Lymar Village,
Kirkcour Woods.
12:42 pm, 13 th Banem 1092.
Crackle…
Kashi and his companions stood among the centaurs, faces serene as they watched the fallen centaurs’ burial rites. Like most woodland tribes in this world, the centaur tribes chose to burn the dead bodies because wildernesses and deserted regions were ho to many evil spirits that sought out freshly buried bodies to inhabit.
It was not unheard of for undead to rise from graveyards. The situation was much better in major cities because priests often blessed ceteries and tombs to reduce undead corruption.
“Thank you, Kashi-dono.” Darian expressed his gratitude as tears flowed down his cheeks. His heart ached as he looked across the burning pyres to the new widows and children that solemnly stood by the Lymar Tribe’s chief. Determination burned in his eyes as he gripped a new spear strapped to his right flank. “I swear I will make the bastards responsible for this pay.”
“That you will,” Kashi promised as he watched the smoke plus rise to the sky. Usually, this ritual would have been held at night, but because of the expeditory nature of Darian’s next task, it was pushed to the afternoon. Kashi bowed to the burning pyres then turned around. He tapped Darian on the shoulder, “Co. We need to hurry if we’re to reduce the number of pyres that will rise tonight.”
“You are right.” Darian solemnly murmured. He saluted his companions with a bow and then led Kashi, Shadow, and Larsial out of the village.
Darian halted at the village entrance when he saw ten young warriors awaiting their arrival. Darian’s brows furrowed as he looked at the warriors. “Why are you all here?”
“The chief has asked that we escort you on this mission,” an armored centaur stated with a salute. “Please allow us this honor.”
Darian’s pupils trembled as images of his companions flitted through his eyes. “No, I cann-“
“Why don’t you let them?” Kashi interrupted before Darian could complete his rejection. “Do not let your comrades’ deaths cloud your judgnt. We are embarking on a dangerous mission with no assurance of victory. Every able-bodied soldier we can get on our side is, without a doubt, a plus. Imagine if you died because you rejected help. Do you want your comrades to suffer guilt even after death?”
“Your words are harsh,” Darian rebuked with a steely gaze.
“Harsh they may be, but true nonetheless,” Kashi calmly countered. “Every soldier who picks up a sword is ready to die for the land they love. To pretend otherwise is an insult to their honor and na. These n have chosen to risk their lives to protect their holand. Why do you wish to prevent them this honor? Or could it be you feel you are the only one worthy of saving the centaurs?”
Kashi’s rebuke bit into the core of Darian’s soul. The centaur prince’s heartbeat quickened as realization dawned. Just what had he been doing this whole ti? Darian let out a sigh and looked at the warriors. “You may follow. Please, your life is most important of all. You can only save others while you live. Do not forget that.”
Kashi let out a smile. “Don’t worry too much. As long as I’m here, you probably won’t have to do much.” This was not simple boasting on the daeben’s part. Kashi had calculated the average strength of the common blight from Shadow and Larsial’s battle.
As long as an anomaly like the marilith did not show up, Kashi was confident in clearing out any number of blights. This confidence was even more pronounced when he thought of the hundreds of arrows he bought from the centaurs.
“These villages, how far are they from us?” Kashi asked.
“The closest is about an hour’s ride from here,” Darian stated as he marked the earth with a few dots to represent the villages and their distance from each other.
Kashi’s brow rose as an intrigued glint flashed in his eyes. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes,” Darian confird as he connected the dots with a line. “It’s a spear.”
Kashi’s eyes lit up as he studied the strange formation. There were six centaur villages in Kirkcour Woods. Of the six, three made up the spear’s ‘shaft’ with Lymar positioned at the spear’s butt. The final three ford a rough triangle, which, when connected to the village furthest on the spear’s shaft, ford a diamond-like shape that was precisely the spear tip.
Kashi rubbed his chin as an amused glint shone in his eyes. Could this be the reason the centaurs were unwilling to leave this place? Could there be a secret related to this formation?
Kashi thought about it, then shrugged it off. No use wondering. Ti would eventually tell. More importantly, there was sothing strange about this image. “Didn’t your father say four villages were under attack? Including this village, that should make five. I count six here.”
