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Chapter 3: The Founding of Greendawn.

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Facts About Tirinead – The Orcs #4

Wargs are the traditional mounts of the orcs. It is said that orcs allow their young to pair up with Warg pups. The pup that the orc baby manages to wrestle to submission will be their lifelong partner. This practice has since gone out of style with the rise of the new orc nation.

Now, it is tradition for wargs and those who would be orcs to find companionship and pair up individually. Once they have successfully found a pairing through whatever means, the shamans of the Bloodhowl Tribe will grant the applicant a saddle which is infused with orc cum. This saddle will act as the catalyst to the applicant’s transformation into an orc.

*******

The harsh, craggy rocks of the Fangs of the World were cold and unwelcoming. The cover of trees faded well behind them. Only the few stubborn plants clung to the icy slopes but offered little in terms of shelter or even kindling. It was thanks to the industrious orcs and their strength, however, that they were able to bring large amounts of wood from Jarinius’ camp up the mountain to provide warmth.

The land had yet to be swarmed by ice and snow. Knaatl said that they were just a day away from Whitepeak which was just on the border before the true test of the Fangs assaulted any who dared cross the threshold. When he mounted to the northeast, Amthos could see the tiny finger of a fort sitting atop a little mountain. The Avatar wondered how the people of the fort would take to their appearance.

“We come in peace,” he recited. “We mean you and your people no harm. We simply seek shelter and a chance to parley. I am –”

Knaatl snorted and shook his head. “Too many words. The Warden of Whitepeak will have you shot long before you introduce yourself.”

Amthos groaned, drooping his enormous arms. He had been reciting speeches all day even as they marched. He had no intention of besieging Whitepeak. He had thirty or so orcs with about another twenty humans either as their captives or awaiting transformation into an orc. It would be easy to have Samuel ‘ask’ and have them simply stride into the fort and take over but after travelling with the men of the Alliance they had taken in for the past week, he knew brute force was not always the answer.

As he considered his next thoughts, quietly pacing around in the large tent that had once been Jarinius’, he noticed a shadow against one of the tent’s walls. Curious, he saw the shadow lean under the tent and quietly try to slip inside. It was a young man, a blonde-haired Alliance soldier holding a dagger. Normally, he should’ve been alarmed but then the young man froze upon seeing him. The human gave him a pleading look and placed a finger against his lips, indicating silence.

Trying not to smile, Amthos said, “Shall I do without, the introductions? Simply bellow that I am Amthos Hordemaker. I come to parley with the lord of Whitepeak.”

“Drumdar is no lord,” Knaatl scoffed. “At most, he is a warden. His full name is Drumdar Polzin. At one time, he was the proud son of Ilanin Polzin. However, he was allegedly caught sleeping with another man. Considered a deviant, his father threw some story that he simply shamed his family and he was stripped of his name and exiled north to Whitepeak.” Knaatl waved a hand absently from where he sat on the big, velvety cushion. He had claimed the cushion as his own for some reason and even Amthos wasn’t allowed near it. “Technically, he is still serving the Alliance by being the sponsor to the Hard Spear tribe and guarding Alliance borders but from what I hear, he is just sitting there waiting to die like the Hard Spear.”

“Perhaps we can be the salvation to them both,” said Amthos with a wry smile. His eyes flicked to the young human with the dagger. The boy was almost upon Knaatl.

Then…

“Too noisy, Hammond,” proclaimed the former bandit. “You would’ve been better off waiting for us to emerge than sneaking through the back of the tent.”

The human former-soldier snarled in frustration and dropped his dagger angrily. “I will get you one day, Knaatl!” He stormed out of the tent, both furious and a little excited at the same time.

“I’m sure you will,” chuckled the chieftain of the Nightusks.

Knaatl truly made for an excellent leader. As with his former band of bandits, he didn’t let just anyone join the Nightusks. Though the captured soldiers really had no choice in the matter, they had to earn their place amongst the newly formed tribe. That was achieved by what the men were jokingly calling the ‘Trial of the Tusks’. Every applicant had to somehow sneak up to Knaatl and catch him by surprise. Do that and the applicant was graced by drinking some of Amthos’ cum and would be transformed into an orc.

The trial was much easier when they were in the cover of the forests at the base of the Fangs of the World. Now, applicants had to be creative in order to find a way to surprise Knaatl. Of course, that was exactly what Knaatl was hoping for. He was forging his Nightusks to be, as he put it, ‘the warchief’s personal army of rogues and assassins’.

Amthos wondered how he could apply the Trial to the other orc tribes that would be coming under his rule soon. He knew that with his power, he would replenish the orc numbers and convert countless humans, elves and dwarves to orcs. But the transformation did not change their minds. Those transformed still very much had their own wills. If he just let anyone join there was a potential for betrayal. He was lucky thus far because the men he had recruited were either utterly willing or at the very least, resigned to their fate.

But on a full-scale war against the Alliance how could he manage the wanton conversions? How would he fuel it if he was the only source of the transformative cum?

“Something on your mind, roh’Fedar?”

He realised he had been staring out into space for a while and gave Knaatl a shaky smile. “Just pondering the future.”

Knaatl rose from his cushion and gently wrapped his arms around Amthos’ waist, pulling the orc into a tight hug. He gently stroked Amthos’ hair, currently a bit of a mess as it regrew. “What in particular?”

Amthos pressed his lips affectionately against his close friend’s cheek, brushing his own against the gentle tides of Knaatl’s smooth beard. “If my gift to turn men into orcs is truly as God-given as I am led to believe.”

“What about this” – Knaatl lifted his arm, flexing the mountain-sized bicep just inches from Amthos’ nose – “is not godly?”

The sight of the sheer show of masculinity caused Amthos’ loins to stir and his friend and trusted warrior growled lustily as their cocks began to warm and rise. “I question, were you always so affectionate towards me?”

Knaatl gave him a coy smile and pulled him towards the cot that they both shared. It was a simple bedding of cloth and hay but it served their purposes. That it stank of their copious love making and sweat was just an added bonus. As they lay together, Knaatl leaned over to him and gave his cheek a quick kiss. “Roh’Fedar , _ I have _always had a taste for men. Findain was my first love. He and I enjoyed each other’s company very much.”

His heart was eased somewhat by that fact and he kissed Knaatl passionately for it. “But what of the other men? Can we claim the same for them?”

The bearded orc pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. Then his golden eyes brightened and he gently placed a finger against Amthos’ nose. “Think of it not as men being forced to sleep with other men. Think of it more as us opening the minds of those within the Alliance that they can and should not restrict themselves to the fairer sex.”

That made Amthos chuckle. “Ah. That’s clever. Perhaps I should use it when speaking to the would-be-converts.”

Knaatl growled seductively and pressed himself against Amthos. He rolled atop the Avatar, their lips hovering inches from one another while their rock-hard pectorals gleamed in the morning light. “You will have to pay for the privilege, I think.”

Amthos gently raked his fingers through Knaatl’s luxurious, long locks. “Name your price, lok’maran.”

Loosely translated to, ‘man of my heart’, being called one was a sign of utter devotion and affection. One that Knaatl truly appreciated and reciprocated with a tender kiss to Amthos’ thick, corded neck. According to Samuel, the orcs of old didn’t quite have a concept of ‘love’. Most of the races were actually very polygamous with the exception of the dwarves who tended to be bound to having a single mate. Even humans could have extramarital affairs but only dwarves remained loyal to a single partner. Elves, in fact, had no concept of marriage and simple tended to fuck whomever they wished so long as they had fond affection for them.

It was different with orcs.

Before Amthos could delve too much into the thought, the tent flaps sprung open. A large orc entered.

“Dak’rahn. Rahnogar. Riders approach.”

As vexing as it was to have their passions interrupted, Amthos knew his duty was to his people. He gave Knaatl one last kiss and a teasing squeeze of his nipple before they both emerged from the tent. Still dressed in only his coat and the fur boots that Knaatl had given him, Amthos strode out to the edge of the camp where Samuel was already waiting. The riders were approaching from the north and in no particular hurry. There seemed a good fifty of them. No match for Amthos and his budding horde but still enough of a concern.

“They bear the banner of Whitepeak,” Samuel commented. Above the heavily armoured and fur-covered warriors was the bright yellow banner of the nearby keep. Emblazoned on the field of white was a single snow-capped mountain range with two black swords crossing its summit.

“I didn’t think we would approach unnoticed,” Amthos murmured softly. His orcs and those humans loyal to him crowded behind him, bearing weapons and ready for a fight. “I must ask you, Samuel, if these man come demanding surrender…”

“I will be your sponsor,” finished the knight. “I understand.”

“Thank you. I would rather avoid conflict as long as possible while we still gather strength.”

He could feel the No One smiling. “That is a refreshing attitude amongst orcs. Most would just wantonly charge into battle regardless of tactics.”

He returned the smile. “I am no mere orc.”

“Well said.”

A few tense minutes passed as the soldiers made their way to the encampment. The man leading them was a tall, barrel chested man sporting a rather thick, ragged brown beard. In many ways he reminded Amthos a lot of Knaatl before he became an orc only this man still had a full head of hair and still fairly young. There were wrinkles around the corners of his eyes and his pale skin looked a little leathery from years being out in the mountain weather.

They were all dressed in the traditional armour of the northern armies; thick chainmail to allow for maximum movement wrapped around dense leather armour. Furs were draped over their shoulders to help maintain warmth.

One of the soldiers pulled up a horn and gave it a few short blows just to make sure everyone in the mountain knew that they had arrived.

The leading soldier pulled ahead of the column of riders to approach them. “In the name of Drumdar of Whitepeak, state your business here. You are trespassing upon the Whitepeak lands.”

Amthos stepped forward, pounding his chest with a fist. The resulting thump wasn’t as loud as the horn but it had the same effect. “My name is Amthos Hordemaker. This is the Nightusk Tribe.” He gestured at those gathered around him, human and orc alike. “We seek an audience with Drumdar and the Hard Spear tribe.”

The leading soldier scoffed at him. “Our fort does not have enough room to house you and your men, orc. The lands are harsh and supplies scarce. If you seek sponsorship because you are too lazy and fat to find your own food, you best look elsewhere.”

Amthos growled, baring his fangs. “You misunderstand our intentions,” he said with barely controlled fury. His blood boiled at how this soldier looked down his nose at them even if, astride his mount, the man was just a few feet taller. “We seek for the largest remaining orc tribe to integrate with us.”

The soldier’s face darkened at that. “You hope to take the orcs away from Whitepeak. As much as I would welcome the idea of having the filthy mongrels gone from our walls, I cannot allow that.” He reached for his sword. “Especially not when the one asking is another mangy Greenskin!”

Before more weapons could be drawn, Samuel stepped forward. “What if the one asking was me?”

There, the Whitepeak men hesitated. It seemed that this was the first time they realised there were humans amongst the orcs.

“And who are you?” scowled the soldier.

“I am called Samuel, Captain Torbilain.”

There, the men froze and exchanged glances. To his credit, Torbilain kept his eyes fixed on Samuel.

“A mage, are you?” the captain scowled. “The only thing I trust less than the orcs.” He pulled his hand away from his sword and waved at the orcs and men. “They are yours then?”

“I do not own them,” answered Samuel sagely. “Every man in my company is free to speak their mind.”

“Is that so? Then what of those men bound and gagged?”

Amthos’ heart frozen. He had forgotten about the prisoners. If it was revealed that they were men of the Alliance, Whitepeak would instantly turn hostile. His muscles tensed and his heart began pounding hard in his chest.

“Men who attacked us,” Samuel answered. “We were minding our own business on our way to Whitepeak when they attacked us about a week ago.”

“A week?” Torbilain seemed genuinely surprised. “And you have sought fit to keep them alive and trudge them around for so long? You share your precious supplies, warmth and blood for them?”

“They attacked us, yes, and we fought back. I see no reason to kill one another over what is essentially a petty disagreement.” He gestured at some of the other humans in their midst. “As you can see, some of them even willingly joined us.”

A few of the orcs grunted and human applicants nodded in agreement. Torlibain huffed softly and eyed the gathered orcs and humans with disdain. He was likely used to living with orcs. Just didn’t prefer their company.

“I would’ve slain them cur. Any who would slight me deserve to have their hands cut off at the very least.”

“Then they are fortunate not to have attacked you then,” Samuel replied coolly.

“I suppose so,” rumbled the soldier. “Well, if you are bound for Whitepeak, we might as well escort you there.” He turned his horse back towards the north. “Pack your camp. We leave in an hour.” Then he shot Samuel a cruel smile over his shoulder. “I will leave how you carry your prisoners on what is a day’s trek to the fort. For horses, it is merely a few hours and I would rather not be within these mountains when night falls.”

Amthos scowled. The man was essentially asking them to kill their prisoners now if they wanted to make it to Whitepeak in time! Such barbarous behaviour made him sick at the memory of having once been human. He looked to Knaatl and Samuel. Just one look and they all shared the same thought. Out of principle, they were not going to let any man die even if they had to carry every prisoner up and down to Whitepeak themselves.

“We need to get them up there,” Knaatl snarled softly. “Smug assholes like this Torlidain are the reason why I left the Legion.”

Samuel nodded. “I may have a solution.” He turned and strode towards the camp while the Whitepeak men watched warily and dismounted from their own horses. Amthos followed him while Knaatl stood at the edge of their camp, arms folded and watching the humans in turn. A few of the other orcs accompanied the Nightusk chieftain, similarly glowering across to the armoured soldiers.

“What is your plan?” Amthos asked, following Samuel. They strode to where Winterpaw was idly gnawing on a large bone. The Warg looked up at them with bright, intelligent eyes.

Samuel stopped in front of Winterpaw and gave the large wolf-like creature a bow. “Did you know Winterpaw is actually the king of his kind?”

“He is?” Amthos asked, stunned.

“Yes. In ages past, when the gods were creating the species of the world, they created the Lycanos. They were enormous lupine creatures that were as large as houses or elephants. However, due to their sheer size, there simply was no not enough food to go around so the Lycanos eventually evolved into two smaller races, the Dire Wolves and the Warg. The wolves of today are subspecies of the Dire Wolves and dogs are in turn are descended from the wolves.”

Winterpaw gave Samuel a curious tilt of his head.

“Dire Wolves are renowned for being ‘intelligent’ and fiercely loyal and Wargs as ‘malicious’ and ‘evil’.” Winterpaw growled at that, clearly showing his displeasure. “But what few realise is that this is because Wargs are far more intelligent than Dire Wolves. Only a truly intelligent species would go to extreme lengths to extract vengeance or make someone suffer.”

“I don’t follow,” Amthos admitted.

“There is a tale here in the north.” Samuel approached Winterpaw, gently stroking the Warg’s fur. The snow-white Warg nuzzled his armoured hand affectionately. “A minor human lord sought to prove himself to the courts of Raonoak by eliminated the Warg problem in his homeland. So he attacked and killed Wargs, skinning them, selling their pelts and then using their skulls to adorn his halls.”

Winterpaw growled and Samuel lifted his hand away from the mount in apology.

