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Chapter 10: The Last Page

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Facts About Tirinead – The Orcs #11

The extremely powerful Mage-Knight known as Samuel exists in the Tirinead’s history both as an enigma and a well-known fact. It is established that a Mage-Knight did indeed assist the orcs of Amthosruud in their rise and battle against the Alliance. The same Mage-Knight is said to appear in the histories of the other races but no one had ever seen these multiple mages meeting in the same place. Many at the time thought that the Mage-Knight was, in fact, a new god or perhaps even the dark reflection of the God of Magic and Deception, Illirodur. He was a staunch ally of the orcs and some even believed a messenger of the Old Gods.

_But that all changed on the night now known as the Greendawn Riots. _

*******

The Inquisition had always unnerved Orradin. They were the closest the Alliance had ever gotten to achieving the same divine strength as any hero in their prime. They were leagues apart from true heroes, of course, but their skills with magic, artistry with the blade and shrewd intellect made them dangerous enemies. Every detachment amongst the Inquisition had something unique about them and the fact that no one battalion had the same skillset or abilities also meant that they when facing them in combat, it was never truly clear what their strengths or weaknesses were.

They all wore the same black styled armour with purple streams through them. Even their armour was deceptive. A bulky Inquisitor layered with thick metal could belong to a squad specialising in some obscure form of magic. A robed Inquisitor could easily be someone who could tear off his garments to reveal he could harden his skin to the strength of diamond.

So he had no idea what to make of the Inquisitor Assassin who swept silently amongst his orcs and men. Every footstep was utterly silent and hushed. Not a single noise was made. Even the wind stilled when he passed.

The same sense of unease was felt by all of his men in Hawkshollow. Two entire battalions chilled by the presence of a single man. Relief came a few days later when a lone rider came rushing towards the cursed lands. By the look of his billowing robes, it was Qurron. But given that he fled alone, Orradin feared the worst.

If Eranius fell in battle, the north would devolve into warring nobles and the orcs would only grow stronger.

“Open the gates,” he growled.

A page scrambled to do his bidding. He waited until Qurron drew a little closer. The War Wizard was definitely riding hard and there. His poor steed was at the brink of collapse. Looking beyond the mage, there was no one chasing him. Unless the orcs had somehow mastered the art of invisibility, he doubted the Wizard was running from pursuers.

So that meant he was pushing his horse to death for another reason.

Bracing himself for some dire news, Orradin headed down from the parapets to the courtyard. The iron gates, now well repaired, were wide open. Having heard the news, Arben joined them. The powerfully built mechanist was covered in soot and grime. His new mix of machinery and magic, these new ‘golems’ of his were standing stoically across the courtyard.

Orradin himself could not understand how golems could help them win against the orcs. Samuel could steal the magic that powered them and render them utterly useless. Not that they really looked that different from the old blackrock golems. Though unlike the old golems, these had mechanical parts and joints where the magic-resistant blackrock was wrapped around. They appeared more human as well instead of looking like a boulder with legs and arms. Arben had gone to extreme lengths to empower each one, though, using magically-infused wax seals with divine scriptures blessed by the Guard Priests on the golem’s chests and even applying the old ‘Trinity Halo’ to each one; a three-pointed, golden crest that was placed just behind the head so that it made it look like the subject had a halo springing around them. Each Halo was infused with blessings from the Holy Trinity, strengthening defences, increasing strength and increasing magical power.

Were they against any ordinary enemy or even ordinary orcs, these golems would be a welcome comfort. But should Samuel take the field and disable them all, they would be a liability.

“Eranius is not with him,” rumbled Arben, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “This is either good news or terrible one.”

“He would not dare to come here without favourable news,” answered Orradin. “He knows that I would crush his head between my hands should he bring me anything other than resounding success.”

The master mechanist laughed softly. “I like you, Orradin. You are a straightforward man.” He sneered in Qurron’s direction as the mage approached them through the gates. “I’ve always despised Qurron. He was more suited for a Stealth Wizard than a War Wizard but he instead opted to seek the guidance of Malstraad instead because he thought my wife admired Eranius more who was a devout follower of the God of Offence.”

That certainly seemed like Qurron. “A pity then that she instead chose you.”

“A pity for him.”

They both laughed shortly as the Wizard came into range. Qurron practically collapsed off his horse and a pang of concern sprang up from Orradin’s chest. The old, weary man had to be helped by a few squires to make the few steps back towards them. His eyes were wide in terror and his feature pallid. He looked haunted.

Orradin decided to spare the man instantaneous death if he left Eranius in a flight of cowardice. Such a fate was too good for a craven fool.

“Report,” he growled.

With shaking hands, Qurron reached within a pack and retrieved a glowing, black jug. An eerie, purple light emanated from deep within the vessel’s bowels. “We succeeded,” stammered the Wizard. “Eranius found the tribe keeping the Vessel of Life. This is it.”

Orradin did not want to touch the artefact. It screamed evil to him. Arben was not so hesitant, however, and gripped the artefact with a sense of awe.

“It certainly radiates power.” The mechanist turned it over and made to look into the jug. Qurron immediately reached out and pulled it back away from him.

“Do not look within it!” cried the Wizard, clearly rattled.

Both Arben and Orradin stared at the War Wizard in surprise. Even in his lowest, Qurron had always maintained a modicum of restraint and composure. Seeing him now like a frightened child cowering at the monsters in the corners of his shadowy room rattled both men.

“This is a device of the Old Gods,” said Qurron, fighting to maintain some degree of composure. He handed the Vessel back to Arben. “The Holy Triad infused it with their essence. Only those mentally and spiritually prepared may look within it. Otherwise, you can pour it into your golems, Arben, and it should suffuse it with the soul necessary to power them.”

“I… see…” replied the mechanist and lone father hesitantly. “Are you alright, Qurron? Where is Eranius?”

“He…” Qurron gulped loudly a shook his head as if trying to s hake away some terrible thoughts. “He sent me here with the Vessel. He and his Triad Knights are now on their way back to Raonoak.” He looked to Arben. “You are to make enough of the golems to supplement this garrison against the coming orcs. Then, you must make haste to Raonoak to start on the Orkiller.”

Orradin lifted his eyebrows and looked to Arben in surprise. “The Orkiller?” he repeated.

Arben nodded grimly. “A project I have been working on under Eranius’ guidance. It is our secret weapon against the orcs. Sadly, it will not be ready for months still. You will have to hold them here if possible Orradin. Should it be ready and you still stand, we will wipe them from the face of this world. Otherwise…” He placed a hand on Orradin’s shoulder while the other still clutched the Vessel. “You will be remembered.”

Huffing, Orradin turned to Qurron. “And I suppose you will be returning to Eranius’ side?”

“No!” screeched the Wizard, once again surprising both the Greenslayer and master mechanist. “I… I will stay here.” Qurron looked around in a panic. “You have no wizards here. Some men would have skills with magic, yes, and once you send out your orcs, you will be at half strength. I can at least lend my aid in the preparations and when the battle comes.”

“Should Samuel take the field, you will be useless.”

“I can do more than fling fireballs and wield lightning, hero,” scowled the mage. “I will stay.”

There was the old, petulant Qurron. “Do what you will. I have preparations to make. Scouts report that the orcs are on the move again and they are making their way here. We have a month, perhaps a month and a half before they arrive.”

******

Somewhere, a rooster crowed.

Luxaeus’ ears twitched and he growled angrily as he pulled the sheets over himself once more. Keen senses had left him being incredibly sensitive to even the faintest sounds. That left him with little sleep as even the faintest of footsteps had him leaping alert and sniffing around to make sure no one was attacking him or in any danger. The only nights he actually got some decent sleep was when Arnmok cuddled with him, holding him same in his strong arms and reassuring him that he safe. But the Red Orc was very much in love with Knaatl and could not spend every night comforting Luxaeus.

Sighing, the Wargen rose from his slumber, claws dragging across the mattress and shredding it once more. It seemed over the course of the night, he had some dream that had his claws raking across the fabric and again shredding his bedding. It only ever happened when he was not with Arnmok like his body subconsciously knew that he should not be thrashing in his sleep or he might injure the kind Red Orc.

He looked at his enormous paws once more, clenching his fists and feeling the strength within them.

“You gave me this gift, Winterpaw. I will make the best of it, I swear. It may just take some time.”

Now that he was up and awake, he could feel himself bounding with energy. While not quite hungry yet, every muscle in his body felt like it was a ball of lightning that was about ready to explode. Greendawn was just waking and he wanted to avoid the accusing stares of Wargen and others upon him. Many still blamed him for their current state. Amthosruud was accommodating but many did not like being forced to ally with the orcs. For their part, the citizens of the budding nation were welcoming of the new race but they treated them all with gloved hands. A single bite from a Wargen could turn any that was not an orc into one of them. Though the same could be said about orcs and their seed at least that was a little harder to come by despite orcish promiscuity.

Though he was a Paladin and had his fair share of politics, Luxaeus did not want to deal with countless arguing voices and opinions at the moment. He was still trying to quell the beast inside of him that would snap and spark a flame every time something even mildly irritating sprang up. He once ripped off the leg of a chair just to bash a fly that had buzzed past. It was so very easy to just lose his temper now that he had to constantly remind himself that he was not a beast.

The former Inquisitors were having a better time than him, apparently. Their training allowed them more control over themselves though they were not well trusted. Few trusted the Inquisition implicitly though from what he had heard, Samuel had paid them a visit and whatever he said struck so much fear in their hearts that they all collectively pissed themselves there and then. The stench was so bad that the locale where it happened became known as the ‘Marked Territory’.

Luxaeus made a mental note to visit Samuel a little later in the day. For the moment, however, he intended to work the energy that was bubbling up inside of him out of his system. The less energy he had, the less likely he was to rage at something or someone. So, as had been his custom for the past few weeks since his transformation, he headed out of the castle and broke out into a run. With the sky just starting to brighten and the skies turning grey with the coming of dawn, most of Greendawn had yet to awaken fully. Only the guardsmen and farmers were truly awake and that meant less baleful stares for him as he bolted through Greendawn on a healthy run.

