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Chapter 7: Blood and Water

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Facts About Tirinead – The Orcs #8

Even with the reestablishment of the Gods to their rightful place, the orcs of Amthosruud have their own faith that focuses primarily on the spirits as can be seen by the orcs’ shamanistic culture. They firmly believe that the spirits, particularly their Spirit Kings, are their patrons. This is proven by the fact that every major orc city has a Spirit King presiding over their people.

From Incarius at Bhotamar to Harineth at Thomastown, the Spirit Kings bless the north lands of Amthosruud with prosperity and wealth as the orcs maintain the land and their connection with the spirits.

*******

It was well before morning. The sky was still dark and had not yet felt the kiss of dawn. Stars were still out to play and Amthos could clearly see it through the glass skylight hovering directly above his immense bed big enough to fit four fully grown orcs. He lay on his back, naked and still bearing the sweat of his passionate evening with Ramdrud. The burly orc lay beside him, sound asleep and not uttering a sound. It was a far flung contrast from when he slept alongside Knaatl. The mighty orc’s snores shook his room. Over time, he had grown to be lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking from Knaatl’s thunderous snores.

Not that he did not adore the quiet provided by Ramdrud’s silence either. Just that the bitter absence of the snoring reminded all too well that he had sent his best friend on a mission with an orc he could not trust deep into Alliance lands. Were it up to him, he would have allowed Oringruud to send Arnmok alone but the Bloodspear was far too precious to let fall into enemy hands. If the Alliance got hold of it, there was no telling what kind of havoc they could cause.

The Avatar sighed softly. Sleep eluded him and he grew weary of just looking up at the ceiling listlessly. He quietly rose from the soft, cushiony bed, his broad, green feet touching the soft carpet. Memories of the lush red strands brushing up against his back as he and Knaatl rolled over it in a passion filled his mind. Then came the wild nights when he and the Nightusk chieftain filled Ramdrud from both ends. He grunted softly as his manhood began to rise with blood. Even he was not immune to the lust that he came with Garodrash’s gift.

From what he heard, the other races that had been influenced by the Old Gods suffered from similar inflictions though with varying triggers. While for orcs, it was just the mere presence of other men, he heard the Fénrians grew wild at certain phases of the moon. If rumour was to be believed, the tiger-like Rhakmirim grew aroused every three hours and were debilitated by lust. The lions of the Marabhatien supposedly grew more and more aroused the larger their ‘prides’. The equine Rantori were supposedly erect all the time though his shamans dismissed that as speculation. In retrospect, the orcs’ affliction was somewhat lighter than the others.

Amthos rose from the sheets quietly, striding towards the balcony that overlooked Bhotanmar. He grabbed the red, silken robe that was produced from trade with the Horanmut. Bhotanmar had rapidly been growing these past few months. Trade routes were already being established and he had already sent representatives to the different races outside of the Alliance. The mountains were filled with tunnels rich with ore that they could sell and use to make weapons. Dalgmar and his Thunder Callers were also producing medicines the like of which the other races could only dream of. If war against the Alliance and Grauhl were not looming in the distance, Amthos decided this would have been a spectacular time to live.

Sadly, he found himself thinking back to the impending battle… and battles past. Oberyn’s death still bore heavily on his soul. The vow he took, to take care of the Frost Tribe, constantly rang in his nightmares. He constantly envisioned the Frost dead at his feet and Oberyn rising from the grave as a frozen skeleton alongside a monstrous orc. The undead chieftain accused him of failing the Frost before plunging an icy sword into his chest.

The Avatar gripped his massive chest lightly and quickly left through the balcony, making sure to shut the glass doors behind so as not to chill the slumbering Ramdrud. Though scarcely dressed and being so high up in the mountains would keep most other orcs nipples as hard as stone, the Gods’ blessings kept him comfortable to a degree. He strode to the edge of the balcony and peered at the waking city that he had built.

“I should have known it was too easy to find such a perfect place,” he sighed softly. “The world gives and takes. It gave us this city. Now it would take countless lives as payment.”

He turned his gaze to the sky. “Or was it you that gave us this city, Samuel? You manipulated Urthak and Oringruud to ally with us and you were the one that knew were Cald-Harun was. Now you would throw Grauhl at us.” The Avatar sighed softly and leaned against the balcony railings; hard polished stone that was oddly warm to the touch despite the clime. “I find it hard to believe that someone capable of seeing so much could be caught by surprise.”

“Perhaps because he only has two eyes.”

Stunned by Ramdrud’s voice, he glanced over his shoulder as his Spymaster and political genius stepped out into the cold. The husky orc’s strong, warm arms around him were a welcome comfort. “Samuel may seem all-powerful but he confided in me that while he can see much, he has to look for it first. Unless he knows of the issue, he cannot explore it.”

Amthos had to chuckle softly at the irony of such powers. “So in every way, he truly only has the power to ‘ask’. He will only receive insight should he ask. If he does not know the question, he will not get the answers.”

“Still a frightful ability,” Ramdrud said, gently nuzzling his neck. “If you could ask for anything in the world right now, what would it be?”

The Orc Avatar leaned into his advisor’s arms, sighing softly. “I would ask the Alliance to give the orcs their own land. I would ask all hostilities to stop. I would ask the Holy Triad to allow the Old Gods to return to their throne even if they must rule jointly. I would ask Grauhl to join us instead of fight us. But even I know that is an idealistic dream that cannot come true.”

He could feel Ramdrud’s hot breath as the burly orc sighed. “Sadly, there is truth in those words.” His advisor pulled away from him and rested his back against the railings, looking deeply into the castle. “The Dracorians are demanding that we give them the western northlands in exchange for their aide against the Alliance and that we send ships to help them oust the Alliance forces on their island. The Rhakmirim want more of the rich swamplands that the Ursarai have and similarly, the Ursarai want some of the southern lands close to Raonaok for mining. The Horanmut are content to remain in their deserts but want favourable prices with trade including some narcotics…”

“Narcotics!?” Amthos exclaimed. “I will not allow such things into Bhotanmar!”

Ramdrud waved a hand absently. “That is the price for their aid. I have not had any contact with the Fénrians or the Marabhantien yet but from what I hear, they are struggling amongst themselves as well as the Minotaurs and Rantori for lands.”

“They have yet to actually engage the Alliance and they are already dividing the territory…”

“Such is the nature of all mortals,” laughed Ramdrud bitterly. “The Pirate Lords are the worst and from what I hear, there are separatists amongst the Alliance that are inciting dissent and ‘corruption’.”

“We have allies amongst the Alliance?”

“Not necessarily allies. Just dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies who are taking advantage of the hierarchy’s confusion and disorder to make political moves and progress their own ambitions. I have contacted a few and begun brokering treaties but without a true show of force, I doubt we can convince them to ally with us.”

Amthos looked out to the north, out through the valley and into the bay. “We will have to deal with Grauhl first before we can march to the south and begin our conquest. But I question whether or not we will even have the might to make a dent against the Alliance… or whether or not we will live against Grauhl’s might.”

“We will live,” Ramdrud assured. “Oringruud may not be the most… cuddly of orcs but he has a fair tactical mind. He has concocted a fair plan on how to address Grauhl’s approaching forces.”

“Do we even know how strong his forces are?”

There, the bald, flashy orc gave him a smirk. A moment later, a loud cry cut through the air. A white bird came fluttering down from the mountains. It circled above a few times before gliding lazily to land on Ramdrud’s shoulder.

“Did you train a bird, Ramdrud?” Amthos laughed.

“A gift from Samuel, actually,” chuckled the Hardshaft chieftain. With a wave of his hand, the bird launched into the bedroom and returned a moment later bearing an icy blue sceptre. When Ramdrud took it, the bird nestled at the tip and solidified into a statue. “Wingrace. With it, I can send Grace to scout far and wide to places even Knaatl and his Nightusks may not venture into. From what I have gathered, Grauhl is sending two hundred ancient warships our way.”

Amthos balked. “Two hundred!?”

“Propelled by some unknown force and shrouded in a thick blizzard that somehow keeps the see still and unfrozen as they glide towards us,” confirmed Ramdrud. “They do not need oarsmen or crewmen to man the boat so they can fit at least seventy soldiers per ship.”

“Seventy!?” The Avatar stumbled back, falling onto a stone bench and looking out to the sea, hopeless. “That would mean at least fourteen hundred undead to fight!”

“There are more still travelling under the water’s surface,” added Ramdrud. “As the undead need not breathe, the horrid creatures stride along the ocean floor. There are another four thousand there bearing arms and armour from aeons past.”

That equated to more than six thousand soldiers for them to fight.

Bhotanmar was growing, certainly, but they barely had a fraction of that. Perhaps, at most, they had fifteen thousand souls but not all were orcs or capable of fighting. Dalgmar’s shamans were healers predominantly and the Hardshaft were a mix of enforcers, farmers and merchants. Oringruud’s forces were really the only fighting force they truly had and they numbered, at most, five hundred able bodied orcs. Perhaps some of the Frost and Urthak’s Earth Runners would be able to assist but by sheer numbers alone, they would be easily crushed.

“I see your worry,” Ramdrud said comfortingly. “But we have allies. The Rhakmirim have pledged some for their Celestial Mages to us and the Dracorians are sending some of their airships as well. With Urthak’s wall and Oringruud’s tactics, we will win. Not to mention you have Samuel who you can be sure will do all he can to defend us from Grauhl.”

“But even he seemed worried when he learned of Grauhl…” sighed the Avatar. “What if this has all been for naught?” He looked up to Ramdrud. “Should we be preparing for a bitter end? Should we abandon Bhotanmar and seek refuge with our allies?”

The master politician could only give him an apologetic smile. “Of that, I do not know, Amthos. However, if there is anything I have learned from you is the value of determination and a willingness to strive for your goals.” He sat beside the Avatar, wrapping an army around his shoulder comfortingly. “My ambitions at Whitepeak were small. You lit the fire that ignited the inferno that burns in my heart. You made me see so much more than the glorified jail occasionally raided by deformed elven experiments. Do not let the light that you have shown me diminish.”

He gave his friend and advisor a bitter chuckle. “Sadly, that light is tainted by the reality that death is very real in this world.” He lifted his hands miserably. “Oberyn died, Ramdrud. He died in my hands. And so far, we have converted people, never truly killed anyone save for that bastard priest who shaved my head and he was killed by Samuel who asked him to die. He deserved it. But Oberyn… He did not deserve death.” He looked back out to Bhotanmar. “And I am reminded of the fact that with so many people under my guidance, there is the very real possibility of so many people dying as well.”

Ramdrud held his Avatar tightly. “You cannot save everyone, Amthos. To think so is naïve. Perhaps you believed that you could simply spray your seed everywhere and turn everyone into an orc without leading to anyone dying but we must all face reality. One of the Old Gods has the portfolio of death. There will be death. As much as I hate to admit it, Oringruud is right in that there will be war.”

Amthos sighed heavily, his mighty shoulders sagging. Small flecks of snow began to fall from the sky, landing on his muscled green flesh and melting against his body heat. “A truth I had wished to avoid but I agree. I must… harden myself against death. I will likely deal as much of it as I will see it.”

He rose from his seat and gave Ramdrud a wry smile. “At the very least, it is a pleasant day for it to start snowing.”

Ramdrud gave him a frown. “Snow…? At this time of the year?” He straightened and looked out to the harbour.

Dark clouds were on the horizon.

******

The endless nothing was… consuming. All Luxaeus saw was infinite white. It was not blinding but at the same time, it was soul crushing. The emptiness sapped everything from him and left him with absolutely nothing. Was he floating or was he swimming? Was he breathing or holding his breath? Were his eyes open or closed? Did he even have eyes? A body?

Who was he?

What was this place?

Was he even… alive?

What was ‘alive’?

Smack!

Pain.

That was something he knew all too well and it shocked him to have it run through his hand, creep up his arm and rush through the rest of his body. Luxaeus Reinhardt gasped and pulled his hand away from the source of the pain. Blood seeped through bite wounds in his armour. The large, white Warg stood next to him, licking its chops.

“That hurt!” he exclaimed.

“Good,” answered the Warg with a huff. “Fools such as you who cannot follow simple instructions deserve a good lesson in pain.”

Luxaeus reeled when the wolf-like creature’s muzzle moved to form words. “Y – Y – You can talk!?”

The Warg rolled his blue eyes. “I grow tired of explaining this over and over again. My thanks must go to Amthos that he only recruited ten orcs on this expedition to save a single would-be-mage.” He sighed heavily and sat on his haunches. “I can only speak here, in the No One leader’s realm of Naught. For here in Naught is everything and anything possible.”

“Naught…?” Luxaeus asked weakly. He grunted softly and fell to his knees, or at least he thought he did. “I feel… weak…”

“Such a child,” sighed the Warg. “Look around you, Paladin. What do you see?”

Luxaeus did. There was nothing around him save for the Warg. Just endless white. No horizon. No end. Just white. He did not cast a shadow. There was no light. “Nothing… just… nothing.”

“Look closer. White, some may say, is the absence of all colour in terms of paint and pigment. But when one takes into the glory of light, white is the presence of all colour. Naught is just that. It can be everything and nothing at the same time. Think of it, Paladin, how do you breathe in this nothingness? You breathe because it is instinct. Let go of your preconceptions and take into considering what is and think of what can be.”

The Paladin grimaced. “For a wolf you sure speak like an old lecturer I used to know.”

The Warg lunged forward and snapped his jaws uncomfortably close to Luxaeus’ ear. “I am no wolf, man-child. I am a Warg. My name is Winterpaw and I am King of the Wargs.” Winterpaw pulled back, sitting back with eyes half-closed and scowling at Luxaeus. “Now listen well to my words, Luxaeus Reinhardt, you only exist now because I reminded you of what pain was. Were it not that I swore my life to Amthos and I owe much to the No Ones, I would not be here now teaching a child such as yourself.”

“I am no child!” snapped Luxaeus. “I am twenty-nine summers old. Certainly more than you will ever see.”

Winterpaw threw his head back and let out a laugh. “Fool. I have been granted agelessness. I am the product of an ambitious man and a proud Warg’s soul merging into one and imparted into the body crafted by the No Ones. It is my duty and honour to ensure that the Warg species thrives and continues on through the ages. Under my guidance, Wargs have existed for centuries despite all the attempts of humans and their ilk to destroy us.”

Luxaeus gripped his wounded hand. “No wonder Wargs are so evil.”

“We are not evil! Merely intelligent enough to hold grudges and seek revenge.” Winterpaw snorted at him. “Now heed me well, mortal, here in Naught you must actively maintain a sense of self. Should you fail to do so, you will fade into the nothingness until someone comes to get you once more.”