Darian’s eyes grew heavy as he drew an X on the first village. “The Bedu clan was wiped out a week ago, and its shaman captured.”
“There are six shamans?” Kashi questioned with a furrowed brow. “This ritual, are you sure it works with five shamans?”
“It will work,” Darian confird with a nod. “However, the effects will not be as good as when six shamans carry it out.”
“I see,” Kashi muttered as the wheels in his head began to spin. “So, that’s how it is.”
“Kashi-dono?” Darian worried that Kashi would be displeased and hurried to explain. “The chief ant no harm. He did not want you to put himself in unnecessary danger.”
“It’s fine,” Kashi placated with a smile. “I do understand his reasoning. It’s just unfortunate that I will have to disappoint him. I am precisely the kind of person who seeks out unnecessary danger.”
Kashi then asked as he recalled a troubleso point. “Are you certain the shaman was captured and not killed, and do you have any way of knowing if he’s still alive?”
“Yes, he is alive,” Darian confidently stated with a firm nod. “I saw him at the enemy’s camp. So soldiers were torturing him for information, but he would not budge.”
“Torture, huh, such an ineffective thod,” Kashi rebuked. He then added with a laugh. “Alright, then. Let’s liberate those villages first. We’ll figure out how to rescue the shaman later.”
Darian looked at the daeben with deep respect in his eyes. He knew Kashi primarily wanted to help his horse. Kashi should have considered the missing shaman as a significant loose edge. Instead, the daeben had pushed that to the back of his mind in favor of rescuing the trapped villagers. Darian doubted he would ever be able to repay the mounting debts.
“Yes, Kashi-dono.” Darian charged into the woods with Kashi’s entourage by his side, while the village’s warriors brought up the rear. The thundering of hooves bood through the forest as the company sped toward the first village.
This was bound to be the most taxing hour of their lives.
Oerbora, Daggerfall.
1:45 pm 14 th Banem 1092.
Within the last couple of hours, the city’s population skyrocket as orc tribes from all over the region gathered at the rallying point. The thick sll of blood and rage drowned the city in a malevolent atmosphere akin to a powder keg. The raging orcs barely kept their emotions in check, but all it would take was one spark, and the entire place would go up in flas.
A company of orcs rushed through the city gates on panting wild boars. Typically, the guards would never allow such an unruly entrance, but today was a special occasion. With so many angry orcs simultaneously entering the city, there was a high chance the standard searching procedures would end in a catastrophe.
The orcs jumped down from their mounts as soon as they passed the city gates. There were no stables in the city large enough to handle this many mounts, so the beasts were handed over to guards who would arrange a place for them outside the city.
These orcs were the warriors from Rhatheth, led by the powerful duo, Grovitch and Durst.
Durst’s large fra and long tusks commanded respect from passersby, a privilege he instantly exploited by grabbing a random orc. He obtained the eting place’s location from the orc, and then led his brothers to the given position.
There was only one structure in the orcish city capable of holding the thousands of orcs gathered from all over the region.
The arena was not what most would expect. It was a large patch of land, around which, rising, interlocked wooden benches were built. Each level of the benches could hold at least one thousand orcs sitting side by side, and there were five levels, which ant a seating capacity of at least five thousand orcs.
The arena significantly paled in comparison to others like it in other countries. While suitable for building huts in tandem with clay, the trees in Daggerfall were terrible for making large structures. Their wood was soft and brittle, often snapping into pieces when stressed. As a result, all the wood used in constructing the benches in the arena and Oerbon’s walls were obtained by raiding Ederwood’s boundaries.
Durst and his tribe arrived at the arena and were not surprised to find a large crowd. The sheer number of orcs not only filled up all the seats but also spilled onto the fighting grounds. In this scenario, those pushed to the edges of the arena were the weaker orc tribes. The fiercer tribes and their chiefs had the authority to force their way to the front.
“Move,” Durst calmly ordered the orc in front of him.
“Huh!?” The orc was already irritated at being shoved to the back. He was ready to crush the idiot who tried to cut the line. He turned with a roar, “Do you want to di- Durst!” The orc scread as soon as he realized who was behind him. Durst’s imposing fra and large tusks cut a figure no orc would forget after a single encounter.
“It’s Durst!”