As had been the case since he began this little exercise, he began by running on two legs but soon found instincts taking over and he was suddenly on all fours, running faster than he had ever run before. The wind whipped through his fur, bringing with it an exhilarating, thrilling feeling that brought a sense of freedom. Whether consciously or not, his tongue fell out from his muzzle, panting even though sweat began soaking into his fur.

The sidewalks and roads of Greendawn were too small for him given that he had to dodge between lampposts, carriages and wagons. Like many times before, he leapt towards a nearby home, digging his claws into the walls and vaulting up onto the roof. Being so high up and then rushing from rooftop to rooftop, leaping over chimneys and weathervanes, vaulting over gaps between homes and leaping over alleyways almost made him feel like he was flying.

It was something he simply could not explain and a perk that he had to admit he thoroughly enjoyed. When he was running, it was like he became lost in his own world. All his focus was drawn to keeping his footing, where he was going and the burning feeling in his muscles as he put every part of his body to work. The problems of becoming a Wargen, condemning countless men and women to this form and the future for his people just blurred away far behind him.

But there were still some things that could jar him back to reality.

Like, for instance, the black-furred Fénrian with golden blonde hair striding through the streets carrying a basket of fruits, vegetables, wrapped meats and regarding a parchment in his paws.

“Samuel…?”

He leapt down from the rooftops and sniffed the air. It was definitely Samuel. That strange scent that was neutral but still brought to mind crystals registered in his mind.

“Samuel!” he exclaimed, waving a large paw.

The No One turned around, one golden eyebrow raised. “Luxaeus. Out on your daily run I see.”

He padded over to the wolf, still on all fours but still about the height of the No One. “Yes. Until I saw you dressed…” He inclined his head to the side, flicking one ear downwards. “What are you dressed in?”

The gold and white armour was gone. He was dressed in what appeared to be a vest of some sort but it seemed more like a workman’s garment than the kind that nobles wore. Made of a deep green sort of leathery fabric, it had many pockets and gave room for the white tunic beneath that exposed his lean, thick arms. His legs were also covered in blue trousers made of some sort of grainy, blue material.

“Consider it my casual attire,” Samuel chuckled softly.

“And you are… grocery shopping?”

The No One laughed softly, looking at the basket in his arms with a bemused smile. “Yes, yes I am.”

“Has my brother relegated you to fetching him foodstuffs and supplies for the kitchen?”

“Not yet,” replied the wolf with a gentle smile. “I am actually gathering ingredients for a little get-together.”

Curious as to who a No One’s friends would be, he said, “Oh? With whom?”

“My family.”

Now he was really curious. “Your… family? Does a creature outside of time and space possess a family?”

He tried to imagine what Samuel’s father looked like and conjured an image of a skull-faced wolf-like creature bound to the ground by enormous chains and taller than a mountain with blood seeping out of his hollowed out eyes.

“The other No Ones, yes. I consider them both my colleagues and family.” Samuel shrugged. “We are much like one. We argue. We have our disputes. We stand together and work on issues together.” He shuffled the basket in his arms. “We eat together. Time may be meaningless between us but every now and then, one of us cooks for the others based on the ingredients and cuisine of the world we are currently assisting. Given that we can be on multiple worlds at the same time and even in multiple places on the same world, that can be somewhat chaotic but it makes for quite a feast.”

Luxaeus cocked his head to the side. “Huh… Would you mind if I came along?”

Samuel lifted an eyebrow and for a brief moment, the pupils of his blue eyes shifted, transforming from circular discs to eight pointed stars and then back again in the span of a second. “Well, you have been to Naught before and since I am hosting, you would not be somewhere that would blow your mind. The fare will be familiar as well. The last person I brought with me came during H2’s turns and dinnertime in Pandemonium is…interesting. Still, I do not see why not. Come along then.”

Tail wagging, Luxaeus bounded after Samuel as they strode across the Merchant District, purchasing ingredients and spices. He bought some cured meat, fresh vegetables, even some chicken and beef from the butchers. Naturally, he paid with gold but Luxaeus had to wonder where he had obtained the funds. He had heard rumours that Samuel had a magic pouch that could generate food at will and an endless bag of gold. That made him wonder if such an artefact would only ruin the economy of the budding nation.

“I have been wondering,” he admitted as he helped heft some of the ingredients in his arms. “Could you not simply create the meals at will?”

“It is a matter of perspective,” said the No One with a shrug. “I could but it would only taste the way I think it should taste. There would be no authenticity to it.” He gestured at the cured ham leg that he was carrying. “I would assume this, for instance, has a salty flavour and perhaps a stringy texture. But I have never had it so I do not know.”

“Could you not simply… know that? With your eyes, that is.”

“Knowing something is different from experiencing it. Yes, I could know how it will taste like but that is entirely different to the real thing. Even should I create it to mimic that, it will not be the same. And there is a joy in sharing that experience with those you care about.” A distant smile crossed Samuel’s face. “We discover the intricacies of the world together. You learn much more from with different perspectives than simply your own, after all.” Then he grinned sheepishly, eyes shut in a rather cartoonish fashion. “Besides, the others know what ‘my tastes’ are like and if I concoct a facsimile of some cuisine, at least one of them can call me out on it.” Then his features turned sour and his shoulders slumped. “Aaaaand that usually results in Gwen throwing something big, hard and fast at my head. Not in the fun way either.”

The sudden change of tone and characterisation caught Luxaeus off guard. Usually Samuel was sombre, controlled and very professional. The shift to someone that was so casual gave him pause. “Is that how you usually speak amongst your family?”

“Huh?” Samuel glanced back at Luxaeus with a moment of confusion and then smirked. “Oh yeah. Sorry. Yes. This is how I usually talk. In fact, I’m probably talking using my native language right now. I just have a few filters on that makes it look and sound like I’m speaking Common.”

“Why must you hide yourself like that? Could you not simply be who you are?”

“I could but it’s seldom hard to take someone who is trying to reforge an entire nation and the very structure of divinity seriously when they talk like this, right?” He shrugged and moved further down the street. “I’m sure you could relate.”

“Me? How?”

“That could only be one reason you are hiding away in the castle instead of dealing with the issues of the Wargen. Playing the mysterious, shadowy leader is always a fun way to change the course of history.”

Luxaeus felt like a tonne of bricks had been dropped onto his chest. “Touché…”

Samuel turned a corner into an alleyway. The moment Luxaeus followed, he suddenly found himself back into the endless white expanse of Naught. His heart stopped in shock and he immediately began reaffirming himself, solidifying his identity and making sure he knew who he was.

“Relax, Luxaeus,” Samuel chuckled. “Let me just clean things up a little and you can let your guard down.” With a wave of his hand, the infinite expanse suddenly became very populated. Tall, stone columns shot into the sky, meeting up with a broad ceiling decorated by stylised buttresses. A roaring fireplace erupted not too far away accompanied by a single, very long, wooden table accompanied by stylised chairs. Stone walls wrapped it all up into a single, seemingly benign hall similar to the great hall of Bhotanmar.

“Why don’t you set the table?” suggested the No One. “I’ll get to starting on the meal. The others should be coming in soon.”

Luxaeus nodded and made his way to the table. Running a paw over the lacquered surface, he was amazed at how… real it felt. Though he had to remind himself that in Naught, perceptions and even identity were self-determined. Shaking his head so as not to get lost in the philosophy of it all, he looked around for some place where he could find some cutlery or plates. When he didn’t find any, he looked around for Samuel… or even another door. His heart froze in his chest when he realised there were no exits in the grand chamber.

“Let me guess, you’re new.”

He jumped, fur on end. A human man stood a short distance away. He had stark white hair and bright yellow eyes. An athletic build was wrapped around a long, red coat with a black tunic and trousers beneath. Several belts and buckles were fastened around his chest and waist, more than was really practical. The man’s ears were slightly pointed that remind him of an elf but they were not as long as a true elf of Tirinead. He seemed to possess fangs as well that jutted out from his upper lips.

“Uhm… I have been here before…”

“Not long enough, it seems.” The man strode across and swept past him. With a wave of his hands, a sound like a thousand wind chimes ringing filled the air. Cutlery, plates and glasses appeared just an inch off the table and clattered onto the wooden surface with a soft clang. “Naught is a world of infinite possibilities. If you’re missing something, just think about wanting it and poof, it’s there.”

“Ah… thank you… uhm…?”

The man held out his hand. “Havoc. Call me Havoc. If we’re going to be formal, my title is H2 the Harbinger of Havoc.”

Luxaeus took the offered hand and shook it with a smile, careful not to crush the limb. “Luxaeus Reinhardt. So are you the harbinger of yourself then?”

Havoc laughed as they released their grip. “That never gets old. But I am the No One of Chaos. I revel in causing anarchy and bringing about great change through it. Change is a natural part of existence, after all. If everything were ordered and stagnant, then nothing would ever grow! Just ask pubescent teens!” Then a sinister glint entered his yellow eyes. “Although I could just be a lingering fragment of your lost humanity, a reflection brought on by Naught to make you embrace your new instincts. Leading to you going on a massive rampage ending with you duelling your brother to the death.”

The Wargen reeled back, eyes wide in terror.

Suddenly, a flaming projectile came flying out from the left, smacking Havoc’s head and sending the No One crashing to the ground.

“Quit trying to mess with him, Havoc,” snarled Samuel as he wheeled a cart full of food into the chamber.

Luxaeus looked down at the No One of Chaos as Havoc rose and set aside what appeared to be a frying pan that had been set on fire. “Ow! Right in the face too…”

“Don’t make me get the wok,” Samuel warned. “Now put this stuff on the table, will you?” His eyes turned to Luxaeus. “Let’s get you away from the Chaosbringer. He’ll make your head spin. Literally.”

Nodding, he followed Samuel to what appeared to be a blank wall but as he approached it, their environs changed immediately into what appeared to be a very large kitchen but it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. There were metal surfaces and strange devices with dials and knobs. Fire was springing up from a surface that lashed up against metal pots and pans. There was even a strange box that let out a soft hum with vegetables sitting inside, rotating slowly.

He lowered his head towards the strange device. “What is this thing?”

“A microwave.”

