such force, did I think they brought in a mule just to punt me across the room. Smashing against the floor again, I tumbled for a few moments until I found myself sprawled on my back and looking at the ceiling of the temple. Making a swift and silent prayer to Gaea for the success of my plan, did I then fully set my little deception in motion. Moving around as if someone rising from a rather mysterious dream, I got to my feet shakily while rubbing my eyes. When I turned to face the gathering of ugliness which stared at me from across the room, I waved to them in a friendly manner before coughing out the pain in my chest.

"Good morning to you all! I take it you are here for the afternoon prayers to Gaea in all her wisdom and glory? My name is Kajmeir and I would be more than happy to -"

The one called Orenxun turned around to face me. I then wondered if there really was a difference between the fearsomeness hobgoblins and ogres radiated. While the ogres seemed content to gawk at me almost foolishly (which is not quite their fault as Gutenfrahk's punting had sent from one side of the temple to nearly the other side), the hobgoblin Orenxun stormed up to me in a rage which rivalled any bull in rutting season. I began to question the wisdom of my plan, but I kept up my smiling visage as Orenxun drew a dagger and hoisted me in the air with one strong and well-muscled arm. With the evil gleam in his eye and the rumbling I heard from his stomach, I thought he might not wait until tomorrow to try a taste of halfing meat.

"You are now my prisoner, priest! You will tell me everything I wish to know about the halfing village, or I will carve your flesh from your bones and consume you raw strip by greasy and quivering strip!"

"I, my master hobgoblin, cannot do such a thing as I do not live around here. In fact, this is my first day at the temple. I can, if you wish, send a prayer to Gaea for you?"

His response was to slam me bodily into a longbench, breaking it with my back. Now, most heroes in the tales survive such a blow and spit in the faces of their captors, only to have a dagger up their sleeves to cut themselves free. This is real life, and my physical reaction was far more predictable: I fell unconscious. The last thing I heard was not the kind words of Gaea offering me strength, or perhaps the sneering vituperations of the hobgoblin. No, what I heard was the splintering of wood, and the exhalating of my breath as it was forced from my chest.

While unconscious, I found myself by a pool of water. A beautiful stream flowed into it, and fish and birds of myriad colours and forms enjoyed themselves in it. The sun was shining brightly, and the wind was a light breeze suitable for tickling the joy into the most hardened of souls. Looking into the water, did I see a reflection of a badly bruised halfling, seemingly on the verge of tears or death. My eyes blinked as I realized that was my own visage I was witnessing, and then did I know I could not have been dead and in the Glades of Forever Bliss. None ever saw themselves as they were at their worst when they died if they had achieved such a treasure for their final place of rest. And as I could not sense any wickedness creeping through my skin to torment me, I knew something extremely horrible was going to happen to me: sooner or later, I was going to have to wake up and face that hobgoblin and his ilk again. Unable to reconcile myself to the fact I was going to die without any good reason, an old human myth about my people struck my mind and began to seem down into my consciousness. By the time I felt the violent pull of reality coming for me, I knew what I was going to do. All I had to accomplish was the improbable while surviving the impossible. Then again, if high elves could learn how not to be annoying, then surely it had been done before, right?

My body was covered in water. Actually, I thought I was drowning until I was yanked from the barrel of rainwater the ogres had been throwing me into for fun and games. Spitting up what felt like an ocean, I found myself gasping for air which was reluctant to be drawn back into my chest. Fighting to regain consciousness seemed to be more of a chore than I previously expected it to be. A few slaps to my face from a large and clawed hand helped me along the way, all from the one hobgoblin who bore any interest in me. Normally, one would not want any attention from a hobgoblin, but this I felt could work in my favour. As he hoisted me to his face with one arm again (which I suspected he did to strike terror in me, and awe into his fellow hobgoblins), I smelled the remains of what he must have ate for lunch. Given that some of it was still caught between his stained fangs, it was not hard to wince in horror from the sight.

"What have you been eating anyway? Whom is your cook? Do you not have any concern for what you put into your stomach?"