“Blood-Drinker Durst!”
“Move! Move!”
Durst snorted as orcs willingly stepping out of the way. He and Grovitch led their brothers to the center of the gathering. The regular tribe mbers stopped roughly halfway through, and Grovitch stopped one step before the center, where a small circle of elites stood.
Durst joined the elite circle, his gaze narrowing as he examined the twenty tribal chiefs. There were too many of them to rember their nas, but his gaze hovered on a young orc who was silently sharpening an ax.
This orc’s appearance was quite eye-catching. Most notably, unlike most orcs, despite being a male, the young orc’s build was relatively lean (by the orcish standard). In humans’ eyes, he would appear as a muscular man in the vein of n like Dwayne Johnson.
To orcs, however, this was puny for an adult of their kind. The orc’s ears were a lot more pronounced and pointed than regular orcs, evoking mories of the elves. He was blessed with a full head of reddish-orange hair that fell to his shoulders. Finally, like most orcs, he was barechested, revealing a perfectly-chiseled fra and so tattoos that ran along his chest and arms.
The young orc sat alone with his ax. No one approached him, nor did he bother to speak to anyone. The orc was ostracized by the rest of the orc tribe mainly because of his almost non-existent tusks. They were so small that they were virtually negligible, which constituted a major disgrace to most orcs. So speculated he was a hybrid between an orc and an elf, but there was no proof to substantiate these theories.
Strangely, despite all these ‘stains,’ the ostracized orc had won a place at the elite circle.
This was no accident, and it certainly was not a gift or sothing granted out of pity. The young orc claid this place by becoming the arena’s current reigning.
Durst looked at the champion but could not recall his na. It had been a long ti since he had co to the city after all. He shook the matter out of his head as two orcs walked to the very center of the crowd.
The two orcs were an old shaman and a massive orc in the pri of his life. The orc, who stood just about the sa height as Durst, turned in place and took in all the orcs present.
Pain, Grief, Anger, Hatred.
These terrifying emotions choked the very air, and the orc could sense it all. He took a deep breath, swallowing all the rage in the air. Sohow, everyone in that area suddenly felt he was looking into their eyes. Grimlock, head chief of the south-eastern region, only said two words, “Brothers… Rage!”
“ROOOOAR!”
The ground quaked as the orcs bellowed and roared out their pain and frustrations! Who knew how many thousands they had lost in the massacre!? The orcs converted the anguish buried within their souls into raging flas that could only be expressed in the loudest and most terrifying screams. The cries carried along the wind, and all the living beings for several miles were scared off by the intense bloodlust.
The rage-fueled roars continued for over ten minutes before the orcs until the orcs finally vented the anger and rage in their hearts.
Stolen story; please report.
Clack!
The orcs’ attention were drawn to the center as Grimlock stabbed the jagged greatsword in his hand into the earth. The orc chieftain gazed at his people as he said, “Brothers, I feel your rage, your pain! To think that soone would do such a heinous thing! We orcs are no heroes, nor are we good, but we et our enemies on the battlefield with honor and strength! We do not avoid the strong and attack the weak. Yet so bastard thought it proper to slaughter our won and children.” Anger burned in Grimlock’s eyes as his hands clenched around the sword hilt. “Brothers, what do we do when we find the bastard responsible!?”
“Kill them!” “Burn them!” “Tear them apart!” “Destroy them!”
“Kill!”
“Kill!”
“KILL!”
The orcs’ chant shot across the city, the bloodlust infecting all the orcs in the city. The orcs’ eyes reddened in rage regardless of their location as they joined in the chant. The bellows shook the roofs off all the buildings in the city, reaching even the elven district. Within one of the buildings, Honne-Onna looked out at the raging city with a devilish grin. “Not enough. Cry out even more.”
Within another building, an old dwarf stared at the rink in his hands with shock and fear. “Are you serious!? No disrespect, sir, but I don’t think the orcs are in the mood to sit down and talk.”
“We must try, regardless!” The voice in the rink was strong and proud but held a hint of panic. “Otherwise, these lands will be covered with not just our blood, but thousands of our brothers and sisters too. We cannot let things reach that stage! Our lives are a small price to pay to secure the future of our race.”