Surprised that the voice was feminine, he turned and found a tall, beautiful woman striding towards him. She gently gripped his arm and pulled him away from the device. Long, raven hair, chiselled, angular features and strange, purple eyes. Her attire was entirely white save for a few pink streaks in areas that highlighted her curves and supple body. Oddly enough, Luxaeus knew she was very attractive but could not get a rise out from looking at her figure-hugging outfit. Likely because she was another No One.

Samuel was over the metal sink peeling potatoes. Once he finished with one, he tossed it over his shoulder and the woman caught it deftly.

“So medieval fare served using somewhat modern techniques?” she asked.

“Tirinead fare is slightly different to other classical medieval as you will soon see,” Samuel said. “But yes. You know given a choice I prefer these kinds of kitchens. Reminds me of home.”

“But not the sort of home that has magical symbols that can do everything and anything you wish, right?”

“You know my dad hated Seals and never had them implemented.”

Luxaeus watched the exchange between the two. The familiarity between them was uncanny. It was almost like watching two estranged siblings talking after a long time apart.

The woman then plucked a knife out of a cupboard and began chopping the potatoes. “I am L4 the Liaison of Life, by the way.” It took Luxaeus a moment to realise she was addressing him. “Gwendolyn. But most call me Gwen.”

“A pleasure to meet you, milady,” Luxaeus said, bowing towards her.

She gave him a pleasant smile, her rosy lips parting slightly to show perfectly straight, white teeth. “Manners. Quite a refreshing surprise from a burly, shirtless werewolf that R3 has brought in.”

“That’s just mean,” Samuel laughed softly.

“Are you telling me I’m wrong?”

“I have my preferences, I’ll admit. That’s why I have you all to cover those things that I cannot be unbiased towards and why we usually work in teams.”

Gwen laughed softly and caught another potato that Samuel tossed to her. “True enough. I suppose you haven’t told Luxaeus any of our histories?” She glanced at him. “Sorry dear, your curiosity is quite chaffing.”

Luxaeus gave her a sheepish smile. “Ah… sorry. I just thought it ought to be rude to be asking so… directly.”

Waving the knife absently through the air, she shrugged and said, “It is no matter. I was originally a scientist. I worked with a team of others and we were disillusioned to the world around us. So we destroyed all of creation in the hopes to reforge it as we saw fit.”

The Wargen’s eyes widened in shock. “Y – Y – You did…?”

“Yes.” Gwen’s eyes suddenly filled with sorrow. “I still remember that look on my family’s faces as we sat safely within the Machine and they died, screaming, pleading for us to stop. It haunts me. It started my path to appreciating life. Of course, my colleagues were not so enthused and I ended up being betrayed by one of them in a bid for power.” She hiked her free thumb over her shoulder. “Of course Jake saved me.”

“Jake?”

“Short form of ‘Jacob’,” Samuel said. “Please don’t call me that though. Jacob, Samuel or R3 is fine.”

Gwen smirked and leaned quietly towards Luxaeus. “He is rather particular about that nickname. Best to do as he says. He does hold the fate of your universe in his hands after all.”

“Ah…” Luxaeus replied, eager to change the subject. “Then… uhm… What of Havoc’s history?”

Gwen covered her lips with the back of her hand as she giggled. “Curious that you would meet him of all people first given your current situation.”

“Pardon?”

“Havoc is a werewolf. Much like you except that he can freely change between a bestial, lupine form and you can’t.”

Someone else that had been changed into a half-man, half-wolf-like-creature? “Was he changed because his best friend merged his soul with his own?”

“No. His transformation is different.” Sadness entered Gwen’s eyes. “Havoc originally was a farmer but his lands were attacked by an invading nation. Instead of killing him, they ran brutal experiments on him. They reduced him to an animal through torture and mental conditioning. When he was broken down, they changed his body through a mix of magic and science. They stripped him of his name and called him ‘Havoc’ for his tendency to cause chaos.”

Luxaeus looked to the direction he thought H2 was though, like the grand hall, this room had no exits. He felt pity for the man. It sounded a lot like Arnmok’s plight of being reduced to a mindless slave. It reminded him that he still had to truly apologise to the Red Orc.

“Don’t take too much pity for him,” Samuel said. “Havoc had Gwen here as her guide. She helped him escape and then extract his revenge. He died in the middle of chaos, just how he liked it and practically forced himself to becoming Gwen’s Advocate. He was actually the first Advocate. But his views on chaos and the value of life conflicted with Gwen’s.”

L4 lifted her head haughtily. “I value life but also it’s passing in death. Havoc entertains the thought that all existence is chaotic and so is life. He is not opposed to causing premature death or ‘forcing change’ upon others where I much prefer to let things progress on their own.”

“Eventually, due to their disagreements, Havoc became a No One in his own right,” Samuel concluded. “They still butt heads every now and then but that’s the thing about being a family. You clash blades, you argue, you bitch but you’re still family.”

Luxaeus thought back to how he and Amthos were now so different. They had argued over and over again about their family. It pleased him that Amthos was not planning to rule Amthosruud for ever but he doubted very much that the Avatar would surrender his orcish form. Not that Luxaeus was in any place to argue given that he could not change back into a human.

Did form really matter? They were still family after all.

“What of your own history, Samuel?” he asked. “It seems to me you all suffered much to get where you are.”

“There can be no story without conflict,” laughed the wolf. “Mine really isn’t that different.”

Gwen turned to him and leaned against the kitchen counter, waving a knife in her hands. “You mean apart from getting your tail ripped off by a psychotic bitch who wanted to use you as a weapon to destroy everything? What about getting your eyes mauled by a man driven insane by the loss of his family? Having those chain wings fused with your very being as a sign of your ‘eternal bondage’? Then let’s not forget that you had to give up the love of your life so that all existence could continue.”

Luxaeus’ eyes widened as he stared at Samuel. “That all happened?”

“That’s the short version,” said the No One dismissively.

“And… you’ve never loved again?”

“Gwen is exaggerating. I haven’t lost him. He’s currently maintaining the integrity of all existence. After I free all the core realities from the bonds of the Ultimate Seal, he’ll be back in my arms.”

“And how long will that take?”

For a moment, Samuel was quiet. Then he said, “Let’s just say I’m glad I stand outside of space and time but not so glad that so does he and the Seal.”

Those words put a damper on Luxaeus’ spirits. The affairs of the gods and No Ones seemed much more significant than his own. He felt pathetic and even foolish for ever bothering Samuel with his problems. Before his head could dip down entirely, Gwen reached up and cupped his chin lightly.

“Don’t let our histories and goals interfere with your life,” she said sagely. “You are the hero of your own tale. We go on this path to help others because we choose to. Yes, we have our own goals behind them but that is still our incentive not yours. It is why we emphasise the choice you can make. We can guide you but it is up to you to make the choice.” She swept her hand around the kitchen. “We No Ones represent different aspects of existence from Chaos and Order, Life and Death, Mind, Body, Heart and Soul, Change and Energy, Time, Space and Reality. But we never represent fate, destiny or a forced future. Your fate and its consequences are yours to deal with.”

“Mortal fate is and always shall be in mortal hands,” Samuel recited softly. He looked upwards, a reminiscent smile on his face. “And there are no gods, just mortals.” He took a moment to let those words to sink in before sighing and shaking his head. “Ah but enough of this. Let’s get to eating! I’m starved! And I’m sure Luxaeus needs something in his belly. He did run several miles on all fours after all.”

They returned to the grand hall which was suddenly populated by a host of other different creatures, not all of them human though he doubted that those that appeared human were even truly as they appeared. Luxaeus took his place as a guest of honour and as he was introduced to the other No Ones. He was grateful that the food was fairly familiar as he was not sure he could process all the insane conversation the No Ones were having. Differing realities, otherworldly problems and complex situations were a common topic.

All in all, though, it seemed more like a meeting between a family. They laughed, they jokes, shared experiences and offered insights. Some were taken well while others were met with groans and eye-rolls.

“So what are you planning for the end, Sam?” Havoc suddenly said, nudging Samuel. “How are you going to oust the Holy Triad? Think the Old Gods will have enough power to do it?”

Samuel shook his head while munching on a turkey leg. “No. The Triad is embedded into the very fabric of Tirinead. They’re literally infused into the Etherealm and draining the essences from there to power their own insatiable hunger. The Old Gods had to cut themselves off from that to maintain their presence on the physical realm. The Triad isn’t too concerned about that.” He sighed softly. “Honestly, I have no idea what I’ll do. If I empower the Old Gods, they might go power mad again knowing that we might end up bailing them out again. If I kill the Triad myself, I’ll be the new god and that is the last thing I want.”

“Why not just have both pantheons co-exist?” asked Gwen. “Cast down the Triad into some otherworldly parallel dimension, elevate the Old Gods back to their old seat. Instate a sort of order that if you are unfaithful or if the Gods deem you to be unworthy, you will be cast down into the Triad’s depths to be tormented for all eternity.”

“Just like you to form some sort of Heaven/Hell dogma,” Havoc groaned.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“Hmm, I say we bring the Triad and the Old Gods down onto the same playing field and let them have at it. Maybe we throw them a couple of weapons here and there to keep things interesting and then whoever is left standing wins whatever is left of the planet!”

From across the table the entity known at D8 chuckled at that suggestion, however Luxaeus nearly choked on his wine.

“Hey, Sam is already part of the ‘Unholy Trinity’ that’s meant to bring about the end of the world, right?” said Havoc with a devilish grin. “So, destroy all the world and bring everyone into heaven, Old Gods included. That way, the Old Gods don’t get to be so arrogant and lord over everyone else on the mortal realm like they’re puppets and the Triad gets destroyed!”

It terrified Luxaeus that Samuel was seriously considering the possibility.

“I’ll have to think about it,” said the No One of Reality. “I could just as easily sever the Etherealm entirely from Tirinead but that would render spirits mortal and cut off a lot of sources of magic. Would be an interesting world, to be sure but it would kill both Old Gods and the Triad. Alternatively, I could just smash the barriers between the two planes and grant everyone infinite magical power. It would be a means by which everyone can craft their own world as they see fit.” He chuckled softly. “Or you know what? Maybe I’ll trick both Old Gods and the Triad to scramble for some nexus of power but in reality, it is a means to scramble the races of everyone in the world.”

Luxaeus straightened at that. “What do you mean?”