“Seems a bitter fate and a hazard to me…”

“A reason why the Writer sought only to use this option as a last resort.” Winterpaw growled softly. “It seems the Grauhl has escalated his plans on Bhotanmar and the simple spells of transportation that had carried the orc troops to and from the city will no longer work. We have little choice but to circumvent the laws of reality and make our way through Naught.”

“At the risk of our very souls!?”

Winterpaw gave him a sour look. “As I said, it was a last resort.” The Warg sighed heavily. “Now come, we must make our way back to the rest of the group.”

Luxaeus lifted his head and looked around. “How? There is nothing here…”

“Such a child…” sighed the King of the Wargs. “Let us start simple. Take a breath. Do not think of it. Just do it.”

The Paladin closed his eyes and did so. He inadvertently found himself wishing for his mother’s cinnamon snap cookies, missing those cold winter nights when he would sit by the fire at their manor while his mother read him stories. Strangely, he found the air was filled the sweet, spicy aroma of those cookies.

“I do not suppose this ‘Writer’ of yours bakes, does he?”

“He can should he wish. He is the Writer of Reality. He can write himself as anyone or anything should he wish.”

“Does he write himself to be my mother to lure me back with the smell of her biscuits?” Luxaeus laughed. “For if I am a child, that would make him akin to a child lover.”

Winterpaw’s lips twisted slightly in a sort of half-scowl, half-smile. “Were that not somewhat humorous, I would bite your throat out now. But what you have experienced is the power of Naught. You think it and Naught makes it true. To me, the air smells of the rich pine woods of the north. Well, in the northern part of the continent of Terrania.”

“Terrania?”

The Warg laughed softly and got to his feet. “Ah I forgot. You ‘Alliance’ types believe your little continent is the only landmass in all of the planet of Tirinead and call it ‘Tirinead’. No. Across the oceans, there are other continents. To the southwest there is a vast land of thick jungles and wilds. North there are frozen wastes. Many more. Tirinead is more than the Alliance, after all.”

Luxaeus shook his head. “How do I know this is true? How do I know that this is not all some trick or illusion by the Star-Eyed Wolf trying to convince me that my brother is really the Avatar of the Orcs? How do –?”

“I know that this is not all some delusion concocted of my dying mind to comfort me in death?” finished Winterpaw. “Yes, yes, I have shared the same experience. One often has an existential crisis when dealing with the No Ones especially when their existence is revealed after a lifetime of believing your gods are the only gods in existence.” Winterpaw turned his head to peer at Luxaeus over his shoulder. “The No Ones are very real. One would be a fool to trust them completely but know that they only act when someone asks and the never act with the explicit purpose of harming anyone. Should their motive be to destroy or hurt, it is only for the betterment of others. At least from my experience. Their involvement in general is extremely rare.”

The King of the Wargs turned back forward but before he did, Luxaeus caught a worried look on his face. “That they become so involved in Tirinead, and the Writer of Reality himself has taken steps is worrisome indeed.”

“What are you talking about?” Luxaeus demanded. “What you say makes no sense!”

“Samuel,” said Winterpaw with a frustrated growl. “The Star-Eyed Wolf you speak of. He is a No One. Their leader. The Writer of Reality. He is the first of the No Ones and governs the very laws of existence itself. Should he wish fire to inflict cold and ice to burn, it will be so. Should he wish men to sprout wings and fly, the world has naught but a choice to obey. Should he wish all of Tirinead to be engulfed in the flames of judgement, we would all die in a moment’s notice.”

“He is a god?” Luxaeus swallowed loudly. “A god of gods?”

“No. He insists that he is not. I know little of the truth but he has had dealings with our world’s Creator and to him, the Gods, old and new, are naught but children.” He flashed a bitter stare over his shoulder at Luxaeus. “Just like you are to me.”

“What is he doing on Tirinead then?”

“Something you will need to ask him when we get back.” Winterpaw huffed softly. “Now we are wasting time. Time does not flow the same as it would on Tirinead here in Naught. We must head back. Think of the easier road you can think of or perhaps some simple path. Place it under your feet.”

Luxaeus glanced downwards and at an instant, cobblestones sprang to life beneath him, starting from tiny specks of darkness in the endless white and spreading out wide until the fit together in a path. It spread towards Winterpaw but just stopped a few feet past the Warg.

“Good. You are not completely hopeless,” said the Warg. “Now simply trust me in this. I will lead us back to our party. Just keep the path spreading out in front of me. Can you do that?”

Luxaeus slowly got to his feet. “I… I suppose I can. Can you not do it?”

“It is not for my benefit, boy. You are the one that would fall into oblivion again should you step off the path.”

He glanced off to the edge of the cobblestone path and was suddenly hit by a sense of vertigo. Then he remembered. Samuel had led them through a tear in space and into Naught. He created for them a black path that would contrast against the white and told everyone to follow him and just focus on the path or him. But Luxaeus found himself getting distracted… and suddenly, he was alone in the nothingness.

“Are you ready?” Winterpaw asked.

“Y – Yes.” Luxaeus looked at the Warg’s tail. “But… would it trouble you if I… I took hold of your tail?”

“It would indeed. Why?”

“I think I’d focus more if I was actually touching something…”

Winterpaw sighed heavily and then shuffled a little to the side. “Then walk astride me.”

Luxaeus offered his thanks in a smile and placed his injured hand against Winterpaw’s flank. He grimaced at the pain but more so that his blood stained the white Warg’s pure white fur.

“You need but think it,” prompted the Warg, “and Naught will make it happen.”

Taking those words to heart, Luxaeus imagined the wounds in his hand to have headed. In an instant, the wounds were gone and his armour mended. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “Perhaps I could be a mage!”

“I would not wager on such,” Winterpaw grunted, striding forward. “Mages require arcane study. You put too much faith in your gods and as a Paladin, call upon their whimsy to aid you.”

“W – Wait!” Luxaeus stammered, striding forward to catch up to the Warg. The cobblestone path began appearing as he walked, ensuring they had something to walk on constantly. “You have no faith in the Holy Triad?”

“My faith is different from yours. If you are asking if I believe in the Triad, that is never in question. I know they exist but they are not the benevolent creatures you would paint them as. The pantheon consists entirely of aspects of war. They are parasites that would feed on the suffering of others.”

The Paladin set his hand on Winterpaw’s flank once more and scowled. “And the Old Gods are better?”

“No. The Old Gods were the Creator’s first children. She crafted for them this vast world. A single planet in the vast cosmos and gave them the means by which to build it as they saw fit. Like children, they toyed with it. Their meddling created the spirits, created the loathsome stars and the warring races. It was they who instrumented their own fall from grace, naught else. When mortals took up their mantle, the three kings were so overwhelmed by the truth and power that they sought to usurp that their very essences were shattered and only the strongest fragments of their psyche remained, hungering for that which maintains them: war.”

Luxaeus frowned. “Are you saying that the Holy Triad is dead?”

“No. They are alive. But the great mortal kings that achieved apotheosis are not the same gods that now rule over Tirinead, just fragments of them. The Alliance worships three parasites working together, constantly feeding on conflict and strife to grow stronger. They have no vision for the future. They will drain Tirinead of all life until none are left and wither and die as a result. But they care not. They simply hunger for war.”

The Paladin stopped and regarded the emblem of Kordain he wore on the armour of his chest. “You will excuse me if I do not believe you. I have been raised believing that the Holy Triad is benevolent and our gods. To think otherwise is blasphemy and something I cannot comprehend.”

“Faith,” chuckled Winterpaw. “Admirable to some degree but foolish when turned to fanaticism. Keep your mind open, child.” He glanced to the left. “Let us take a small detour. The others can wait a little longer.”

Though Luxaeus was eager to see his brother again, he had no choice but to follow the Warg. They veered off to the left, the cobblestone path forging in front of them. A dark smudge soon appeared in front of them, rapidly approaching. Luxaeus tensed but soon realised the smudge was rather a collection of buildings. However, as they drew closer, the smudge became a confusing mix of different architecture and dizzying spires. It seemed like someone had taken some children’s drawings and made them into buildings that somehow held their shape.

More, there were people milling about the town. Though ‘people’ was a loose definition. Yes there were humans but there were others that were not so… human. There was a man with the body of a human from the waist up but below that was a horse. A sort of… squid man was wandering about here and there and he saw a four-armed dragon passing by greeting his neighbours. Luxaeus had to stop. It was all too much.

“What is this place?”

“Some call it the Avenue of Advocates,” Winterpaw said. “Others, ‘Home’. The people you see before you are creatures from other worlds, other stories. The Writer helped them in their own tales and they earned the right to write their own tales there and then. However, they were so moved by the Writer’s selflessness or felt they did not deserve their own yet that they sought to aid him instead of having the power to create their own worlds, their own universes; become their own Creators.”

“Wait…” Luxaeus turned to Winterpaw in shock. “Are you telling me that the Creator of our world…?”

“Was given the right to create Tirinead by the No Ones, yes,” finished Winterpaw. “I do not think the Writer gave it to her himself. But yes, the No Ones have that power just as everyone in existence has the power to create their own world.”

Luxaeus fell to his knees, shaken to his very core. “I… I do not know…”

A bright, cheery man approached them, his skin a bright red in colour with a pair of horns jutting form his head. His hair was stark white and his body heavily muscled.

“Ah, Winterpaw! Have you decided to finally join us?” asked the creature. “Is this a new recruit for the Academy?”

“No Kiromu,” Winterpaw answered. “We are just passing through.” He gestured with his head at Luxaeus. “This one just needed a moment to come to terms with a harsh truth.”

“Ah,” laughed the oni. He leaned forward, bearing a bright grin. “Don’t worry little guy. Don’t think of this as everything you know being a lie. Think of it as just opening your eyes to a much bigger world.”

“Thank you, Kiromu.” Winterpaw nudged Luxaeus with his nose. “Come child, we must leave.”

Kiromu grinned at them both as they stood and left. “You’ll always have a place amongst us, Winterpaw! Don’t you forget it!”

The Warg flicked his tail at the oni and led the way away from the Avenue.

Luxaeus was silent for a good long while. His heart roiled with conflict. What he saw was undeniable. There was so many fantastic and wonderful things in the world and beyond that he found himself amazed especially if the gods had created it all. But looking at those creatures… there was no denying that the gods could not have created them all. They were just… impossible on some respect. Perhaps there was a story behind it… but then again, perhaps Winterpaw was telling the truth and the gods were not the absolute power. After all, if the Old Gods created all of Tirinead… then how could they be so powerful if the Holy Triad took their throne?

He shook his head slowly. “I do not think I can accept all this even with all the truth you have given me. I need to see the Triad for what they really are before I can truly make a judgement. Perhaps it is you all that is wrong about them.”

“Perhaps,” rumbled Winterpaw. “Though we are at least willing to accept when we are wrong. Are your gods?”

He did not answer that. “What did that… thing mean by you always having a place there?”

Winterpaw snorted. “Do you remember how I am ageless? Mostly immortal?”

“Yes?”

“It is because of my decision. Like many of the Advocates, I was given a chance to take my story and write it or live here and aid others achieve true happiness. However, I felt that I still had much to do in the world of Tirinead and I could not leave it yet. So the No Ones took me from the folds of time and told me that when I was ready, I was welcome back. In many ways, I am also impervious to harm as I refuse to leave Tirinead until my work is done.”

“Your work?” Luxaeus chuckled softly. “Do you desire for Wargs to rule all the land?”

“Perhaps.” The Warg King gestured forward by flicking his ears. “You will have to earn the right to know my ambitions but as of yet, you are naught but a child. So let us continue on. We must return to Bhotanmar.”

“As you wish.” Luxaeus sighed softly and crossed one arm behind his head. “So exactly how old are you?”

Winterpaw sighed heavily. “Do you not hold silence sacred?”

Luxaeus grinned at him. “If my gods are false, is anything sacred?”

The Warg snorted softly, a begrudging smile on his face. “Well played.”

******

“It is simply that we do not feel we belong here.”

Amthos looked at the gathered elders of the Frost tribe and the other Nordains that had made the trek to Bhotanmar. They had all come to join under the banner of the Frost but now, there was doubt. He sat on his throne in the audience chamber of the castle, looking down worriedly at what is meant to be his ‘tribesmen’. But he could only see scared men and women who had hoped for a better life but now, months in, were being assaulted by the First Orc.

He could understand their frustration. Some of them had just arrived a week ago and now news had arrived that an undead army was approaching led by a great and mighty orc warlord. Few of the Frost had actually turned into orcs. Many still wanted to keep their pride as Nordain. Those that did were integrated into Amthos’ personal guard and protected the castle. Though there was even doubt amongst them as the ‘Trial of Tusks’ that Amthos had concocted was simply to drink from some orc seed in a cup that he had prepared. Nothing was proven unlike the other tribes.

A warrior’s spirit was proven amongst the Blood Claws’ Trial. A connection with the spirits was put to the test amongst the Thunder Callers in their trial. The gentle nature of the Earth Runners was enforced in their trial and even a willingness to commit themselves to their chieftain was proven amongst the Hardshaft.

But for the Frost?

What was their identity? What were they but the tribe of the Avatar of the Orcs in name and name alone? With so few willing to be orcs, it felt like Amthos was just a figurehead and little more.

“This conflict has little to do with us, chieftain,” said the Frost elder. “Please, I beg of you. Let us leave Bhotanmar. We are grateful for your hospitality and all that you have done for us. Oberyn entrusted you with our safety and the leadership of the Frost falls to you but I beg you, to keep the Frost safe, let us leave.”

The Circle of Chieftains had moved from a horseshoe-shaped table to six equally sized thrones atop a dais in the audience chamber. While Amthos had one of the centre most chairs, Ramdrud sat to his right next to him and then the seats for Knaatl and Dalgmar next to him. Oringruud and Urthak were seated to Amthos’ left. Presently, only Ramdrud and Oringruud were present. Urthak was overseeing the construction of their wall which had only gotten harder with the blizzard. Thankfully, Dalgmar had managed to lessen the blow of what surely would’ve been a deadly storm thanks to the Spirit King Incarius who now took residence in the Lookout.

“Your own tribe turns against you, Avatar,” Oringruud growled. “An example must be made. Dissent cannot be had in times such as these.”

“I hardly think bloodshed is necessary,” Ramdrud countered. “We are rulers and chieftains, not tyrants.”

“Blood need not be spilled.” Oringruud grinned broadly and rubbed his manhood through his leather armour. “Just seed.”

The Frost elders cowered at the suggestion.

“No,” Amthos boomed, his divine voice carrying across the chamber. “Elders,” he said, lowering his voice. “You are free to leave but the blizzard has come. Should you try to make the trek, it will kill you. The harbour is all but frozen and our ships are snowed in. The paths through the mountains will be treacherous and unstable. Try to leave now and you will condemn your people to die.”