The dwarf shook his head but eventually gave a reluctant sigh. “As you wish, Farvulia-sama. I will see that it is done.”
“You have my gratitude, Uthman-san,” Farvulia thanked the dwarf. “I will soon set out. By Aygor’s rcy, we’ll get to the bottom of this before it gets too far.”
“As the lord commands,” Uthman acknowledged. The rink’s light dimd, signifying the end of the call, and the dwarf sullenly stowed it in his bag.
Uthman Keggrog was a dwarven trader sent to trade with the elves and orcs by Rudega Farvulia, the dwarf most of the younger generation thought had the highest chances of claiming the dwarven king throne. At least, until the king in the east arose from nowhere.
Although Uthman appeared to be a simple trader, he had another task. To spy on the orcs and relay any odd behavior to Farvulia. The majority of dwarfs saw orcs as a primitive tribe, not worth a ntion. As far as they were concerned, there was only one thing you needed to know about orcs. And that was when they would attack. Since orcs had the inane habit of blowing on a horn before beginning any raid, dwarven settlents often had a chance to react and fortify themselves before any attack.
Rudega Farvulia, on the other hand, saw the orcs as both a potential ally and threat. He knew that the only reason the dwarfs could remain so complacent in this land was that the orcs were not a united nation. Usually, they only had to face one small tribe’s attack at a ti, which was relatively easy to fend off.
The consequences would be dire if the dwarfs had to confront a united orc region. Hence, Rudega always ensured he had a spy in the important orcish cities to look out for any large gathering.
That insight finally paid off, as through his contacts, Uthman was able to report the latest developnt in ti, preventing the dwarfs from getting blindsided. However, who knew Rudega would go one step further and ask his spy to confront the orcs head-on to buy so ti?
Uthman seriously questioned his sanity for remaining loyal even at this mont. However, though he grumbled and complained, he still grabbed an overcoat and stole into the streets. He made his way to the arena, carefully avoiding the main roads and sticking to the alleyways instead. The old dwarf did not want to risk eting an orc in this atmosphere. There was no telling how they would react after all.
anwhile, within the arena, Grimlock raised his hand to end the chants then turned to Durst. “You’ve heard the cries of your brothers. Tell us, whose head do we have to chop off?”
Durst’s eyes narrowed, but he did not speak the word on his lips. The six-hour ride had cooled his rage from a blazing inferno that consud his thoughts to a simring fla buried deep in his heart. This granted him ti to think, and he had begun to find a few odd things about the entire fiasco.
To begin with, dwarfs were never the best at warfare. It was quite difficult to believe a group of dwarfs could easily take down entire villages filled with orcs. After all, the won and children of orcish tribes were no pushovers. Orcs learned to fight and kill from the mont they were born. The reason orcish won remained behind during hunting expeditions was not to take care of the ho but raise the next batch of warriors for the tribe. Durst could easily think of a few female orcs who could fight him to a standstill.
Sothing else bothered the orc chief. The orc that survived long enough to na the dwarfs as the culprit. Was that really providence? Or was the murder planned so the orc would live long enough to reveal the dwarfs as the culprit, but not long enough to be questioned further?
If it was the forr, everything was good. But if it was indeed the latter, then the orcs were playing into the hand of a terrifying enemy. Of course, all this hinged on the fact that Durst just could not fathom the dwarfs suddenly getting the strength required to accomplish the massacre.
Was he looking down on the dwarfs?
Durst’s mind tumbled with contradictory thoughts. What if the dwarfs had been biding ti, building their strength for this specific attack? Wouldn’t his hesitation buy them more ti to achieve more dastardly deeds?
Durst’s hesitation did not pass Grimlock’s sharp eyes. The war chief smiled and questioned, “What is the matter, Durst? It’s not like you to hesitate.”
Durst nodded. “You’re right, Grimlock. I don’t know why, but I feel uneasy about this.”
“Hmph! I see married life has tad the ferocious Blood-Drinker,” a strong voice mocked. Durst looked to his left and t the eyes of Brast Blackblood, a large orc with black soot black skin.
Brast was scary even for an orc, oozing air that scread bloody murder. As always, Brast firmly grasped a war ax in his left hand, almost as if he expected an enemy to pop out at every turn. “If you know who we should be fighting, then spit it out! What’s with the wishy-washy attitude!? Are you afraid!?”