“This whole thing started with what is essentially racism. If I can change people’s species and maybe even genders randomly, it might actually change the social dynamics of the world. People will not be bound by race. They will be bound by something more fundamental like family and loyalty. You haven’t even been to a furry universe yet. Those are generally fun.”

Luxaeus looked at his own paws and frowned. If there was a chance he could be back to being human, would he take it. Maybe he could be something else. But then that would mean…

“I ask that you not take that route, Samuel.”

The table suddenly fell silent and Luxaeus became the centre of attention.

“Winterpaw gave me this body,” he said, ignoring the eyes of all these powerful beings upon him. “That sacrifice would be meaningless if I threw it aside.”

A bemused smile crossed Samuel’s face and he leaned forward, setting his chin on his paws. “Even if it meant the only chance to stabilise Tirieand would be lost?”

He glanced from Gwen and then Havoc before going back to Samuel. He remembered how Havoc had been brutally experimented upon and used as a weapon. He recalled how Gwen had destroyed so many lives and bore that memory forever in her heart. And lastly, he recalled how Samuel had to sacrifice so much for others and how his body had been terribly mutilated but he made the most of it all.

“The world is chaotic by nature. Life is unpredictable. I could not change what has happened to me and what I have done. But I can use it to my advantage. I do not want the world to end. At least not before I explore this path that I am upon.”

One of the No One suddenly stood up and began applauding. Another stood and did the same. Suddenly, he was regaled by all thirteen No Ones rising out of their seats and clapping, smiling and nodding at him in acknowledgement.

He wasn’t sure what was happening.

“What…?” he began.

“Two things,” Samuel said, holding up two fingers as the applause died. “It takes a lot of courage to be able to do something as simple as asking for help. You would be surprised how stubborn people can be. And the second...”

Gwen reached out and gripped his shoulder. “You’ve acknowledged that you are where you are right now because of you, not anyone else. I’m sure you know where this applies back on Tirinead.”

Luxaeus looked past the No Ones for the moment… and then nodded. “No more hiding in my room. No more taking runs in the early hours of the day to avoid the accusing stares. I have to face the consequences of what I have done.”

“Exactly.”

A great weight lifted off his chest and he leaned back in the large chair. His eyes fell down on his strange, alien body. For the first time since he had become a Wargen, he actually felt… comfortable in this form. That awkward feeling of wearing ill-fitting armour was gone. He genuinely felt that this was his body now. Wiggling his toes a little, waving his tail back and forth and even wiggling his ears to catch bits and pieces of conversation were still strange to him but it was something he could get used to.

A veil had been lifted from his senses and the world seemed so much brighter now. He could feel the grains against his bare paws, smell the aromatic scents of the food before him and even hear the breathing of each of the No Ones.

He was reborn anew.

A thought occurred to him at that moment and he glanced towards the Liaison of Life. “Was this entire meal planned just for my benefit?”

“Don’t be silly.” She turned towards a goblet and took a sip. “We are No Ones. We exist outside of Time and Space. There are countless other meals like this occurring right now with each of us present. You’re not the only one that we’re helping through an existential crisis, you know.”

******

The reports from Ramdrud were very positive. The borders of Amthosruud were expanding rapidly. Between Ramdrud’s expertise in the political game and Knaatl’s raids on the Alliance borders, the nation was quickly building itself to be a rival of the Alliance. From what he heard, other nations were amassing as well and rebellions were tearing down the rest of the Alliance. Caught between internal fighting and enemies from all sides, the Holy Alliance quickly found itself cornered, surrounded and quickly lacking resources.

But as Amthos pored over the reports, he realised that this sounded exactly like the days before the first hero was born. The Alliance found itself cornered and just stalling for time. History, however, would not repeat itself, of that Amthos swore.

Their expansion efforts were stalled somewhat with the onset of the Wargen. Efforts had to be put into containing them and making sure they were content. Effectively leaderless, the Wargen were just one spark away from ripping one another and the rest of Greendawn to shreds. Based on Ramdrud’s recommendations, they should give the annexed city of Garvreim to the Wargen, assit in rebuilding it but keep them as far away from the rest of the battle efforts as possible. It was a harsh assessment and one that Dalgmar agreed to.

Amthos shifted to the shaman’s report and leaned back in his large chair. The office he had been given was bigger than Ramdrud’s but he knew it was all ceremonial. The Avatar’s meeting room had to be the largest of all the other chambers, after all. He knew it was just empty platitudes and luxuries but Amthos sought to enjoy it while he could.

A small smile touched the orc’s lips as he looked through Dalgmar’s scribblings. The shaman mentioned a great ‘disorder’ in the spiritual energies of the Wargen. They were all constantly fighting a ‘beast’ within them. Thankfully, Neruv’s unique ‘spirit healing’ somehow helped calm the bestial sides of this new race. Still, he was only one orc and though Neruv tried to each the art to others, such skills came from a mixture of deep spiritual shamanism and extensive knowledge of the arcane. It would take some time before other spirit healers could be trained properly.

Still, for the integrity of Greendawn, even Dalgmar was recommending that the Wargen be relocated.

A knock came to the door and Amthos bid them enter without looking up. Ramdrud pushed the wooden frame open and strode confidently inside.

“You wanted to see me?” said the bald orc.

Amthos could sense the slight irritation in his friend’s tone and stance. He had specifically sent a messenger to fetch Ramdrud when his spymaster was holding an audience so that others could see. Hard Ramdrud refused to come to the Avatar’s chambers immediately, then he would be showing disobedience and his loyalty would be questioned.

“I did,” Amthos replied. He gestured at the seat in front of him. “Please, sit down. And no need to be so formal, Ramdrud. We are friends, after all.”

The orc spymaster and heralded as the Governor of Greendawn, took the offered seat with a sigh. “I apologise if I am a little bit short with you, Amthos, but I was in the middle of an audience with Count Alfermand.” Ramdrud rubbed his temples with a sigh, rolling his eyes for emphasis. “You would not believe how talkative that man is! I swear, his greatest political power is that he can bore everyone else to death. Other nobles will agree to his terms just to get him to shut up!”

“Then I thought I would have done you a favour?” Amthos laughed.

“No because now the old fool will have to start from the beginning and I will have to listen to every excruciating detail of his hunt against a wild boar in the Easter Wealds from the start!” Ramdrud threw his arms into the air in exasperation. “Do you have some wine? I need some wine.”

Smiling sympathetically at his friend, Amthos got up from his chair and moved to a nearby shelf. He poured some wine into some goblets for them both and handed one of it to his spymaster and governor. As Eranius’ squire, he often had the joy of drinking wine at his former lord’s side but never anything quite as rich and decadent as the make and brand he was having.

Ramdrud smacked his lips. “Ah. A fine concoction. Is this from the vineyards of Moregard right?”

“Right. Your ability to detect the intricacies of drink is astounding.”

“The courts smile upon those who can identify finely aged reds from cheaply produced swill.” Ramdrud snickered and took another sip, savouring the flavour.

The topic seemed a perfect transition into what had been troubling Amthos. “On the topic of courts, I did have a motive for bringing you here apart from simply sharing a moment of respite for intrigue and subterfuge.”

He waited for Ramdrud to finish his sip and set down his cup before continuing. Doubt crept into his mind. It was one of those moments when he could have Samuel whispering possibilities of the future to him again. But if his encounter with Grauhl had taught him anything, he could not rely on the gods or the powers of others to drive his future.

Clasping his hands together, he said, “I know you have just been humouring me these past months.” He could see that Ramdrud was about to protest but he quickly held up his hand to silence his friend. “Allow me to finish.” Ramdrud’s jaws snapped shut with a soft clack. “This room. The lavished surroundings and those meetings you host with nobles. All of them. I know that they are just so that I am seen and that I continue to inspire. The seat of Avatar is one that puts a face on this revolution of ours. But apart from that and some innate powers, I am no more special than anyone else.”

“You know that not to be true. You were the one that struck the final blow to Grauhl.”

“Only because Knaatl’s arrow had knocked off his helmet and Arnmok had the strength to throw me into the air. Had the Earth Runners not returned as well, I doubt I would have had the strength to fight as hard as I did so.” He sat back down in his chair and gave Ramdrud a rueful smile. “I have seen the consequences of people who live only in their glory days and seek to relive them, Ramdrud. I do not want to become like Orradin and constantly seek a fight where there is none. I do not wish to revel in battle.”

His friend frowned deeply. “And what is it that you want?”

The Avatar of the Orcs leaned against the armrest of his chair and settled his chin against his knuckles. “Honestly?” He looked at the goblet in his hands. “I would like to open a vineyard.”

“A vineyard?”

Amthos chuckled softly, unable to keep himself from smiling. “Yes. As silly as it may sound, when I first travelled with Samuel, he had a wineskin of infinite wine. I remember tasting that brew after travelling barefoot through the countryside, sleeping under trees and weathering storms and blaring sunlight, eating what little I could find or catch and begging for the rest. That drink… it brought new life to me. It may not have been the best wine in the world but it was what saved me.”

He looked deeply into the rich, velvety, red fluid in the golden goblet. “When this is over, I would like to have a manor somewhere in the northeast. I hear there is a species of grapes that thrives in that clime. I would like to have a manor similar to the one I used to live in. Perhaps a workshop for my father and plenty of forests for Luxaeus to run around in with his brood as he sees fit. Acres and acres of land for our vineyards. I would like my name to be remembered for more than just this war, after all.”

For a long moment, Ramdrud was silent. He could tell that his friend was seriously calculating what this could all mean but likely hitting the same wall that he had come up against many times before. “Why are you telling me this?”

It was only after some deep thought that Amthos had mustered the courage to say what he was about to say. “Ramdrud, my friend, when this war is over, I am stepping down as Avatar of the Orcs.” Before Ramdrud could protest, he continued, “Amthosruud will need a leader. So I will be appointing you King of the Orcs.”

As expected, Ramdrud was trying hard not to smile and just appear shocked. “But… why? This nation needs you. All the people look up to you. You led the migration to Bhotanmar. You were the one that broke down the barriers between tribes and you were the one that defeated Grauhl!”