One of the other elders stepped forward, roaring with rage. “Then you’ve condemned us to die here! Either we fight your war against some ancient orc for you or we take our chances with an unholy blizzard that will see us freeze to death!” The man turned to his colleagues. “Well, I say we weather the blizzard! We are Nordain! We have endured worse!”

“Do not be foolish!” snapped Oringruud with a growl. “Whether or not you succeed in the storm is pointless. Grauhl will come for you regardless.”

“No! He will only come for those who occupy this cursed city!”

“And where do you stand now, human?” said the Blood Claw chieftain with a devilish smile. “You have lived in Bhotanmar for months now. Like it or not, Grauhl will hunt you down.”

It was a bluff and one that Amthos was not too sure held some grain of truth. How did anyone else know about Cald-Harun if all were hunted down and killed by Grauhl? How did anyone not know of Grauhl if he wandered past Bhotanmar? But if it would placate the Nordain and his tribe into staying and in relative safety then he would commit to the lie.

“You have doomed us all,” the elder sneered.

“We knew nothing of Grauhl when we arrived,” said Ramdrud. “Just as we knew nothing of Noraduil and yet Amthos still risked life and limb to rescue you from him. Have faith that we will defeat this unholy army just as we did the fallen hero of ice. We had but a small group then, if you will recall, and yet Noraduil was defeated.”

“But they have us outnumbered three to one!” shouted another elder. “They have over six thousand warriors and we but a thousand at most were everyone to take arms and fight!”

“Where did you hear such preposterous numbers! The Blood Claws alone have that much!”

“Do not exaggerate, Oringruud,” sighed Ramdrud. “At last count, the Blood Claws number at least seven hundred including the new recruits you brought in from the last raid. The Hardshaft number about that much with the Earth Runners three hundred. Dalgmar has two hundred amongst the Thunder Callers and with the Nightusks and Frost, we have another three. At most, we number two thousand. Three to one is a correct estimate.”

The Blood Claw chieftain snarled at him. “Our men can take ten undead. No, twenty! Those creatures have no minds of their own and are brittle with frost.” He pounded his broad chest. “We are covered in thick muscle, armour and have orc blood running through our veins.” The chieftain turned towards the Frost elders and pointed at them. “You could too were you to accept the mantle of orcs.”

Amthos shook his head and waved a hand through the air. “Bhotanmar remains a city of choice. No one will be forced to become an orc unless they choose to.” He regarded the elders apologetically. “I sympathise with your plight, I truly do. You have our concerns but should you still wish to leave, that is your choice. I would provide you with as much as you can carry and our blessing and fond wish we will see each other again at a better dawn.”

“What!?” Oringruud roared. “You would give them supplies better suited for our men!? Grauhl could starve us out!”

“War is not the singular aspect of the world, Oringruud. That is how the Triad would see Tirinead but that is not how we would have it.” He nodded towards the Frost. “I await your decision.”

The elders exchanged glances and whispered amongst themselves. After a moment, one of them stepped forward.

“We would require some time to discuss amongst ourselves, Avatar.”

“Do not delay. The blizzard grows stronger and with it, your chances of survival withers with it.”

The Frost elders bowed in respect and quickly left the audience chamber. Oringruud dismissed the guardsmen within the chamber as well before whirling around to face Amthos and Ramdrud.

“Who gave the enemy numbers to those craven fools!?” he snarled.

Amthos wondered the same and turned to Ramdrud who leaned in his chain, smiling contently to himself.

“Why, I did of course,” said the Spymaster with a smirk.

“What demon possessed you to do such a foolish thing!?” demanded Oringruud. “You would sow fear into our troops hearts!”

“Is that a concern, Oringruud? Do you put so little trust in your troops’ courage?”

The Blood Claw chieftain sneered at him. “My troops can hold their ground and will fight to the bitter end but it is the cowards such as the Earth Runners or your fat, doughy Hardshaft that has me concerned. We will die for the orcs and Bhotanmar but we would do so beside our brothers, not to cover the retreat of cowards.”

Ramdrud merely let out a soft, almost girlish chuckle but with his deep, rumbling voice the femininity was lost. “The truth is a powerful tool, my dear Oringruud. Grauhl is perhaps a week or two away and that is a long time for rumour and speculation to dig its claws into our hearts. Should we allow our men to speculate about their numbers then that will only cause more doubt. At the day of battle, when they see those numbers, they are more likely to flee. We should not lie to our troops. If a cause is hopeless, let them fight for a hopeless cause. Let us not have them believe we will win only to die in defeat.”

“That is not how battle or war works, you fat, seed-drinking pig!” snarled Oringruud, slamming a fist into the armrest of his throne. “The men are there to obey not think! The moment you led anyone have a shard of doubt in their hearts, they will turn craven and flee! That alone will be an infection and it will spread.”

“You forget, Blood Claw,” said Ramdrud with a dangerous spark in his eye. “I have been adept at maintain defences and keeping castle walls from being breached. I spent years leading and defending Whitepeak from the Shalan’dar. You, on the other hand, are only adept at raiding and attacking.” He leaned against his armrest, smirking at the chieftain. “So tell me. Of us two, whom has the experience to lead this defence?”

“Have you even spent any time on the very walls you seek to defend!?” challenged Oringruud. “From what I hear, you spent more time dallying with your orc lovers even as the Snow Elves attacked than wielding a sword and killing a man!”

“I assure you, that has all changed.” Ramdrud lifted his sceptre, Wingrace, and settled it on his lap. He pulled at the base of the weapon, revealing a long, sharp, icy dagger. “Regardless of my standing, I will be standing on the walls beside my brothers when Grauhl comes.”

Oringruud’s frustration faded and he settled back into his seat. “At least that we can agree on.” He sighed heavily. “Whatever your intentions, the damage is done. We will have to rely on one of your rousing speeches to cure the dissent that has no doubt already spread amongst the ranks.”

Amthos remembered Ramdrud’s uplifting speech when they had first found Cald-Harun. He had attempted to make a speech himself but just like when the Nightusks were first founded, he found himself faltering. Just the thought of so many eyes on him caused him to balk and stumble with his words. Ramdrud came to the rescue, rousing the people from their confusion and doubt, welcoming them to their home.

A sense of bitterness crept into his chest as he realised now, more than ever, he really had no place amongst the leadership of the orcs save for a figurehead. His greatest gift, the ability to create more orcs, was spread and replicated to all those he had turned already. Apart from a few other divine enhancements, he had little else over the likes of Oringruud or even Knaatl. Now that both of them had powerful enchanted weaponry that could rival Grimight, apart from an oath of loyalty he had no right to be leader of Bhotanmar.

Especially if he could not even stand in front of his people without quaking like a reed in the wind.

“I shall leave you two to discuss our next actions,” Amthos said, rising from his throne. “I will see to Urthak. I am curious why he is not here amongst us.”

“Ask the shaman if can have more aid from Incarius as well,” Oringruud rumbled. “I am grateful that the Spirit King’s might allows us to survive this blizzard but if there is more he or his magics can do, I am sure we would all be grateful.”

Amthos agreed that he would see Dalgmar next and headed out of the audience chamber. He strode through the gilded halls of the castle and could not help but wonder if everything about this place he had called home was designed to ease Grauhl’s invasion. The hallways were all wide enough to fit at least ten orcs striding aside one another. As he recalled the outline of the castle, the only way out into the city was through the gates at the base of the tower. If the enemy breached the castle walls, they were no way for those trapped within the palace itself to escape.

They had truly fallen into a trap.

As he stepped out into the cold day, he was once again found himself with his breath taken away. Under Incarius’ guidance, the shamans had erected a sort of warming bubble of protection around Bhotanmar. Grauhl’s blizzard had struck hard, covering the streets and most of the buildings in a fine layer of snow but beyond that, the Thunder Callers had acted fast to push the storm back. Their power kept the blizzard back and the sky appeared to be a constant, layer of white just beyond the barrier. While the rest of Bhotanmar remained untouched, the constant reminder of Grauhl’s might always loomed above their heads… and the vigil that the shamans must keep.

Amthos sighed softly and headed down into the streets, hugging his thick, red cloak around him. He wondered how many people were still loyal to him now that they knew of Grauhl’s numbers. Even with all his enhancements, could he stand against an ancient evil like the First Orc? Walking the streets without Winterpaw reminded him all too well how weak he really was.

Some comfort came as he approached the enormous black wall that Urthak and the Earth Runners had erected. It was almost complete. Some ballistae and catapults were just being positioned. Urthak and his kin had studied sieges when they were trapped underground in self-imposed exile. They had become quite the mechanists. They had to in order to survive in the near darkness of the mines.

The strange black rock was the same kind that Noraduil was using Nordain to mine. It was the same material the golems of Raonaok were made of. Strong and fully capable absorbing incredible blows, it had the unique property of breaking enchantments that it was cast upon. Magic cast on it, however, were strengthened by the stone. A reason why the golems were so feared.

Amthos asked an Earth Runner where Urthak was and he was pointed in the direction of where the chieftain was overseeing construction. The massive Earth Runner was poring over documents and what appeared to be diagrams, likely making sure that the wall would hold.

“Greeting, mighty Urthak,” he said, holding up a hand as he approached. “The wall looks nearly complete.”

The towering yellow-green orc gave him a weary smile. “One more day of work and it shall be. Even the mightiest of Alliance war machines would break upon this mighty barricade.” He beamed up at the incredible construct with pride. “It will be our greatest creation.”

“There will be many more, Urthak. I assure you, we will need your ingenuity against the Alliance when we storm Trispire.”

The Earth Runner chieftain chuckled softly. “You. When you storm Trispire.”

Amthos reached up and squeezed the enormous orc’s bicep. “Trust me, Urthak, you will survive this battle.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” The chieftain picked up the document he was looking over, a gilded scroll of sorts. “But we will not be here to fight alongside you.”

The Avatar’s eyes widened in shock. “What do you mean?”

Urthak gestured at the parchment he held. “Samuel game me this scroll.” He unfolded it on the table again and gestured for Amthos to approach. From all appearances, it was an enormous map of Bhotanmar. “Hel’Midar warned us that there are countless tunnels used by Grauhl and his men to make their way into the city.” Urthak pointed at several lines in the map, particularly those that led out to sea. “These seem to be tunnels in the seabed.”

Amthos realised that those warriors striding through the ocean flood did not intend to rise from the waves and strike at Bhotanmar. They were going to use these tunnels to attack the city from within!

“We have already blocked off all the tunnels,” said Urthak, giving Amthos a comforting pat on the back. The Avatar sighed in relief. “All but one.”

Urthak pointed at one particular tunnel that led east past the mountains. “This one. I intend to take my Earth Runners through it before the battle begins. We will seal it off on our way out to prevent Grauhl’s troops from striking Bhotanmar. But that will be the last you hear of us. The Earth Runners cannot do more.”

“What?” Amthos demanded. “But you are part of our horde! You are orcs!” His shouts shook the air and other orcs were turning in surprise.

The Earth Runner chieftain gave him an apologetic look. “I am sorry, my Avatar. We Earth Runners are not fighters. The last time we tried, we lost so many. Those dear to us.”

He recalled that Urthak had lost his own daughter to the Holy Triad’s spell of sterility and his heart wept.

“But we need your strength…” he pleaded. “Without you, Bhotanmar would surely fall.”

Urthak clasped Amthos’ shoulders with both of his massive hands. “Bhotanmar will remain standing with or without us. In your care and hands, I am sure it will survive this onslaught from Grauhl. You killed Noraduil and saved the Nordain. Fate has more in store for you than one more glorious battle.” The chieftain turned is heat towards the palace. “You have a people to lead and a bright future for the orcs.”

“A future you can be a part of!”

Urthak shook his head. “No. I think not. The Earth Runners are builders, not fighters. Even during the time of the old horde, we build the war machines and retreated. Little else. We cannot fight despite all our size and stature now.” He gave Amthos an apologetic smile. “There are some things that the gods cannot change. This is one of them.”

Just like the mountain, Amthos realised that Urthak was immovable in this matter. The eyes of the Earth Runner was upon him and just like their chieftain, their minds were steadfast and set. He could not convince them to stay and he would not shackle them either. That was what the Alliance would do.

“I have but one favour to ask,” Amthos said.

“Name it.”

*******

“So you say there are more of these ‘No Ones’ other than Samuel?”

Winterpaw growled in annoyance though he had been doing that their entire trip through the nothingness of Naught. Despite his grievances, he always answered all of Luxaeus’ questions. Though he threw a few insults and demands for silences here and there, he nevertheless complied. Admittedly, Luxaeus was drawing some pleasure in annoying the ‘King of the Wargs’. Besides, walking on a cobblestone path in endless white was rather boring.

“There are thirteen of them supposedly,” answered Winterpaw. “Though I have only had the honour of meeting two. Supposedly there is a fourteenth but he is unknown.”

“Do you know who they are?” Luxaeus waved a hand through the air. “I mean, is the Writer… erm… Samuel’s face really that of a Fénrian?”

“He is no Fénrian. He has those wings and has no tail. Fénrians also have legs much like mine. His are human-like, his heels press against the ground. As for how he truly appears, I cannot tell. This is the first time I have had the pleasure of meeting him in person. The other No One I met was I5 the Ingenious. She is the White Lady in your myth of the Unholy Trinity.”

“Ah… I had wondered.” Luxaeus rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully. “So exactly what are they?”

Winterpaw groaned loudly. “For the love of all that is holy! Will you ever shut up!?”

The Paladin grinned broadly. “It is my inquisitive nature that found me as a Paladin, my dear Warg.”

“Heavens you should be an Inquisitor instead but that would involve you having to listen as much as ask!” Winterpaw snapped his jaws at him. “Why not answer some of my questions instead?”

“As you wish,” Luxaeus said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I honestly am trying to pass the time while we wander this… Naught.”

Sighing softly, Winterpaw looked towards the horizon or at least where it should be. “I grow worried. I have only had the pleasure of traversing Naught once and that was when I5 brought me here to prove a point. However, I was skilled enough finding myself through this realm that I thought I could find the Writer by now. Either I am not as skilled at navigating this plane as I thought or…” He sighed heavily and glanced over his shoulder at Luxaeus. “… the Writer is stalling our reunion because there is something you and I must discuss.”

“Well I have been discussing much,” said the Paladin, pressing a hand against his chest. “Though I found the flow of questions rather one sided.” Luxaeus made to sit down and, as he expected, a small wooden chair appeared behind him which comfortably met his rump. “So, you have questions for me then wolf?”

The Warg sighed heavily and sat back on his haunches. “As I have told you many times before, human, I am no wolf. I am a Warg.”