“Sorry. Touchy subject. I understand.” The No One turned to Amthos. “Anyway, as the last of the Wargs in the land of Litovestk were cornered and about to be slaughtered, one powerful Warg struck out and delivered a fatal blow to the young lord. Even as the lord’s men desperately struck at him and tried to pry his mighty jaws away from the dying lord, this Warg would not let go. In the end, the desperation of the hunters to save their lord allowed the remaining Wargs to flee even if the mighty creature died holding on doggedly onto the throat of the man that had hunted them down.”

Amthos turned to Winterpaw. He scanned his mount’s body for any signs of scarring or wounds but Winterpaw’s flesh was perfectly clear and unmarred. A perfect, almost ghostly white.

“Was he Winterpaw’s father?”

“No. He was Winterpaw.” Samuel once again rested his hand on the mighty Warg’s shoulder gently. “And he was also the young lord.”

Amthos reeled his head back in surprise. “What? Was this some analogy?”

“No. It is truth. The lord died in the jaws of the Warg and the Warg was killed by the lord’s men. Both man and beast were treated appropriately with the lord being buried in his family’s mausoleum and the Warg being skinned and torn asunder. But neither would stay dead. Deprived of the honour and glory he sought so much, the young lord railed and refused to pass on to the afterlife. But the spirit of the noble Warg refused to let him haunt the living and warred with him.”

Samuel reached down to the ground and plucked a stick from the ground. He offered it to Winterpaw and the Warg grasped it in his jaws. To Amthos’ surprise, the Warg began using it to write on the dirt.

“Eventually,” Samuel continued, “a might entity saw the two souls caught in constant war and pitied them. She approached them and offered to end their suffering. So she forged for them a single body. A tremendous Warg with white fur and ice-blue eyes that was bigger than any Warg that had come before. They were forced to inhabit the same physical shape. Over years, they struggled with one another, fighting for dominance over the body. Sometimes the Warg’s loyalty to his fading species would drive him to kill poachers and those men still pushing the dead lord’s mission. Other times, the lord’s devotion to his people would have them save innocents and the destitute.”

Amthos grunted loudly. “That’s ironic given how the lord sought to kill the Wargs and now he was saving people. The Warg protected his pack but then sought vengeance for those that killed him.”

Winterpaw set the stick down and huffed.

“Over the years, however, the two eventually set aside their differences and found harmony with one another,” Samuel concluded. “They ceased to be two and became one. Winterpaw. King of the Wargs.”

The Orc Avatar gawped at the white Warg. His eyes fell down to the writing on the ground.

‘I Am Winterpaw’.

Samuel straightened and turned towards Amthos. “Everyone has their story to tell. You may be the Avatar of the Orcs but yours is not the only tale being told here. Remember that.” He turned back towards Winterpaw. “I am sure you heard our dilemma concerning our captives,” he said to Winterpaw. “I’m sure you know what I would ask.”

The noble Warg nodded and propped himself up onto his feet. He tilted his head back and let out an ear-splitting howl. The cry carried well through to the air. Birds sprang from their nests at its sound. Not two seconds later, answering howls came.

“What just happened?” Amthos asked.

Samuel gave him that hidden, spine-tingling smile. “Your loyal steed just called for reinforcements.”

The horses of the soldiers suddenly began growing restless and they visibly began trying to pull at their restraints. The source of their distress soon became apparent. Big, black figures began emerging from the rocks, closing in on the encampment. Torlidain and his men began drawing their blades as the Wargs approached.

“Hold your blades!” Amthos shouted, charging towards the men. “These are allies and friends!”

Torlidain sneered at him as he desperately tried to control his mount. “Is this a trap, orc? Did you lure us here so you can corner us with your wild beasts!?”

Samuel swept past them and lifted a hand towards the bucking mare. Torlidain’s horse immediately calmed. All the horses did the same, each of them staring at the knight intently, obediently.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Amthos said, “We will not kill our prisoners simply because it would be too hard to bring them up to Whitepeak at your pace. So we…” He felt Winterpaw brush up against his flank and smiled. “I mean, Winterpaw here called for some help. We will all have mounts and we will make our way to your fort well before sundown.”

Torlidain glowered at them with barely contained fury. “Do was you wish. But I am keeping a watch on you all.”

Samuel chuckled softly as Veronica approached him.

“Then you best not blink, Captain.”

******

With the help of the Wargs, the orcs and their humans were able to make it to Winterpeak within a few hours, just a little past noon. Positioned at the very peak of a small mountain, the fort had a clear view of all its surrounding lands. Not surprising that the orcs had been spotted given this vantage point. The walls themselves were made from an odd black stone that Amthos could not identify. The hexagonal-shaped fort had six mighty towers positioned at each of its corners. He could see catapults at the top of each tower with ballistae on rotating platforms parked in three levels below each. This was a fort prepared for war though he often wondered who these men were geared to fight.

He thought to ask and Torlidain answered with more venom than he had shown to the orcs.

“The wildmen, frost dwarves and snow elves,” spat the soldier. “They are more bothersome than the orcs since they can replenish their ranks. Every few years they get the balls to come down from the mountains and try and take the fort. We’ve always held them off.”

“Frost dwarves? Snow elves?” Amthos asked. “I have never heard of such creatures. I thought all dwarves and elves pledged their fealty to the Holy Alliance.”

“They aren’t really true dwarves or elves,” supplied Knaatl. “The frost dwarves are actually magical constructs created by the snow elves. Nightstone imbued with intelligence and ice magic. They’re tough bastards. The snow elves were a collection of mages from different species that came to settle up in these mountains.”

“Why would anyone want to live further up north?”

“Mages and their towers,” grunted the orc. “I don’t know myself but they just love creating their bloody towers someplace high and isolated. They were positioned here well before the War of Apotheosis. Only recently rediscovered when the Alliance spread this far and pushed the orcs back. By then, they had inbred so much that they had a mix of elf and human within them. They look like twisted, pale half-breeds with a damn good grasp of ice magic.”

“But they are insane,” added Torlidain. “The craven bastards build enough frost dwarves over several years and then send them along with whatever mutant spawn they can afford to lose and strike out at any of the border forts. They know its suicide and yet they still do it anyway.”

Samuel, astride Veronica let out a soft chuckle. “Some say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

“That defines the snow elves and their dwarves well enough,” grunted the soldier as they approached the gates.

The gates themselves were already wide open. Amthos noticed that there were orcs milling about the courtyard doing menial tasks like cleaning the stables or even polishing the armour of some guards. They were all significantly smaller than himself or the other orcs of the Nightusks. Where the average Nightusk stood at nine feet tall, these orcs were seven feet tall, seven and a half at most. Their skin was also a faintly pale bluish-green. All of them had their hair grown out and tied up in knots to get away from their faces. Generally, they maintained the muscled physique of most orcs but they were lean and looked more like really fit green humans with tusks than the hulking beasts of the Nightusks. Upon seeing them, these very same orcs looked to the newcomers in awe.

The centre of the fort consisted of a small town of sorts. A few civilians milled about, watching the column of newcomers. He noticed a tavern amongst the many establishments alongside a tailor, armourer and weapon smith. Generally, everything the fort would need to be self-sustaining. At the centre of the fort was the enormous keep. A tremendous clock tower stood at the centre with the colours of the Holy Alliance and Whitepeak itself billowing from flags and banners along its walls. He imagined that given some time, this place could become a town in its own right just like how Raonoak had started off as a bastion.

It also meant that there were likely over a hundred inhabitants within Whitepeak and all of them were ripe for the transformation. Just thinking of it stirred Amthos’ loins. But he reined his desires in. He did not want to be a tyrant. He needed to earn the trust of his people instead of forcing it upon them.

Once they approached the keep, the Nightusks dismounted from their temporary Warg allies. Winterpaw gave a few short barks to the Wargs. The pack turned and quickly shot back out of the fort, vanishing back into the wilderness now that their services were over.

“We’ll send your prisoners to the dungeons,” Torlidain said. “Come. Drumdar will likely want to speak with you immediately.”

Led into the keep itself, Amthos was bombarded by the warmth of multiple fires in braziers and torches. He didn’t realise how cold he had gotten now that he was in the warmth. When a stable boy came to take Winterpaw from him, he refused even as he dismounted.

“No. He stays with me.” Winterpaw smiled at him and gave him an appreciative nuzzle. Standing side by side, they strode through the tremendous keep to its atrium. The large group of god-blessed orcs and human applicants barely fit in the chamber that seemed so small compared to the one in Lord-Knight Eranius’ castle.

Torlidain told them to wait as he went to fetch Drumdar.

“Should we be worried of what our prisoners will say?” Knaatl asked softly. “If any of them mention they are from the Alliance, we will be surrounded.”

“I don’t think that will be an issue,” Samuel responded. “A simple act of kindness will go a long way. We took the effort to get them mounts and brought them to the keep instead of just killing them there and then as Torlidain implied. That will be enough to change their hearts.”

“Are you sure? The hearts of men are fickle.”

“I may be wrong but remember, many of their own comrades have already turned to orcs. That a human would treat them like scum while the orcs that they despised offered them life is a fact that will sway them.”

“If you are sure.”

Amthos in agreement with his advisor. The eyes of their prisoners had changed on the trip here. He saw deep conflict and intense thought in each of them. Perhaps that was how he could sway the hearts of men. Show the world how wrong the Holy Alliance was and offer them a better life.

Suddenly, the big, wooden doors at the end of the atrium sprang open. There was some loud fanfare and a sigh from Knaatl. A velvety red carpet rolled out from the other side of the room and came to rest against Amthos’ foot, not even fully unrolled. Trumpets flared and two finely dressed orcs strode out to scatter petals and coloured pieces of paper around.

“What…?” Amthos began.

“Drumdar,” was all Knaatl said.

A thin man strode down the carpet dressed in finery that matched the colours of Whitepeak. His green doublet was gilded with gold and his boots were long and had ridiculous curls to their ends. His angular face was almost feminine as was the way his blonde hair was cut; it fell past his ears, was perfectly trimmed and appearing silky and full of body. The man’s head honestly reminded Amthos of a white and gold mushroom.

“Ah, my handsome, green, muscular guests!” exclaimed the man, sweeping his long arms wide, green eyes glimmering with glee. “Welcome!” He skipped – actually skipped – towards them, appraising Amthos and Knaatl who were at the head of the orcs shamelessly. “You are such big boys aren’t you?” His eyes went down to their groins and for once, Amthos whished he wasn’t mostly naked. “Very big.”

“You have always been such a cocksucking flower, Dar,” Knaatl laughed.

Amthos couldn’t believe it. This was Drumdar of Whitepeak? This… flamboyant pixie? He had honestly expecting a grizzled, war-worn man but this…

Drumdar turned towards Knaatl, batting his exaggeratedly long eyelashes. “Do we know each other, mighty one?”

Knaatl turned to Samuel who merely shrugged. Then, back to the lord of Whitepeak, he said, “It is I. Kaltan of Copperhew.”

Drumdar laughed brightly, a high girlish chime. “Surely you jest! Kaltan is a bandit, ten times smaller than yourself and, might I add, not as sinfully beautiful.”

Amthos’ skin crawled. He could see the eyes of Drumdar’s guards and orc servants roll. This was obviously common behaviour.

“I didn’t expect you to recognise me as I am now, Dar,” Knaatl chuckled. “But only I would know about how you were fucked by your own bodyguard and that is what led you to your exile here.”

“Rumours,” said the lord, waving his dainty hands through the air. “Anyone could learn of this should they listen well enough.”

Knaatl grinned broadly. “What about the fact that he fucked you while you straddled a goose and every time he ploughed into you, the animal squawked. It was that unusual noise that got your guards and father to investigate the issue. Or perhaps we should speak of the golden ball gag that you often had your lover strap around you or the thick, phallic shaped rubber rod you often stuffed into your own ass during your father’s boring court meetings so that you merely had to shuffle slightly to arouse yourself.” Knaatl leaned down to the pale lord. “You enjoyed fighting your own urges in front of the courts. The thrill of being caught is what made such endeavours so tantalising.”

The human lord in the finery reeled back in shock. “Kaltan? What? How…?”

Knaatl threw his head back and let out his trademark bellowing laugh. “Ah Dar, you never change. You’re at half-mast now, aren’t you?”

Amthos dared a peek and could see that their host was indeed sporting a nice bulge in his pants.

“Explain orc,” sneered the lord, trying to regain some sense of pride. “How did you know what only Kaltan would now? Did you kill him? Torture him?”

“I am him.” Knaatl clapped Amthos’ shoulder cheerily. “All thanks to this God-given miracle right here.” Before Drumdar could ask any more, Knaatl patted his own belly. “But let us discuss this over supper, shall we? It has been a long trip and me and my tribe are starved!”

“Oh!” Drumdar clapped his hands together. For the first time, Amthos noticed that they were painted gold. “Where are my manners?” He clapped his hands, beckoning to his orc servants and guards. “A feast! We must have a feast for our guests!”

Samuel turned abruptly. “I think I shall help with the preparations. Orcs eat a lot, after all, and your stores are already at their limits what with the constant raids of the Raeskaag wildmen on your supply convoys.”

Drumdar inclined his head in curiosity. “How did you know that, Master Mage?”

“I asked the rats raiding your larder.” As he said this, small squeaks could be heard from around his feet and Amthos lifted an eyebrow as several large, fat rats scurried away. “Speaking of which… you have rats raiding your larder.”

******

Apparently, Samuel’s Bag of Infinite Meals – as they had come to call his food-producing satchel – was now spawning suckling pigs which the chefs of Whitepeak happily cooked. With the lands being so hard, they rarely got any form of pork from the supply lines and they were mostly restricted to what poultry they could produce in the small space of the fort. From what Amthos heard, there were thoughts of expanding out past the walls but with the snow elf raids occurring sporadically between years, they doubted it would be worth the effort to build a farm, have it destroyed by the snow elves and then rebuild it again.

It was a bitter existence.

When he asked around how the various soldiers and staff came to the fort, it was always the same reason. They did something wrong and were subsequently banished. It was for petty things such as debts, theft and often just shame to the family. They saw no escape from the humiliation save for service on the borders.

“So you are telling me that the seed of this Avatar turned you all into orcs!?” exclaimed Drumdar loudly.

They sat and ate on a broad collection of tables in the main hall. Much smaller than the hall of Raonoak, it was nonetheless cosy. At the very least the fire burning at the hearth reached every corner. The hall was big enough to fit all the men serving within the fort. Women were surprisingly absent as apparently, any women who were shamed for whatever reason were sent to a convent instead of the north to fight off snow elves and wildmen.

Thus, when Drumdar made that announcement, everyone could hear. But it was already a tale that was quickly spreading throughout the fort. It had been a few hours, after all since their arrival and some of the Hard Spear tribe had asked the new orcs how they had come to be so big. Stories were exchanged and the truth began to spread that Amthos was sent by the Gods to liberate the orcs. Many did not believe this tale, unfortunately, but there was a spark of curiosity in some.

“I swear on my mother’s grave,” Knaatl laughed, hoisting a large mug of ale into his gullet. “This fiery-haired stud fucked me hard and now I am the stud!” He waved at his sizeable chest, laughing and bouncing his pectorals for Drumdar’s hungry gaze.