“I am also the one that trusted Oringruud that led him to betraying us. I am also the one that had Oberyn die in my hands. I am also the one that drove my brother to become a cripple and it was under my watch that Winterpaw, King of the Wargs, gave himself up to preserve that same brother and create the Wargen. I am also sure that I will make many more mistakes and it is not that I do not wish to inflict them upon others just…” He smiled softly and pressed a hand against his chest. “… I cannot be sure what the future holds, Ramdrud. I have made it my purpose to always preserve the orcs and Amthosruud. But it is my purpose. No one else’s. I think if I am ever to truly defend this land, I cannot be the one the rule it.”

Ramdrud frowned and lost all his enthusiasm. “Wait… Are you proposing to be our No One?”

There, Amthos threw his head back and laughed. He had never seen it like that before. “Perhaps so. When the Alliance is defeated, I will crown you king and all the responsibilities and politics of the Avatar will go to you. I am simply not one that can sustain the constantly shifting tides of politics. I would sink while you would glide effortlessly on the waves.” He waved a hand absently through the air. “You will be the leader of this nation. But should you ever need my help again, you will know where to find me.” Then he grinned viciously at Ramdrud. “And if you lead Amthosruud into a direction that I disagree with, you will be sure to hear from me! After all, the Old Gods never said if my body will have the weather the ravages of time!”

The spymaster and soon-to-be king’s face fell. Amthos had prepared that speech for most of the day and now that he had finally delivered the punchline, he was glad for the reaction that was plastered on Ramdrud’s face. Though he was only partially bluffing. The heroes lived longer than others of their species, after all. Who was to say that the Avatars would not be so similarly blessed? For that, Amthos was grateful that he was alone in a sense. He would not have to watch the person he loved wither and die in his arms.

“I… I need time to process this,” said the spymaster.

“Would more wine help?”

“Most definitely.”

******

After a long day, Arnmok truly looked forward to returning to Greendawn and finding solace in Knaatl’s arms. Unfortunately, his mate was off raiding lands to the south while Arnmok and his platoon were trying to evacuate those in the way of Oringruud’s growing horde. That kept them rather separate from one another as Knaatl’s troops were capable of sustaining themselves for long periods of time away from Greendawn while Arnmok and his Red Orcs needed to constantly return to the city to rest and recuperate.

He saw less and less of his mate but it only made those times when they were together all the sweeter. But it seemed that Greendawn was in the midst of another celebration. Almost every night, someone was celebrating something. Perhaps a platoon had come back and liberated a rehabilitation camp, welcoming new orcs to Amthosruud, maybe a new lord had pledge allegiance to them or maybe an Alliance fortress had fallen. As the heart of the offensive, Greendawn was constantly awake.

Arnmok wished he could partake in the festivities but it would just not be the same without Knaatl.

How he longed for his mate’s arms.

He sighed softly, dreamily and looked up at the sparkling night sky. The last time he felt like this was when he was engaged to be married. Though that ended in tragedy and in blinding rage, he was more mature now; not a stupid boy from a backwater town who threw his fury and anger at anything that scarcely reminded him of the events that had scarred his heart. Knaatl had healed those wounds and he would always love him for that.

In his musing, however, his senses went on high alert. He immediately flung around –

And suddenly found a pair of lips pressed against his own, a tongue invading his mouth and a familiar, musky scent wafting into his nostrils. He moaned softly and pushed himself up against the strong, muscled wall of his mate’s chest, his cock rising in his trousers. Knaatl broke the kiss a moment later, a little bridge of saliva between them.

“Ah thought ya ain’t gonna be back ‘til th’ morrow?”

Knaatl grinned at him and nuzzled his neck. “And be away from that sexy accent of yours a day longer? I think not.” He straightened, fingers lightly brushing up against Arnmok’s nipples. “Besides, I was on my way to Hawkshollow when we encountered a group of orcs being chased by Alliance soldiers. We had to liberate them and bring them here. They apparently escaped from Hawkshollow where a large contingent of Alliance troops under the Great and Mighty Green-Hating Bastard now makes his home.”

“Orradin,” Arnmok hissed.

The Greenslayer had been on the back of everyone’s minds since they began invading Alliance lands. Legends of his skills in battle and how many orcs he had killed continued to circulate in Amthosruud. Whenever a new lord or noble joined them, they would always need to be assured that Orradin would not strike them down. The fact that the hero had thus far remained silent only unnerved potential allies all the more.

“Amthos will likely want to strike down Hawkshollow,” Knaatl said, nodding in agreement. “He seemed pensive when I told him. Ramdrud was quite enthused about the idea of attacking Orradin head on but Dalgmar cautioned us.”

“An’ what ‘bout Samuel?”

Knaatl shrugged. “He was not there for some reason. I was to find him and then I found this sexy ass wandering the streets.” He grinned deviously and seized Arnmok’s muscled rump, making the Red Orc giggle girlishly.

“Aw, ya better not keep ‘em waitin’ then. Ah’ll help ya search.”

His mate gave him an exaggerated groan and slumped his shoulders forward, lowering his chin so that it was resting on Arnmok’s chest and his eyes were looking up at the Red Orc pleadingly. “You would deny an orc that has not had a good fuck for a week? What kind of orc are you?”

“Ah ain’t an animal,” he said, immediately silencing Knaatl. The grim reminder of what he had become when the Alliance had deconstructed him and then the way Knaatl had treated him was enough to kill the chieftain’s libido. They both knew that it was a sign of maturity that Arnmok could joke about it but the wounds were still there and fairly raw. “C’mon. Ah owe Samuel a lot. We gotta find ‘im.”

Agreeing on these terms, Knaatl let the Red Orc through the streets as they tracked the No One. It was hard to track someone who could appear anywhere at any time but upon speaking with some of the locals, they stated that a black-furred, blonde-haired Fénrian was seen wandering the southern walls. With the Fénrians occupied with their own fights against the Alliance, particularly the elves, there could only be one person that fit that description.

It was only a short walk before they found Samuel perched on the outermost wall of Greendawn, legs hanging over the edge and peering off into the distance. He was not dressed in his armour and seemed like a normal Fénrian if not for his lack of a tail.

“Samuel!” Arnmok exclaimed, approaching the No One. “Amthos wus lookin’ fer ya.”

“I know,” answered the No One softly. “A band of orcs was saved from Orradin and now we know where the Greenslayer is housed. Ramdrud is all for capturing Hawkshollow for its strategic importance. Dalgmar is worried that the hero and Eranius had yet to do anything to fully counter the expansion of Amthosruud. Then there is still the issue of Oringruud’s Blood Claws drawing closer and closer.”

Oringruud. Another thorn in Amthos’ side. The advance of Amthosruud had been somewhat stalled with the rise of the Wargen as efforts were expended to contain them. Oringruud seemed to sense this hesitation and began pushing closer and closer to them. Now their borders genuinely pressed up against one another. Blood Claw territory was small compared to Amthosruud but they were never fully defined. There was no wall or landmark that defined where the conquered lands began and where they met the nation of the Orc Avatar. It was only a matter of time before a raid came from the traitor legions.

“Ah’ll deal with ‘im when it comes ta it,” rumbled Arnmok. “But ain’t ya gonna give yer advice ta Amthos? Ya’know. ‘bout Orradin an’ Hawkshollow?”

“Amthos no longer needs my advice.” The No One gave him a gentle smile. “You are now more than capable of making your own decisions. You do not need me.”

“That is far from true,” Knaatl laughed, his bellowing laugh sending a chill through Arnmok’s body. He loved it when that booming laugh turned into a roar of ecstasy as they made love. Those memories made him treble and desire the orc all the more. “You are a core member of Amthosruud! Many know you to be the one who made this possible!”

“All I have done is arm the leaders of the nation with weapons and offer them choices. They were the ones who made those choices. Not I.”

“Then at the very least, you will be our secret weapon against the Alliance! You can still steal their magic! The tales of how you crippled two entire battalions still makes its rounds! By the morrow, everyone will know where Orradin is and will be anxiously awaiting Amthos’ decision on what is to be done.” He grinned broadly and nudged Arnmok with an elbow. “You will be expected to help lead the charge against the enemy, you know.”

Samuel looked up towards the sky, silent for a long moment.

Arnmok sensed the great sorrow in the wolf’s stance and he began to worry. When a No One breathed, the entire world moved. If Samuel was sad, it certainly an ill omen. He briefly gripped Knaatl’s hand before moving towards the No One and sitting down on the No One’s left. Knaatl occupied the wolf’s right.

“Ya dun seem well, Samuel. Ya ‘right?”

Again, the black wolf was silent. His eyes remained their normal, circular shape. Arnmok had noticed that only when his pupils became those eight pointed stars did he look into the future or all possibilities, whichever one that was. Knaatl exchanged glances with Arnmok over the wolf’s shoulders and they both shrugged, unsure if Samuel just wanted some privacy or was just taking time to respond.

“You know that the Old Gods would have created Avatars regardless of my interference?” said the No One at long last. “They would have chosen an orc. One of the chieftains, actually. Likely Oringruud but potentially Urthak. They were even vaguely considering trying to convince Grauhl. But that would only have created a perpetual cycle. The citizens of Tirinead would be used as the playthings of the Gods as they warred amongst one another. Infused with some divine essence, these poor puppets would either be turned into gods themselves or be left behind like the heroes of today, harvested for their strength and power.

“I cannot say for sure whether my intervention will bring a positive outcome as there are still so many possibilities that could factor into how this story will end.”

Samuel suddenly let out a bitter laugh and a humourless grin crossed his face.

“The terrible burden of deciding the fate of this world rests solely in my paws. The Creator has deferred the decision to me and even the Old Gods have now realised that they cannot be objective. They have made their case and deferred their decision to me.” He lifted one hand. “Should I destroy all of Tirinead?” Then he lifted the other. “Should I preserve it? Should I completely obliterate the Holy Triad and reinstate the Old Gods? Or should I render everyone mortal? Should I elevate everyone to godhood instead? Should I find an equilibrium between Old God and Triad? Perhaps a more pressing matter…”

He lowered his arms.

“How do I wish to be remembered?”