“Yes. What exactly is the different between wolf and Warg anyway? Or between Warg and Dire Wolf?”

“Wolves are feral animals with little to no intelligence,” rumbled the Warg. “Dire Wolves are only slightly more intelligent. You humans mistake their loyalty towards providers of food and shelter as a degree of sapience. Wargs are infinitely more intelligent. Wargs also generally are bigger in stature than even the largest Dire Wolf. And if you noticed…” Winterpaw tilted his head to the side. “We Wargs have sharp teeth jutting out of our lower jaws near the back of our mouths.”

“That really does not seem practical to me. Are they made for tearing? Shredding?”

“For holding our foes in our grip. We Wargs go for the neck and hold down hard. Our enemies bleed to death in our jaws.”

Luxaeus was unperturbed. “You know as a young trainee of the Paladin Order I was sent to hunt a pack of Wargs?”

“I remember,” grunted Winterpaw. “It was eight years ago. You slew them at the Iranaki Mountains. Pups and all.”

“You were there?”

“No. When we did not hear from the pack, we sent scouts to investigate. They saw the slaughter. We howled to their memory. You were fortunate that you did not venture into my territory again or I would have seen to it that your dying breath would have been one filled with blood.”

Luxaeus smirked and shook his head. “So is this the great realisation that your Writer has forced upon us? We are to make amends for past grievances?”

The King of the Wargs snorted. “I have no desire for vengeance against you. It is a matter of honour that I would kill you. You and your kind killed what is equivalent to a village to us. Would you not seek to see those who caused such a travesty punished?”

The Paladin lost his smile. “I suppose some justice is deserved.”

“Exactly. I do not fault you for your primitive ways.”

“Primitive!? We are primitive!?”

“Do not think that just because you decorate yourselves with gold and jewellery that you are far more sophisticated than others. I have seen far more barbarism from humans, elves and dwarves than other species. You may build your towns and shit in bronze pots but tall towers do not make for honourable men.”

Luxaeus clenched his fist and slammed it against the armrest of his chair. “And I should take such criticisms from a beast that feasts off carrion!?”

“And what should I say about the species that purposefully fattens cattle only to slaughter and milk them? Carrion is only meat that has been left out for the elements, Paladin. You freeze and preserve the carcasses you feast upon in morbid store houses. Think of that.”

“We have art! We have culture!”

“You praise false gods and your art consists of portraits and landscapes of your kind fornicating. At least we do not need painted imagery to get us a rise!”

“No. You just need the smell of a bitch in heat!”

A lout roar erupted from the Warg and Winterpaw immediately pounced at Luxaeus. The Paladin immediately sprang to his feet and a red brick wall sprang up from the ground in front of him. He heard a satisfying smack as the Warg King hit the barrier.

“I do believe I am growing accustomed to this realm of infinite possibilities!” he laughed.

The wall suddenly crumbled into black dust revealing Winterpaw standing beyond it. “A realm of infinite possibilities indeed,” growled the Warg. “And yet we have no means of escaping it until we satisfy the Writer.” He sat back down on his haunches. “So I suggest we stop bickering like children and try to understand why it is that the Writer of Reality refuses to keep us from Bhotanmar, from my ward and your brother.”

At the mention of Thomas, Luxaeus lost his will to fight and relaxed his fist. “Very well.” He conjured another seat and placed himself down on it. “What is it that we must resolve, then? You do not bear my any ill will. I do not know you and thus cannot revile you. What gap between must bridge?”

Winterpaw sighed and lay down on his belly, paws crossed as he regarded Luxaeus with a look of curiosity. “Well up to this point, we have discussed much about the No Ones but scarcely have we discussed anything about one another. You already know that I am the King of the Wargs.”

“And you know that I am a Paladin of the Triad.”

“So what else would we know?” Winterpaw briefly regarded his paws then looked back up at Luxaeus. “The rhyme that the Writer recited. What significance does it hold to you?”

A small smile crossed Luxaeus’ full lips. “Ah… Well, my mother died at childbirth. Thomas’ life was granted in exchange for hers. However, neither I nor my father ever blamed him for such. He certainly had the life and energy of one who bore the life of two souls.” Luxaeus laughed distantly and leaned against his chair, looking off to the side. “As children, we swore that we would live for Raonoak.”

“The city and current ‘capital’ of the northlands?” Winterpaw snorted. “You know, I remember a time when those lands had their own name instead of merely being called part of the Alliance-controlled territories.”

Luxaeus gave the Warg a puzzled look. “Just how old are you?”

“Old enough. Continue, human. You swore to live for your city?”

“No. Not the city,” he answered, shaking his head. “For the ideal of Raonoak. You see, when Lord-Knight Eranius took over Raonoak, the Alliance was pushed back by the orcs to the very city. At the same time, a Mad King attempted to lead the orcs into a trap using the very people of the city and then burn them all to the grown. Eranius stopped that. Raonoak is not just a fortress city.” Luxaeus straightened, his chest puffing out. “It stands for solidarity, strength, hope and the power to stand for the people instead of obeying the crown.”

The Paladin sank back into his seat. “Thomas and I concocted that little diversion from the original rhyme as it reminded us of what we believed Raonoak stood for.” He laughed softly. “To hear that little mantra again after all this time…”

Winterpaw chuckled softly. “And hearing it from the Writer was enough to have you turn on your fellow man?”

Luxaeus looked off to the side with a frown. “I have long felt that the practices of the Alliance were… unorthodox. The Paladin Order was formed long before the fall of the Old Gods or the Apotheosis of the Holy Triad. Originally, the Order was concocted as the enforcers of kings. Nothing to do with faith or religion. A Paladin was one of the greatest warriors amongst a king’s court and it was an honour to be named one.”

“So from squire to knight and from knight to Paladin then?” asked the Warg. “In my time, no such hierarchy existed. Then again, during my time our land was divided into different kingdoms.”

The dark-haired Paladin chuckled softly. “Nothing so simple but by the most basic of terms, yes. A Paladin was the champion of his chosen liege. Back then, it was not uncommon for Paladins to clash blades with one another in the name of their lord.” He sighed softly in resignation. “Then the Alliance was formed and one by one, the separate kingdoms bent a knee to what would become the Holy Triad. Paladins became the enforcers of Triad.”

“How is a Paladin separate from a knight?”

Luxaeus looked up at the question, surprised by it. “Ah. A knight has title, land and holdings. They have the right to marry and bear children. In ages past, there was little difference between a knight and a Paladin save for title and honour. Now, Paladins such as I must be chaste and devote ourselves entirely to the Triad.”

“I did wonder how you would pleasure yourself through all that armour. I imagine that it would take much effort to remove it and by the time you do so, the blood likely would have rushed elsewhere.” Winterpaw let out a deep guffaw. “Of course, you could always have little boys helping you peel off all that metal plating. I am sure that would help maintain your arousal.”

He gave the Warg an exasperated look. “Really? You resort to such crude taunts? I thought we were past this.”

“I simply could not resist. Chastity is such a ridiculous concept.”

“I imagine it would be to someone who need but lick himself to entice orgasm.”

Winterpaw gave him a smirk. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

Luxaeus turned away but could not stop the light blush on his cheeks.

“Ah! It is!” laughed the King of the Wargs. “What a treat! The noble Paladin has often wondered what it would be like to suck his own cock! A pity I cannot speak on Tirinead for I am sure your brother would love to hear of this!”

“A pity indeed,” Luxaeus growled, hostility dripping from his voice.

“I could write, of course…”

“You wouldn’t dare!” snapped the Paladin. He reeled back his bared teeth and reclined in his chair. “Let us put this foolishness behind us. We delay here.”

“Very well.” Winterpaw settled back down with a sigh. “Continue. What does the history of the Paladin Order have to do with your willingness to turn on the Greenslayer and War Wizard?”

Luxaeus looked up into the blank, white sky. “As I said, Paladins were made to serve their liege and uphold their honour not necessarily the dogma or practices of the Triad. Such training still exists. Moreover, my father, Arben Reinhardt, is a good friend of Lord-Knight Eranius so he insisted that I always follow Eranius’ ideals for he is honourable and just.”

The Warg laughed softly. “From what I hear, your Lord has been reduced to base conscription and even brutal forms of rehabilitation.”

“Exactly my point.” The young Paladin ran a hand down his weary face. “I was sent on a mission to root out needless hatred and warmongering within our lands. I thought I was doing what was right but after a while, I began to see a pattern emerge.” He locked gazes with Winterpaw. “People were not fleeing because they wanted to join the monsters. They were fleeing because we were the monsters.”

“How do you figure?”

“What life will there be after we exterminate the orcs?” asked Luxaeus. “Will the Alliance simply tear down these rehabilitation camps? Will everything just go back ‘to normal’? Eranius and Qurron were sacrificing people in the square to appease the Holy Triad! Are we to live forever in fear that simply uttering the wrong phrase will condemn us to be slaughtered in the name of the Triad?” He shook his head furiously. “That is not why I became a Paladin.”

“And why did you become a Paladin?”

“To uphold what is right,” he answered firmly. “Whether it means I will stand against my own race, I will do what is right and just! What the Alliance is doing is far from what and if the Gods are goading them on to such acts or if they even condone such act, I will stand against them! Even if I must be the sole Paladin against the fury of the divine, I will stand.”

For a long moment, Winterpaw just regarded him with the cold, icy eyes. Luxaeus felt a blush fall on his cheeks again and he realised he had leapt to his feet. With a sigh, he sunk back into the chair, unable to hold the Warg’s gaze.

Then, Winterpaw rose from his crouching position. “It seems we have much in common after all, Paladin Reinhardt.”

That surprised him. “What?”

The Warg King turned around, looking off into the distance. “A long time ago, I was two souls fighting within one body. Suffice to say that we both set aside our differences to fight for what was right as well.” He began padding down the cobblestone path prompting Luxaeus to get up and follow him. “It takes a big man to admit that he is wrong. It takes a bigger one to fight against his very nature.”

Winterpaw’s ears suddenly perked up. “Ah. We seem to have arrived.”

A short distance away there were several figures standing in front of what appeared to be a large, white pair of double doors. The two hurried along the path towards them and Luxaeus was relieved to find themselves in the presence of the orcs and the Star-Eyed Wolf.

“You finally made it, I see,” Samuel commented.

“No thanks to you keeping us in the void like that,” Winterpaw scowled softly. “Your lessons need more subtly, Writer.”

Despite the helm he wore, Samuel seemed to be smiling. “You mistake me for another, Winterpaw. I was not the one who kept you in Naught.”

The Warg’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What? Then who?”

“Perhaps you should ask the one who made the path you walked on.”

Winterpaw whirled around towards Luxaeus who just gave him a grin and a shrug. “You!?”

The Paladin smirked. “Did I not tell you I was getting accustomed to Naught?”

*******

The Lookout had quickly become a site of worship for the Thunder Callers. When Dalgmar and his inner circle returned with Incarius, many were wary at first. But when Grauhl’s blizzard came and Incarius rallied the spirits to protect Bhotanmar, no one was in any doubt anymore about the Spirit King’s allegiance. Spirits themselves began physically manifesting around the Lookout in the shape of swirls of light and the very air was electric with power. As Amthos stepped into the Lookout’s main foyer used as a landing site for teleportation in and out of the city, it felt like he was breathing in a sweet-smelling ash. It burned his nostrils with every breath and tingled the back of his throat.

Incarius sat in all his glory at back of the platform, rear legs bent and his arms wide as he communed with his fellow spirits around him. There were dozens of shamans all around him, each of them likewise speaking with the spirits, offering their strength and comforting the spirits themselves for what was to come. As Dalgmar explained, spirits were only semi-sentient, almost animalistic really. The overriding desire of self-preservation was immense especially with Grauhl coming. Comforting them and enticing them to stay was an arduous task.

Curiously, he found there were a few people that were not of the Thunder Callers amongst the shamans. These came from all tribes and species. A human went up to a kneeling shaman to offer water. A dwarf helped an exhausted shaman to his feet and carried him out of the Lookout while an elf guided his replacement into place. Orcs from both the Earth Runners and Blood Claws had their heads bowed in prayers as well.

Dalgmar caught sight of him and the chieftain beckoned for one of his other shamans to replace him. When he wandered over, he began with, “I was wondering when you would make your appearance.”

“I was not too sure how a Spirit King would react to one who had been touched by the Old Gods,” answered Amthos bashfully. “I am at least grateful that I have not been struck down by lightning.”

“Incarius is gentle by nature,” chuckled Dalgmar. “But like all gentle creatures, invoke his ire and he will lash out with all his fury.” He smiled warmly at the Avatar even as sweat dripped down his weary features. “To what do we owe this honour?”

“First of all…” he glanced around at the myriad of people in the Lookout. “You have quite a few aiding you here. Not all of them Thunder Callers, I see.”

The chieftain gave him a wane smile. “The spirits do not discriminate between race, colour or history, my Avatar. They touch whom they deem worthy.” He looked to where some of the other orcs were helping with speaking with the spirits, their lips moving quietly in their own conversations. Where the shamans had dozens of little lights swirling around them, these orcs only had one or two at most. There were even elves and humans joining in the ritual. Oddly, no dwarves.

“No dwarves are touched by the spirits?”

“Dwarves are naturally resistant to all things magical and spirits find it difficult to speak with them,” answered Dalgmar. “Though there are a few rare cases, they tend to be more willingly to accept being transformed into orcs to aid in communing with these ‘voices’ they hear.” The shaman chuckled. “In their own lands, those dwarves would have been considered insane for hearing voices in their heads when in truth, it was merely the spirits reaching out to them.”

Amthos regarded the Earth Runners amongst those in the Lookout. He even noted that there was one Earth Runner amongst the shamans in front of Incarius. “I wish I were here to bear good news, Dalgmar, but I fear that Urthak intends to take the Earth Runners out of Bhotanmar once the last few touches on the wall are completed. You may have to relinquish those of your shamans that are of his kin.”

Dalgmar’s smile did not wane. “They may look like the towering Earth Runners, but they are not one in heart or spirit. I have spoken with Urthak in this regard and he has allowed them the choice of standing with the Thunder Callers.”

“You can do that?”

The shaman laughed softly. “Of course! He and I have the same understanding of what it means to be part of a tribe. It is not your definition by birth but your identity that defines you.” He gestured at the others around him. “Earth Runner, Thunder Caller, Blood Claw, Hardshaft, Nightusk or Frost, it matters not. Those who wish to commune the spirits are welcome in my circle.”

Amthos looked around him. There were no clear divisions between tribe or race for that matter. Each person within the Lookout was just a Thunder Caller. Not an orc or human, dwarf or elf. Just a Thunder Caller.

Inspiration struck him.

“Thank you Dalgmar,” he said with a smile. “Once again, you have offered me wisdom and guidance like no one else could.”

