Fortifying the Pass of Worr Croa

Smoke thickens along the left fence line, hiding the trampled row beyond. The Mogol giant lies half-buried in mud, twitching under bolts and spearpoints. Druk stands over it, crossbow ready, while his ogres hold the ring tight.

The ogres surge forward at once. One pins the giant’s arm, another hauls rope from a belt hook, and the spear line shifts outward to keep the smoky fence in sight. The giant shudders, but the weight on it keeps it down.

Druk’s choice turns a broken raider into a prize. The farm bowl stays his, and now the captured giant may point him toward whatever threat is testing his borders next.

Ogres knot fresh rope around the giant’s wrists and ankles, then cinch the knots to a broken fence post. Druk’s order ripples outward, and two more workers peel off to haul splintered rails aside and stack usable timber.

With a short arcane mutter, Druk bends the giant’s guttural tongue into rough common. The prisoner gives a low groan, then coughs mud.

The Crossbow Leader shifts his stance and looks toward the far fence, where smoke still crawls along the posts. The Spear Rank drives his spear butt into the earth and starts directing two ogres to brace the broken gap.

Druk’s ogres drag the giant upright just enough for questioning, while another pair plants a fresh post and begins lashing rails back into place. Mud squelches under heavy boots, but the line holds.

Druk levels the crossbow at the giant’s throat, close enough that the bound brute freezes. The mud around its knees trembles as it swallows hard.

The giant jerks its chin toward the repaired fence, then toward the smoke line, as if naming the route of the next attack without daring to move.

The spear line keeps bracing the gap while the last loose rails are hauled into place, and the giant stays very still under Druk’s aim, waiting for his answer.

Druk lowers the crossbow just enough to make the giant listen. His terms land like a hammer on an anvil, and the prisoner’s shoulders sag as the weight of them sinks in.

The giant glances toward the fence, then the bowl beyond it, already measuring labor instead of escape. The smoke drifts thinner now, and the farm line keeps its shape behind him.

At that, he nods toward the cave mouth and the stacked stone beyond the gate, as if accepting that his back will meet Druk’s walls before it meets freedom.

The prisoner swallows, then answers before anyone else can press him further. His voice is rough, but steady enough to carry. 'Bruk. I build stone well, and I know the mountain paths.'

Druk turns his hand, and the nearest ogres snap to attention. His order rolls across the bowl, sharp and simple.

Heads lift along the fence line. Workers pause with rope and post between their hands, watching for the big green ogre to answer.

A heavier set of boots thuds through the trampled dirt, coming from the camp road beside the farm plots.

Roggo stops at the edge of the work crew, broad-shouldered and alert, waiting for the next command while Bruk keeps still in the mud.

Druk points, and the work crew parts around his decision like reeds before a boot. Roggo straightens at once, ready to take the burden.

Roggo jerks his chin, already choosing the hardest hands nearby. Bruk’s shoulders sag a fraction as the new sentence lands on him.

The nearest ogres fall into motion, lifting the bound giant clear of the mud and hauling him toward the path into the castle caves, where iron and torchlight wait.

From the fence line, the Spear Rank keeps the rest of the crew working while he glances after them. The question now hangs on the march down, who Roggo trusts to lock the cell and who he leaves with the key.

Druk falls in behind the escort, silent as stone. The ogres hauling Bruk keep moving toward the cave mouth, while torchlight from below starts to catch on wet mud and chain.

At the lower entrance, Roggo signals the door watch to clear a lane. Bruk is guided through the iron-bound threshold, his pace slow but steady under the ropes and hands on him.

Roggo gives a short, grim nod and points one ogre toward the kitchens, another toward the cell block. Bruk hears it and lowers his head, saying nothing.

The cell door clangs open below, and the escort begins to turn Bruk inside. Torchlight flickers across wet stone as the last guard steps into place behind him.