Despite his obvious desires, Drumdar was still a shrewd man. “Are you sure you aren’t just concocting a lie for the more likely explanation?”

“And what might that be?”

“That you were employed by the mage in the armour and he empowered you all with the bodies of orcs to better suit protecting him? Or perhaps it was some experiment gone wrong. Part of your contract? Or maybe you became indebted to him and he cursed you.”

An interesting theory and one that Amthos could actually consider as valid. If the need arose and he would have to hide his true powers from the world, perhaps Samuel could provide sufficient cover. He could easily pass for a true mage after all.

Amthos shook his head. “No,” he rumbled to Drumdar. The lord glanced to him in surprise. “Everything Knaatl says is true. I am the Avatar of the orc race. Samuel is my advisor and is the one that’s leading me down this path. He did not curse us, experiment on us or enchant us. I can turn others into orcs with my seed. I have been charged by the Old Gods to rebuild the orcs into more than what they were before the War of Apotheosis and take back our lands.”

Drumdar seemed amused and he drummed his golden fingers on the wooden, lacquered table. “Is that so? Well, do tell, Master Avatar, what exactly was your plan?”

He hesitated. “I… Uh… I had hoped to come here and join the Hard Spear tribe. They are the largest intact orc tribe, after all.”

“You are more than welcome to join the Hard Spear,” said the noble, waving a hand absently. “And if you wish, you can take them from this fort as you see fit.”

Amthos’ heart leapt. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.” Drumdar lifted a finger at him. “However, I caution you. The Hard Spear tribe numbers nearly two hundred orcs. How will you feed them? How will you shelter them? Where will you go? I’m sure you’ve heard that there are snow elves and wildmen in this region and a large migration of orcs will not go unnoticed.” The flamboyant noble began plucking some grapes from the cheese platter in front of him and began rearranging them in front of him. “You will need to also remember that the there are many forts just like this one all along the edges of the Fangs of the World. Each one is manned and would take notice to a growing horde and not all of them are so welcoming to orcs as Whitepeak.”

Amthos sat back in his chair, quietly pondering these words. Looking at the grapes, he imagined the vast length of the Fangs of the World across the table. The snowy mountain range stretched from the top corner of the continent and about halfway down its eastern coast creating sheer rocks and unforgiving climates to any who would dare to approach from that direction. It made for a natural barrier against invasion and it was where the orcs had been pushed to. The border forts were erected all along the range just in case. They wouldn’t be able to get very far without one fort or the other noticing them.

“There are also the various mining towns with their patrols at the base of the mountains and further inland,” continued Drumdar. “Naturally, the closer you get to the heart of Alliance lands, the more resistance you’ll face.”

“So you’re telling me it’s impossible?” Amthos snarled.

“Not at all. I am merely saying that you are very lucky to have wandered over to my fort instead of the others. Your dreams of conquest certainly are admirable but have you considered logistics? Communications? Do you have any form of military training? What about infrastructure and strategy? How do you hope to counter the Holy Alliance’s griffon knights? Or their War Priests and War Wizards?”

The Orc Avatar glanced to Knaatl who merely shrugged helplessly. Neither of them had clearly considered these things either. Amthos had some training with tactics but that all came from books he had read and what little he had gathered under Lord-Knight Eranius’ tutelage. And he didn’t even realise he’d have to feed his horde. Sure Samuel could produce food infinitely but could he feed the entire horde if they were split across a vast swathe of land? If they took over key locations, how were they going to safeguard it from Alliance troops?

Suddenly, this task seemed far more daunting than before. Not impossible but he was reminded that this would not be so simple as merely announcing himself in front of the world and countless would flock to his cause. There was no guarantee that the orcs he announced himself to would agree to bend a knee to him either.

“Ah, now don’t let that discourage you, my friend!” laughed Drumdar. “Surely one blessed by the Old Gods such as you would be up to the task.” He grasped Knaatl’s bicep and gave it a firm squeeze. The bulging muscle beneath the thick green hide didn’t budge beneath his fingers. “After all, you have this stubborn rogue alongside you and that wizard of yours.”

“Samuel is no wizard,” Amthos murmured pensively.

“Is that so? I’ve heard tales of his abilities. Did he not disarm all of Knaatl’s men with a simple wave of a hand? Summon serpents from nothingness and hide you from the gaze of Alliance patrolmen who were merely inches away from you? Did he also not kill a War Priest by simply asking him to die?”

He turned to the flashy lord with surprise and Knaatl let out one of his bellowing laughs.

“Drumdar may make for a poor soldier but he lived for court intrigue and subterfuge,” said the burly chieftain. “You’ll find it hard to keep secrets around him.”

It had only been a few hours and already Drumdar had discerned so much from them already. As the young lord fanned himself with a hand and batted his eyes at Knaatl, Amthos came to realise that this man’s colourful personality hid a cunning mind. So he began to question why someone like him would be so willing to welcome them.

“Is that so?” said the Avatar. “Not to question your hospitality but what do you wish from us in exchange for your welcome?”

Drumdar’s keen, green eyes sparkled. “I will be frank, my young orc, but I do not quite know yet.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and crossing his fingers together. He rested his chin on the bridge of his fingers and batted his eyes at Amthos. “On the one hand, a simple missive to Raonoak and I could bring down the might of the Holy Alliance upon you. Your men are outnumbered even should you encourage the orcs already here to join your cause. I could be granted favour with my father once more and perhaps take that step closer to returning to the gilded halls of my forefathers.”

Amthos’ fingers closed around armrests of the chair. With one yank, he could tear it from the chair and kill Drumdar in an instant. But something told him to stay his hand for the moment.

“On the other hand,” Drumdar said, leaning back against his chair and glowering darkly off to the distance, “I doubt my father would be so inclined to allow me back into the courts despite that. I have already been branded a deviant but to be called a man who would turn on his guests for ambition is far more despicable. Plus I see far more benefits from having the leader of a new Orc Nation as my ally and friend than gaining the fickle favour of the Alliance’s courts.”

The Orc Avatar breathed a little easier. “I know the sting of the noble courts well enough.”

“Is that so? Were you a scorned noble’s son that was found fucking an orc or was that just a nasty rumour that found convincing evidence and your family decided to cut you out of their line like a diseased limb?”

It was clear that Drumdar spoke from experience.

“No,” Amthos answered with a wry smile. “I was the squire of Lord-Knight Eranius von Karksteid. Orradin Greenslayer was visiting Raonoak and there was a dark omen that appeared during Fallowday. As we were lighting the bonfires as was tradition, a blood moon appeared and a dark wind blew and the clouds took the shape of a wolf that swallowed the moon. This was all in accordance to a vision that Eranius’ most trusted friend and War Wizard, Qurron had.”

“A vision?” asked the lord of Whitepeak with genuine curiosity. “As foolish at it may seem to the pragmatist, I heed the warnings of visions especially when given by one who convenes with the Gods such as a War Wizard.” He chuckled softly as he sliced into the meal he had been given. “I remember visiting a seer once and he warned me of a vision he had of two male ducks mating furiously in a back alley before being found by a butcher and having both killed. To this day, I believe the seer was alluding to my own fate.” He glanced towards Amthos. “What did this War Wizard’s vision entail?”

The Orc Avatar looked pensively at the goblet of wine in front of him. It seemed so small compared to his enormous hands. “Qurron said that he saw a vast battlefield filled with the dead. A woman with no face and white as a ghost strode through the sea of bodies and blood. Where she passed, the dead rose to form an unholy army. They marched upon Trispire led by a mechanical horse with electric yellow eyes. In the sky there was the emblem of the Holy Triad, darkened and corrupt. A wolf with blue eyes that had pupils shaped like a star devoured the emblem. It was this last part of the vision that seemed to happen at Fallowday.”

Both Drumdar and Knaatl seemed perturbed.

“That seems like a dark vision indeed,” said the blonde noble. “But the words of the Gods are not always clear for we mortals to interpret.”

“Samuel once said they speak in hyperbole.”

Drumdar laughed at that. “Yes, yes they do. It is hard to tell when they are being literal or metaphorical. Regardless, was it this vision that brought you to these halls?”

Amthos shook his head. “No. The festival was ruined and these dark portents had the lords and ladies of the court scared. Orradin insisted it was orc magic but Eranius refuted this. They argued and I defended my one-time-lord. Orradin, however, twisted my words and made me seem like a Greenskin Sympathiser. Eranius had no choice but to brand me, strip me of my title and cast me out. I was making my way to the Neverborn Desert when I met Samuel and he took me to the Gods.”

The young lord was pensive for a moment, picking up his goblet and gently taking a sip from it, his little finger extended. As he set it down, he let out a thoughtful noise. “I believe I have decided how you can repay me for my hospitality, Amthos Hordemaker.”

The Orc Avatar tensed again. “And how is that?”

“You may use Whitepeak as your base of operations. You are free to wander its halls and do with its resources as you see fit within reason. I merely request you not turn any who do not wish it into orcs. In exchange, you will assist in expanding Whitepeak past its walls. I have plans to create farms defensible walls beyond the fort but just never had the manpower or resources due to erratic attacks by the Shalan’dar.”

“The what?”

“Snow elves,” Drumdar said. “It’s is elven for snow elves. You’ll find the different subspecies of elves always have ‘dar’ in their race’s name. It is the prefix that changes. Roughly translated, ‘Shalan’dar’ means ‘forsaken snow mages of the People’. If it wasn’t clear, ‘dar’ means ‘the People’ which is what the elves refer to themselves as.”

“And what do they call humans?”

“‘Lifen’darum’. Short lived race of the non-People. Not as poetic when not in elven.”

“Dwarves?” Amthos asked, now very curious.

“Roklen’darum. Earth-dwelling race of the non-People.” Drumdar lifted a finger. “And before you ask. To the elves, the orcs are called ‘Galthia’darlien.” He gave the Avatar a wry smile. “Foul green skinned enemies of the People.”

He scowled at the name and let out a gruff huff. “I wonder what the orcs call the elves…”

A fourth voice came from behind, surprising them. “Kalkmaduur,” Samuel said, striding towards them. “Translated, it means, ‘fair ghosts of the forests’. When the orcs first encountered the elves, they still lived mostly in their forests and danced through the leaves like ghosts.”

“Ah! The mighty spellcaster!” exclaimed Drumdar, rising from his seat. “Thank you for this magnificent feast, Master No One! Come, sit! You must taste the fruits of your labour!”

“I must decline,” Samuel said, raising an armoured hand. “I am sure as you have already discerned, I do not eat or drink. It is simply not necessary for me. I simply came here as I wished to speak with you.”

“Oh yes?” Drumdar asked, smiling. “And how can I be of assistance.”

A chill ran down Amthos’ spine but it was unlike the sensation he got that left him with the impression that Samuel was smiling. This was filled him with degree of dread. The No One reached over and plucked an apple away from Drumdar’s plate.

“Tomorrow morning, the servant who gives you your morning milk will have poisoned your drink on the behest of Captain Torlidain.” A few tables away, Torlidain spewed the wine he had been drinking into the face of the man sitting across from him. The entire hall fell silent.

“You took him on your information gathering expedition amongst the Nightusks and the prisoners we had brought. He too knows what you know and he knows you well enough that you will likely try to coax one of the orcs of the Nightusks to bed you just as you’ve had the orcs of the Hard Spear to do the same. Hearing you broker an attempt to expand Whitepeak beyond these fort’s borders was the last straw. The good captain may complain and speak bitterly of living a stagnant repetitive life but he would not have it changed. This changes his status quo and he wants it stopped.”

Drumdar frowned at him. For the first time, Amthos could see the wrinkles across his eyes and the corners of his lips. The lord was older than his porcelain features first led on. “This is a dire accusation. Torlidain has been a loyal captain of my forces for years. We have had our disagreements, yes, but I trust him with my back.”

Samuel looked past the lord and locked gazes directly with Torlidain. “Were you planning to poison Drumdar, Torlidain?”

The guard captain’s eyes went wide like saucers. His lips twisted into a scowl and he immediately got to his feet. “Foul mage! Don’t try using your magic against me to make me confess to a crime that is not mine!”

“What would I possibly gain to accuse you falsely?” countered the armoured knight. “I already provided the food. Drumdar already offered the orcs shelter in exchange for their assistance. I would have nothing to gain from this accusation except saving the life of Drumdar, the man who has been nothing but hospitable to us.” He inclined his head to the side. “After all, should Drumdar die, you are next in line to take command. Were that to happen, you can do with the orcs and the fort as you saw fit. You can live the rest of your years in relative comfort without every doing anything and not bending to the whims of someone more ambitious that you.”

Drumdar turned around and his gaze narrowed at Torlidain. “Captain. Would you really have had me killed?”

The red-faced captain scowled and spat, a gooey wad landing right on Drumdar’s plate. “You fraternise with orcs! They are our enemies! You sleep with them and dress them in finery when they should be strapped down in leather and treated like the animals that they are! You would treat them like humans when they are brutish, have no culture and have no honour!” He waved a hand towards Amthos and Knaatl. “Now you’re opening your doors to these insane reprobates who blaspheme against the Gods! Worse, you would work with them to expand the borders of our fort which has stood against assault after assault of the snow elves for years! You would disrupt our every way of life, Drumdar!”

A hushed silence fell upon the entire hall and all eyes darted between Drumdar and Torlidain, arguably the two leaders of the fort. Drumdar had the orcs and possibly some of the civilians on his side while Torlidain had the entirety of the guard and the other civilians.

“These harsh winters may have sapped you of ambition, Torlidain,” Drumdar said. “But we cannot sit idly by and wait for our hair to turn grey and our last breaths to leave our bodies. I want to leave a legacy for the next generation and it will not be as ‘that shamed and banished’ man who died at Whitepeak!”

He spread his arms wide, his voice rising to a crescendo. Amthos was rather surprised that Drumdar’s almost girlish pitch vanished as his voice grew louder. “Our reputation is essentially a glorified jail for people to regain their honour but we all know that no one here is ever going to return to the welcoming arms of their friends and family. You may be content to live the rest of your life as things are now but I personally do not want to sit on my gilded cushion while men die to the raids of the snow elves that occur year after year! I want to turn Whitepeak into a reputable metropolis! One that will even make Raonoak green with envy!”

People were nodding and even Amthos found himself agreeing with the inspiring noble.

“A fool’s dream,” scowled Torlidain. “The moment we build something, the snow elves will destroy whatever we’ve built. Then it is back to where we were, slowly dying of the cold and isolation. Better at least be comfortable in our graves than pour blood and sweat into a city that will never be.”

Others were quietly agreeing with the guard captain. People were actually starting to gravitate to one side of the hall. At the moment, they seemed to be divided evenly though given the size of the orcs, it seemed that they had Torlidain’s side outnumbered.

Drumdar slammed his palms onto the table and glowered at his guard captain. “You are the fool to believe if the status quo can be maintained like that. Every month, new exiled men come to our doorstep from all over the world. Can you honestly believe that we will be able to maintain our supplies as more and more people come to us? Or would you rather turn them away? Worse yet, would you prefer we ‘balance’ the supply and demand by willingly throwing those we work so hard to train and protect to the snow elves hoping that the sporadic raids will act as a sort of culling that only the strongest will survive?”