The smile on Dalgmar’s face and the twinkle in his eyes told Amthos that the shaman already knew of the Avatar’s turmoil with his own tribe. “My pleasure, my Avatar. I –”

Suddenly, Incarius’ eyes snapped open and he was immediately on all four feet. “Something comes!”

The shamans straightened and all the spirits around them began to swirl around in agitation. Just as Dalgmar turned, a sound like peeling thunder crackled at the centre of the Lookout. A rip of white like lightning frozen in mid-air appeared. The tear immediately began to grow bigger and bigger, letting out a sizzling noise until a blinding light sprang from it. Amthos immediately reached for Grimight and pulled Dalgmar behind him, shielding his eyes with his red coat.

“Everyone back away from it!” he commanded, his voice booming across the Lookout.

As the light faded, he pulled his cloak down… and was surprise to find a large set of white double doors standing in front of him. The pure-white door handle jostled. Before he could fully ready himself, the door sprang open.

Samuel stepped out and pushed the other half of the door open.

“Watch your step,” warned the No One. “Remind yourself that the door does have a raised threshold.”

The shamans and spirits looked on, stunned as a group of orcs escorted two humans into the Lookout. Of them were…

“Knaatl!” Amthos exclaimed and immediately charged towards the dark-haired orc. He collided with his dearest friend, immediately pressing his lips against the Nightusk chieftain’s in greeting. Knaatl laughed, his deep, thunderous guffaw muted somewhat by Amthos’ tongue.

As he pulled away form the sign of affection, Amthos said, “Why the grand entrance?”

“Something was blocking our portal spell,” answered Knaatl. “Samuel had to take us through his homeland of Naught to get here. Thus the large door.”

As the last orc stepped through the door, Samuel waved a hand and the portal vanished in a shower of dizzying white lights. The spirits remained somewhat agitated however and Incarius began whispering to them, calming them.

“I am grateful that you have arrived safely,” Amthos said. He looked towards the only Red Orc in the party, his tone losing all joy and turning impassive and grave. “And I assume you were successful?”

Arnmok pressed a hand against his chest and bowed in respect. “Yea we were, mah Avatar.” He gestured towards the small, mousey human in a dusty cloak beside him. “This ‘s Ruven. Mah childhood friend.”

Amthos looked towards the man with one eyebrow raised. “Ah. The man that Arnmok would have me send one of my most trusted friends and warriors to save.”

Dalgmar suddenly strode forward, his mouth agape and his eyes wide. He leaned down towards Ruven. “Look at me boy.”

Ruven gulped loudly and lifted his gaze, shaking in his boot. Dalgmar’s golden eyes scanned the young man’s features even going so far as seizing Ruven’s shoulders to hold him still. Without warning, the chieftain grabbed Ruven and pulled him towards Incarius. Arnmok tried to protest but Amthos quickly pressed a hand against his chest.

“Milord Incarius!” Dalgmar exclaimed. “Please, a moment of your time.”

Ruven’s eyes went wide like saucers are he looked up at the mighty demigod. The spirits around them suddenly became very excited and flooded towards the fledgling mage, swirling around him like a thousand fireflies around a source of food. The mage swatted at them but found his hand passing through the orbs of light harmlessly.

“I sense him, Dalgmar,” boomed Incarius, his eyes opening once more and falling upon Ruven. “Ruven of Werrshreidt. A man of simple means. Chosen by fate and raised to believe you had great untapped power within you. Spirited away to a Spire of Sorcery under the impression that you would be a great Wizard. Yet earlier this very day, you triggered great spells and magic without incanting, did you not?”

Ruven’s eyes widened and he regarded his hands. “I… I suppose I did… m – m – milord.”

Incarius leaned down towards him, enormous head bigger than he was tall. “My boy, you hold no skill in sorcery. Your power rests with the spirits that inhabit this world.”

“Th – The spirits?”

“Yes. The reason why none of the wizardry that the Alliance would teach you will work for you is because you have no talent or latent connection with the Etherealm where all arcane magic comes from. No, your pragmatic approach to life had bound you to this world and the spirits that inhabit it. Your great power comes how the spirits are attracted to you. You subconsciously channel them.”

Ruven pressed a hand against his chest. “I…?”

“You are what we call a ‘natural’ shaman,” Dalgmar explained, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Each shaman has the ability to channel the spirits of Earth, Storm, Fire or Sea at will and will generally favour one or the other. However, it is very rare for a shaman to ever channel more than one at any time. The exceptions are natural shamans who can channel all four spirits without issue. They come by very rarely. Legend says only once every generation.”

Incarius straightened, resuming his looming position. “A great choice rests within you, Ruven. I am sure the Avatar would welcome you to Bhotanmar but you must choose your destiny. Many paths rest before you and while I and the Thunder Callers would wish you to join our circle of shamanism to realise your true potential as one of us, we cannot force you. We are simply providing you with what we see.”

Amthos glanced towards Arnmok. “Did you know this?” he asked softly.

The Red Orc shook his head in a negative. “Ah dinna know he even ‘ad magic in ‘im ‘til we wus separated.”

He then looked to Samuel and quietly wandered over as Ruven asked some questions of Incarius. “Did you know that Ruven was this ‘natural shaman’?”

The No One nodded. “Yes but only as of the point that he was separated from Arnmok. Because before then, he was not one.”

“What?”

“The spirits respond to a person’s emotions and circumstances, Amthos. They do not merely pick a person out of thin air and decide that they will be a shaman. Ruven’s desires and ambitions called to them and they began prodding and probing him, searching his heart and soul. When they found a pure being with no hostility and darkness, only love and kindness, they latched onto him for such emotions are like ambrosia to them. It provides them with warmth and comfort. That is what Qurron saw when he scanned Ruven. When Ruven’s emotions finally reached a boiling point when we rescued him, the spirits finally deigned to act.”

“I see…” Amthos sighed softly and shook his head. “There is much of this world, about orc culture, that I still have to learn.”

“Before you delve yourself fully into being an orc, might I suggest you remind yourself of your human self as well?” Samuel stepped aside. “Particularly in the presence of your brother.”

Amthos lifted his gaze… and his eyes widened in surprise. “Luxaeus!”

The Paladin jolted in surprise as Amthos came bolting over to him and immediately caught him in an immense bear hug, lifting him up into the air and swinging him around in joy. His laughter caught the attention of all those around him and a warming smile touched the faces of all present… except Luxaeus who was utterly confused.

When Amthos set the Paladin down, Luxaeus let out a nervous laugh. “A pleasure to meet you… erm… Sir Orc.” He rubbed the back of his head abashedly. “Pardon if this sounds rude but… do I know you?”

It took the Avatar a moment to realise that he was now several feet taller than when he was human, at least a hundred pounds heavier and his hair and skin colour had changed. “It is I, Thomas! Your brother!”

Luxaeus took a step back in shock and then turned to Winterpaw in horror. “You were not joking! He really is an orc!?”

The Warg King gave the Luxaeus an exasperated look.

“Well how was I supposed to believe you?” demanded the Paladin. “I only heard rumours about the new orcs being able to transform others through contact with their seed and many in the Alliance believed it was just an absurd lie spread by Greenskin Sympathisers to criticise the chastity of Paladins and those in service of the Holy Triad.”

Winterpaw rolled his eyes.

“Well that certainly was far more believable than humans turning into orcs when they made love with the greenskins!” He quickly turned to Amthos. “Greenskins is not offensive, is it?”

Amthos glanced quickly towards Samuel. “Uh… no…”

“Good. I am relieved.” Then Luxaeus turned immediately to Winterpaw. “Besides, you said it in that matter-of-factly mocking tone of yours that made think you were just saying things so that I would make a fool of myself when I finally reunited with my brother!”

The Avatar leaned towards Samuel and whispered out of the corner of his lips. “Has my brother lost his mind or is he genuinely conversing with my mount that I am fairly sure can only bark, growl and howl?”

Samuel sighed softly. “My world of Naught is a realm of infinite possibilities. As we passed through it, Winterpaw used the opportunity to speak common to your brother as Luxaeus got lost on our way here. During their trek back, Luxaeus tricked Winterpaw into divulging some personal information about himself and the two traded stories. This formed a sort of… ineffable bond between them that transcends space and time.”

Amthos pulled back in horror. “My brother and mount are lovers!?”

Luxaeus spun towards him. “No! It is nothing like that! I did not sleep with Winterpaw!” The Warg let out a soft chuckle that sounded more like a series of choking noises that made Luxaeus blush. “Quiet you!”

“Suffice to say that their souls are bound to one another in a way that would not seem logical or even possible in this world,” Samuel explained. “While Winterpaw is not directly speaking in any sort of physical or mental way, his soul resonates and Luxaeus is capable of ‘hearing’ it so they are fully capable of conversation. One positive is that you now have a translator to the King of the Wargs. A negative is that your brother will appear insane to the rest of the world.”

Amthos groaned loudly. “Was this another machination of yours?”

He felt the No One smile. “Oh no. I fully did not anticipate this rather hilarious outcome. I am honestly rather torn as to whether or not I should fix it.”

Luxaeus lifted a finger at him. “Oh no! I am not letting this self-sucking mutt get the last word in!” Then the Paladin went rigid and his face turned bright red. “I am not jealous of your ability to perform auto-fellatio!”

Samuel snickered. “I am definitely not fixing this.”

Amthos gripped his brother’s shoulders rightly. “Luxaeus, please set aside your… erm… conversation with Winterpaw for a moment and look at me.” He locked gazes with his brother. “It is I. Thomas. Honestly. I may be green, have red hair and am much taller but I am your brother.”

“That was never in any doubt,” Luxaeus said with a smile. “The moment Samuel recited that altered rhyme to me, I knew I could believe him.”

The Avatar made a mental note to ask the No One what else he had schemed but set that aside for the moment. He pulled Luxaeus into a tight hug. “It is good to have you with me again, brother.”

“And I am glad to be here too. Just knowing you are safe…” He pushed away from Amthos with a sigh. “Ah and it seems we have a terrible army to deal with, eh? I dreamed of the day that I would fight alongside you. I just never thought it would be against the ancient undead.”

Amthos quickly remembered what he was hoping to do and clicked his fingers. “Ah! We must continue this another time, Luxaeus. I have business to attend to. Meet me for supper! We have much to discuss.”

The Avatar quickly turned and hurried out of the Lookout.

Luxaeus watched him go and sighed. Then he went rigid and shot Winterpaw a foul stare. “Quiet you!”

*******

The people of Bhotanmar were gathered. Through some magic of the spirits by the shamans, images of Amthos on his throne in the castle were shown throughout the city. The Avatar sat nervously as he mentally prepared himself for what he was to say. Speeches were never his strong suit but this had to be said. Urthak was to leave the following day and Grauhl could attack at any given moment. As much as he wanted to spend time with his brother, Bhotanmar came first.

The city was his responsibility as were the orcs.

“No,” he reminded himself quietly. “Not just the orcs. This nation of ours.”

Ramdrud held his hand gently. “Are you sure of this?” he asked for the thirtieth time.

“I am,” answered the Avatar. “It is the only way.”

The herald blew a trumpet and announced his name. The crowds all across Bhotanmar fell silent. Amthos opened his mouth to speak… then froze. He felt Ramdrud hold his hand tighter but he could not let his friend take the stage for him again. This was something that had to come from the Avatar. Mustering his courage, Amthos stood from his throne.

“People of Bhotanmar,” he boomed, his divine voice carrying through to every orc and the shaman’s spells wisping it to everyone else. “You know who I am. I am Amthos Frost Hordemaker, Avatar of the Orcs.” He could sense Ramdrud wince. The herald had just announced his name and now he was repeating it. Not a good start.

Pushing that aside, he said, “All of you know that a great evil is coming. Grauhl, the First Orc, has brought his harbinger to our shores. He encases us in a blizzard, trapping us from the outside world. Only by the might and grace of Incarius, the Spirit King of the North, do we survive this blistering cold. However, Grauhl’s army comes. In a week, maybe less, his ships will make landfall and we will have to fight for our right to live. The right to be orcs.”

He swallowed hard. “However, I recognise that not all of you wish to fight. For some, this was not your destiny but simply how circumstances befell you. Some of you were branded Greenskin Sympathisers and fled the Alliance for fear of their lives. Coming to Bhotanmar was your only option. Others were freed or captured by our raids on Alliance camps and towns.”

Amthos lifted a fist into the air. “Then there are those of you who would fight for this city. Proud of your way of life and proud of the friends you have made here, the family you have built for yourselves. You see Bhotanmar as a new beginning, a new life that would surpass even the orc horde of old or the Alliance under the Holy Triad!”

He slowly lowered his hand. “I too shared much of these feelings. I too was branded a Sympathiser and I sought a new way of life. I was thrust with this responsibility to shepherd the new orc race, not necessarily of my own choosing. I found pride in being an orc, in coming to Bhotanmar and I would fight for this city to the end!”

A roar of rose from the defenders of the city.

“But I do not speak for all of you,” he said. “You all have your own voices. I hear them. Some of you wish to flee Grauhl. Some wish to fight. Some wish for a different fate and others would not change a moment. To this I say… So be it.”

There were looks of confusion amongst those in the audience chamber and even Oringruud was regarding him suspiciously.

“I was given responsibility of the Frost Tribe,” he said. “By the dying words of Oberyn Frost, I was made chieftain. I have fought long and hard about what kind of chieftain I would be to the Frost. But I realised that I cannot be that chieftain.”

Again, more confused murmurs.

“I am the Avatar of the Orcs. I cannot have my own Tribe. I cannot have an ‘elite’ over the people or a ‘favoured’ because you are all my people. Further, I cannot speak only for orcs. Those who listen now do not just bear green skin. You are human, dwarf, elf and others who would call Bhotanmar home!” He took a deep breath, rising to his conclusion. “I cannot be chieftain of the Frost because I am chieftain to all of you.”

Oringruud realised what he was saying and was about to protest. This was Amthos’ official announcement that he would be warchief to the orc horde. There would no bickering chieftains any more. They would all fall under the one rule. But the Blood Claw chieftain suddenly pulled back, his eyes narrowed.

Amthos made a note of that.

“From this day forth, the Frost Tribe is disbanded,” Amthos announced.

Those of the Frost, orc or otherwise, instantly began protesting but Amthos lifted his hands to silence them.

“Something I have learned is that we must hold pride in who we are not by birth but by the identities we choose. So while the Frost Tribe is no more, you are all free to seek out who you wish to be.” He gestured towards Urthak. “Should you wish to become great builders and architects, seek your future amongst the Earth Runners.” Then he gestured towards Oringruud. “Does the warrior’s spirit burn brightly within you, then join the Blood Claw. Do you fancy politics and trade, come to the Hardshaft. Spirits may speak to you so come to the Thunder Callers. Fancy yourself one akin to subterfuge and scouting then the Nightusks would welcome you. But know this…” He spread his arms wide. “All are welcome in my court regardless of your tribe or race.”