“, afraid?” Durst growled, accompanied by a low, guttural chuckle. “You’re as insane as ever, Brast.”
“Enough with the nonsense,” another orc interrupted Durst, this ti from his right. “Our enemies are the dwarfs. I saw one scamper away with my own eyes.”
Durst looked to his right. The speaker was Rernark Ragelock, one of the few orcs from the older generation that could stand toe-to-toe with Durst and Grimlock. Rernark was a tough old bastard, even among the orcs, and well respected for his strength. The orc’s only flaw was his penchant for the ‘old days.’ Who knew how many poor orcs had been forced to listen to his nonsense about the good old days.
Of course, no one dared to point out the fact that Rernark himself was not alive during those ‘good old days’ and was thus talking out of his arse.
“Dwarfs? Did he say, dwarfs?”
“He said, dwarfs.”
“Those weak dwarfs dared to do this?”
“Those bastard dwarfs,” Rernark grunted as the surrounding orcs muttered in confusion. “They’ve been hiding their strength. I say we stop wasting ti and dig out those fools before they do sothing worse.”
“Yeah! Yeah! Kill the dwarfs!”
“Slaughter the bastards!”
Durst frowned as the orcs roared expletives and curses while swearing to any god who would listen that they would destroy the dwarfs. The faster things escalated, the worse Durst felt. He could not shake the feeling sothing was wrong sowhere. However, at the sa ti, he could not justify calling off an attack on the dwarfs. All the evidence pointed to them. His hesitation could result in more lives lost if his suspicions were false.
Eventually, Durst sighed and shook his head.
What was the point of all the doubt? Worst-case scenario, the orcs would be pulled into a fight with the dwarfs. Was there an orc out there who feared battle? There was no way the orcs would lose a war against the dwarfs. As long as that remained true, there was no need to worry about the consequences of war.
Grimlock caught the change in Durst’s deanor. With a smile, he once again stopped the chants with a raise of his hand. “We know who the enemy is. Do we attack?”
“ATTACK!”
The orcs collectively bellowed and raised their right arms to represent their agreent. Durst only hesitated for a brief mont before also raising his hand. At this ti, the orcs needed unity, not divisive thoughts. Within monts, every orc had their right arm raised.
Well, almost every orc.
One orc remained quiet, calmly sitting on the earth and sharpening his ax with a whetstone.
The orc sharply stood out, but no one said a word because that orc happened to be Ragnaf Banbeast, the current orc champion.
The orcs, as if coming to an understanding, chose to ignore his presence. Their chants once again shook the earth as they shouted, “To War!” “Kill the dwarfs!” “Exterminate the Dwarfs!”
Suddenly a single cry scread over everyone else’s. “What!? There’s a dwarf! There’s a dwarf here!”
The cry seized the orcs’ attention, and a deathly silence descended over the arena.
“Unhand , you brute!” soone shouted, the tiny voice proving its owner was undoubtedly not an orc. “I have an important ssage for your chief!”
“You bastard!” the orc cursed. “I’ll tear you apart.“
“Wait!” Durst was not sure what got into him, but he quickly shouted, stopping the orc from carrying out the threat. “Let’s hear what he has to say.” Durst turned and sent Grimlock a searching gaze.
Grimlock nodded and bellowed. “Bring the dwarf to . Let
see the face of this dead man.”
A scuffle was heard as an orc pushed his way through the crowd and unceremoniously dumped a small sack onto the floor. The ‘sack’ struggled and removed its brown hood to reveal itself.
Grimlock’s eyes sparkled with bemusent. “Oh, Uthman, is it? Why did you co here? I thought you valued your little life above everything?”
“It’s because I value my little life so highly that I took the risk of coming here,” Uthman grumbled as he dusted his robes. He then bowed to Grimlock and formally announced his reason for coming, “Grimlock-sama, I am here with a ssage from the Farvulian household.”
“Oh? That Rudega brat?” Grimlock chuckled. “That brat’s sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. This is a problem for the South. Why’s he poking his nose here?”
“Ah, as it happens, Farvulia-sama is currently residing in the Thonur Household,” Uthman explained. “He heard about what happened and wishes to lend all of his assets to catching the culprits.”