The accusation struck a nerve and Torlidain’s eyes bulged and his hands tightened into fists. His lack of a response proved that either he had not thought that far ahead or that was exactly what he had hoped for. Some of those on his side, particularly some of the younger guards began inching towards Drumdar’s side.

But he was now growing desperate and when desperate, anyone would unleash their dirtiest tricks.

“And I’m sure you would have us all turn into orcs!” snapped the guard captain. “Don’t deny it, orc fucker! You’ve always craved tall, muscular men! You want these orcs to fuck you and turn each and every one of us into one of them! I don’t know what spell that mage has cast upon you but he has twisted your mind! We shouldn’t even allow these Greenskins into our fort! They are an epidemic! A disease! We could all be slowly turning into orcs now without us knowing it!”

Now others from Drumdar’s side were moving towards Torlidain, particularly away from the Nightusks.

“Now you are just throwing accusations and preying upon superstition,” sneered Drumdar. “You have no proof of this.”

“And you cannot defend yourself either, Drumdar. But we all know you sleep with your orc slaves and you worship their bodies. Out in public you may hold the leash but within the confines of your own bed, they hold yours.” The captain reached for his sword and immediately drew it, pointing it accusingly at Drumdar. “Your ass is so wide and loose that I am surprised you could still walk upright!”

“How dare you!”

Torlidain spread his arms wide, welcoming the challenge. “Care to defend your honour, Drumdar? I invoke a trial by combat!”

There, the lord flinched. He was a master wordsmith but clearly he was not a fighter. However, the moment of weakness vanished quickly as he said, “Very well. But I shall choose a champion to fight in my stead.”

The red-faced guardsman sneered at him. “Coward. Fine. Choose your champion.”

Suddenly, Samuel stepped forward. “It seems to me that it is my honour that has been put to question here. You accuse me of manipulating your lord and indeed everyone here with the ambition of turning them all into orcs. Yet we forget that you have yet to deny the accusation that you planned to poison your liege lord. I do believe this argument is between you and I. So I will take up this challenge.”

Amthos went rigid. He had seen Samuel kill a War Priest by simply asking. While he was confident that Samuel could beat him, if the mage unleashed his full might upon the guardsman, could they still earn the trust of Whitepeak? He did not want to rule with fear…

“Don’t take me for a fool, mage,” snarled Torlidain. “Your armour and cloak are likely enchanted. Your blade even more so. If you will take up this challenge, no magic.”

“Very well,” answered Samuel coolly. He strode around the table, standing at the centre of the hall while Torlidain did the same, grinning confidently. Amthos immediately got out of his seat and approached Samuel who was already taking off his clothes.

“You need not do this, Samuel,” he whispered. “I can fight in your honour. Or perhaps Knaatl or the other Nightusks. We all owe you for leading us here.”

Samuel handed him his starry cloak. “This is not a matter of honour, Amthos. This is a means for Torlidain to get the long buried grievances he has off his chest. Look at how he is standing.” Amthos glanced to the guard captain. “He holds his sword too tightly. His stance is angry. His muscles tensed. This is more than just claiming Whitepeak. This is about him beating his fists against a wall for the hundredth time and hoping that this blow will be the one to break it down.”

He then realised exactly what Samuel intended. “You can’t let him kill you!”

“He won’t.”

Then Samuel reached for his helmet and Amthos drew a breath, fearful of what he would see this time. To his surprise, he did not see the heroic features of his brother, Luxaeus. Instead, he spied features of a wolf with jet-black fur and bright, golden blonde hair between his large, triangular ears. Everyone drew a breath and Samuel began stripping off his armour, revealing a strong, lean, muscular frame dressed in a plain white tunic and trousers that contrasted against his jet-black fur. There was thick golden fur against his chest just poking out from the neckline of his tunic.

“You’re a Fénrian?” Torlidain scowled. “I didn’t know there were Fénrian mages but then again, they have always been sneaky and deceitful.”

“I am not one of the wolf-men,” answered Samuel calmly, crossing his arms. “I am a No One. Fénrians have tails. I do not. I also have these…” Suddenly, massive silvery chains sprung from Samuel’s back, causing everyone to gasp. They arranged themselves into wing-like patterns, forming the outline of a skeletal pair of wings with wicked tips on the edges. “But to make things fair, I won’t use them.” The chains folded, wrapping around his chest and abdomen like chainmail to at least counter the armour that Torlidain wore.

“Whatever you are,” scowled Torlidain, swinging his blade through the air. “You realise that a trail by combat is to the death.”

“I never agreed to that!” snapped Drumdar.

“Such is our customs, Drumdar. Or would you rather spit on those too?”

Samuel closed his deep blue eyes. “You are most welcome to try and kill me, Torlidain. Though it would be difficult when I break every bone in your body.”

Amthos took several steps back. The threat caused the very air to drop in temperature. Along with the rest of the onlookers, they formed a circle around the combatants. Torlidain was swinging his blade through the air, showing off his prowess while his supporters began cheering for him. No one cheered for Samuel as they all felt the odd sense of dread that he inspired.

“Pick your weapon, wolf,” declared the guard captain.

“I won’t need any weapons.”

That unnerved the cocky, boisterous human. “You swore not to use any magic.”

“I won’t.”

Jeering, Torlidain let out a shout and charged at Samuel, swinging his blade to cleave the wolf’s head clear off his shoulders. Samuel merely took one step back, avoiding the attack and then as soon as the captain’s arm had swung away, he stepped forward, seized the man’s arm and struck Torlidain’s nose with the heel of his palm. Blood exploded from human’s nose and he staggered back, clutching his face in pain.

Samuel moved like the night, silent and fast. He swept towards Torlidain in that instant, seizing the man’s wrist and giving it a twist so sharp and painful that everyone could hear the crack the bones made and winced in response. Torlidain howled in agony and dropped his sword. The No One snatched the blade from the air and immediately spun around, pressing his back against the human’s chest. Before Torlidain could even react, Samuel stabbed the pilfered blade right into the man’s left foot.

The burly guard captain threw his head back in pain but suddenly had all the wind knocked from his lungs. Samuel’s elbow buried deep into his gut. That caused Torlidain to double over and in doing so primed him for Samuel’s fist to slam against his chin. The black wolf pulled the sword from Torlidain’s foot, allowing the man to stagger back. He spun around, blade singing through the air and biting deep into flesh. Torlidain received a bloody gash across his chest, running from his right hip to his left shoulder. Samuel used his momentum to quickly crouch and sweep his leg out, taking Torlidain’s footing. The guard captain toppled to the ground, blinded with blood and pain. He cried in pain once again. Samuel dug his borrowed blade into Torlidain’s left hand.

The dark wolf pressed his knee against Torlidain’s wounded chest forcing tears out of the man’s eyes. Samuel leaned down, almost nose to nose with the humiliated guard captain.

“Something about trials by combat,” whispered the wolf softly. “There is no time limit to the expiration of the challenge.”

He suddenly got up and turned his back to the injured guard captain. He began putting on his armour, shocking those around him.

“You craven bastard!” shouted Torlidain through pained tears. “Are you too cowardly to bloody your own hands!? Kill me!”

“If you think I am afraid to kill someone, then you best ask the men who came with us. They know I am not afraid to kill and all I need to do is simply ask and my target will die.” Samuel slipped on his cape.

“Then why won’t you kill me!?” demanded Torlidain.

“Because this trial by combat is not over.” He glanced over his shoulder as he brought his helmet back towards his head. “It is merely postponed. I suggest you go lick your wounds, grow stronger and find yourself better equipment before you try to kill me.”

He placed his helmet on his head, his muzzle and lupine features somehow vanishing into the helm’s confines.

“Perhaps then you could fight with your honour intact.”

******

The parapets of the keep were oddly quiet and very peaceful. Though bitingly cold, the air was fresh and crisp. It gave Knaatl some time to clear his head as he approached the lone figure standing not too far away, peering off into the distance. Once again in full armour, Samuel was no less intimidating especially in the darkness.

“You put on quite a show for dinner today,” he rumbled, scratching his braided beard. “You cooked for us and entertained us with bloody combat. Ever thought of being a mummer?”

“I’ve been one in countless lifetimes,” answered the No One enigmatically. “Though I doubt you came up here hours after the event to comment on my ability to entertain.” Samuel turned to him with those deep, blue eyes. “What is on your mind, Knaatl?”

The former bandit sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You made more enemies than allies in that display. Trials by combat is a means to end disputes once and for all. Many are calling you cruel and heartless for injuring Torlidain like that and then letting Drumdar banish him from Whitepeak. He will likely die out in the wilderness.”

“If he decides to die, then yes, he will. But if he decides to exact revenge on me, then he won’t. I fully anticipate that he will make an attempt at my life some time in the future.”

“And you let him go?” Knaatl asked, confused. “If he is a threat, why let him go free?”

Samuel turned back into the vast plains outside of Whitepeak. “As I have said before. This is not only Amthos’ tale. There are other stories that need to be told. Torlidain’s amongst them.”

Knaatl couldn’t understand such logic but he decided not to pry too much into the mind of a No One. “Several of the men, orc or human, are whispering of you now, you know. They fear you and question whether or not Amthos is the true mind behind this.” He crossed his arms with a huff. “They know you were the one that guided him to his fort. You led him to the Old Gods to be transformed. Are you truly an advisor or a puppet master? Is this truly his story or is it one you are writing?”

“I have my own story to tell, Knaatl. Right now, it intertwines heavily with that of Amthos’ and the other Avatars. But you are right. Your Avatar will need to do something to prove he is a true leader and not just my puppet.” That spine chilling smile crept down Knaatl’s spine again. “And by now, I’m sure he’s already heard the rumours. He will most certainly need to do something bold and soon.”

The big orc couldn’t help but feel that this was all somehow planned. “One more question before I retire to my night of uncertainty and nightmares.”

“Fire away.”

“Amthos told me about the vision the War Wizard had many times before. I never gave much thought to the idea of a wolf devouring the moon or the symbol of the Triad but seeing your form today had me wondering…”

Samuel turned to him. “Yes?”

“Are you that wolf? Did you devour the moon on Fallowday?”

Again, that smile that made Knaatl shiver. “Are you asking if I manipulated the weather with my powers, scared everyone in Raonoak and effectively orchestrated Amthos’ fall from grace and then led him here to become the Avatar?”

Knaatl swallowed hard, his fists shaking.

“No.”

He automatically didn’t believe the No One but after having seen the man’s skills without magic just earlier that day, he was wary of throwing accusations around. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” answered Samuel. “The Holy Triad sensed our presence and I’m sure they sent warnings to their followers. However, as Drumdar mentioned, the words of Gods often get twisted in the ears and minds of others. I had nothing to do with the storm that ‘consumed the moon’ at Raonoak.”

“Then are you saying the Triad created the phenomenon? Why?”

The No One gazed upwards towards the moon. “I don’t think it was them. They would have nothing to prove if their warnings came true or not. They are the absolute power in Tirinead for now, after all.”

“Then who?”

Samuel’s eyes narrowed as he turned to the south. “I would think a man scorned for his vision would be a likely suspect, don’t you? Particularly one who is meant to be a wise advisor to the Lord-Knight.”

Knaatl’s eyes went wide. “You mean…?”

“Exactly.”

******

Drumdar was convinced for Torlidain’s guilt but he was not completely heartless. He sent the disgraced captain off with some supplies, a sword and clothes. However, he was not so merciful that he would expend supplies to see his wounds healed before he was exiled from the fort. Amthos had to admit to feeling a little satisfied with the guard captain’s banishment. The bastard was cold in his treatment of the orcs and he felt Whitepeak as a whole would benefit from his absence.

But he was still lost in thought at what Drumdar had said. Uniting the tribes and waging a war was more than just charging headlong into battle. There were countless forts just like Whitepeak all along the Fangs of the World. Add to that the mining towns and Raonoak which was the closest fully-manned region to the north. Suddenly, those two billion citizens that could potentially become part of the budding orc nation were two billion swords against him.

Suddenly, the monumental task of being the Avatar of the Orcs seemed so much more daunting than he had first thought. Doubt crept back into his heart and plagued his mind. Paralysing uncertainty kept him glued to the seat he had occupied in the Whitepeak’s dining hall. Even as servants cleaned around him, he remained in his seat, brooding and absently looking across the hall to the big, broad, wooden doors.

Would it be so hard to walk through those doors and disappear into the wilds, never to be seen again?

Could he live with himself if he abandoned his divine duty?

“You seem troubled, young orc.”

Beside him was a wizened orc, one of the Hard Spear. Orcs tended not to age so drastically compared to humans. He could only tell this male was aged due to the grey in his hair and the way he was using the broom he carried as a walking staff. Otherwise, the stranger’s physique and body showed little signs of aging. Wrinkles were few and mainly focused around his eyes and brow but his muscles were still taut and firm and his posture was still strong and proud.

“Apologies elder,” Amthos answered roughly. “I will not impede your work.”

“Nonsense, my boy,” rumbled the old orc, waving him down. “I would appreciate if you lifted your feet but let me not trouble you.”

Amthos gave him a tight smile and rose from his seat. “You are of the Hard Spear then?”

“Born and raised.” The orc smiled at him as he swept food scraps from around Amthos’ chair.

“You must’ve lived through the War.”

A sigh of nostalgia escaped the aged orc. “If you could call that living. I spent almost thirty years of my life fighting. The last two or so decades have been spent struggling to survive. But such difficulties breed character. I would not exchange them for anything else.”

It occurred to him that most of the orcs from other tribes would likely be much older than him. There would be few orcs his age if any at all. All the orc young had been killed, after all, leaving only the able-bodied men who fought at the Alliance. Having been born near the end of the war, he didn’t really experience battle and even when he grew up to become a squire, he lived rather comfortably for his father’s contributions to Raonoak.

He felt abashed at calling himself the Avatar of the Orcs and never once experiencing the hardship that they carried on their shoulders.

“Do you have another of those?” he asked, gesturing at the broom.

“No need to trouble yourself. This is my work.”

“And I would like to assist.”

The old orc laughed at him and gave his chest a slight backhanded slap. “I am not so old to be decrepit. Leave an old man with his pride.”

Amthos thought quickly. “Perhaps take it as payment then. I would like to learn more about the Hard Spear and in exchange, I will assist you in your work. Does that sound agreeable?”

The old orc gave him a smile and nodded. “It does indeed. Here, take my broom. I know where to find others.”

Within moments, they were sweeping the floor together.

“My name is Pergradin Hard Spear,” introduced his elder. “And you are Amthos Hordemaker. You are the human turned into an orc by the Old Gods themselves.”

“That is correct,” said Amthos with a nod. “Does the Hard Spear have a chieftain?”

Pergradin laughed softly. “Ah we did once. However he was a boorish, arrogant fool who refused to see the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That we orcs are doomed to die if we did not ask for help. He insisted that we wander these northern wastes on our own. He refused to deal with the wildmen or even ask for sponsorship from any humans. The land is harsh and the snow elves would attack us if we ever lingered in one place too long. We must keep wandering and in the trek, we would lose a brother after brother until we are the few you see now.”