There was a stunned silence.

Amthos feared he had made the wrong move.

Then, Oringruud abruptly stood up. “From this day forth, the Frost are no more!” he bellowed.

His fears bubbled to the surface. Was Oringruud going to use vast numbers of the Blood Claws to overrun him? Now that Amthos had cast aside his own tribe, was the Blood Claw going to try a coup.

“All who would come to the Blood Claw are welcome,” shouted the chieftain. “But know that in doing so, you swear an oath to the Avatar!”

Urthak then rose from his seat. “Though our paths may diverge, Avatar,” said the towering chieftain, “you will always be in the hearts of the Earth Runners.”

“Legends will speak of this day,” agreed Dalgmar. “The day when we ceased to be quarrelling tribes and became one.”

Ramdrud rose as well with the others. “I think this calls for a celebration!”

Knaatl boomed in laughter. “The best idea I’ve heard all day! All we need is a name for our little nation!”

There… all revelry immediately stopped. The chieftains exchanged glances, all asking the same question.

What do they call their new nation? Bhotanmar? That was their city. Were they just… the orcs?

“Amthosruud.”

All turned towards Samuel.

“In honour of the nation’s founder,” said the No One, smiling beneath his helm.

Knaatl beamed. “I like it!” He thrust a fist into the air. “To Amthos! To Amthosruud! To our nation!”

The cry was echoed all across the audience chamber.

“To Amthos!”

Fists were pumped into the air, weapons slammed into the ground or against shields.

“To Amthosruud!”

Hundreds of eyes were on him and from the portals the shamans conjured, he could see people were waving banners. Each banner displayed the unofficial emblem of their new emblem – the emblem of two orc tusks crossed against one another.

“To our nation!”

Amthos’ heart swelled with joy.

*******

Celebrations rang throughout the night. Despite the dread that was quickly approaching, Luxaeus was heartened at the sight of so many people enjoying and being so lively. He had never seen such unity in his lifetime. Even during annual celebrations or some other cause of revelry within the Alliance, there was never this kind of… joy in the air. Regardless of race, age or background, the people of Amthosruud were celebrating the birth of their nation.

From where he stood on a balcony overlooking the entire city, he could see the entire city enveloped in the merriments. He heard there were mass conversions as well. The orc numbers swelled and he could understand the temptation. His brother’s speech broke down the barriers between orcs and the other species. Today, they were no differences between orc and the rest of the world. They were just all people of Amthosruud.

“I will admit to being rather surprised at your bond with Winterpaw.”

No longer in his armour but in some plain, black and green finery imported from somewhere south, the Paladin turned to find Samuel approaching him. The No One was still in full dress; fully armoured with his helm on.

“Of all the possibilities that could have happened, that was the least likely,” Samuel said, coming to stand beside him “It just proves my fascination with people. Regardless of the possibilities, someone will surprise you.”

Luxaeus laughed softly and looked out into the vast city. “So despite you being all-seeing, you can still be surprised by us mere mortals.”

“I can still be surprised by you because I, like you, am a mere mortal.” Samuel gestured at his eyes. “These eyes have the ability to see all but there is a difference between seeing and actually registering what one sees.”

“Were that I had eyes like those…” murmured the Paladin wistfully. “I would love to know what comes next.”

Samuel was silent for a moment. Someone down below began breaking out into song, some sort of elven ballad. It was hauntingly beautiful and from what little Luxaeus could interpret, it sang of two lovers who were separated by war only to be joined in death.

“Would you like to know the symbolism behind the design of my eyes?”

“What?”

“In many cultures, the eight pointed star is known as the ‘Star of Chaos’. It represents all possibilities in existence including the fragment of order. Occultists use it as a means to summon the ‘ruinous powers’. There are those that consider it an unholy symbol.” Samuel gestured at his eyes. “My eyes come with a heavy burden. While I can see all possibilities, it is what I do with that knowledge that will affect the world. I could sow chaos and anarchy or enforce order and peace.”

Luxaeus straightened, giving the No One a wary stare. “And to which to do you owe allegiance to? Order or chaos?”

“Neither. I have colleagues that look after those aspects for me.” Samuel turned away and looked to Bhotanmar. “But take it from someone who can see all possibilities be it one leading to order or chaos, life or death, peace or war.” He then turned towards the Paladin, a hard stare in his eyes. “Do not proceed with what you are thinking of doing.”

The half-accusation, half-warning caught the older Reinhardt off-guard. Suddenly on edge, he said, “I do not know of what you speak.”

“Oh yes do,” Samuel countered. “You still view Amthos as your little brother. You see what many others saw when they first came to him: he is now obsolete. Yes, he is empowered by the Gods and has a mighty weapon by his side but so do other chieftains. One could argue that Oringruud’s weapon is far superior to Grimight as they are not dependent on how many people are loyal to its wielder. The only blessing that truly made him unique was his ability to turn others into orcs and now that gift is shared amongst the orcs that have taken on this ability.

“I know you want your brother back but regardless of his shape, he is and has always been your brother. Do not ask him to surrender his orcish shape for your own desire to live in an illusion of peace and familial closeness.”

The Paladin’s eyes narrowed. “And why not? My father still lives in Raonoak and remains human. I would have Thomas return to us as he was born. Perhaps the gods blessed him with a great form but it is unnatural. I would not want my brother to be turned into a tool for the gods to be discarded the moment they are done with him like Orradin or the other heroes of the past age.”

Samuel crossed his arms and leaned on one leg. “So you consider the stories of the heroes past to be over?”

Thinking of Orradin made his blood boil and he had turn away from the No One to avoid the scowl on his face from showing. “They coast on their glories from over two decades ago and abuse those whom they see as ‘inferior’ to them. They seek only war. Fitting that they follow the dark path of the Triad.”

“And that is why you hope for your brother to seek another path? The heroes were created from the Old Gods to fight a war only to be cast aside by the new regime when it rose. You believe that when the Old Gods reclaim their throne, Amthos and the other Avatars will be cast to the winds.”

He threw Samuel a piercing stare. “You can see all possibilities. Is that not one of them?”

The mage-knight let out a soft chuckle. “Well played. Yes, that is indeed a possibility but only if certain events were to unfold. Many of which have already come to pass.” Their gazes locked. “I know full well that the Old Gods are naïve children who are throw power and blessings about with recklessness akin to a maddened bull. They do not think of the long term effects and only the immediate problem. They did not consider the power vacuum that will be created the moment the Holy Alliance is toppled or the wars over territory between the Avatars and their races. They did not think of the possibility that humans, elves and dwarves could become like ‘prey’ species as the other all-male races attempt to maintain their population.”

The air shimmered just a little off the balcony’s edge and a tear like the one that had brought them back to Bhotanmar appeared. It split open and through it, Luxaeus saw a hellish land with the earth blackened like ash and the sky red like blood.

“There is a future wherein the orcs become desperate to increase their numbers,” Samuel continued. “Still feeling the sting of their loss at Paristead, the orcs argue at a summit of the Avatars that they deserve more non-orcs than the other species for the simple fact that they lost more in the War of Apotheosis. When this is rejected, your brother and his inner council are assassinated by another being empowered by the Garodrash who wholly agreed in the mass spread of the orcs. The spirits become appalled at this and leave the Amthosruud, turning the earth black and the sky a blood-red in colour. The orcs wantonly raid former allies and force non-orcs into breeding pens. This practice quickly spreads across the rest of the races. Women are treated as currency. It is not too long before a war between the Gods ensues. Tirinead once again devolves into war. And sadly…”

From the image, there appeared to be a large tiger-man with big, black wings spreading from his back. He wore a strange, black mask over his features. As the creature spread his wings, the land around him crumbled to dust. All light faded and even the cursed earth just turned to the same nothingness of Naught.

“… The Creator’s mercy is extinguished. We are called to destroy all this universe in its entirety.”

Luxaeus spun towards Samuel, eyes wide in horror. “You can do that!?”

“On request and when the need is just,” said the No One with a nod. “Sadly, in the future, all of Tirinead is reduced to true war and without any stable means of restoring the population, the world and its people fade. Even the Old Gods become powerless to save the dwindling land and opted to just try and recreate everything once the last life is snuffed out. The Creator will not abide by such a careless treatment of life and had us destroy them all.”

“What can we do to stop it?”

The rip in the air closed leaving the two in silence save for Luxaeus’ heavy breathing and rapidly beating heart.

“I will do everything I can to avert that,” said the No One with a grave node. “In that future, I do not participate in the destruction of Tirinead. I simply do not feel it is right.”

“But it will still happen. One of you No Ones will intervene and act on behalf of our Creator.”

“We too are mortal. We bicker and we fail to see eye-to-eye on some things. No Ones will heed your Creator’s call even if I do not.”

Luxaeus slumped against the railings of the balcony. “What can be done?”

“The Old Gods, despite their name, are still mortal and have the capacity to learn just like the rest of us. Though they can be hard-headed at times. We must teach them as they guide us. To this end, you must let go of this believe that you care return everything to the way it once was or they could possibly do the same.”

The Paladin then let out a laugh. “Ah… now I see your game.” He straightened and wagged a finger at the mage-knight. “This was all an elaborate ruse. You give this spiel about the world ending and impending death when in reality you were just concocting stories and creating convincing illusions in an attempt to sway me from my beliefs! You even opted to use my own brother’s death against me!” He leaned towards the No One. “Well, it will not work, Star-Eyed Wolf. I will have Thomas returned to being human! It is how he was born! I will not have him become a weapon for the Old Gods!”

Another voice joined them.

“Is that honestly how you think of me, brother?”

Luxaeus’ heart sank. He immediately turned. His brother, Thomas as the Orc Avatar Amthos, stood by the balcony doors. The look on the orc’s face was a cross between heartbreak and confusion.

“Thomas I –” Realising what had happened, he spun towards Samuel, bearing his teeth. “You knew of this.”

“I told you,” the No One said, turning to leave. “I would do anything to prevent that particularly grim future.”

Samuel left the two brothers standing opposite to one another; one a human and effectively a traitor to his country and the other an orc and the leader of his new nation.

Luxaeus was lost for words. He tried to collect his thoughts but all he could think of was how he dearly wished for the days when his brother was still Lord Eranius’ squire and he was a Paladin of Raonoak. Their father would be tinkering in his workshop, they would rush home every time they would hear of an explosion only to find their father covered in soot and laughing. Dinner would always be filled with the joys of their days and he and Thomas would spar every evening before heading to bed. Those were the days he longed for.

Thomas could not be that as ruler of the orcs.

“Thomas –”

“My name is Amthos,” said the Avatar firmly. “Amthos Frost Hordemaker. I am the leader of Bhotanmar and if I can get away with it, King of Amthosruud. I am an orc –”

“Do not say that!” Luxaeus pleaded, striding forward. “You are still my little brother. A human beneath all that green skin. I value what you are doing here and I honestly admire it. Your speech this afternoon was inspiring and I will gladly fight beside you against Grauhl and even the Alliance if I have to.”

Amthos’ golden eyes narrowed. “And yet you insist I turn back into a human after all is said and done?”

“I am thinking of the future, brother.” Luxaeus gestured at Amthos’ body. “As of now you are an orc. An orc with seed that will turn any touched by it, male or female, into another orc. You realise you will never be able to sire children in this form.”

“Every orc made by my seed is my child. All of Amthosruud are my children.”

He shook his head from side to side. “That is not the same and you know it. Moreover, as leader of this nation, the burden of a king rests on your shoulders. You will never have a day’s rest and assassins will likely come for you at all hours.”

“Let them! No mortal weaponry can harm me!”

Luxaeus threw his arms into the air. “Do you not wish for peace? How can you truly find joy in this world the only future that awaits you is as a king? Will you ever be Thomas Reinhardt again? Will you be anything more than King of the Orcs?” He slapped Amthos’ chest with the back of his hand. “When was the last time you went fishing? Just like when you, I and father used to?”

The Avatar growled at him. “I scarcely had the time between running for my life and forming a nation.”

“Regardless! You must still save some time for yourself! You cannot be… be… this forever.”

“I am an Avatar,” Amthos growled, leaning towards his brother.

“But you are also Thomas Reinhardt,” Luxaeus pleaded, reaching for him.

Amthos knocked his brother’s hand away. “No I am not! Thomas Reinhardt was who I was. I learn from that but I am not Amthos Frost Hordemaker. I rule this land and I intend to remain an orc for the rest of my days. Not out of some duty or allegiance to the Old Gods but because I have never felt more like who am than now that I have this body.”

Luxaeus sighed and his shoulder sagged. “It must be that manlust I had heard about. You surround yourself with other men and your body instantly reacts with insatiable lust.” He gave his younger brother a sympathetic smile. “Why do we not take some time alone in the mountains? Just a hike like we used to.”

“Do not patronise me!” Amthos took a step away from him. “You think you are so pure and unscathed? I heard of your betrayal of Arnmok’s trust! I know that you went from town to town, ‘culling’ those you deemed were unfit for conscripted armies and then sending them to rehabilitation camps.” He gestured at his brother angrily. “And now you find yourself bound to my mount, a Warg!”

“And I would seek repentance for my actions and undo this bond between Winterpaw and I the moment I get a chance,” Luxaeus said with a shrug. “I cannot undo the past and I grow stronger for it, yes, but I fight for a future when we are a family again, Thomas. Not separated like this.”

“Like what!?” Amthos roared angrily.

“Like…” Luxaeus gave his brother a wary look. That gave Amthos his answer.

“Like human and orc,” rumbled the Avatar.

The flustered Paladin tried to smooth it over with a few waves of his hand. “More than that. Think of it, Thomas. If you spill your seed in a burst of excitement overnight and either father or I so much as touch it, we could become orcs like you. That would not be our choice. That would be an accident. How do you think that would impact us?”

“Then think of it from my perspective, Luxaeus,” Amthos growled. “What reason do you have for not becoming an orc? You will be stronger, faster and be welcomed in Bhotanmar as more than just my brother. When the Alliance falls, humans will be seen with distrust for their harsh treatment of orcs. Do you wish to have that stigma over your head?”

That line of thinking brought to mind Orradin once more and his blatant racism. Only instead of one touched by the Old Gods hating the orcs, it was the Old Gods’ latest project hating humans. “And what if I wish to stay human?” countered Luxaeus. “What if I wish to keep the body that I was born with as is natural.”

“Not all of us are fortunate enough to have been blessed with natural gifts, Luxaeus. None of us were given the choice of which race we were born in.”