This caught the attention of the ogres as well as some of the hobgoblins. Whatever many say about any group of men, the best way to their souls is through their stomach. And as many humans believe, we halfings are some of the best cooks in Belariath. One has said you give us nothing but mud and granite with a hot oven and enough water, we will provide an army with gruel to warm their blood and cool their tempers for a week. Now, that is completely untrue, but we do have a way with food. Knowing I had most of their attention, I went on with my speech, hoping they would keep all their thoughts on their grumbling bellies and not on the fact they were planning on raping and killing my brethren the next day. Looking up at the sky, I saw that dusk was soon approaching. Not much time to pull off this minor miracle, but I had to do something.

"Put me down, you big lout, before you devour me because your gruel was not good enough to satiate the needs of a slug!"

Saying that with far more conviction than I felt, I put on my most stern look and ripped that one rotting morsel from his tooth with my bare hand. Such audacity was unexpected by him or those around him, and one could see the momentum swinging in my favour. Looking at the raw meat in my fingers with the disgust it warranted, I flung it behind me arrogantly. From the shout of annoyance I heard a few scant seconds later, it must have struck someone in the eye. The snickering that followed was swiftly silenced by a loud series of thumps - more than likely the three laughing got to have dinner early in the form of knuckle sandwiches. So much the better for me as it meant the legion of reavers had not eaten well in days, if not weeks. With my small voice, I bellowed at Orenxun as best I could without letting the natural terror within my heart get the best of me again.

"I said put me down you selfish oaf, unless you intend on eating me right here in front of all your friends and depriving them of a properly made meal by one of the premier natural cooks in the region! Go ahead, you big nincompoop! Strip me bare with your huge dagger and savour my flesh while all of your allies here are starving from the lack of a properly made buffet. Rip me limb from limb and suckle the marrow from my bones in front of your poor and hungry companions. Be the big and bad hobgoblin you are and hoard me for yourself, rather than giving me the chance to perform culinary magic for your troops!"

I had them now. A low rumble and howl was going up amongst the masses: they wanted me free so I could make them something better than whatever it was they had been eating. This was the opportunity I needed. If nothing else, this was my moment of truth. That, or the moment I was going to speared through and roasted over an open fire. Orenxun did not like the rather angry looks being sent his way the longer he held onto my jerkin. Before any of the horde could actually say anything, he hurled me into the arms of one of the ogres, snarling out a very simple set of commands which chilled me to my core:

"Make him cook for us. When he is done, he eats first. If he does not die then, he remains our slave. Any sign of him trying to escape, kill him and skin him. No, skin him FIRST, and then kill him by roasting him skewered over an open firepit. If he escapes, I do that to -you-."

I removed any thoughts of trying to make a break for it from my mind. Instead, I focused solely on how best to get things moving in the direction they would need to be. Before I took up the robes of Gaea, I had worked in the kitchens of my uncle's tavern. I was never any good at the finer fare, but I could make a mean stew when I needed to. Now, I was going to put all that talent to good use; preventing one's self from becoming stew is always a noble cause. Looking up at the ogre who had me cradled in his arm, I make a motion for him to place me on my feet. If I had been thinking in the moment, I would have included a "gently" in there as well. Falling to my knees from the great height, I banged my head against the ground, cutting myself on a sharp rock which protruded from the soil. Feeling the gash extend from brow to brow, I ripped off part of the bottom of my jerkin to make a headband and staunch the bleeding. After all, a good cook never flavours his mail dishes with anything like his own sweat and blood - unless he absolutely has to.

When I was finally brought to the mess tent, I saw what kind of challenge was being put before me. I had never seen such a terrible and terrifying assortment of bones and bloody pieces of flesh as I saw there. Almost choking on my own bile, my eyes swam from the acrid stench of previous "meals" and snacks this motley assortment of manglers enjoyed until I got here. Seeing that I was going to need some help, I summoned all the courage I had left and turned on the ogre whom was my personal guard until I was rendered useless.

"Get me ten of the laziest, fattest, and most useless of your bunch and bring them here. There is no way I can work in conditions like this. And if you think what Orenxun has planned for you if I escape, imagine what the rest of your crew will do if I tell them you stopped me from making them dinner! Now hurry up and don't you dare tally! I have a lot of organizing to do, and not a lot of time to do it in. And be sure to bring me a few barrels of water as well, or there will be a mutiny with your name on it."

Turning on my heel, I promptly ignored the ogre, hoping that my demands would spur him into action.

They did.