“Two hundred is hardly a ‘few’.”

The aged orc laughed softly and leaned on his broom, his eyes distant and nostalgic. “Ah but there were days when we numbered in the thousands. The Hard Spear were known for our bravery, stubbornness and refusal to die. In the great orcish horde, we were one of the vanguard tribes. We were first in battle but we never faltered despite being slated to die in the first charge.” He gave Amthos a wry smile. “I suppose it was that belief that led our old chieftain to doggedly hold onto his virtues and not bend a knee.”

Admirable traits to be sure but Amthos had to wonder… “What changed?”

“We killed our chieftain,” sighed Pergradin. “From the thousands we numbered, we were barely two hundred and we saw our future. Many more would die unless we accepted our fate and focused more on survival than our tribe’s name and honor. We were lucky to find a lord as… appreciative of our traits such as Drumdar.”

“But what about your orcish pride?” Amthos demanded. “What about what it means to be an orc?”

The old orc shot him a piercing stare. “And what would you know about that, boy?”

He grimaced and pulled back. His knowledge from the Old Gods didn’t extend that far, unfortunately. All he knew was that each tribe had their own form of ‘honour’ and their own ‘code’ of conduct. When united under a horde, the orcs acted under the same conduct that the warchief’s tribe followed effectively turning every member of the horde into an extension of that one tribe. But he knew little about the specifics of each tribe.

“I thought so,” Pergradin murmured, turning away. “To be an orc is more than just being a green skinned living weapon of war. We are not a disorganised, scattered mess of warmongers as Alliance races would have everyone believe. We have an identity. We are a race. We are not all the same.” He shot Amthos a piercing stare. “And we do not all want to reignite a war that could see us all dead and gone permanently.”

“You would not want to fight for your homeland?” asked Amthos angrily. “You would not want to have a place to call your own free of Alliance oppression?”

“At what cost, boy?” snarled the older orc. “You would have us march to war, vastly outnumbered and with faith in deities that not only armed the force that decimated us but stood idly by and watched the monsters they had created neuter and scatter us into the winds.” The older orc, despite being much smaller than Amthos seemed to grow in authority and cause Amthos to shrink away. “Shall we set aside our lives for the fickle Gods who did this to us? Should we put our trust in an untested, un_educated_ whelp that has the power and brains of an ox?”

Pergradin huffed and turned his back to the Avatar. “You know nothing of our people or our suffering. How do you expect to lead us with so little knowledge?”

“The Gods gave me the gift of knowledge and –”

“Knowledge is worthless,” spat the orc. “You may know about orcs but you are not one.”

Those words chilled the Avatar’s heart. He had never considered that other orcs would not want to join him. It seemed almost absurd now that his appearance would be the trigger that would unite all the scattered tribes in one fell swoop. Again, he realised his task was far more daunting than he first thought. Not only would he have to deal with logistics, military tactics and the countless numbers of the Alliance but now he would have to deal with the politics of the tribes. He was not their warchief yet and all the tribes, all the orcs had to come agree to be part of his horde.

“Then teach me.”

Pergradin froze and turned towards the Avatar. “Say again?”

“Teach me how to be an orc,” Amthos said. He tapped his temple. “I know the rituals. I know the traditions and histories but I only know what the Gods gave me. They didn’t tell me about each individual tribe, their customs or every chieftain. They didn’t tell me how to be an orc or what it means to be one.” He clasped his mighty green hands together. “Please, teach me. I have seen the orcs suffer and I wish to save them, to form a nation they can call their own and push back the Alliance.”

The grey-haired orc gazed deep into Amthos’ eyes with his own, dark ones. “Is that so? Tell me then. Why do you wish to form this nation? Why do you wish to break the orcs out of the bondage of the Alliance?”

“Because –”

Pergradin snapped his broom around, smacking it against Amthos’ wrist. “Do not give me that sanctimonious mantra about the Gods entrusting you with such a task. You are your own man. You have your own motivations. You were human. You cannot expect me to believe you were a freedom fighter for the orcs that was plucked from the muck and mire by the divine and entrusted with such a task.” He leaned towards Amthos, eyes narrow. “What really drives you?”

Insulted at the accusation, Amthos puffed out his powerful chest. “I speak honestly. I was chosen by the Old Gods and I willingly accept their task with all my heart.”

Shaking his grey mane, Pergradin turned his back to Amthos. “You lie, boy. You lie to me. To your friends. To yourself. The Gods may know your true motivations and I have little doubt they are using it to manipulate you into doing their bidding just like how they used the once-mortal Triad.” He began sweeping again. “I will not teach you, boy. Not until you are honest with yourself.”

Amthos snarled, baring his teeth at the old orc. “You know nothing of me. Your lack of faith disgusts me. May the Gods smite you where you stand!”

Pergradin snorted. “They have yet to, boy.”

The Avatar growled. He wanted, more than anything, to wring the old male’s neck, watch him breathe his last as he saw the might of the Old Gods come bearing down on him. More than anything, he wanted to prove Pergradin wrong.

“And you see that there?” said the orc, never once turning his back. “That is the aggression and the brutality that only humans see in orcs. A result of propaganda and hatred bred into their young, turning a noble race into little more than monsters to be feared and to scare children at night.” Only then did Pergradin turn his head over his broad shoulders at Amthos. “How can you expect to lead us to salvation when you cannot save yourself from the taint of the Triad?”

And with that… Amthos’ face and heart fell.

******

Knaatl’s mind was reeling. Part of him wanted to storm to Raonoak and demand a confession from that War Wizard that had effectively led to Amthos’ current path. At the same time, he also wanted to kiss the man and thank him profusely for bringing purpose and drive back into his life. But thinking of the possibility that Qurron created that celestial phenomenon all in an attempt to save face made him ponder about the parallels between the War Wizard and Torlidain.

Both men were willing to go to extreme lengths just to preserve their way of life. Qurron clearly wanted to maintain his seat of power while Torlidain just wanted to keep Whitepeak just as it was. Where Qurron was likely enjoying the fruits of his deception, Torlidian was now wandering the wilderness, just barely bandaged and exiled.

“The price of trying to stand up against change…” he murmured softly.

“Kaltan?”

He turned and noticed that Drumdar was standing a short distance away just in the doorway of one of the rooms of the keep. From the sweet smells coming from the room, it was clearly the lord’s quarters.

“Dar. What are you doing awake?”

“I constantly heard these heavy footsteps passing by my room,” answered the lord. “I guess they were you.” He glanced left and right. “Have you been pacing back and forth down his hall?”

Knaatl glanced up and down the stone hallway and grimaced. “I suppose I have. I was looking for my quarters but was lost in thought.” He gave his friend a curious frown. “Have you become a light sleeper? As I recall, my snores never woke you when we bedded.”

The exiled noble laughed and waved his wrist limply through the air. “My views on the orcs are hardly popular. As you saw with this evening’s dinner, more than a few have often considered ousting me and ripping me from my throne.”

“And you let that happen?”

Drumdar shrugged. “It keeps them entertained and gives them a purpose.” The young, blonde noble crossed his arms and looked forlornly to the distance. “It is lonely here in Whitepeak and often people need some sort of escape to avoid madness. If grumbling and complaining of my carnal activities will see them placated, I will allow it. So long as they do not act upon it, of course. Still, a few assassination attempts have been made. I am fortunate that I have often had an orc in my bed and they are at least grateful for my aid.”

A tenuous peace fell upon Whitepeak. The orcs adored Drumdar for his hospitality but at the same time, the humans hated him for it. With so many orcs already integrated into the fort, if Drumdar were to be assassinated, the orcs would likely rebel against their human overseers. While there was a sizeable force of humans that outnumbered the orcs, the battle would be bloody and there would be many losses. Drumdar, ever the schemer, used that to his advantage. His orcs were effectively his ‘bodyguards’ and he knew that if he died, Whitepeak would bathed in blood.

“Clever fox,” Knaatl chuckled. “But I would honestly be uneasy having so many enemies living so close to me. I would see them dead before I share a meal with them.” He glanced to the left and snickered. “You remind me of Samuel, in fact.”

“Do I know? Have I ever given you any inclination of using magic?”

“As I recall, your hands are quite magical,” Knaatl answered, waggling his bushy eyebrows playfully. “But in all seriousness, he allowed Torlibain to live and be banished fully suspecting that he will make an attempt at his life in the future. It smells of a scheme.”

The noble laughed, brushing aside a stray lock of blonde hair from his eyes. “Ah yes. It was quite a show and I have no doubt that your resident ‘No One’, was it? I am sure he has his own plots. Whether they align with your own objectives or that of Amthos, I am unsure.” He narrowed his gaze at Knaatl, a dark smile on his face. “But I question this… the Old Gods turned Amthos into their Avatar. No mean feat. But clearly they still possess incredible power. From the stories I’ve heard, they already had his Warg, Winterpaw, under their command.”

He gave Knaatl a coy stare. “Why would they send Samuel to fetch Amthos when they could’ve instead sent Winterpaw?”

Knaatl shrugged. “Perhaps because it would be less conspicuous?”

“And a wolf-man with chains springing from his back wearing white and gold armour and a starry cape astride a jet-black horse is far less conspicuous than an abnormally large Warg?”

“Point taken.” Knaatl grumbled and ran a hand through his long hair. “Ah my life has become increasingly complicated…”

Again, Drumdar let out his bright, musical laugh. “Take it from someone who thrives in complexity. Life is simple. Only you make it complex.” He stepped aside and beckoned to his quarters. “Come, it is cold out here in the hallway. Let us discuss your fears and woes inside.”

Despite knowing full well where this was going, Knaatl merely shrugged and followed his friend into his quarters. As was to be expected, Drumdar’s room was extravagant compared to the rest of the fort. There was a bear skin rug on the floor and velvety green drapes hanging from all the walls. A fireplace stood at the far end of the room, roaring with an inferno while two large chairs sat facing one another with a table between them. It was surprising there wasn’t a window or a balcony available but he could see small vents in the walls to allow some air inside with metal plates to close them should the need arise. Drumdar’s bed was very large. The velvety, gilded green drapes that hung over the four-post bed barely concealed the enormous mass of the cushiony mattress complete with a multitude of pillows. Two average humans would’ve been dwarfed by its sheer size. A man and an orc would’ve fit comfortably beneath the sheets. Maybe a third orc could join them. The flowery scent of elderberries was in the air but it could barely mask the heavy scent of sex and cum in the air.

“So tell me honestly, Kaltan,” Drumdar said, striding forward with an effeminate gait. “How is it that you became such a handsome, emerald-skinned stallion? How powerful is Samuel? I know War Priests are skilled in martial combat but Wizards are purely focused on arcane magic. Is Samuel a priest of the Old Gods?”

Knaatl sighed heavily and remained where he stood as Drumdar sauntered over to his bed. The lord lay down on the soft, mattress on his side, propping up his head on an arm. “As I said before, Dar, everything is true. Amthos is an Avatar. Samuel is a No One. We were not changed against our will or as part of some contract. We willingly went into this.”

The exiled noble frowned deeply. “I cannot say if this is some sort of cry for help or a form of control that mage has put upon you, Kaltan.”

“I am not under his control!” Knaatl snarled. “I bedded Amthos. His seed touched me and I became Knaatl, an orc.” He pointed accusing at his friend. “Get that through your head, Drumdar. I am now an orc!”

Ever calm and calculating, Drumdar lifted a hand in a sign of peace. “I have no qualms with you being as you are now. My only concern is that you have become this incredible specimen of a male due to the machinations of someone who is clearly using you.”

“Samuel has never led us astray before and has been nothing but loyal.”

“Loyal or protective of his assets? You are useful to him, Kaltan. The moment that you cease to have worth, he will discard you.”

The orc straightened and shook his head. “I do not believe that.”

The calm noble gave him a sight nod of his head. “And why is that? What convinced you that you are not under some spell of the mutant mage?”

“Because I died, Drumdar.” That stunned the noble. “Those men who attacked us? They were from a patrol belonging to a War Priest. The Priest struck me and I drowned in the river.” Knaatl grimaced at the memory. “I saw them. I saw the Triad. They are far from Holy. They sought to devour me. But then… I was saved by a white woman with no face.”

Drumdar straightened, his eyes wide. “Just as in the vision of the War Wizard in Raonoak…”

“Yes. And I am convinced that the wolf that swallowed the Triad was Samuel.” He crossed his arms. “I am not a fool, Drumdar. I know Samuel has some plan in place for us and I have no doubt that it is not entirely in line with what the Old Gods want. But if anything, I trust him. He gave me a great weapon and has been nothing but helpful.”

“There is a fine line between being helpful and being benevolent.”

“What difference does that make?”

Drumdar sat up, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Being benevolent means not wanting anything in return for your good deeds. Being helpful, while seems to benefit one party, is not necessarily entirely altruistic.”

Knaatl lifted his eyebrows. “What?”

“It means that if you are helpful, you do not have to be selfless. You could help someone with the expectation of wanting something in return.” Drumdar crossed his arms. “I honestly believe that Samuel is this kind of man.”

“And you are not?” Knaatl scowled. “What do you honestly want, Drumdar? You claim you welcome us provided we help you build Whitepeak to something more than a fort but I know you.” He pointed at the blonde noble. “You want something more.” Narrowing his eyes, he said, “You said there is a tenuous balance between the orcs and humans here. Having us here tips that balance. Especially since Amthos can turn any man that comes in contact with his seed into an orc. You realise how that could upset the balance.”

The noble didn’t speak and remained rigid where he sat.

Then it occurred to him.

“You want to be turned into an orc, don’t you?”

Drumdar rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes. Yes I do.” He jumped to his feet and threw his hands into the air in frustration. “You know my tastes, Kaltan. I love strong, muscular men bigger than myself. However I despise it when everyone treats me like some dainty princess that will break like glass at the slightest touch! Even when I scream for my lovers to plough me as hard as they can, they treat me like a newborn calf!”

He strode forward to Knaatl, seizing the orc’s arm and squeezing at the thick, bulging biceps. With a single finger, he traced the lines of veins crawling up Knaatl’s arms. “I want to be big and strong just like you so that men just as big and just as strong can stuff me with their cocks and plough me unendingly into bliss.”

Knaatl immediately pulled his arm away from his friend. “Doing this will brand you as a Greenskin Sympathiser. You’ll be abandoning your duty as Warden of Whitepeak. There’ll be mutiny in the ranks! Bloodshed!” He swept a hand behind him. “There are more humans than orcs! We are many times stronger than any man but we are still vulnerable! You would paint the walls red with blood just to sate your carnal desires!?”

Drumdar waved at him in his effeminate way again. “Don’t be so dramatic, Kaltan. Yes there are men who would rather die than see more orcs within these walls but they are few and far between. Most of them blow hot air, in fact. They have befriended the orcs here but only complain out of habit. Few even have bedded orcs themselves.”

“You are playing a dangerous game, Drumdar.”