Samuel quickly lifted a finger, silencing either the surprised Knaatl or terrified Arnmok. “And before you ask, this is nothing about the ‘legacy’ I will leave behind. This is about whether or not I want to be remembered or not. On the one hand, if I am to be remembered, I could portray myself as a simple messenger of the gods or even a powerful mage whose idealisms could reforge how we think of the gods and the divine. Conversely, I could merely fade into obscurity. As a No One, I do not want to be worshiped. I do not want to be the core of this universe. I cannot be its core. But if I simply leave, will everything I have done, my attempts to segregate god from mortal, be for naught?”

He shut his eyes and laughed bitterly. “Sometimes I wish I could not see all possibilities so that I would not have to worry or fret about what could have been. I could simply live with my decisions like the rest of you.” Slumping his shoulders he leaned back, resting his paws on the wall to look up at the stars again. “Infinite stars. Each one a different possibility. And I must choose one for this world.”

Again, Arnmok and Knaatl exchanged glances. They were both unsure if they were in any position to be offering any advice.

“Far be it for me to offer you some advice,” Knaatl began, “but I would very much prefer it if Tirinead continued to exist, thank you.”

“Yeah. Do ya haveta destroy it?”

Samuel smiled softly. “If it would mean ending the suffering of all, perhaps. Would you not end the life of a pup that is only in pain? Would you not put an end to the life of a man who would die slowly otherwise?”

“Is Tirinead like that?” Arnmok asked. “Ah thought we wus makin’ progress?”

“Perhaps but it still remains a possibility especially should the Avatars fall or the nations crumble.” He lifted a finger. “It all rests with a single decision. All things rest on the choice a single man must make. Well… perhaps that is not true.” He straightened and look to Arnmok and then to Knaatl. “Both of you, promise me that no matter what happens, no matter how dark the day becomes, no matter whom you lose, you will power on. Hold your head high. Fight on. Even if Amthos were to lose it all, if no Avatar sits on the throne, you will not let the orcs devolve into warring tribes again. You will not fall back on relying on the gods to grant you sanctuary. You will always remember that mortal fate shall and always will be in mortal hands. And we are all mortal.”

Still unsure how to respond, Arnmok could only nod.

“Then that is all I need.” Samuel smiled softly and closed his eyes. “Ten… nine… eight…”

Knaatl leaned forward curiously. “What are you doing, Samuel?”

Ignoring him entirely, Samuel continued counting down. “… Seven… six… five… four…”

Arnmok’s heart froze, his sense of danger screaming at him.

“Three… two…”

Samuel opened his eyes.

“One…”

BOOM!

Arnmok immediately turned around. His eyes widened as a big, red glare erupted from somewhere near the castle. Several other explosions ripped through the city and smoke began rising in the air.

“Garodrash’s three cocks!” Knaatl cried, leaping to his feet. “What the fuck is going on!?”

In cold, even tones, Samuel said, “The men you brought here from Hawkshollow. The orcs. They were loyal soldiers to Orradin. Soldiers turned into orcs to become infiltrators. There is an Inquisition Assassin amongst them. He will seek to slay the one who is holding Amthosruud together.”

“Amthos!” Arnmok cried. “We must go!”

******

The screams and explosions propelled Amthos’ legs down the stairs. He was practically flying down each step until he reached the grand hall where Ramdrud was ushering people inside alongside some of the guards.

“What is going on!?” he boomed, his voice carrying across the entire chamber.

Dalgmar was instantly by his side with Luxaeus padding close behind.

“Greendawn is under attack!” exclaimed the Wargen. “The armoury is afire and someone has collapsed the gates to the rest of the city! Our troops cannot make their way into the other districts from here! Fires have broken out and –”

BOOM!

His brother growled and snarled in the direction of the sound. “Something is causing that fiery thunder to sound every few moments! It drives me wild!”

If such an explosion was causing Luxaeus to be on edge, he could only imagine how it would affect the other Wargen. Glancing around the room, he could only see a few Wargen amidst the crowd. They were easily spotted as they were given a wide berth by the others.

Dalgmar’s hands on his shoulders brought him back to the chieftain’s attention. “It was the recent rescues from the south. They were spies!”

“What?” he sneered.

“The spirits told me so,” said Dalgmar. “The other shamans have confirmed it. They were soldiers of Orradin turned to orcs and who have remained loyal to the Alliance. They pretended to be refugees and when they were brought here, they proceeded to sabotage Greendawn!”

“They were not here for even a day and already they would turn down our open arms!?” sneered Amthos.

“I believe they realised that with Samuel here, their chances of discovery were increased.” Another explosion shook the chamber and Luxaeus began to pace furiously. “So they had to act quickly. Now we are trapped here while they cause chaos all over Greendawn!”

He had been expecting an offensive from Orradin for a while now but he thought the hero would have more honour in him by attacking them head on instead of resorting to stealth and subterfuge. Though he could not really expect much by way of courtesy considering how they were sneaking around and bringing their troops in behind enemy lines. Still, to attack Greendawn and all its citizenry like this…

“Why? Why would he do this!?”

Dalgmar shook him so that his eyes would not wander. “For you, Amthos! The spirits tell me that there is an Inquisition Assassin amongst them. A man who was sent here to kill you.”

There Luxaeus’ ears perked up and he spun towards the Avatar. “We need to get you to safety.”

Amthos shook his head and shrugged off Dalgmar’s arms. “No. I will not cower in the shadows while my people are under attack.” Hefting Grimight, he turned towards the door and marched forward. “The gates are sealed, yes?”

“Yes, but –”

Without another word, he stormed towards the exit. Upon seeing him, the frightened and some injured citizens gave way in awe. Ramdrud quickly scrambled to his side, wielding his magical sceptre. Grace, his magical owl flew through the doors and landed on her perch on the sceptre. She leaned towards Ramdrud’s ears and seemed to whisper to him.

“The Wargen have been driven mad by the explosions and chaos,” he reported. “They are attacking anything and anyone they come across!”

“I knew it!” one of the people shouted. “Those animals could not be trusted!”

“It is all because of him!” the woman pointed at Luxaeus. “They are his progeny!”

“I say burn them all! Put them down like the rabid animals that they are!”

Amthos shut his eyes and sneered. “Enough!” His voice chook the entire grand chamber just like any quake or explosion. “We cannot judge people based on their nature.” He turned towards the furious people. “Was it not orcish nature to pillage and rampage across the north? Was it not within each of us to war against one another? To drive wedges between one another based on tribe? Was it not the nature of every human, elf or dwarf to distrust anyone with green skin?”

Realising where he was going, the crowd fell silent. “The Wargen have not been with us for a month and you would already pass judgement upon them simply for being what they are. Our virtue is not in the pride we have in wearing the skin that we were born with or the bodies that we have adopted after we chose to become orcs. No.” He puffed out his chest, lifting his head and raising his voice. “Our greatest strength comes from the fact that we accept who we are and fight our nature if it will harm others! We changed ourselves for others. There are those of us who chose to become orcs. There are those that chose to remain as they are.”

He pointed in the direction of the door. “The Wargen did not choose this. Yes, it may have been forced upon them but we cannot blame one man for where others’ choices forced him to go. A cornered wolf will have no choice but to go through the men who have their blades pointed at him! Tell me you would have rather taken your own life instead of sought vengeance against those that killed your soulmate!”

Eyes were cast down and those that were judgemental tried to make themselves as small as possible.

“The Wargen were fighting the beasts within them,” Amthos snarled. “Now this happened and they could not help themselves. They were cornered. I will not put down a man for trying to fight for survival since for a very long time, that is all we did. Any who would think that killing someone based entirely on their nature is welcome to take up a sword and join the Alliance.”

That final blow was enough to bring utter silence upon the chamber. None spoke and with a huff, Amthos turned around and stormed out of the grand hall, his friends and brother right beside him. He stormed onto the castle courtyard and rushed towards the gates out of the military district.

Luxaeus gripped his shoulder for a moment.

“Thank you, Thomas.”

“Tell me you can rein them in,” he responded.

Luxaeus closed his eyes and gave his brother a gentle smile. “Yes. I do believe I can. Winterpaw was King of the Wargs and commanded them all with a single howl. I believe I can command the Wargen as well even in this state. But you should –”

Amthos shot his brother a fierce look. “Stop treating me like some fragile babe, Luxaeus. I may be your younger brother but I am not your little brother that needs constant protection or gentle handling. Just protect me as you always have. I cannot ask for more.”

With those words, he stormed towards the gates, now crumbled and twisted. The hinges and mechanisms that had once been used to open them were broken and shattered. Orcs and dwarves were trying to figure out some way to repair it so that the people on the other side could get to the safety of the district.

“Get everyone on the other side to clear out and away of the gates,” he ordered.

Shouts came from the walls as the soldiers relayed his orders. When he was given the go-ahead, Amthos strode towards the broken gates, hefting Grimight over his shoulders. He took a deep breath and drew strength from all those who still remained loyal to him. With a roar, he swung his mighty mace at the enormous gates.

BOOM!

The huge, fifty foot tall, metal gated crumbled, an enormous dent appearing where his mace struck. Still, they held. Snarling, Amthos swung again.

BOOM!

The gates shuddered, letting out a terrible screeching noise as they began to buckle.

“Once more!” he roared.

BOOM!

The gates swung off their hinges, falling back with the immense might of his last blow. Those on the other side looked upon him in awe. Here was their Avatar, standing between them and certain destruction. He had just destroyed the one barrier that had kept them from safety and sanctuary. He could feel their faith in him swelling and they immediately poured into the military district upon the guidance of the soldiers. Many pass him and fell to their knees, kissing his feet and worshiping him.

It was a thrilling feeling but one that he did not relish.

He would still give this all up.

Heroes needed to know when the war was over, after all.

“Luxaeus…” he said.

His brother nodded, a growl rising up in his throat. He barrelled across the crowd, leaping up a nearby building and vaulting up to its rooftops. Luxaeus bowed his head for a moment, fangs bared as he mustered all his strength in his chest, fists clenched and hackles lifted. The force built in his lungs, growing bigger and bigger until it came shooting out of his throat in an ear-splitting roar.

Even Amthos shuddered at the terrifying noise.

Luxaeus ended his cry, breathing heavily with his chest rising and falling. Now he had the Wargens’ attention. He needed to do something. If he did not act quickly, another explosion would erupt and send them back into a wild frenzy.