Within three minutes, were ten of the fiends whom by the end of the following day were hoping to be satiating their lusts with the bodies of my kinfolk. Once again did my stomach threaten to erupt all over me, but I quelled it with violent memories of being slammed through the bench earlier on. My back still ached from the blow, but I knew I could not fall or falter now. Five hobgoblins and five ogres stood before me, scratching themselves and snickering half-drunkenly. These were precisely the type of oafs I wanted for this next step, as the threats I was going to use would strike fear into even their calloused hearts.

"Alirihgt ein veindurgashz!" I yelled, stunning at least two of the more slovenly ogres into silence. "You ten have been selected to be my personal assistants in the grand meal for the evening. If you want to eat well, I would suggest you listen to my tiny self and do what I tell you. If you don't all your clanmates and bloodbrothers will know it was all YOUR fault they did not have a chance to dine well this night. You lazy and good-for-nothing slobs have been living fat off the efforts of your kindred, and now it is time you paid them back. So unless any of you wish to challenge Gutenfrahk for leadership right this second, I would strongly suggest you start with cleaning up this mess of bowls and cauldrons by scouring them with sand and taking them down to the river and washing them out."

The hobgoblins tried to make a dash for me, but the ogre who had been appointed to my behaviour slapped one into unconsciousness, and picked up two others in grips harder than any bearhug a bard ever sung to me.

"Youz does as he SEZ, maggotbrains, or I'z smashin' yer skulls into paste and uze DAT in the stews tonightz, youz HEAR ME?"

Wow. Never did I think an ogre would come to my rescue in my life. I was almost sorry 'bout what I had in mind for them all.

Almost.

I sent the two hobgoblins the brawny guard had throttled to do the cleaning of ALL the cauldrons and bowls. The hobgoblin who was struck so hard he passed out was stuck with the organizing of meat and bones - scraping off all the meat from them and tossing all the rotting meat into an empty wooden barrel for bait. Three of the ogres went out to hunt for long poles for the "fishing" expedition they were to accomplish, and the other two ogres my guard had found were sent into the forest to forage for mushrooms and wild grasses I knew to be edible - that was after a very detailed and explicit explanation of which ones to take and which to leave behind. My guard had become my assistant - mainly due to the fact he had been the cook up until then. We got two of the cauldrons going with rainwater, shoving all the old meat and bones into one, leaving the second one to boil over.

The still moping and aching hobgoblin I told to watch over the stew cauldron, leaving him with at least seven different dusts and spices to add to the cauldron. I also told him to cut the hands off of anyone who dared tried to eat before it was time. He liked that particular instruction - far more than was truly reassuring. As I left the cauldrons to his watchful eye, I noticed he started sharpening his longknife with renewed vigor. I had a feeling "extra meat" was on his mind, and it would be the freshest in the cauldron yet.

The two ogres which were doing the foraging were also to hunt some of the wild dire boars in the forest if they could. They had always been plaguing my village, and if I could kill two birds with one pebble, I was going to. I had a feeling they would be less successful with the roots and plants than the hunting, but I was not worried about that part at all. Leaving the three ogres with instructions to catch a freshwater kraken using the rotted meats from earlier, I took off with the ogre cook into the forest to gather the ingrediants I was going to need for the stews and roasting. This I did with an urgency I never had before, as the dusk had come earlier, but still I had no time to waste. The night was young, and I wanted to grow old. Making sure the ogre cook never saw exactly all that I had gathered, I made sure he kept up with me almost every step of the way. I remembered well the orders of Orenxun, and I had no intent to perish like a stuck pig.

By the time I had returned, so had the ogres and the hobgoblins. Setting forth my bounty, I sent out the hobgoblins (except for the one still watching over the main stewing cauldron) into the forest to get me bark and leaves, tubers and roots. After all, a stew should have some vegetables within to give it extra flavour. I noticed that there was blood on the knife the hobgoblin set to guard the stew cauldron was sharpening now. At least none could say they did not get their share for lack of trying.

The ogres got to work skinning the boars they had caught - all three of them. No mushrooms or grasses were in their sacks, so I knew for certain they had been busy getting the massive pigs captured and gutted rather than seeking out what I had told them to. No matter this, as this meal would be the best I ever made with or without the flavourings my grandaunt used to throw in. With abandon did I throw myself into the role of kitchen lord, putting all within my sight to work on something. Skinned meat was seasoned with some of the herbs and grasses I had found from before, while the kraken (which had almost killed the impromptu fisher-ogres) was chopped and gutted, the innards tossed into the main stew cauldron. Soon there would be nothing left of the freshwater miniature monster, diced and chopped and set to fry in skillets or roast in cubed steaks on pikes set high over the now roaring cooking pits. the pig innards were also thrown into the main stew cauldron, right along side the lion's share of the grasses and leaves I had collected with the ogre cook in the forest.