“And raping men and women across the land to turn them into orcs is a ‘choice’, is it?”

“We are not raping them!”

Luxaeus crossed his arms furiously. “But abducting them and convincing them that being an orc is much better than their current lives is better? Or do you just kidnap those who were partially brain dead from the Alliance rehabilitation camps?”

Amthos threw his arms into the air. “If the Alliance were not so fanatical about controlling the minds and hearts of its people they would not need rescuing!” The Avatar growled softly and lowered his arms, placing a hand over his forehead as he tried to massage it. “Why are we arguing, Luxaeus? You are my brother…”

“A brother that wishes to remain human,” said the Paladin sternly. “And wants you to think of the future beyond conquest. You were born a Reinhardt. The Old Gods have just twisted your mind and path to suit their needs. The moment you are no longer useful to them, they will dispose of you.”

“I stopped being useful to them long ago,” Amthos answered grimly, stunning Luxaeus. “It went without saying but I was to restore faith in the Old Gods and grant them more power. I am sure tales of my rise have restored some faith in the Old Gods, particularly Garodrash, but you will note that few here openly worship him. Samuel has already warned me of the same things you have said, Luxaeus. I even suspect that they have sent Grauhl here either to test me or to wipe the slate clean.”

Luxaeus’ features turned sombre. “And yet despite all that, you still wish to remain an orc.”

“It feels right, Luxaeus.”

“I see…” The Paladin unfolded his arms. “I will fight by you, Thomas, but you will forever be Thomas Reinhardt to me and I would see you returned to that state.”

Amthos took a step back. “Then perhaps it best you stay in your quarters. This is a time where unity is most important. I cannot have you speaking of ways to turn orcs back to the way they once were in Amthosruud. It might just shatter our fragile society as is.”

Luxaeus’ brow furrowed. “So you would have people believe that becoming an orc is permanent?”

“As far as we know, it is.”

“Have you even tried to find a cure?”

Amthos’ golden eyes flared. “A cure? Are we a disease to be cured!?”

“That is not what I meant!”

The Orc Avatar shook his head and took a few further steps back. “It matters not. You are confined to your quarters, Luxaeus. Meals will be brought. Visitors allowed. But you are not to leave.”

As the Avatar turned, Luxaeus snorted derisively.

“Seems to me you have trapped me in your own form of rehabilitation camp.”

*******

The knock came as a surprise though Knaatl suspected it was one of his drunken tribesmen coaxing him to come out for the umpteenth time to join the celebrations. However, the chieftain of the Nightusk Tribe was not in the mood for revelry. For the second time, he knew something that Amthos should really know but would hurt the Avatar.

Now only had Qurron orchestrated the spell that eventually led to Amthos becoming the Avatar but the War Wizard had actually held his tongue at Amthos’ judgement for the simple reason that he hated Amthos for simply being born.

Hearing his friend and lover make that announcement in front of Bhotanmar filled him with pride and truly showed how far Amthos had grown since they first met. Doubt would easily creep in if news of this revelation hit the Avatar’s ears. Questions like ‘what if I were still human?’ would find its way into his heart and that confidence that had grown could quickly deteriorate. Spending most of the night convincing the men who had come with him to hold their tongue took some time and left him somewhat exhausted.

Unfortunately, he could not find Arnmok mostly because the Red Orc was likely back with the Blood Claws. Though were the Red Orc to tell the Avatar of the revelation, Amthos was not likely to believe him. The distrust between them was still very real though Knaatl suspected bringing Luxaeus to Bhotanmar had lessened that somewhat.

Samuel’s machinations no doubt.

“Between him and Ramdrud, it’s like being caught between a spider and a snake…” muttered the chieftain. He strode down the stairs as another set of knocks came. Unlike Oringruud or the other chieftains, he did not believe in having any personal guards watching him at every hour of the day so no one was there to filter out the riffraff. He already had Duskvenom at the ready should someone strike at him as he opened the door.

To his surprise, he found himself looking at a sea of muscles contained beneath taught, red skin.

“Arnmok,” he grunted. “This is a surprise.”

“Yeah…” muttered the Blood Claw heir. “Ah wus hopin’ ta talk to ya…”

Knaatl had a snappy reply already in store when he remembered the little scuffle they had back in the woods. Thinking of it made him smile and he stepped aside. “Well come on in. Weather isn’t too pleasant to be having a personal chat underneath the stars.”

“Thanks.” Arnmok shuffled inside, head cast down and with a look that Knaatl recognised all too well.

“Did Ramdrud say something to you that’s got your mind in a jumble?”

The Red Orc straightened and glanced at him, eyes wide in surprise. “How’d ya know?”

The Nightusk chieftain chuckled as he shut the door. “When I was just a human bandit, we often made stops at Whitepeak where Ramdrud ruled. At first, no one gave us a second glance but Ramdrud gets bored very easily. When he heard of our arrival, he invited us in to have dinner with him. Threw a whole gala for us. Or at least as he defined ‘gala’ with his meagre resources back then.”

“Seems like ‘im,” chuckled Arnmok.

Knaatl shrugged and led Knaatl to the dining room where they sat down on the table. “Yes well, if anything, Ramdrud is a very observant fellow. He knew right off that I liked cock and he invited me into his private quarters for a little ‘personal get together’.” He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “at the time, my men did not know I was that sort of person and Ramdrud, being the meddler that he is, spoke to them one by one. He would say something to them that would give them that same look you bear now. That look caught between puzzlement and fury at yourself.”

Arnmok avoided his gaze, finding particular fascination with a spot on the floor. “Yeah… Ah guess that’s right… Thing is, Ah thought Ah wus over it ‘cuz Ah was focusin’ on savin’ Ruven. But now…”

The Nightusk chieftain let out a thoughtful noise. His finger absently drew circles on the wooden surface. “Our troubles have a habit of finding their way back to haunt us no matter how hard we push them away.” He let out a chuckle. “After all, are we not being assaulted by an ancient orc now? If that were not a prime example, I would not know.”

A ghost of a smile came across Arnmok’s face and the Red Orc’s eyes inched a little closer to meeting Knaatl’s. Though still unable to lock gazes with the chieftain. “Ah woulda talked ta Oringruud ‘bout this but… Ah ain’t sure he’d understand…”

That brought up some curiosity on Knaatl’s part. This was a more personal subject that he first anticipated. “Oh? What is this about?”

Arnmok swallowed hard. “Ah… Ah… Well… Afta Ah turned inta an orc… Ah’ve been fucked. A lot. By Oringruud, my dran’mok.”

“I suspected as much,” chuckled Knaatl. “Your ‘father’ must quite like dominating you.”

“That’s jus’ the thing… He dominates me.” Finally, Arnmok was able to meet his gaze. “But it ain’t what Ah want…”

“You want to dominate him?”

“Naw… It ain’t that…” Arnmok sighed and again dropped his gaze. “He fucks me hard. Real hard. Feels good, dun get me wrong. Jus’… I dunno… It’s hard. Fast. An’ he only does it when he has sumthin’ ta be mad ‘bout. Ah dun feel like his goe’mok. Not like the first time…”

Knaatl finally understood Arnmok’s plight. “Ah… You are searching for intimacy. Oringruud no longer gives that.”

The Red Orc growled and slammed a fist into the table, very much like Oringruud in a way. “Ah dun know why Ah’m even talkin’ ta ya ‘bout this. Sorry fer wastin’ yer time.” He rose but Knaatl quickly reached out and wrapped a hand over his clenched fist.

“Men like Oringruud only show intimacy when it suits them,” Knaatl advised. “I have met men like that before. They will act tough, brash and intimidating and they feel that is the only means by which they can show affection. To show anything else would be a sign of weakness. The only way they will ever show any sign of affection would be to those they truly care for or when they wish to seem soft and caring.”

He held onto Arnmok’s hand tightly to prevent him from leaving. “And that is just what has you bothered, isn’t it? On some level, you know this. Part of you wishes to be the source of his affection again and wishes to emulate him but at the same time, you realise he does not care for you. You hope that if you were strong, tough and ruthless just like him, he would see you as his true equal and make love to you just as he did that one time.”

Just the look in Arnmok’s eyes was confirmation enough.

“You do not have to win a man’s affections through changing yourself,” said Knaatl. “Take it from someone who thought himself beneath the eye of the one he desired. You will change one another enough during your relationship. You need fit his ideal man now.”

Arnmok’s lips quivered. “It ain’t jus’ that…”

“What else then?” Knaatl sat back down, pulling the Red Orc back to his seat. Knaatl pulled his chair beside his guest. “You can tell me and I swear I will not use it against you.”

Closing his eyes, the heir to the Blood Claw tribe shook in his seat. “Bein’ a Blood Claw means tryin’ ta always be on top. It’s what our whole Trial o’ Tusks is ‘bout. But… Ah dun like bein’ on top.”

And there was the second layer to the issue.

Oddly, Knaatl found that hilarious and could not help but let out a bellowing laugh. He felt more than saw Arnmok’s scathing look but he could not help the laughter rising from his chest or the tears swelling in his eyes.

“Ah knew this wus a mistake…” muttered Arnmok. He tried to pull his hand away but Knaatl kept a good hold on him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Knaatl snickered. “Just the thought of you offering up your ass willingly or kneeling in front of another begging for their cock is hilarious. You, the enormous one and only Red Orc, someone’s pup! Ha!”

Arnmok scowled at him. “Ah dinna come here ta be made fun of…”

“Sorry.” Knaatl reeled in his laughter. “Now, I know why you’re so eager for a talk.” He turned his laughter into a smile that he simply could not get rid of. “You prefer to be on the receiving end of a man’s affections and prefer those affections to be soft and gentle. In the eyes of the Blood Claw, that is not becoming of one of their tribe, correct?”

The Red Orc lowered his gaze and nodded slowly.

“And now you have a crisis of identity as you struggle between who you are and who you think you should be.” Knaatl nodded sagely. “I understand this too well. But take it from another chieftain.” He gripped Arnmok’s hand with both of his. “There is no shame in your preferences. Look at Ramdrud. His Trial of Tusks revolve entirely around fucking him or one of his senior members!”

“Oringruud sees Ramdrud as a whore…”

“If our nation were ever to have a powerful, manipulative female who uses sex as a means to control others, Ramdrud would be the closest candidate.” Knaatl gently bumped shoulders with Arnmok. “Now listen to me. Preferring to have a cock up your ass does not make you any less of a man. Or an orc for that matter. I am willing to wager that a good number of your tribe prefer to be fucked as well but are just too ashamed to reveal the truth for fear of being seen as a lesser than the others.”

He straightened and gestured in the general direction of Bhotanmar castle. “Take Amthos’ example. You will be chieftain to the Blood Claws. Change the perceptions of the tribe. Dismantle it if you must. Reshape it as you see fit.” As Arnmok lowered his gaze, Knaatl leaned forward in an attempt to lock gazes with the Red Orc. “You can be a Blood Claw and find pleasure in having a man’s cock up your ass. Perhaps even joke that every sword needs a hilt! Or given where we live, an erect cock would be awfully cold without an ass or mouth to slide into! Just as man and woman must make one, we orcs cannot live without somewhere to have our dicks sheltered.”

At last, he got the small chuckle from Arnmok that he was looking for.

“Thank ya, chieftain. Yer words are comfort.”

Knaatl beamed and threw a hand over Arnmok’s shoulders, bringing them a little closer. “Well of course! I will not see your filthy abnormal red skin marred by tears!”

The Red Orc shrugged him off semi-roughly. “An’ ya better get yer stinkin’ ‘pit outta mah face b’fer Ah rip yer arms off, old man.”

“Old man?” Knaatl laughed. He lunged forward, knocking Arnmok off his chair and to the ground. His arms wrapped around Arnmok’s neck in a mighty headlock. “I may be older than you but I am still stronger!”

Arnmok half-laughed, half-growled as he struggled against Knaatl’s powerful grip. The two wrestled on the ground. Knaatl barely noticed how the touch of the other man’s warm, muscled flesh was slowly causing blood to rush towards his groin or the rising tent in Arnmok’s trousers. Only when Arnmok tried to reach down and seize some part of Knaatl did he find his fingers brush up against something thick, hard and pulsating.

Both men paused, their eyes locking with one another for a brief moment.

Knaatl suddenly found his throat very dry. “You know…” he began softly. “You wear an awful lot of clothing for an orc…”

“An’ ya can’t be comfortable with that cock o’ yours like that…”

“I haven’t had sex for a little over a week because we were hunting for your friend…”

“Ah wusn’t stoppin’ ya from bendin’ me over ya know…”

No other words were spoken as their lips meshed in a passionate kiss. Barriers between tribes were instantly broken and they just became two lustful orcs in need of sexual release. Their tongues danced like fleshy bridges between their mouths, tusks gnashing together as their lust grew and grew. Both orcs grew flushed and Arnmok was physically clawing at his trousers, desperate to pull them off. Knaatl gave into the animal inside him and seized the fabric, a growl rising from his throat. He thrust his hips into the Red Orc and in doing so, gave himself the strength to rip the cloth to shreds. Arnmok’s might dick was finally freed and with it the strong, musky smell of an orc in need.

That scent was amazingly alluring. Even a week without taking in that scent left the chieftain hungry for more. His lips peppered Arnmok’s sinewy neck with kisses, eliciting a moan from the Red Orc. His hands found purchase along the Blood Claw’s dick, gently sliding up and down the uncut length, smearing every inch of it with the thick precum that was pouring from the tip.

His own cock was aching with need. He was forced to shuffle a little away from Arnmok and struggle with the trousers he wore. He stood and began peeling off his clothing starting with the woollen top that kept him warm in these cold climes. The moment he pulled the garment off, Arnmok was upon him, pressing his lips against his nipples and with his tongue lapping across the sensitive flesh. Knaatl shivered as his skin enjoyed every lap and suckle. A moan rose from his throat and he instinctively began massaging the other nipple with his free hand. The arm closest to Arnmok rose behind his head, stretching his broad pectorals as far as they could to allow the Red Orc as much space as he needed.

With his armpit exposed, Arnmok suddenly had another target and the orc dove into the thick, black hairs there carrying his musk. He had never had someone sniff his armpits before and when Arnmok began sending his tongue diving into the thick forest of black hairs, his knees grew weak as precum came pouring out of his dick, forming a thick wet spot over his trousers. His cock could not be contained by the fabric any longer and it slip past the band of the garment, rising up to his abdominals and kissing the base of his pectorals like the sun just cresting over the rise of two mountains.

Arnmok’s heavy breathing, the sound of the Red Orc eagerly taking in his scent was exhilarating. Every It triggered something primal and animalistic in him. A feeling of power, dominance and strength filled him. Here was someone who was willing to worship him. As the Red Orc’s tongue navigated the curve of his shoulders and over the veins of his biceps, he angled his dick over to Arnmok’s chest, smearing his precum all over the Red Orc’s flesh so that his scent would infuse into every inch of the male’s form.