A purpose.

They needed a purpose.

He shut his eyes and then tipped his head back. Trusting his instincts and the powers that Winterpaw had left him, he let out a loud, mournful howl. The deep, resonating noise carried throughout all of Greendawn even amongst the shrieks, bangs and rumblings. He poured his heart into the declaration. It was nothing as poetic as Amthos’ speech but he hoped it would get his message across.

As he ended, he looked to the night sky.

“I hope wherever you are, Winterpaw, you will watch over us.”

His ears suddenly jerked to the right.

Another howl cut through the fire and smoke and his heart leapt for joy.

One by one, more howls joined the chorus. Each one was a Wargen, hearing his message and realising that they can fight this beast within them, that they were more than just animals.

“They are coming!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Make way!”

******

The world burned behind him. Greendawn would never be the same again. For the second time, the shining jewel that Ramdrud had envisioned was ravaged by war. But from the ashes of this city, as before, it would bring a new dawn for the orcs. Once before, they had left Greendawn as a single horde and now, from its ruins they would rise again stronger than ever.

The howls of the Wargen made him smile with pride.

“Well done,” he whispered softly. “All of you. You have all grown so much. And yes, even you Neruv. You can come out now.”

Neruv quietly stepped out from his spell, the air shimmering around him as he dropped his invisibility. As Greendawn quickly became engulfed in flame and chaos spread, the shaman remained oddly calm and looked upon the No One with cold, calculating golden eyes.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Neruv accused.

“From the very beginning,” Samuel answered.

He glanced off to the side towards one of the towers that bordered the walls and would allow any to step onto the battlements. A soft smile touched his lips. “And it seems that the fate of Amthosruud has already been decided.”

The No One slipped off the wall and stood upon the wall. A soft, white light streamed up from the ground in wispy lines. Where it touched, his armour sprang up. His starry coat fluttered over his chain wings and his helm hid his lupine features once more save for his piercing, sapphire-blue eyes.

“You were captured by the Inquisition.”

“Yes.”

“You gave them information on Greendawn. That is how they knew Amthos would be here. And you.”

“Also yes.”

Neruv lowered his gaze, his knuckled whitening around the staff. “I see…” He then turned towards Greendawn which was now caught up in a blaze. “Countless will die in these riots,” Neruv said. “Is it worth it?”

Linked with Incarius, the shaman and conduit had more insight to the workings of the world and indeed his plans than anyone else.

“You know what?” Samuel chuckled softly. “I do believe it will be. You should leave.”

“No,” said the shaman firmly. He rested a hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “As you said. We are all mortal. As a mortal, you need someone beside you for this.”

Samuel smiled beneath his helm and gripped the orc’s hand in gratitude. “Thank you. No matter how many times this happens to me, I can never shake that feeling of dread.” He took a deep breath and let it out softly after a second. “Tell Amthos that this is the day that I warned him about and that I am sorry.” Then he retrieved a parchment from the folds of his coat and handed it to Neruv. “Please give this to him.”

They both turned towards the tower as a shadow figure stepped out from the darkness.

It was a man. A man dressed in a long, all-consuming hooded cape and tight-fitting leather armour. In his hand was a black dagger that was dripping with a strange, inky-purple venom that smelled bitter-sweet.

Neruv narrowed his eyes… then he sprang back, eyes wide in surprise. “You!”

“Torlidain,” Samuel confirmed.

The assassin reached for his hood and pulled it back. His head was now shaved entirely and the vicious tattoo of the Holy Triad had been branded upon his skull but there was no mistaking his features, twisted in rage and fury.

“At long last,” sneered the Inquisition Assassin, his teeth bared. “I can finally have my revenge!”

Samuel shrugged absently, calmly. “Were you not meant to assassinate Amthos with that dagger?”

The shamed and exiled former guard captain of Whitepeak swung the blade through the air. “My thirst for vengeance will not go unsated! You will die here, Star-Eyed Wolf!”

The No One chuckled softly. “I guess I shall.”

Torlidain’s mad, wide eyes spun towards Neruv. “Do not interfere, orc!”

Neruv took a step back, holding up his hands.

Like a savage animal, the assassin charged at Samuel, howling with madness and with the dagger raised.

“Everything I have done culminates to this point,” Samuel said softly, so much so that only Neruv could hear him. “Leading the orcs away from the Old Gods, granting each of you the strength to carve your own future, even working with the Alliance to make sure that this came to fruition. This night…”

Thunk!

The dagger sunk into Samuel’s chest. A mad grin crossed Torlidain’s face and his eyes were wide in glee.

“… a god becomes a mortal.”

For what seemed like an eternity, cast in the backdrop of screams and explosions, the two of them stood there.

Torlidain’s grin slowly faded and his eyes lifted to meet Samuel’s. Panic entered his eyes and he tried to twist the dagger. When Samuel would not move or even show any signs of pain or agony, he grew frantic. “Take off your helmet!” he screeched. “I want to see the pain in your eyes! I want to see you die!”

With a shrug, Samuel reached for his helm and removed it, revealing his lupine features looking down calmly upon the assassin.

“What…?” gasped the exiled Whitepeak captain. “Where is the pain!? What trick is this!? I was promised the heart that this blade was plunged into would die in excruciating agony!”

“Only if it came as a surprise,” said Samuel. He reached up and gently touched Torlidain’s features. “There are those that come to the fulfilment of their purpose hungry for more and forever empty. But then there are those of us who reach the end and can only smile because we could not be happier. Take my last words to you to hear, Torlidain.” He leaned down so that his lips hovered over the man’s ears. “Our Trial by Combat has finally reached its conclusion.”

Then it struck the assassin.

This had all been part of the Star-Eyed Wolf’s plan.

This was the reason why he had allowed Torlidain to leave, exiled that day.

This was the reason why Samuel had given Orradin the orc seed.

This was the reason why Samuel had purposefully excused himself from counselling Amthos and led Arnmok and Knaatl away from potentially catching Torlidain!

“Why…?” he pleaded. “Why!? Why have you taken my revenge from me!?”

Samuel took a few steps back, his back pressed up against the edge of the wall. “For two reasons. First, to show everyone that when your desires are driven by blind fury and obsessive drive, you will never be satisfied. And second…”

He spread his arms wide and looked up to the night sky again, a serene smile on his face.

“To show the world that there are no gods. Just mortals.”

Then, Samuel, the Star-Eyed Wolf, tipped backwards and allowed himself to fall over the edge of the wall. Torlidain screamed and Neruv scrambled to the edge, watching as the wolf’s calm features faded from existence. Only empty armour clattered to the rocks below, leaving no body behind.

Again, Torlidain screamed and fell to his knees, weeping openly, broken and shattered.

Neruv could only pity the man.

******

When the fires died at long last and dawn came, the damage was quickly assessed. News had reached them all of the death of the Star-Eyed Wolf. All of Greendawn, everyone in Amthosruud, was stunned at this development. Samuel’s empty armour was arranged artfully within a coffin and paraded throughout all of Greendawn. Amthos immediately ordered that it be taken to Bhotanmar where it would be interred somewhere, sealed forever from the outside world in a tomb that would forever rest as a reminder of the great Mage-Knight’s contributions to the formation of Amthosruud.

But as for the renegade orcs and their assassins…

Reports had come in from everywhere about the deplorable acts of these men. The orcs had instigated riots amongst their kin. The humans snuck into strategic areas and planted explosives that the Inquisition had granted them. Worst of all, Torlidain had returned and killed Samuel.

Amthos could not even begin to wonder what this would mean.

He sat at his desk, holding his head in his hands. Their one defence against the superior magical abilities of the Alliance was now gone. If the Alliance deployed their golems, they would have no means to defend themselves save perhaps brute force but that may not even be enough. Doubt was already creeping throughout the people of Amthosruud. If the Alliance could kill a ‘god’, what chance did they stand? Ramdrud was trying to quell the rumours but this news would reach the ears of their allies soon. People would start asking questions and alliances would crumble.

Just when they had taken a step upward to victory, the ground gave way beneath their feet and suddenly they were deeper in the earth than they had started.

A knock came to his door.

“Leave me,” he growled. “I am in no mood to entertain today.”

But the door opened regardless and Neruv poked his head in. “I am sorry, Avatar, but I thought you ought to know about Samuel’s last words.”

The shaman and conduit had been there. It was Neruv who had alerted them to what had transpired and restrained the then maddened and gibbering Torlidain. Perhaps there was more to this than he knew. Waving the shaman in, Amthos straightened in his chair and glanced over to his table of wine.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Neruv shook his head and sat opposite to him. “No thank you, Avatar. I just came to relay a message.”

“Then say it. I must be down at the courtyard to exact judgement upon those heretics and traitors that brought so much pain to our nation!”

The shaman nodded gravely. Those involved in the treachery were now gathered in front of the castle. Orcs, humans, dwarves, elves and Wargen had all gathered there and were eager to see justice done to the men who had killed so many of their own and potentially doomed them all.

“Samuel planned this all, you know,” Neruv said. “I have a feeling it was all to teach us a lesson.”

“I see it as him taking the blade for me instead,” Amthos murmured softly. “He became a martyr for us. Torlidain was meant to kill me. Instead, he attacked Samuel instead. Why?”

“Samuel mentioned something about a Trial by Combat…?”

Amthos’ eyes brightened in realisation. The pieces fell into place and he slapped his forehead, laughing bitterly. “Oh Samuel… You sly devil…” He covered his eyes, afraid that Neruv would see the tears welling up. “Over a year ago, Torlidain conspired oust Ramdrud from Greendawn. Samuel exposed his duplicity in public and then Torlidain demanded a Trail by Combat. Samuel fought and humiliated him but refused to kill him, saying that their battle was simple ‘postponed’. Now… Now I see. Somehow, Samuel knew that Torlidain would become the assassin that would come to us. But his thirst for vengeance would overwrite his desire to fulfil his mission and assassinate me. He instead killed Samuel… thus taking the blade that should have been intended for me.”

“And I think he proved that we are all mortal,” Neruv said gently. “That there are no gods… Many in Amthosruud and even the Alliance seem to believe that he is part of some Unholy Trinity. But with his death…”

Amthos lowered his hand, staring up at the ceiling. “Yes… With his death he proves to us that we are the masters of our own fate. We cannot rely on the gods for assistance any longer.”

