25th of the 12th Epoch, 768th of the First Age.

The cold night hair blows into the room, hardened shadows dancing around the silver light cast onto the white walls of the room. Vro-Ghahk rolls from one to the other side in his bed while his face contorts constantly. Unease roots itself into his mind as he feels the gaze of the unknown focused on him. He hears light footsteps slowly walking towards his room as he jolts up from the bed, feeling his hot body drenched in sweat.

His body feels different, lighter, so much so that he could fly away at any moment if he would not focus. He raises his hands and looks down, spotting them transparent. Beyond them, he notices the bulging, thick sheets covering his body as he realizes that his soul is sprouting from his body. As it rises, he calms down, realizing that he is still very much so alive, just have been forced out from his body.

Then, as the footsteps go silent, he turns his head rapidly at the door. It slowly creaks open, revealing a gaping darkness staring back at him. Gloomy roots start spreading from the frames as a pitch black hand grasp onto it. Dread intensifies to the point that he can’t move his astral hands and starts slowly rising toward the ceiling.

A soft song starts playing at the same time, the sweet rhythm substituting the dread with a cold embrace that cools his body down, both physical and astral. He manages to course his body to the centre of the room and starts walking towards the gaping blackness as curiosity takes him over.

As he reaches closer and closer, the hand slips back into the darkness, taking the roots reaching the window and his bedside. Vro-Ghahk tries to call out for it, to wait for him, but as his lips move no sound comes out from them. Then as he approaches the open door, it closes back as the dimness dissipates, revealing parts of Orh-Ghouth’s home. As he reaches the handle, he suddenly wakes up to the singing of the birds coming from the outside as the soft winter sunlight shines upon his crude face.

**

“Morning Chief!” Vhar-Thurg greets as he steps into the large area where the sweet scent of the seasoned roasted Sleipnir with its main body laid out on a large plate. Its six legs framing it in a childish, macabre way, while its severed head now decorates the entrance hall of Orh-Ghouth’s home in the capital.

Sleipnirs are horses bred originally by the Aesir and Vanir who handed down the practice to the snow elves. While Vro-Ghahk himself doesn’t remember it, this practice has been handed down to his kin too back in their origin plane, but got lost with time as a few clans got selected to be settled in Elysium. Usually, the practice itself from what the Horde at least managed to get out from snow elven slaves involves space and flesh magic to enlarge the stallions and then grow a few extra legs.

“I left a leg for you!” Vhar-Thurg adds as he lifts the heaviest looking one with his right arm after Vro-Ghahk greets him back. “How was your sleep?” Orh-Ghouts also arrives, his crutch’s thuds already gave away his arrival as it reverberated through the corridor leading to them.

“Can’t say the beds are bad here, but my bones got too used to sleeping on the hard ground.” He says with a chuckle as he grabs bread from the nearby plate. With a swift movement, he tears it in two and takes the larger piece. He tears off the meat revealing the juicy, pink meat and puts the large torn chunk onto the bread before he takes a large bite.

“It took me a while too to get used to it. Now I can’t imagine sleeping on anything else but a soft bed.” Orh-Ghouth says while he grabs a smaller leg and takes the other half of the bread before he snaps his already greasy fingers to signal for the slaves to bring another one as they are the first batch to wake up. “Well, they do feel good to sleep in. I just wish my neighbours wouldn’t have been so loud.” Vhar-Thurg adds his piece as he feels a bit tired after listening to the joy hours between Eywindur and Yho-Zhul.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Ah, the youth. You should find someone too, Vhar before you lose the mighty rod the Gods bestowed upon you.” The crippled orc says while munching on the food, the meat grinding on his teeth mixed with bread into painting it in its greasy juice. He recalls his youth while staring into the distance.

“I do remember that one time when half the clan-kin wanted your head, after you slept with almost everyone’s wives and daughters.” Vro-Ghahk adds with a bit of chuckle that almost leads him to choke on his food. “Well, I once again thank you for saving my skin. But at least I gained a nice scar from that.” Orh-Ghouth caresses his waist almost to his back as he remembers the pain of the lodged axe, the blood that poured out like they rinsed it and have he felt the cold hands of the reaper wrap around his soul before he yanked them away.

“Good morning, Chief, everyone!” Eywindur and then Yho-Zhul steps in as if they called them and greet the trio. “Hey, next time, stuff something in her mouth… or in his.” Vhar-Thurg says after they greet the duo back. “Just sleep on your deaf side next time.” Eywindur says cheerfully as he sits beside him while taking two legs.

“I tried, but strangely, I may have gained a spiritual ear.” Vhar-Thurg says while caressing the healed side of his head where his ear once was. “Spiritual ear?” Yho-Zhul asks as she brings a jug full of mead as she sits in Eywindur’s lap.

“Yeah, it's similar to when warriors lose their arms but their soul manifests where it was, essentially nullifying the loss.” Vhar-Thurg explains with a somewhat idiotac expression as he takes the jug and pours for the three seniors present. “Or maybe you're hearing in your one remaining just improved now that it has to work overtime.” Orh-Ghouth adds cheekily while taking the keg of mead.

“That is also an option.” Vhar-Thurg says while trying to sound sophisticated in a mocking way. “But still, be quitter, unless you want me to step in as a third.” The brutish Vhar-Thurg lets out a loud belch after gulping down his share of mead within a second after latching onto it. Then a knock sounds on the wall and Gha-Rhol leans inside from the balcony behind Vro-Ghahk and Orh-Ghouth with a somewhat forced smile on her face.

“Can we talk privately, Chief?” She asks and after a few seconds, Vro-Ghahk nods and stands up. The cold morning air sobers him up, cooling his body down, still somewhat drenched in his sweat.

“What is it, Gha?” He asks, mustering his strength as he got an idea after the day before, he asked her to check on Kra-Aghk and his party.

“Yesterday, I searched through the forest. There were signs of battle there, but no corpses or weapons left behind.” As she finishes, dread roots him in place while he starts to calm himself down. If there is nobody left, that could mean victory. He grasps onto that while hushing the thought of the alternative away.

“Is that all?” As he asks calmly, Gha-Rhol shakes her head then continues after thinking on how to present it to him. “An hour ago, Adalwatd contacted me and informed that they arrived back to the city a few days ago. Most of his warband was covered in claw marks, and lost two members.”

“What about Kra?” He asks, his voice breaking as the thought of the alternative start surfacing once more. “He survived, but he was in critical condition. His right arm has been torn off completely and some kind of curse almost claimed him. But thanks to the Healing Mother’s sacrifice, he’ll survive. But hasn’t woken up yet.” She continues without taking a break, believing it is better to unload the worst rapidly.

“So, he survived.” Vro-Ghahk says as his legs give in, and he collapses down onto the bench behind him. “You said they were covered in claw marks? Were Hlátr-Scaelu attacked them?” He asks as his blood starts boiling, his veins start slowly popping out while his speech is soft, yet menacing to Gha-Rhol’s ears.

“No, or at least they weren’t living ones.” Gha-Rhol quickly adds as he sits down beside him as her legs start shaking after being bathed in his silent rage. “According to them, their description was the same as the ones that attacked Olog.” She continues as she recalls what Adelwerd passed onto her.

“I see.” That’s all he mutters as his body is assaulted by an eerie coldness after hearing those words in an instant. “Will we return?” She asks as Vro-Ghahk stands up, inhaling, determination on his face. “No. I’ll bring an end to this, even if I have to travel deep into Dhaugrúz.”