Now the night was growing long, and the horde was growing impatient. By the time the hobgoblins had returned, Gutenfrahk himself had stormed into the main cooking tent where I was, fingering his sword irritatedly. Before he had a chance to say a word, I started my explanation of the delay.

"Well, none can eat before I have tasted all of what is to be served. And until it is finished, I am not tasting it. Unless you wish to override your second-in-command's own edicts - mainly to keep YOUR large gullet safe from poisons (as if I lowly halfing like myself would sully his work with such things) - I would suggest you GET OUT and WAIT TO BE SERVED!"

Have I told you we halflings are most powerful when in a kitchen setting? If not, you would have laughed when Gutenfrahk - all nine feet of muscle, bone, and fury - left the tent cowed by my outrage at his interrupting my "grand works." I always wondered how it was that my grandaunt was always able to get even the most rowdy of guests in line with a chirp and a wave of her favourite wooden spoon, but now I knew. When you have control over the belly of a hungry beast, they try to hold off from biting you as long as they can. This was so with the ogres and hobgoblins. I kept them waiting for as long as I could, adding more and more seasonings to the stew cauldrons and roasting flesh of animals.

Just when I felt my guard was going to rebel against my ruling of the kitchen, I chose that time to release the hounds on their meal. Smiling at him, I told him to get Orenxun. After all, if I did not show him the food was not poisoned or fiendishly bad, he was sure to slaughter me and throw me onto the embers of one of the cooking fires. With a small gathering of starving subordinates behind him and Gutenfrahk tapping his food anxiously, Orenxun came to the main mess tent. Before his very eyes, I tried something from every pot and pan, from every firepit and bowl. Proclaiming them all safe after downing a mug of murfwort tea I had boiled for myself, I began the long and ardurous task of serving out food to each and every one of the mother-killers and father-rapists. Each and every one of them did I make sure to get their fair share of whatever it was they asked for, whether it be the fish, the innard stew (which by that time smelled so good even I would have been tempted to eat more than a morsel of it), or the roasted wild boars.

They came back for seconds. They came back for thirds. They came back when they lost count of how many servings they had eaten before. And when that was done, they downed the teas and ales like they were the mythical deserts of the third continent itself. I had never seen so much food disappear so fast before, even after seeing workcrews of dwarves after a long day of mining stroll through my village and visit my uncle's tavern with naught but gold chunks to pay with. Every mouth was filled with food and drink as long as they wanted it, and even the most gluttonous of the lot could not help but be appeased. That was exactly what I had been hoping for.

You see, Orenxun was right to not trust me and have me taste everything. I had poisoned the lot of the food, but in small doses and in separate ways. The only way the poison could possibly work is for the person to imbibe a great amount of the food or the beverages - or both, which is what the bastards were doing. In small doses, the poison was used as a sleeping potion for those struck with the inability to fall asleep. In larger doses, it was used as a trick to keep people out for days at a time. And as its potency increased the larger the person was, I knew that none of the horde before me this night was going to wake the next day. I waited until the dawn of the next day to confirm my suspicions, as all I had wanted to do was delay them long enough to give my village a chance to be warned and escape to safety. Before I checked on the first one, I asked Gaea for a minor miracle that my plan had worked.

It was far more successful than I had dreamed... or feared.

They were all dead.

One by one, they had perished that night, and all they would do now is rot in the hells of their makers. Even the curmudgeon Orenxun had succumbed, his body so peaceful in the bosom of death. Creeping quietly through the camp even though there was no need to, I took all their most valuable treasures with me and hiked back to the village, informing the village leaders of what I had seen in the forest, leaving out all that had transpired betwen my abduction and my leaving the camp. Sending forth messages to the neighbouring villages, my village elder commended me on carrying with me such information and thought I ought be rewarded. I told him all I wished to do is go back to my quiet temple and serve Gaea.

So what does that make me? A hero? A thief? A murderer? Tell me, as I kneel here at your altar my Goddess, what am I now?

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