He clenched his fists together and sprang from his chair. “I must pass judgement.”

“A moment, Avatar,” said the conduit, rising with him. He handed over a roll of parchment. “A final parting gift from the Star-Eyed Wolf.

Amthos’ brow furrowed as he took the missive and unrolled it. Perhaps parting words? Some last bit of inspiration to help him weather the oncoming storm?

No…

They were… names.

He saw one particular name… and he just could not help but laugh. “I see… Come then. Many await us.”

Neruv nodded grimly and followed him out of his chambers.

The walk was long, stressful as if he was the one heading to his own execution. Many wanted blood. Many just wanted to know why and others just wanted it all to end. Amthos could feel it all and he knew that they would all need to act. Though he had effectively handed the keys to the kingdom to Ramdrud, this was a transgression he simply could not let go unanswered.

As he strode through the doors into the courtyard, he knew what he would do.

The shamans had erected stands and seats of raw, hard-packed earth all over the courtyard just so that everyone could see what he was about to do. They created those shimmering magical discs that would allow the entire event to be seen from all their cities and conquered lands. Thousands, perhaps even millions of eyes were upon him as he strode out to the middle of courtyard where at least a hundred orcs and Alliance races knelt, stripped of all their clothing. His executioners stood grimly around them, dressed in black and with wicked axes in their hands.

Amthos stopped just a few feet ahead of where Ramdrud, Knaatl, Dalgmar and Luxaeus stood. Arnmok remained by his side, always the dutiful bodyguard. He looked up at the stands, at the sun blaring down at him and then to the men who had given up so much just to sabotage their efforts. He could see Torlidain amongst them, kneeling at the forefront, looking crazed and constantly muttering to himself.

For a moment, he doubted his next actions.

Then he closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Perhaps an error whilst under the gaze of so many but he was only mortal after all.

Turning to Neruv, he said, “Can you make is to that everyone in the north can see this?”

“Everyone already can,” Neruv said.

“No. Not just those that are allied to us. All. Alliance or no. Enemy or friend. Everyone.”

Frowning, Neruv nodded and closed his eyes. Spirits gathered around him, becoming visible as golden wisps of light. Across all of the north, shimmering discs of light suddenly sprang up in key areas. From as far as Raonoak, people stopped what they were doing to look upon the incredible sight of a proud, red-haired orc standing in front of the accused. Even Orradin and Qurron had to gawk at the sight that appeared in the mess hall.

Amthos waited until Neruv gave him a nod before beginning.

“Last night was a great tragedy for the nation of Amthosruud,” he bellowed. “We welcomed these men into our arms thinking that they were refugees fleeing the abuse of the Alliance. They told us as much. However, as the sun set and darkness fell upon us, they turned upon us, setting fire to homes, slaying innocent men and women in the streets and marring this rich, prosperous land with death. It is a sin that simply cannot go unanswered.”

The crowd roared in approval. He was sure that those in the Alliance lands were just staring in horror. Some likely did not know who these men were. But he would change that.

He unrolled the parchment he was clutching. “Alderon Aansin. Barthem Mortum. Billy Paulson. Carlo De’vrues.”

One by one, he recited the names on the list. Eyes amongst the damned lifted as they heard their names. Orc or otherwise, their names were being called. Families all over the world were just realising that their husbands, fathers or brothers were amongst those condemned to this mission doomed to fail.

As he finished the list, Amthos lifted his head. “Each of you stand accused of this most heinous of crimes. It was by your actions that hundreds were killed within these walls. You are responsible for crippling Amthosruud.” His fist clenched as he fought to say the next thing. “It was by your hands that the Star-Eyed Wolf, Samuel, was killed.”

He was unsure how this would impact the rest of the world but he knew it had to be said.

“We are Godkillers!” shouted one of the accused, with a triumphant laugh. “We killed your unholy god! In the name of the Holy Triad!”

“No,” Amthos said fiercely. “You did not kill a god.” The man, a human, looked dejected. “Because there are no gods. Just us mortals. Our fate is not for the gods to decide. Our hands, our choices, are ours to bear. We must suffer through the consequences of our actions regardless of where the order comes from.”

He pointed accusingly at the men. “So heed me well. You were turned into orcs. But this was not by our hands! We never ordered contamination of your food or drink so that you would be turned!”

“Lies!” cried another man. “You did this to us! You knew we were in Hawkshollow and hoped to turn the Greenslayer!”

“We did not even know Orradin was in Hawkshollow until you were rescued!” bellowed Knaatl. “Did you not see my surprise when you told us whom had supposedly been ‘tormenting’ you?”

The shock in the man’s eyes was enough to show the truth.

“The order did not come from us, my good man,” Amthos said calmly. “So ask yourselves then, if we did not turn you, who did?”

He could see their eyes turn into terror as they all came to the same realisation. They had been tricked. Turned into orcs against their will to fulfil a mission that was doomed to fail – that did fail. Yes, they had deprived the orcs of Samuel the Star-Eyed Wolf but the Avatar still stood strong, still lead his nation. They had fought, given up their bodies, all for nothing.

Amthos pitied them all.

“You all made your choices,” he said. “Now you must live with the consequences. As must I.”

He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes as he braced himself for what was to come.

When he opened them again, he voiced his verdict.

“Let them go.”

Everyone stared at him, stunned.

“What!?” Arnmok bellowed. “Ya can’t be serious!”

“They killed many of us!” Knaatl chimed in. “Why would you just release them!?”

The sentiment was shared by all those in the crowd and he feared that his decision would cause dissent amongst his people and would give the Alliance an opening especially since they were broadcasting the event to the entire north. However, he let them rage and rant for a full five minutes before raising his hands to calm them. Though they still seethed, they allowed him to speak.

“We are all guilty of crimes. But each of us were given a great and rare opportunity to start anew. Many of you were accused of heresy or treason under Alliance law but then found yourselves within our territory with a new chance at life. Others sought better lives or protection and security. Many still had ambitions to become more powerful. You all made the choice to join us. But these men…” He gestured at the prisoners. “… this choice was forced upon them. They do not deserve death over being forced to become someone that they were tricked into becoming. They would have always had a choice to turn to us at any opportunity but they were cornered. It was either they made a deal with the darkness or they died condemned as orcs within Alliance lands.”

The crowd began to calm as they realised the wisdom in his words. Some even began to lower their heads in shame. Even his executioners lowered their axes. Arnmok averted his gaze and Knaatl took a step back, smiling.

“So I will now give you a chance that you were never given.”

Amthos held out his hand towards the prisoners.

“Join us and help us reforge Greendawn. Help us make Amthosruud strong. You have my word that we will do everything we can to save your friends and families still suffocated by the Alliance. Or, should you desire it, the gates are open for you to your destiny into your own hands. The choice is yours.”

And now… he waited.

Honestly, did not expect anyone to rise up and take his offer. These were men who had been turned to orcs and despite the travesty against their identity, remained loyal to the Alliance. At the very least, he would be comforted by the fact that these men chose their path. He would not hesitate to slay them if they crossed paths again.

Then a big, burly, grey-haired orc stood up.

“I am Karlein Naxor!” he bellowed. “And I stand by you, my Avatar! I turn my back to the Alliance that would use me in such a way and condemn me to death!”

Another man, an elf, stood as well. “I did not join the military to be part of a dishonourable act such as sabotage and slaying women and children! I am Taldurein Ru’Seil and I stand by the Twin Tusks of Amthosruud!”

A dwarf stood up and looked straight at one of the shimmering orbs of light. “M’name’s Grudar Stoutbeard Thundermount Hammerfist and I cast my lot with the orcs! Ya hear that, Bree-Bree!? I’m comin’ fer, ya girl! Ya ain’t gonna be slave ta that swine fer much longer!”

To his utter surprise and certainly to those watching, the men stood up, held their heads high and shouted their allegiance to the Avatar and Amthosruud. Amthos could only smile. Reading his thoughts, Ramdrud gave the order to release the men and a cheer sprang up from the crowd as they welcomed their new brothers.

Ramdrud shuffled to his side with a smirk on his face. “Are you sure you do not want to rule after this is all over? Your skills with the word have significantly improved and your manipulation of this event could not have been better.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, curiously.

The future-King gave him a lifted eyebrow. “You mean you did not intend this to bolster our ranks? You have just shown a mercy that has never been known in the north. You have exposed the treachery of the Alliance, shown that they use their men and even named those very same men out for everyone. Those men now have declared their allegiance to you. The Alliance would have slain these men, strung them up in some dark device and have them executed for all to see. You instead showed them a new choice with wise words. Do you know how many would be banging on our doors looking for the same mercy?”

“I fear would we also not welcome assassins and saboteurs?”

Ramdrud smiled at him. “We will be more diligent now and I doubt the Alliance would try such a thing again.” His eyes went to the one man in the crowd that refused to stand – Torlidain. “I think there is still one last thing you must announce…”

Amthos nodded and again raised his hands to bring about silence.

“Welcome, my brothers!” he bellowed with a grin. “But as I mentioned at the beginning, this act cannot go unpunished. I do not blame you nor should any others. I do blame the men who tricked you and forced your hands! We know where you are now, Orradin!”

He pointed straight at one of the shimmering orbs.

“Rest assured, you will answer in blood! We are coming for you! We march upon Hawkshollow!”

******

Orringruud had watched the entire exchange with interest. He sat on a crude throne of wood and stone as Amthos made his bold statement. A Red Orc rested between his mighty legs, drinking from his seed.

A devious smile crossed his features.

“So you march upon Hawkshollow, do you, pup? And you have lost the guidance of the Star-Eyed Wolf.” He looked upon the enchanted weapons granted to him by the Wolf himself, Blood and Honour. “Well… it seems to me that this is an opportunity for me that I simply cannot pass up.”

He grunted as his cock squirted seed deep into the orc’s throat. Even before he was finished, he shoved the orc to the ground and stood. “Tell the men! We march upon Hawkshollow!”

His grin only grew with ambition as he reached the peak of his climax and poured his seed all over the prone orc.

“The Avatar will fall yet!”