Grimlock frowned. “Thonur? What is that brat doing so far south?”
Grimlock’s worry was warranted. Currently, Daggerfall was split into four major regions. North, South-East, South-West, and Central regions. Each area shared a major dwarven settlent and an orc city. The North had Xynnar (dwarven) and Northmold (orcish). Central had Kinallen (dwarven) and Craydon (orcish). The South-East had Nuxvar (dwarven) and Oerbora (orcish), and finally, the South-West housed Aynor (dwarven) and Garigill (orcish).
The Thonur household lived in Nuxvar, located in the sa region as Oerbora, while the elite Farvulian family lived in Xynnar. It was no surprise that Grimlock wondered why the man touted as the next dwarven king appeared in his territory just as such an attack was launched.
Uthman caught the suspicion in Grimlock’s gaze and suffered a chill down his spine. “I swear on my mother; the Farvulian house had nothing to do with this attack! Please, Grimlock-sama, give us a chance to get to the bottom of this before war breaks out.”
“Oh? What does the brat suggest?”
“A eting at a neutral location of your choosing,” Uthman replied. “It will give us a chance to talk before things escalate beyond the point of no return.”
“Thousands of won and children slaughtered. Do you not think we’ve long since crossed that point?”
Uthman trembled. “Please! At least give us a chance to prove we are innocent before we go to war.”
“Grimlock, let
go.” Durst stepped forward. “Sothing about this whole thing doesn’t sit right with . At the very least, let
first hear them out.”
Grimlock looked at Durst with a raised brow. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Durst confird with a nod. “No one craves revenge as severely as I do. But I do not wish to live the fool, satisfying my revenge while the true killer runs free. If I find it is indeed the dwarfs, you can be sure I will personally lead the charge.”
Grimlock looked at Durst then at Uthman. The dwarf’s mustache visibly shook as he weathered the war chief’s stern gaze. “Fine. You will go on my behalf,” Grimlock stated as he turned to Durst. “Your clan will accompany you for protection.” Grimlock caught Ragnaf out of the corner of his eyes. “Take Ragnaf with you. He’s lived his whole life within these walls and could do with so real-world experience.”
For the first ti, Ragnaf looked up from his ax, an excited glint in his eyes.
Grimlock looked at the ancient shaman that silently stood next to him. His voice was noticeably more respectful as he said, “Guvern-san. I’ll have to trouble you to accompany them. You’re the only one who can make decisions on my behalf.”
Guvern Dreamstone was one of the oldest orcs alive. At over 190 years of age, he was rapidly nearing his end of days. However, if it were not for the mass of gray hair and bony body, it would have been impossible to tell. Guvern was every bit as muscular and strong-looking as the younger orcs around him.
Guvern let out a low chuckle as he grasped his bone staff. “These old bones have still got so life left in them. I’ll gladly accept the chance to stretch ‘em out after such a long ti cooped up indoors.”
“My apologies, and thanks,” Grimlock said, then he turned to look at the other chiefs. “We will begin preparations for war but wait for Durst’s report before we launch an attack. Any objections?”
The chiefs shook their heads.
“Wait,” Rernark Ragelock called. He signaled a shaman at his side who cast a spell on Uthman, causing the dwarf to drop to the earth, unconscious. “There’s a possibility this is a trap. My tribe will follow Durst’s at a distance, just in case. I will also follow Durst to et this Farvulian. With
there, they should not be able to play any tricks.”
‘Doesn’t that an that without you, I will fall prey to their tricks?’ Durst snorted and looked at Grimlock.
Grimlock laughed at the anger in Durst’s eyes. “Rernark, you may follow. Make sure you watch each other’s backs.”
“As it should be.” Durst nodded.
“Of course,” Rernark stated.
Grimlock looked at the unconscious dwarf. “Soone pick up this dwarf. Durst, Rernark, Ragnaf, follow . The rest : begin preparations for war.”
With that, Grimlock disbanded the orcs while he took the negotiation team aside to talk.
In the elven district, Honne-Onna smiled as she listened to a subordinate report the outco of the orcs’ eting in detail. “Good,” she said as the report ca to an end.
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