The noble rolled his eyes again. “It is such intrigue that I thrive on, my friend. Trust me.” He reached out again, running his hands hungrily over Knaatl’s triceps. “Were I to turn into an orc, several others will see it as an opportunity to finally be with those that they truly care about. Whitepeak is a cold, lonely place, after all. It is filled with those who have been shamed and exiled, who had given up on their lives and found comfort in another’s arms. We are all men here and men all have needs.”

Knaatl lashed out, seizing Drumdar’s hand in one massive palm. “So you’re willing to gamble everyone’s lives on the off chance that your men are willing to take you as an example should you turn and follow the same path?”

Drumdar gave him a coy smile. “It isn’t a gamble if you know it to be a certainty.”

Shaking his head, Knaatl released the noble’s hand and turned away. “I will need to discuss this with Amthos and Samuel. If you are wrong, the lives of my men, yours and innocent orcs will be lost in the ensuing struggle.”

The blonde, effeminate nobble batted his lashes at him. “You’ve known me long enough, Kaltan, to know that I have planned for this in advance.”

He huffed derisively. “I’ve also known you long enough to know when you’re bluffing. You only knew about us a day at most and you expect me to believe you already have plans? I doubt you expected Samuel to shame Torlibain in front of everyone.” He shook his head and stepped towards the door. “I will speak with my men. We shall see what comes of this.”

He opened the door and stopped when one of the Hard Spear men, dressing in nothing but an elegant, white bathrobe stood there, a mere moment from knocking on the wooden frame. The man stared up at Knaatl in awe.

Grunting in disgust, Knaatl slipped past the orc and shot Drumdar a baleful stare. The exiled Warden of Whitepeak just gave him a helpless shrug.

“Drumdar,” he growled in warning.

“Yes?” cooed the blonde man.

“My name is Knaatl.”

******

By the next morning, Amthos was still fuming at Pergradin. He saw the old orc working to set up breakfast with other servants and was halfway tempted to charge over to him and challenge him to combat. Perhaps a full display of muscles and strength would show the aged male who was a true orc. But at the same time, he found himself agreeing with the Hard Spear elder’s ideas. Every orc amongst the Hard Spear was at least forty or thirty summers old. They were still in their prime and had full lives ahead of them. But the majority of their existence was either wrought with war or forced into a struggle for survival.

Who was he to break that when he didn’t even know what it meant to be an orc?

So he sought some help.

There was a training yard on the northern face of the fort pressed up against the wall. There, the soldiers trained, sparring with one another and against training dummies. They raced their horses and exchanged blows on horseback. Orc servants stood idly by waiting for the humans to be done with their arms and armour.

Samuel sat in the stables, brushing down Veronica. Oddly enough, he wasn’t dressed in his full armour anymore. Now, he was dressed in a white tunic made of some sort of silky fabric and a brown leather vest. His trousers were a deep blue, matching his eyes and made of a tough fabric he couldn’t identify. His feet were covered in a pair of shoes that were brightly coloured, white and blue, with short laces. Without his armour, he wore his lupine features well with his chain wings hanging behind him. The wings seemed to be under his control and each strand was capable of reaching out and gripping objects, bringing other brushes across Veronica’s smooth coat.

“I find it somewhat odd to see you in anything but your armour,” laughed Amthos.

Samuel gave him a wry smile in return. “You must’ve realised that I was someone beneath that armour, right?”

“I honestly thought you were a ghost beneath it given your ability to appear as a speaker’s most beloved.”

The No One laughed. “Fair enough. I’ve honestly been so many people across countless lifetimes that I sometimes find it hard to remember what I really look like. It is nice to let the air through my fur again.”

Amthos let out a thoughtful noise. “You could’ve taken off your armour at any time around us. The men are comfortable enough around you.”

“It isn’t a matter of comfort.” Samuel patted Veronica’s flanks slightly and the horse nickered in approval. “My armour actually acts as a sort of… limiter. In ages past when I was still coming into my abilities, I tended to find myself a little… destructive.” He lifted a paw and white, crackling energies danced between his fingertips. “Realmbreaker, in fact, appeared originally just as formless mass of white energies. In order to learn how to control it, I wore the armour. It both protected me and protected people from me. These days, I wear it more out of ceremony or habit.”

“Why did you wear it when we met?”

Samuel gave him a smirk. “Because I look too much like a Fénrian. Were I stride into these lands wearing my true face I would be attacked on sight. Of course I could have taken other appearances but I found this much easier.”

Amthos let out another thoughtful hum. “And your starry cloak? Does that serve a purpose?”

“Not anymore. When I was starting in my role as a No One, it used to be a means for me to easily cross vast distances easily. My Bag of Infinite Meals is made of the same material, in fact. With it, I could easily slip halfway across the world if I desired. Again, I’ve grown since then and I no longer need its function and have since disabled that ability. I wear it more out of habit now.”

The Orc Avatar grunted. “It occurs to me I know very little about you, my advisor.”

“The less you know, the better. And if it is a matter of trust, let my actions speak for my loyalties instead.”

“I’ve never doubted your loyalties.”

“You should. Just as the old idiom says, trust no one. I am a No One. You can either take that as an excuse to trust me or not. However, I warn against the former. You should not rely on me. One day, I will act against your wishes.”

Amthos frowned. It confused him that the wolf would be so honest and upfront to him about his future betrayal. “That is certainly… confronting.”

“My interests are in all of Tirinead, Amthos,” explained Samuel. “It is not your future, it is not the Old Gods or anyone else’s. People will get hurt by my actions. I will try to minimise suffering but we will be at odds one of these days.” He lifted a paw. “I am not asking you to stand aside to me. You need to be who you are not what anyone else says you should be. Certainly not what you think I want you to be. You are you. Write your story.”

“That is somewhat difficult if I have advisors.”

“The purpose of advisors is to advise. It’s still up to you to take my advice or not.”

“Sometimes it is difficult to be me when everyone else is wiser and more experienced.”

Samuel laughed softly. “I know that feeling. Often times, it is difficult not to draw from experiences from another adventure and bring it to bear into the current tale being told. I need to remind myself that every person, every story, is unique. I can’t expect them all to end the same way.”

Amthos smiled. “How do you manage?”

Samuel turned to him, folding his wings back. “Honestly?” He crouched down, resting his belly on the ground and leaning towards the ground. He beckoned for Amthos to join him. Wary of what everyone else was thinking, Amthos crouched down.

“I try to bring my focus to the smallest thing I can imagine,” said the No One, pointing at the ground. “Look here. Look how the dirt is amassed.”

Amthos let out a soft grunt. “I see… What is your point?”

“Look closer. Not at the dirt. But at what makes up the dirt. This smudge here. Was it made by a horse as he was being led out to train? What about this little mound here? Did a human make it while stumbling drunk into the stable to pass out? And here, this little rock. What it moved here by two orc lovers who wanted some privacy away from the rest of the tribe?”

The Avatar frowned. “I… I don’t know.”

“Exactly. Every patch of dirt is different.” He pointed at where Amthos was crouching. “Look at it from so far up there and you only see dirt.” Then he pointed down at the ground. “But get as close as possible and you’ll find yourself seeing things very differently. I try to stand as close to them as possible. I try not to look down my nose on them. I’m not saying I’m always successful.” The No One gave him a small smile. “The curse of foreknowledge, after all. But I try my best and I find that when you are covered in the muck and the mire, when you trudge through the darkness and bleed alongside the same people you are trying to lead, they will follow you more closely and in turn, you will know them far more deeply than any profile or dossier will ever be able to tell you.”

The Orc Avatar glanced over his shoulder at where the orcs and soldiers were. He watched closely as some of the humans jovially thanked the orcs for their assistance, joked with them, were comfortable with them. His eyes drifted back to the keep itself to what Pergradin had told him.

“But how do you not lose yourself in that world?” he asked. “How do you fight the temptation not to just discard your crown and throne and just be amongst them?”

Samuel chuckled and stood once more. “For me, it is a sense of responsibility. I am called back to my role in the greater tale. As tempting as it is to forget who I am and just be this other person, I know it will simply be an illusion for me.” He chuckled softly and gestured at himself. “I am built of different stuff to the rest of you. It helps that I have constant reminders that I am different.” He shook his metal wings for emphasis.

Amthos looked to the rest of the soldiers training and nodded. “If I am to earn the trust of the Hard Spear, I must stand amongst them and not over them.” He crossed his mighty arms. “At first, I had thought all orcs would be ecstatic to join my cause but now I see it is not so simple. There will be doubters. There will be rebels. Just like there will be sympathisers and conspirators amongst the Alliance. The world is far from simple.”

“A wise conclusion. What do you intend to do about it?”

He gave it some thought before nodding firmly. “Help me find some armour.”

******

Drumdar was quietly swirling some wine in a goblet in his chambers when the page came rushing in. His conversation with Kaltan – Knaatl – the previous night had disturbed him greatly. He was convinced the big orc would convince Amthos to transform him. Amthos was almost childish in his ambitions and Kaltan was never a man for intrigue. Clearly the former rogue had grown since their last rendezvous.

“Milord!” exclaimed the page, panting. “The Orc Avatar is in the training yard!”

He rolled his eyes. “That is good for him. I expected he didn’t obtain such a devilishly stunning physique from merely lounging about on some golden throne.”

“No, milord! He is training amongst the orcs!”

That caused alarm. “The orcs?”

“Yes, milord! The mage, Samuel, is teaching them all!”

That sent his heart racing. Had Kaltan revealed his ambitions to the mage? Was he now trying to better train the orcs for an eventual coup?

Drumdar quickly turned and swept through the stone walls in his finery. He could hear the shouts of command coming from Samuel as he drew closer and closer to the training yard. There was such authority and command in them. It took a special kind of man to possess a military command, something Drumdar sadly never possessed. While he could manoeuvre and outplay his opponents in a game of wits and trickery, in the battlefield, he was useless. If it came down to it, should the orcs rally under the mage, he doubted he could inspire much from his soldiers especially since he had banished Torlibain.

Too late did he realise that he had been outplayed. With no true military commander amongst his ranks and now doubt cast on his own honour, Samuel and Amthos were in a primed position to take over

“Outfoxed by a wolf,” he snarled to himself. His heart was racing. The intrigues of this dead, frozen fort rarely had him thrilled or feeling so alive than this moment. Allowing himself a small smile, he quickly composed himself as he burst out of the keep and into the training yard.

He was met with a second surprise that day.

“First position!” Samuel barked.

The line of orcs and men immediately took a step forward all in unison. One arm was outstretched and the other was curved behind them and over their heads.

“Second position!”

As one, the men let out a loud ‘Ya’ and thrust their curved arm forward. Their outstretched arm came across their chests, primed for another strike.

“Third position!”

And they took another step forward, thrusting their arms forward in rapid succession.

Confused and caught off guard, Drumdar stormed forward. “What is the meaning of this?”

Samuel was not dressed in his armour but his chain wings hung over his shoulders with a degree of authority like silvery banners. The wolf mage glanced at him with a look of mild interest.

“We are training,” said the mage.

“You are training my orcs.”

“And your men.”

Drumdar glanced towards the soldiers under his employ. His gaze stopped upon seeing none other than the Orc Avatar standing near the front of the line. Even more surprising was how the Avatar now donned some crude leather armour instead of being mostly naked. As disappointed as he was that the orc’s incredible manhood was hidden, he was intrigued at the sudden change of attire.

“Who gave you this authority?”

“No one,” answered the wolf with a coy smile. “Amthos merely asked me to train him in how I defeated Torlibain so easily and we began practicing here in the yard. I was under the impression that this fort’s facilities are open to everyone provided we assist with building its expansions.”

“It certainly is,” Drumdar replied, fighting off a growl. “I am curious how you came from training your Avatar to having all my men in lines dancing to your tune.”

“Amthos was not the only one curious about my techniques. I was simply asked. Who am I to deny the curiosity of others?”

One of his soldiers stepped forward, dropping his stance. “We meant no disrespect, milord. But Samuel did defeat the captain deftly. Were we better equipped, perhaps the toll on us would not be so harsh when the snow elves attack.”

Drumdar glanced towards the rest and immediately saw the ploy. “And he asserts himself as the true puppet master of this operation, I see. He has his so called ‘Avatar’ in line with the rest. A curious notion.”

“It was my idea,” Amthos said, rolling his magnificently broad shoulders. He pressed a hand against his chest. “I may be the Avatar of the Orcs but I am still a mortal. The Old Gods blessed heroes of the past age with divinity and gave the men who now form the Triad divine power. Those acts led the orcs and other races, humans, dwarves and elves included into the current state of the world. So I have refused to follow that same fate.”

The stunned noble pulled his head back in surprise. “You would defy the Gods?”

“I am not defying them.” The coy smile that the orc wore was so frighteningly similar to the one Samuel bore despite being completely different facial structures. “They told me to unite the orcs, take back their land and build it into something more than it was before. That is exactly what I intend to do but I will not do it from a golden throne or propped up on a pedestal.”

Amthos crossed his arms with a frown. “Orradin has become a spoilt brat and a cur after the War. I have only met him a few times and I have a distaste for the man. I do not intend to turn into such a creature.” The towering orc grimaced and averted his gaze. “We have very much the same origins. Blessed by the Gods, given a great destiny and with people putting their hopes and dreams in our hands. However, he revelled in it and became defined by it. I will not be the same.”

Drumdar was honestly surprised. This was incredibly poignant for someone he thought was a child. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Amthos wrapped an arm around the soldier that had stepped forward and brought him close in a very brotherly fashion. “I had thought humans, dwarves and elves were my enemies. I thought that to progress down my path I must turn every single person into an orc. But then I saw this utopia you’ve built, Drumdar. Human and orc living side by side. I don’t need to transform everyone into an orc. So long as they live peacefully and the orc culture and race are preserved.” He grinned brightly at a particular orc standing in the line, Pergradin, if Drumdar remembered correctly. “Even if we must make changes to that along the way.”

Completely taken aback by the sudden revelation, the Warden of Whitepeak was left utterly speechless. He coughed softly and beckoned for Samuel to proceed. The mage paced back and forth, barking orders which the gathered orcs and men followed diligently. The instructor would move from one to the other to correct their stances every now and then but otherwise, everyone worked in unison. The sight took Drumdar’s breath away and he found himself awed at what he had inadvertently created.

He stood mute at the sight of the people of Whitepeak. Was this the future? His ambitions of creating a bustling metropolis suddenly morphed and become something a little more. The Alliance had abandoned him, banished him, to this frozen waste. With the help of Amthos’ orcs, he could expand Whitepeak to become something more than a border fort. But if the people of Whitepeak could work together as one like they were now, would it be possible that this could be some sort of enlightened society where orcs and men lived in harmony together?

His ambitions suddenly grew.

“Samuel, a moment of your time,” he exclaimed.

The No One told his students to pair off and practice their movements before moving to him. “Yes, Drumdar?”

The lord inclined his head slightly. “Was this your plan all along?”

“Are you truly asking or are you accusing?”

Drumdar smirked and closed his eyes briefly. “As I suspected. I knew you were manipulating the likes of Kaltan and Amthos but I didn’t realise it was for this.” He turned back to the warriors sparring with one another. Orc or human, it didn’t matter. They were all partners. “I have this eerie feeling the Old Gods wanted Amthos to lay a swathe of destruction from the north, destroying and converting everything and everyone brutally. But you seem to have corrupted our young Avatar into something I doubt they would approve of.”