Taking the gesture as a hint, Arnmok eagerly turned towards the throbbing member and cleaved every inch of it, eagerly devouring every drop of precum he was offered. His lips curled around the chieftain’s dick, lovingly engulfing it and drinking the succulent, salty liquid that was offered to him. Knaatl grit his teeth. The pleasure bursting from his groin was rising madly through his entire body. Sweat dripped across every rugged muscle causing every curve and sculpted valley to glisten in the faint light. He gripped his head, gnashing his teeth together as he desperately tried to keep himself from orgasming too early.

But Arnmok was surprisingly skilled with the arts of pleasuring a man. His mouth eagerly brought more and more of Knaatl’s cock into him, sliding closer and closer to the thick, black bush of the chieftain’s crotch. Knaatl could not help but thrust to the rhythm of the Red Orc, his feet practically lifting off the ground, his toes curling and loud huffs leaving his chest. He bit hit his upper lip, as an orc it was the most he could do. The pain brought a moment of lucidity.

“Wait, wait,” he panted, pushing Arnmok away. The Red Orc looked up at him, a confused puppy unsure if he had displeased his master. “This would strain your relationship with Oringruud…”

Arnmok grunted softly. “Yeah…” The Red Orc rose to his feet, wiping the drool and precum from his chin. Then his eyes met Knaatl’s and both men found their hearts swelling. “But we can deal with it tomorrow”

Knaatl pulled the big, muscled orc towards him, their lips colliding explosively. For a brief moment, he pulled away just to say, “Tomorrow then.” Then he dove back in, his weight pushing Arnmok to the ground where their muscled bodies pressed against one another, sweat mingling and monstrous members thrusting and throbbing. Knaatl broke the kiss and his teeth found purchase against Arnmok’s neck. He bit down lightly and Arnmok howled in pleasure, his entire body arching upwards.

Arnmok’s mighty legs shifted out from beneath him, curling around his waist. With every thrust, Knaatl’s cock slipped lower and lower, slowly being angled towards Arnmok’s willing hole. Neither man opposed the moment and Knaatl even reached down and gripped his throbbing member, aiming it straight at the exposed hole. The first splash of precum made Arnmok moan.

His hand already smeared with his own juices, Knaatl slowly pushed a single finger into Arnmok’s pucker. The Red Orc whimpered like a dog, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. Knaatl gently released his shoulder and with his other hand, stroked the Blood Claw’s cheek gently.

“If it hurts, just tell me and I will stop.”

Arnmok opened his eyes slowly, stunned at the show of compassion in the moment of orcish lovemaking. Likely, the only form of sex he had ever been exposed to was the brutal fucking of the Blood Claws.

“No… Please,” begged Arnmok. “Keep goin’…”

Knaatl was determined to show him the softer side of sex. He slowly pushed his finger deeper into the orc until he was inside up to the knuckle. Arnmok’s cock was begging for release, throbbing madly and pouring a fountain of precum onto his succulent ripped abdominals. Knaatl bent down and lapped up the clear fluids, his tongue eagerly navigating the valleys of the lean orc’s form and following the rivers of blood vessels across his amazing form. He looped over the orcs massive member, bringing waves of pleasure to Arnmok who was positively twitching in pleasure beneath him.

“You are a beautiful man,” he cooed softly. “Everything about you is incredibly arousing.” Before Arnmok could protest, he bent down and kissed the tip of the Red Orc’s dick. “Your member.” His tongue slipped out and he dragged it all the way down Arnmok’s immense length until he was buried nose deep into the Red Orc’s sack. “Your balls…” He gently engulfed one testicle in his mouth, gently suckling on it.

Then, he slowly pulled his finger out, guiding his tongue towards the hole.

“And this magnificent, muscled ass of yours…”

Knaatl buried himself nose deep into Arnmok’s rump, his tongue eagerly pushing into the Red Orc’s hole, sliding in and out. Arnmok’s legs collapsed from around him, toes curling in pleasure. The heir of the Blood Claws dug his fingers into the stone floors, throwing his head back as he panted and begged to be ploughed.

“Please!” he pleaded. “Fuck me! I need it!”

Hearing that, Knaalt pulled away from the Red Orc’s rear. He felt Arnmok tense, ready for his dick. But instead, he placed himself directly over his companion and pressed their lips together. The tenderness surprised Arnmok and at first he let out a confused muffle but when Knaatls fingers closed around his nipples, Arnmok relaxed and moaned softly.

“I will not fuck you, red one,” he whispered softly into the orc’s ear. “I will make love to you.”

He saw the confused look on Arnmok’s face and gave him another tender kiss just to reassure him. The Red Orc moaned softly and though his cock was aching with need, Knaatl gently guided him to his feet and towards the stairs. He let his hands rove, following the natural curve of Arnmok’s V-shaped torso, feeling ridged of his abdominals and running up and down the hard thighs of the orc’s powerful legs. Arnmok was frozen in place, unsure what to do. Even his kiss was forced, confused.

Knaatl pulled their lips apart and gave him a tender smile. “Here.” Slowly, he guided Arnmok’s hand towards his chest. “Feel my muscles. Feel how my flesh is hot and wants you as much as you want me.” For emphasis, he bounced his pectorals. Arnmok’s lips quivered and he almost bent down to suckle on Knaatl’s nipples again. As tempting as the prospect was, Knaatl pressed a finger against his lips to keep him from doing so.

“Take a moment to embrace these sensations,” Knaatl continued. He lowered his finger, sliding among Arnmok’s strong jaw, down his sinewy neck and across the hard ridges of his chest. The Red Orc was panting like a dog as he drew circles around the male’s erect nipples. The need off Arnmok was almost stifling. It was like trying to calm a wolf in heat.

But he knew a way to keep the arousal down.

With a sly smirk, he gripped Arnmok erect dick with one hand, causing the orc to gasp. Then, one by one, me mounted the steps, pulling the orc up to the second floor. With each step, his hand slid along the pulsating red length. Arnmok was forced to follow so his hand slid back down to the base of the throbbing cock a moment later. Knaatl tried not to think of this as leading a dog on a leash but he could not help but the comparison was definitely there.

Once they were at the top of the stairs, Arnmok was upon him; huge, thick arms wrapped around his body and licking his neck affectionately. The Red Orc was thrusting into him, begging for release. His own member was in need of release but he kept himself in check long enough to bring them around the corner and to open a door.

There, Arnmok instantly froze.

“Ya brought me here?” he blurted, eyes wide.

It was the bathroom. The same bathroom that he threw a still human Arnmok out the window.

“Now that I have your attention,” Knaatl chuckled softly, sliding behind Arnmok. He squeezed the Red Orc’s ass, getting a little yelp for his efforts. “Let’s see what turns you on.” His hand crept around Arnmok’s waist, seizing the rapidly deflating cock of the Red Orc. “Do you like your hard rear groped?”

Arnmok’s cock twitched a little.

“It seems that you do.”

Knaatl then guided his fingers up Arnmok’s flanks. The Red Orc squirmed and giggled a little but his dick similarly began to lose some of its rigidity.

“Ticklish, are we?” Knaatl leaned forward, his own member sliding between the big orc’s hard buns. That won him back some of the length lost with his wandering fingers. “But not something that will have the blood rushing to your loins.” Slowly, he ran his fingers over Arnmok’s solid abdominals. The touch hand Arnmok’s eyes flickering, a moan rising from his throat.

“And you like these hard blocks of yours touched, I see. And may I say…” He leaned towards Arnmok’s ear, breathing into them. “… I have never seen such spectacular muscles in my life.”

Precum came bursting out of Arnmok’s cock like a geyser.

“Oh?” Knaatl observed with a smile. “Did you like that?”

“Y – Y – Yeah…” moaned Arnmok, leaning back into Knaatl.

“You like it when someone compliments you on your looks?” He reached up and squeezed the Red Orc’s hard pectorals. “Like these juicy, firm, immovable rocks?”

Arnmok moaned.

“And this thick, powerful neck.” He ran his tongue up and down the ramp that led from Arnmok’s broad shoulders to his strong jawline. The male was shaking beneath his lips and the precum was pouring so profusely out of his cock that he was sure it would fill the tub.

“D – D – Do ah make ya proud?” Arnmok moaned.

For a moment, Knaatl paused. Being back in this room reminded him of the broken and battered prisoner that he had barely saved from Oringruud’s brutal rape. Those words only cemented his fears. Perhaps some part of Prisoner 641 remained after he had been turned into an orc and, whether purposefully or inadvertently, Oringruud had turned him into a man that thirsted for the approval of his superiors. Coming to him instead of Oringruud took courage and perhaps something that the Blood Claw chieftain was not expecting.

“Yes Arnmok,” Knaatl whispered softly. “You do make me proud.”

Arnmok’s lips quivered and his eyes shut. “C – Can Ah call ya… ‘daddy’?”

Oddly enough, that word got Knaatl’s cock to spring up in surprise. The suddenly movement was felt by Arnmok and the Red Orc immediately pulled away.

“Sorry,” muttered Arnmok. “Sorry… Ah shudn’t ‘ave… Ah…” His eyes fell once more. “Ah’ll jus’ go…”

Knaatl seized his hand. “No! I…” The chieftain felt a blush come to his cheeks. “I actually liked that.”

Arnmok looked just as surprised as he was. “Fer truth?”

“Truth,” he agreed. He smiled broadly and pulled Arnmok towards him. “Now come here. Let daddy pleasure you.”

Arnmok’s knees grew weak once more as they slowly crumbled to the floor once more, the Red Orc lifting his legs and resting them on Knaatl’s broad shoulders. Knaatl’s big hands roved his partner’s sculpted torso, smearing the precum pouring out of Arnmok’s dick over every inch of crimson flesh. His cock pushed easily into the awaiting pucker, making Arnmok gasp in pleasure.

“Y – Y – Yeah, daddy!” moaned the orc. “Th – That’s it!”

Knaatl could not describe it. Just being called ‘daddy’… it triggered something inside of him and he wanted desperately to breed with this powerful orc. Some twisted part of him wished his cum would turn Arnmok’s flesh green, make him his true son and that image prevailed in the back of his mind as he pushed deeper and deeper into the Red Orc, his cock aching with every thrust.

“Flex your muscles for me,” he rumbled, eyes hungrily roving all over Arnmok’s chiselled body. “Show your daddy how big you’ve gotten.

Arnmok eagerly obeyed, lifting bot his arms and flexing his thick biceps in an incredible pose. The veins that rolled over his arms made Knaatl drool. As if reading his mind, Arnmok bent his head towards one such arm and began running his tongue over it, leaving every inch glistening in the faint light. That only made Knaatl thrust harder and harder.

“Daddy likes?” grunted Arnmok.

“Daddy likes,” he agreed. Then he leaned towards Arnmok’s leg, gipping one big foot and pressing his nose against the sole. “But this…” He ran his tongue along the entire length, relishing the taste and touch. “… This daddy loves.”

The moment his lips wrapped around Arnmok’s toes, he found himself in heaven. The Red Orc had no opposition to his desires and moaned lustfully as his tongue danced between the toes. In exchange, he continued to thrust deep into the Red Orc, hilting with balls slapping against the orc’s ass.

Their moans reached a crescendo, their thrusts and flexing only spurring them on more and more. Along with the taste of Arnmok’s toes in his mouth, Knaatl had the pleasure of seeing the Red Orc flexing for him. With each thrust, he lost control of more and more of himself. The manlust grew more and more, becoming uncontrollable. A fire burned from his loins that desperately needed to be extinguished.

Arnmok was in the same position. Even without gripping his own cock, the Red Orc was on the verge of orgasm. He suddenly arched his back, eyes squeezing shut and his mouth springing open in a silent cry.

All at once, both men reached their peak.

Hot, white, faintly glowing orc seed came bursting out of their cocks. Knaatl thrust with every burst, a muffled grunt rising from his throat. Knaatl gasped as that enormous cock hilted into him over and over again, each one pushing his seed out of his tremendous member and sending it rocketing all over his crimson frame.

Arnmok let out a faint cry as all his energy had to be directed to his exploding member. The strength left his legs and his foot slipped out of Knaatl’s lips. Similarly, Knaatl found himself driven entirely by his dick and every thrust brought him closer and closer to collapsing on top of Arnmok. Gravity pulled them both together and as another blast of seed came rocketing out of their cocks, their lips met. Knaatl’s strong form compressed Arnmok’s cock between their solid abdominals, doubling the pleasure of every thrust as it slipped up and down contours of their bodies. Arnmok found the strength to curl his legs around Knaatl’s hips if, interlocking his feet to keep them from sliding away.

Both males shot their last load, their ball devoid of their seed.

Panting, gasping and with lips still locked, the two orcs realised that what they had just done could very well be a grave mistake. In the last moments of lucidity before they collapsed into the slumber of afterglow, they both decided they would deal with the issue in the morning.

*******

Oringruud let out a roar.

One of this Blood Claws came running immediately, the fires glinting off his green skin covered in sweat.

“Where is my heir?” growled the chieftain angrily. “Where is Arnmok?”

The orc could only shrug helplessly. “We do not know, chieftain. We have searched as you ordered but he is not within the district.”

There was a cry of revelry somewhere outside and Oringruud snarled. He paced in his large home. Amthos’ declaration was seen as incredibly heart-warming and a sign of the new age to most. But to Oringruud, he saw it as a loss of the Blood Claw identity, of the individual tribes. The Avatar was going to dissolve the barriers between them and soon, there would no longer be a Blood Claw.

It infuriated him.

And in his fury, he needed his son and heir, Arnmok, here. If only to have the pup’s mouth for his cock. He found he always thought somewhat lucidly just after orgasm. He likened the experience to the thrill of battle. His blood was rushing through his veins, mighty heart beating and muscles tensed. As a true warrior, that was when he was most aware and sharp.

But now…

“Likely the Avatar has him by his side,” snarled Oringruud. “Curse that idealistic fool!” He slammed a fist into the nearby table. There was a soft metallic rattling that seemed out of place on the table. His eyes fell on a familiar collar.

And a plan began formulating in his head.

“So Amthos seeks to make us all a single race, does he?” he asked, a grin crossing his lips. “No tribal identity?” He seized the collar, lifting it into the air with a smirk. “Well, it seems that his ‘advisor’ does not entirely agree.”

The Blood Claw chieftain would not have such a demeaning item wrapped around his neck like a dog. No, he instead wrapped the article around his bicep, clamping it tightly. Then he turned towards the orc by the door.

“You! Boy!”

He advanced on his tribesman, a vicious grin on his face.

“Kneel.”