The wolf gave him a smug smile. “The Old Gods, despite all their power, are somewhat narrow minded. They only seek to return to their throne and depose the Triad. Beyond that, they couldn’t care less. They believe that once they had returned to power, a mere wave of their hands will allow them to fix whatever problems their rise has caused.” Samuel’s smile faded and he grew sombre. “Sadly, it was such flippant use of their powers that caused the Triad’s rise in the first place.”

“So you would defy them and deny them their throne?”

“Oh no. The Old God will be returned to their rightful place. But they will find that the world very different from what they envisioned.”

Drumdar giggled softly. “I consider myself adept at the arts of court intrigue and the machinations of politics. I, however, dare not even venture into the scheming and games that the divine play.” He bowed respectfully towards Samuel. “I bow to your victory here, Lord Samuel. I look forward to seeing this this world you envision that spits in the name of the gods, old and new.”

The No One smiled.

“There are no gods. Only mortals.”

******

It was a pleasant surprise to see the orcs and humans working side by side in the training yard. The barriers between the two species had been broken down, at least on in this tiny fort. Knaatl was pleased to find himself drinking alongside men of the Hard Spear and soldiers of Whitepeak with little care for size or the colour of their skin. It was comforting that he didn’t have to constantly watch his back.

Still, he could sense that there were some who were still leery of their neighbours. Some humans crowded in groups away from the orcs or those fraternising with the greenskins. A few of the Hard Spear likewise found it hard to forget how the humans had oppressed them. In time, however, Knaatl knew these barriers would eventually fade away whether it be through brute force or subtle manipulation.

Amthos spent the rest of the evening laughing and drinking amongst the largest group of orcs and humans. Knaatl never thought he would see the Avatar of the Gods sitting amongst the soldiers and commoners and found it refreshing. Even the heroes of old as children were kept in gilded halls and pampered with their every need. To see someone blessed by the divine amongst the people gave him hope that history would not repeat itself.

He excused himself from the meal. Drumdar left early as well and he guessed the young exiled noble was off his room licking his wounds and plotting his next scheme. The balance of power had shifted, after all. Now, the majority of support fell with Amthos and his budding horde. If Drumdar opted for his plan to transform into an orc, it would only land further credence to Amthos’ movement. Further, there was no longer a division between orc and human. It was now a divide between those who would coexist with one another and those who would refuse to join the movement.

In some ways, Knaatl mused, it was a little more complicated. Now Amthos had a larger support structure amongst Whitepeak but he now had to contest with two fronts; the humans who stood rigidly by their racism and the orcs who were stuck in their ways. But their numbers were few and Drumdar certainly knew that over time, they would eventually come to see it as Amthos envisioned.

That, of course, left Drumdar as both a potential ally and a dangerous enemy. The Warden of Whitepeak was a schemer and it would just take a whisper, a rumour or a simple word and it could all come crumbling down.

So Knaatl knocked on Drumdar’s door, eager to make an ally of the dangerous noble.

“Enter.”

He pushed open the door and was immediately stunned. The finery was packed away. Even the bear skin rug had been rolled up and tied down. There were several bags and trunks packed at the corner. Drumdar was dressed for travel instead of his usual finery.

“Leaving?” Knaatl asked.

His friend closed a trunk with a short laugh. “I know when I am beaten, Kal –” He coughed. “I mean, Knaatl. Your Samuel has bested me. I cannot rightly oppose this coexistence between orc and man when I myself have been rather open with my affections for orcs. Doing so would brand me a hypocrite and likely pool more support for Amthos.” He shrugged his slim shoulders and hefted the bag, grunting as he carried it over to the rest of the pile. Knaatl strode forward and took the luggage easily. “You have my thanks.”

“No need,” Knaatl replied with a frown. “So why leave?”

“I very much doubt I have a part in this,” Drumdar said. “I had hoped to turn Whitepeak into a glorious metropolis but it seems your Samuel and Avatar has much grander dreams than I. Dreams that I honestly wholeheartedly support. On the morrow, I will relinquish Whitepeak to Amthos officially. He is a far more enlightened ruler than I am.”

“He is inspired, yes, but still young. He will need your skills in political manoeuvring to assist him.” He rested a hand on Drumdar’s shoulder. “Why not stay? Perhaps as a human ambassador?”

“The exiled son of a minor noble banished for trysts with another man being the ambassador to Alliance nations for a budding orc country?” Drumdar laughed softly. “How novel.” He shook his head morosely. “No. My place is elsewhere.” He placed a hand over Knaatl’s with a smile. “You are building a great new nation here and I fear I will only get in your way.”

“You know more about the politics and schemes of the world here at the edge of the world than anyone else, Dar. We could use your help.”

“My help would dull in comparison to Samuel’s skills and Amthos’ gentle heart.” The banished blonde noble sighed and looked listlessly at the softly roaring fire. “Amthos showed me something today, Knaatl. I thought it was Samuel’s scheme to unite orc and man under a single task, build camaraderie and purpose together. But it was not that. It was far more… innocent. Amthos merely wanted to stand beside the people he leads not over them.” He turned to Knaatl with a smile. “I am used to be being a ruler, my friend. I do not think I can survive in such a model.” He laughed and shook his arms. “Look at me. My arms are no better than twigs! I can barely lift a sword.”

Knaatl gave his friend an apologetic smile. “You have much potential in you, Dar. You could still grow.”

Waving the comment away, Drumdar turned back towards his bed where the last of his luggage remained. “I am too set in my ways, Knaatl. Were I to spontaneously grow to your size then perhaps I will stay but I would have to learn a new set of politics. Orc tribes are very different from humans, after all.”

Knaatl pursed his lips. “You know Amthos can turn you into an orc…”

“And it would be an act of pity. I have too much pride to let myself fall into such a state.” He cast a thin smile over his shoulder. “I am sorry, my friend. I must go. Know that I will not impede your conquest and you have my support.”

A part of Knaatl’s heart broke. “Where will you go?”

The Warden sighed. “Travel from fort to fort, I think. Head west. I still have gold under my name and if I can secure passage across the Neverborn Desert, I know I can make a name for myself in the Freelands.”

“As a pampered man-whore?” laughed Knaatl.

“One must start somewhere!” Drumdar laughed. He leaned against one of the posts of his bed, sighing softly. “Ah, I will miss your booming laugh, Knaatl.”

“Perhaps should you return as one of the Merchant Kings of the Freelands, we could use your support.”

“Perhaps so.” Drumdar turned toward his barren looking bed now devoid of the lush pillows, draped and finery that he was accustomed to. Knaatl could see the hidden grimace in his friend’s face. The road was going to be a very long and very harsh.

He rested a hand on Drumdar’s shoulder but that didn’t seem enough to comfort his friend. He pulled himself closer until the blonde noble’s back was pressed up against his bare chest. Leaning down, he gently breathed into the slim human’s ear. “Perhaps I can make your last night as Warden of Whitepeak a little more comfortable?”

A small smile crossed Drumdar’s lips. “My bed would be rather cold for the next few months as I travel.”

Taking that as an affirmative, Knaatl swept his friend off his feet, getting a little squeal from the noble. He carried Drumdar easily across the room and onto the cushiony mattress. Their lips met in passion. A history of many nights when Knaatl had paid for refuge in Whitepeak with his body flooded both men. Drumdar hungrily groped every titanic muscle and inch of taut green flesh all over Knaatl’s body while the dark haired orc hungrily ravaged the noble’s body with his tongue, tasting the sweet, salty mix of the man’s lust and desire all over his body.

Neither men cared for the future and wildly tossed aside their clothing. Knaatl dug his big fingers into the collar of Drumdar’s tunic and tore the fabric clean off, exposing Drumdar’s pale, hairless chest. He immediately dove at the man, pressing his lips against his Warden’s exposed nipples. The warmth of his breath and saliva contrasted against the cold of the fort made Drumdar arc his back in pleasure. The human shrugging off the rest of his tunic, tossing it aside as Knaatl expertly pulled down his trousers.

Drumdar’s fingers worshiped the hard muscles of Knaatl’s shoulders, sweeping over the bare muscles until they found the leather couplings that held together the orc’s leather vest. With a simple flick of his fingers, the clothing fell off Knaatl’s enormous frame. Knaatl straightened to a kneeling position as he started to undo the short trousers he wore.

Drumdar was left feeling cold without the massive green beast’s touch and immediately pounced, burying his face between the orc’s mighty pectorals. His lips traced a trail of kisses across those immense mountains, drawn by the strong scent of the male’s scent. Drumdar’s nose was brought to Knaatl’s left armpit. The immense scent caused his eyelids to flutter and he buried his nose into the thick forest of black hair there. His lips caressed the thick bush, tasting the salty essence of male that made his entire body feel like gelatine.

There was a soft click and a rustling of clothing. An even stronger blast of Knaatl’s scent wafted into his nostrils and he concluded it could only be one thing. Eyes shut and drawn by his nose alone, Drumdar left the orc’s mighty pits and bent down to the throbbing member he knew awaited him. He was stunned, however, when he barely moved and found the beating pole already pressed up against his cheek.

His eyes sprung open and he let out a gasp of surprise.

“By the gods!” The immense tool in front of him was the largest piece of male meat he had ever seen. Even the Hard Spear orcs could not boast such a proud rod. “Is this real?”

“A gift from the gods,” chuckled Knaatl. “Amthos bears the biggest of us all, as is his right but every member of the Nightusks have been graced by a cock that would satisfy even your insatiable desires.”

Drumdar laughed softly and ran his hand along the thick, pulsating, veiny length. The mighty orc before him shuddered at his touch. “Of that I am unsure, my dear. A few nights with them inside of me and I fear my desires would consume the gods themselves.” He chuckled softly as he ran his fingers around the uncut member before him. “I recall you were like every Alliance man once and had your foreskin removed.”

“I am an orc now.”

The noble leaned down and gently kissed the tip of Knaatl’s cock. “So I can see.”

Done with the idle chatter, Drumdar opened his mouth and took as much of the member as he could. Not even a quarter of the way down and he found himself already choking on the thick length. As much as he desired to have it inside of him, he knew that he would have long to walk once dawn came. He would need the use of his legs if he were to make the trek to the nearby forts and having such an immense length inside of him would leave him numb from the waist down.

Knaatl rumbled in appreciation as the noble brought his experience to bear. Drumdar coupled delicate laps of his tongue with squeezes and strokes of his hands. Every blast of precum that flooded out of Knaatl’s cock was met with an eager slurp that had the orc grunting and thrusting for more. Drumdar was just getting into a rhythm when Knaatl’s large hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him away from his member. Like a baby devoid of his mother’s teat, Drumdar tried to lunge back towards the organ offering the delectable fluids he so sorely needed but Knaatl was stronger.

“Is something wrong?” he croaked.

“Only that I should not be the only one drawing pleasure from this,” answered Knaatl.

The big orc propped Drumdar up against the headrest of the bed and shuffled towards Drumdar’s feet. Remembering just how much the one-time-bandit enjoying foot play, the Warden could only smile and watch his boots were removed. A soft moan left his lips as Knaatl’s long, wet tongue danced between his toes, lathering his soles. He shivered a little as those mighty tusks gently brushed up against the base of his feet. Knaatl pressed his feet together and then suckled on his big toes in his lips. Each little gulp sent Drumdar’s cock throbbing in his partially unbuckled trousers. He could not help but reach down towards his crotch and rub his length through the fabric.

The ache of his loins grew so much that he had to pull his travel trousers down, indicating to Knaatl that he needed more attention. His partner was far more than eager to comply and abandoned his feet, panting like a wild animal and drooling like a dog in heat. The garment was discarded amongst the pile and Knaatl lay on top of him, their cocks pressed up against one another.

Drumdar had no shame as his own five inch member was pressed up against the mighty oak that was Knaatl’s cock. Just having the tremendous, beating organ so close to him, transferring its warmth to him was almost enough to make him orgasm there and then. When Knaatl’s arm’s closed around him, pressing them together and his head buried in the pectorals of the orc, he could only smile.

He began with a powerful thrust, his cock running up the Knaatl’s length. The sensitive flesh ran over the thick veins of the orc, each one as thick as his fingers. His friend reciprocated the gesture with his own domineering shove. The sheer force of the thrust caused the bed beneath them to squeak in protest. A deep, feral growl of desire rose from Drumdar’s throat. He wrapped his arms around Knaatl’s form, barely managing to reach around the orc’s might chest to grip his flanks. Now with some semblance of a stable grip, he thrust one more time, telling Knaatl that he was ready.

The two knew each other very well and Knaatl immediately began assaulting him with rhythmic thrusting. Both men grunted as sweat began pouring from their bodies. Drumdar could do nothing against the bigger, stronger orc’s might and could only hold on for dear life as he was ground over and over against the monstrous cock and muscles. Precum continued to pour out of Knaat’s cock, covering Drumdar in the sticky, salty slime until he was utterly drenched.

Knaatl suddenly let out a grunt and his hands dug into Drumdar’s sides a little. The noble could feel the orc shudder and a slightly warmer patch of sticky liquid seeped out of the orc’s dick. It slipped onto Drumdar’s chest. The thick scent of seed filled the human’s nostrils and he braced himself for the onslaught he knew to come.

But strangely, Knaatl pulled away, panting.

“Now do not tell me a might orc such as yourself can only produce that droplet,” Drumdar teased. The ‘droplet’ was at least a cup full of seed that now sat as a glob on his flat chest. With a smile, he poked his finger into the puddle and took a taste of the slime.

“I have had little reprieve for the past day or so,” chuckled Knaatl, even that small guffaw enough to rattle Drumdar’s ribs. “I am fit to burst. I would not have this special night spoiled by an early end.”

Drumdar smiled and ran his hand over Knaatls chest, gliding over the firm pectorals before leading to the throbbing dick. “Good. I was far from done.”

Smiling at him, Knaatl reached forward and gently stroked Drumdar’s hair. His bushy eyebrows rose momentarily as he pulled his hand away. There was a small tangle of blonde hair between his fingers. “I think I was a little too rough. I may have pulled a few strands.”

Shrugging, Drumdar ran a hand through his golden locks. “I have plenty.”

But the shocked look on Knaatl’s face told another story. He glanced at his hand, fearing the sight of blood but instead, he found a very sizable clump of his own hair on his hands. Shocked, he immediately sat up. One look at the mattress beneath him and he confirmed his suspicions.

“What is happening…?” he exclaimed, staring at the pile of blonde hairs where he had been lying. As he spoke, blonde hairs fell from his head by their own weight, showering his shoulders and chest. He stared in shock at Knaatl but the orc’s eyes were levelled at his chest. He looked down as well.

The puddle of cum on his skin seemed to shrink. In fact, it just seemed to be absorbed into his flesh. As it sank, his skin began to toughen, almost like leather and it obtained a greenish hue. It was lighter than Amthos’ emerald green or Knaatl’s leafy green, almost a mix of yellow and green. The discolouration rapidly spread as it did so, a noise like a thick, bubbling stew filled the room.

Drumdar lurched forward, clutching his chest and his eyes wide in shock. He could feel bones and skin changing and undulating beneath his fingers. Bones grew thicker, stronger, his collar bone pushing out to become far more pronounced. A once flat chest that was almost feminine began to develop hard lines of pectorals. Nipples that were forward facing were pushed to point outwards while firm mounds of muscle began to develop. More than that, his overall torso began to widen, spreading off to the sides and swelling with mass. A soft moan left his throat, growing deeper and deeper as he instinctively squeezed his growing chest. Drumdar bit his lower lip as the twin sensation of feeling such strong muscles between his fingers and the pleasure his nipples being stimulated doubled his lust.

But the sensible side of him quickly pulled himself back from the brink of being overwhelmed by desire. He turned to Knaatl in confusion.

“I’m… I’m turning into an orc!”

Knaatl was instantly sitting up as well. “That’s impossible! Only Amthos has that power!”

Drumdar grimaced and he looked down towards his chest. His pectorals continued to swell bigger and bigger. They rose up to become huge, plump slabs of meat that pressed up against his chin. As more and more hair fell from the top of his head, tiny hairs began growing all over his chest. With his eyes so close to his new, greenish skin, he could see each follicle pushing out from his tough, yellow-green hide. Each strand was a dark brown and thick. A sensation like a feather dancing across his skin washed over his chest as the hairs rapidly grew, coating his new pectorals in a dense forest that obscured the skin below.

The transforming human gagged and a powerful force caused his arms to fling out to the sides. Strength like he had never felt before pumped out of his torso to his limbs. His shoulders ballooned out into two, enormous balls of muscle. Fingers flexed and relaxed rapidly while his entire arm remained rigid. With every tense moment, his arms grew longer and thicker. Biceps shuddered and grew, transforming into immense mounds of strength. His triceps quickly grew to support them while his forearms became massive hams decorated by thick veins. A soft ‘ah’ left his lips as his thumb burst into its new size. His entire body shuddered like it was hit by a tremendous orgasm with each finger that popped into its new size and length. When his palms transformed into enormous skull-crushing tools, Drumdar was released from the grip of the force and toppled forward, now on his hands and knees.

A loud groan rose from his throat. He could feel that very same unstoppable force creeping down his back. Hard muscles grew all across his spine, rising like two mountain ranged growing out of flat land. They formed the firm valley of his spine, covered in the thick yellowish-green hide that was quickly consuming the rest of his body. But the greatest pleasure came when the transformation seeped into his ass. Drumdar began panting madly as his bony butt cheeks began to wiggle and shudder. They filled with both muscle and fat, powerful enough to cushion his immense weight. They broadened bigger and bigger to fit the rest of his body.

Drumdar shut his eyes for a brief moment and when he pulled them open again, his green irises had transformed into bright yellow orbs. His gaze was focused on Knaatl’s throbbing dick. A single desire overrode all else.

“Fuck me.”

Knaatl needed no further prompting. The big, dark-haired orc immediately moved behind Drumdar and angled his mighty dick into the transforming human’s ass. Without ceremony, Knaatl shoved his dick into the awaiting hole. Drumdar let out a loud all-too-human cry as he took in half of Knaatl’s length – still more than he would have been able to take as a mere human. But he was still changing.

Lust overtook both men and Knaatl began to wildly thrust into the transforming orc, gripping Drumdar’s changing thighs for support. Beneath his fingers, the skinny legs swelled and filled with mass. Strong veins began pumping blood into the growing mass. His thighs grew to become even bigger than Knaatl’s but whereas the Nightusk chieftain’s were lean and muscular with every muscle clearly defined, Drumdar’s were covered in a fine layer of fat that slightly obscured the definition. Dark hairs began springing wildly all over his legs as well, creating a dense forest.

As Knaatl continued to thrust, he drove deeper and deeper into Drumdar. The Warden’s grunts became more and more bestial as his body continued to change. His spine lengthened, legs growing longer and longer to fit the statue of one of the new age orcs. With every inch that he grew, another inch of Knaatl’s dick drove deeper and deeper into him.

Like Knaatl’s precum was feeding his transformation, every thrust saw more of his flesh turn into an orc’s green. Dark hairs, like growing grass, sprang up all over his body, covering his back, arms and shoulders. Even as the last blonde strand of hair dropped from his head, leaving him completely bald, the same dark hairs began crawling across his angled chin. It swept along the lines of his jaw, creating a short, sharp beard.

Drumdar let out another cry. This time, it was much deeper and much less human. The bones of his face began to crack and shift. The angled chin that almost made him appear androgynous flattened, broadening on either side to give him the two sharp edges of a square jaw. His lower jaw thrust forward slightly just enough for two tusks to grow out between his full, luscious lips. The sloping brow became more pronounced. His high, pronounced cheekbones remained but his features broadened, his skull grew. Rounded ears were tugged at their tips until they had pointed edges. He let out another cry, this time, it came deep from his broad, powerful chest, rising through his thick, corded neck and shooting out of his orc’s lips.

The two men’s desires reached their climax as Knaatl seized Drumdar’s shoulders and pulled him up. Their backs and bodies were pressed against one another and their lips met, two powerful orcs sharing a moment of savage intimacy. Knaatl reached down, seizing Drumdar’s still too human cock. As if the touch of another orc was the trigger, Drumdar’s member quivered and surged forward. It peeked through Knaatl’s meaty fingers, growing thicker and longer. It slowly pried open Knaatl’s hand, the pink flesh transforming into a dark green as the rose further and further. The orc could suddenly stroke Drumdar’s dick and with each lusty pump, Drumdar was draw closer and closer to orgasm.

Through lust-glazed eyes, Drumdar stared in awe as his massive member grew and grew, rising up to kiss the base of his pectorals. The foreskin that had been sheared off in his youth flexed and swept over his dark green glands, smearing the sticky precum all over his length as it was produced. His balls grew heavy with seed and he could feel it pumping through his cock ready to explode.

Suddenly, Knaatl let out a tremendous roar and he gave Drumdar one last, powerful thrust. The former noble was shocked when a torrent of hot orc seed came blasted straight into his ass.

That triggered the final stages of his transformation.

Like seed was filling his belly, his stomach which remained suspiciously flat began bloating and growing. Stunned, Drumdar gripped his growing abdomen as muscles hardened even as it inflated. He groaned as the pressure both grew in his stomach and his cock, his belly rising just enough to be as pronounced as his pectorals. The dense hairs all over his chest swept down to his abdomen, creeping along the lightly defined abdominal muscles to meet the dense, dark bush of public hair that his immense tool sprang from.

He gasped, arching his back.

With one final cry, his cock erupted. White orc seed came blasting out of his member, his entire body shuddering violently with every blast. The seed splattered all over the far wall of the room, coating the headrest of his bed and soaking the sheets in their slightly, glowing, white substance. His cries grew louder and louder as each blast came out stronger the last until he threw his head back and bellowed at the top of his lungs. The burst of cum was strong enough that he toppled back, pushing a stunned Knaatl onto his rear and sending the two of them tumbling across the bed. The seed blasted across the room, soaking into his pile of luggage.

Drumdar’s eyelids fluttered, warm bliss flooding his every system even as his cock continued to pump and drip with his seed. He could feel Knaatl’s own cock filling him with divine cum. Both orcs began drifting off into slumber, their arms wrapping around one another as their bodies following their instincts and huddled together for warmth.

With a sigh, Drumdar realised that once again, his plans had been foiled.

******

Qurron started awake.

He was drenched in sweat and his heart was racing. Every inch of his skin prickled like someone had taken to plucking every strand of hair from his flesh. A sense of dread lingered in his chest and he looked about his quarters in a panic. Located in the tower of Raonoak castle, his quarters were lavished and adorned with holy ornaments befitting a War Wizard. However, dominating the room were ancient tomes and books as was the standard for one who practiced the arcane arts.

But there was one thing that was wrong in the room.

Namely the creature standing at the foot of his bed.

The War Wizard let out a soft gasp and immediately reached for his staff which rested beside his bed. Seizing it, he pointed the weapon at the equine beast. She was unlike any creature she had ever seen. Her flesh seemed to be made of metal with odd electric blue lines running throughout its surface. With a body like that of a woman but with equine features, she was a truly alien creature. Most stunning were the bright, ethereal blue wings that sprung from her back. Somehow, they glowed but did not illuminate the area around her.

“Who are you?” Qurron demanded.

“A warning,” she answered. Her voice had a metallic twang to it akin to the screech of rusty wheels or the creak of machinery. “An omen. A herald.”

Gathering his wits, Qurron realised who this creature was. “You… You are the beast that will lead the armies of the dead upon Trispire!”

“Your gods fill your head with false images and prey on your fears.”

The War Wizard gripped his staff in both hands, scintillating light emanated from the gnarled tip. “I know not what it is you wish, creature, but be gone! You have no power here!”

“Of that, you are wrong.” The creature lifted a finger, pointing at him accusingly. “Admit to your wrongdoing, Qurron Lakrishem. Admit that it was you who manipulated the weather on Fallowday to incite fear into all of Raonoak and lend credence to the vision you had. Admit that these sacrifices are all a feeble attempt to appease the Triad for your sins.” She lowered her arm. “Do that and perhaps you and Raonoak will be spared the coming onslaught.”

He bared his teeth at her. “I do not fear you, beast!”

“I do not expect you to fear me. I expect nothing from you. I am here to merely offer you a means to save yourself and the city you claim to serve but whom you betrayed to save face.”

“You now not what you speak of!”

“Very well. Know you still have a choice. But I will give you this warning.”

The creature’s form suddenly dissolved into a flurry of black dust, vanishing from Qurron’s room. Yet her voice lingered.

“When Orradin falls, it will be too late to repent. You have until then to change the course of your fate.”

******

“Today marks a momentous occasion,” Samuel bellowed. He stood at the forefront of the courtyard. The people of Whitepeak were gathered in front of him; humans and orcs alike. Beside him stood Amthos, standing proudly and beaming broadly. On his other side was Drumdar – now renamed Ramdurd Hardshaft. Knaatl couldn’t stop grinning beside Amthos.

“Today, the Hard Spear tribe is no more,” Samuel continued. “Once a lone, wandering band of orcs doomed to die in servitude within these walls, now they are reformed with human allies as the Hardshaft tribe.” He gestured toward Ramdurd. “This man has been your leader for many years now. He has led you through strikes from the snow elves and kept you safe under his leadership. He has loved you all equally. I can see no one better to be your chieftain than he.”

The Hardshaft, perhaps the first tribe of humans and orcs, lifted their fists into the air and let out tremendous cry of approval.

Ramdurd grinned broadly and the bearish orc stepped forward. Few of his clothes fit him now but he made do with some trousers which only fit to about his knees and a torn white tunic which was now his vest. Despite being mostly naked, his thick hide, light layer of fat over his brimming muscles and dense body hair kept him rather warm. He stepped up beside Samuel, lifting his massive arms to welcome his new tribe.

“This is a new dawn for us all!” he cried. “A new age is beginning and we will be its leaders! This land will be ours and it will be more than just a withering fort where the shamed and banished go to die with some false promises of honour and return. Today, this fort will be something new! It will be the dawn of the new orc nation! Today, Greendawn is born!”

Nightusks and Hardshaft alike let out a roar of approval.

On cue, a flock of birds erupted from the upper reaches of the keep.

Amthos watched them go.

“Do you think they will come?” he asked.

Knaatl wrapped an arm around his shoulders with a grin. “They would be fools not to.”

Far to the east, amongst the icy crags of the Fangs of the World, an old orc shaman stood a quiet vigil in an opening. The Thunder Callers lived high in the mountains where no human or other species would strike at them but it also isolated them from the rest of the world. The shamans barely maintained themselves on the energies they drew from the earth around them. Skills as they were in the shamanistic arts, their bodies were nonetheless withered.

It was thus as surprise when the shaman looked up as a black bird came sweeping through the cave and sat on his shoulder. There was a vial of some white liquid attached to the bird’s leg along with a note. The orc plucked both items and read the note. His eyes widened and he stared at the softly glowing liquid in surprise. Frowning, he pulled the stopper and drank the contents of the vial in one gulp.

Power instantly surged through his withered body and he doubled over. Withered and emaciated limbs suddenly burst with strength. Muscles that had shrunk from age and lack of nourishment bulged out to the size of men’s head. Two feet were added to his height and he shed his clothing, roaring in lust as his cock erupted to a new, tremendous length.

An acolyte immediately came rushing to the cave.

“Master, what -” he stopped in shock.

The orc that stood in front of him was not the same wizened, withered old man that had survived the War of Apotheosis and more. He was a tremendous specimen of an orc, bigger than anything he had ever seen. Though the face and hair were the same, this was an orc that radiated true power and strength.

The shaman turned to his acolyte with a smile. “Gather the tribe, Fragresh. The Thunder Callers must go to Greendawn.” He licked his lips and stroked his member. “But first… come here. I have a gift for you.”

Then, near the base of the Fangs, the Blood Claws were gathered in the dense forests that they called their home. The black bird came to them, sweeping down and letting out a loud cawing. It was immediately silenced as an enormous, black Warg swatted it out of the air with a single paw. The beast snarled at the abnormally large bird which remained oddly calm as the Warg’s rider, the chieftain of the Blood Claws, strode forward towards it.

The chieftain noticed the note and the vial. The art of reading had been lost to him so he carelessly picked up the vial, pulled the stopper and drank its contents. His eyes widened immediately. The black orbs crackled, his irises turning a bright yellow. The might orc doubled over, letting out a roar of lust and arching his back. His Warg, immediately became concerned and strode over as the chieftain’s body swelled into titanic proportions. His cock burst from his ragged clothing, spraying seed all over his Warg.

The big black beast doubled back in shock and then immediately began panting. It fell to the ground twitching and growing as its own dick came shooting out of its sheath. Both orc and mound shot their seed at the same time, their orgasms ending as their new muscled bodies stopped morphing. The chieftain panted, looking at his incredible new body and then exchanging glances with his Warg.

He strode over to the bird which had now sprung to its feet and watched the chieftain curiously.

“Lead us to where you received this gift,” growled the chieftain.

The bird gave him one nod and immediately leapt into the air.

The Blood Claws mounted their Wargs and charged north to Greendawn.

Further south one of the birds rested near the opening of a collapsed mine. There, it met a large, black rodent. The rat took the note and the vial from the bird and turned to the rocks. It disappeared within the rocks.

Not half a day later, the wall of rock that had stood there for years, trapping the Earth Runner Tribe within shifted. The ground shook as the rocks burst outward, shattered completely by an incredible force. Thundering footsteps echoed from the mines as immense orcs with yellow skin with slight tinges of green came marching out of the mines, each one an incredible ten feet tall and built like mountains. All of them had massive, dicks dripping; evidence of the gift they had shared with one another.

The Earth Runners turned to the north.

Greendawn awaited them.

Back at the newly christened city, Knaatl grinned and shook Amthos lightly.

“They will come,” he reassured the Avatar. “Just as sure as the sun will rise. They will come.”