Act I

Doubts

An orc chased another through a land of fire and ash. The chaser's skin was as dark as the sky full of smoke and his eyes as bright as the fires that spew from the burning mountains at the horizon. Desperate fury laid in these eyes for this chase was for more than a simple victory.

The chased one however, was green as the distant forests, he missed so dearly, and had eyes that were as dark as those of a wolf he missed even more. Pure fear laid open in those eyes. For his chase was about more than simple survival.

It was about victory for all the clans from the south. It was about the promise of victory and an end to all the chases.

His fear became a desperate fury for he knew he was too weak to fight his dark chaser. “Only without honour one would run, only with fear one would die.” Words that were spoken by his mother once, and that weighed heavy on his heart as he ran across the ashen plains.

“Coward!” screamed the dark orc that chased him. The echo of his voice was only drowned by the roaring burning mountains.

His body was painted with blood, most of it fresh, none of it his own. He knew his words were only partly true, for he was unsure how long he could run after the battle. The muscles in his legs burned like the fire he sought to protect, and his breaths became as heavy as the smoke he sought to conquer again. A fight would have been easier. And the green coward knew that. As much as he was a coward, he was no fool to stop running and face the dark chaser's axe.

Their rivalry had started before they were born. Enemies in a war not even their Elders remembered how it began, only that they fought. Always one clan against the other, always to live in fire and hatred and to soil their lands with the blood of their enemies. Over the ages too much of it had been spilled for there to ever be peace among their clans. Every family that lost one to the other had sworn for revenge. Had made it their tradition to hand down a weapon that would deliver the final blow of vengeance. But it was never the final blow. Blood was always there to breed more fury, more tears and more hatred until all their kind knew was the way of war. That was the only life an orc knew and even if both hoped for victory. It was not a hope to end the endless bloodshed, but to be the victor of it.

The green coward knew he could outrun his dark chaser, but he did not know where to hide. The ashen plains were wide and open, only surrounded by a mountain range filled with caves that spew the earth's boiling blood across the grey land. Some of them filled with red roaring wyverns others with even darker shadows. Maybe he could throw his enemy in a pool of molten earth, maybe he could find a cave to lose him in, or maybe he would just run until one of them was stopped by their own body. A fight not of axe and sword but the muscles in their legs and the air in their lungs. Even then, no matter the option it was all only temporary for he knew his luck so far was to face only one, and only without his mount.

The dark servants of the dragon were known for their ability to take victory even when alone. Many clans thought it was mainly because of the beasts they rode, but the blood on his dark skin, and the bodies of the cowards' allies, spoke a different truth.

“If I can bring him to talk, he might waste his breath into his voice.” The coward thought. It was not a grand plan, not one that could ensure victory but for now his legs and voice were the only weapons that gave him hope.

“Quite bold to fight alone, darkling!” The coward almost choked on his own words, because he knew the irony of spewing them while fleeing.

“You’ll get the bold of my axe! Coward!” The dark voice of his even darker chaser bellowed back. His words made no sense but the threat behind them was real.

But the darkling knew his legs would not be able to run much longer. Usually the servants of the dragon took their victory in mere seconds as they gave their all in every swing of every axe. If that was not enough to kill all foes, there was no point in wasting time with strategy or thought, only death. Still he had to admit that the coward was about to win as his legs burned more with every single step of his chase. Maybe it was the battle before that took most of his strength, maybe it was the heavy black and spiked armour on his legs that slowed him down, no matter what it was, it was about to take his victory.

“At least the rest of you died with honour!”

His legs were the only part of his body that carried protection, for his clan knew it was unwise to run their lands of fire without such. Not only because of the earthen blood that was spilled from the mountains, but also because of the heat that radiated from the beasts they rode into battle. If he only had his own, none of it would have been a problem. The coward would have died in but a moment and the most final victory for his clan and the dragon would have been a step closer. More than anything, his own name would have been closer to honour once more.

For his beast was not killed in battle, not taken by spear, axe or sword, but his own Khan. A warning to all who lost control of their families, who did not rule it with the same strength and fire as the dragon itself. His own bloodline had betrayed the clans of fire and the dragon of the north. An unthinkable, unspeakable crime against all they had been fighting for, from their parents' parents to the yet unborn and their children's children. So his Khan said. The thought alone was enough to make anger conquer his legs for a moment longer. It was not even about the victory of his clan, but his name, his blood, to set right again. For his legs to surround the back of a beast and to conquer the sky once more. And to hold those he had to protect in his arms again.

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“Is there no sense of pride in you, Coward?! No shame in dying on the run?!” The darkling knew his words were more a plea than a mockery. For to come back to his Khan with yet another failure would mean death for not only him, but all his bloodline.

The coward did not know the reason why the darkling had attacked them without a winged beast, only that it was the reason he still lived. They had lost so much, even before they encountered the darkling their journey was littered with impossible enemies all for but a promise of victory. The scroll in his hand.

“I will not die this day, darkling!” He spoke more to himself than to his chaser. “I will not die this day…I cannot die this day”.

It had taken so much blood to find, so much travel to take. It was from the lands beyond the sea. The lands of not orc but ogres, from buildings they called castles in a land they called kingdom. Even back then he missed the simple tents of his clan, the caves and woods of their hunting grounds and the company of both wolf and orc. Now he feared to never see them again. To die in a land of smoke and ash, where the skin burned by the heat of mountains and the lung was filled with the ash they spew. But he was not allowed to lose. The scroll was their greatest chance of victory, once and for all. So many had died for it. Friends he called brothers and sisters, a band of warriors he had called his pack, all dead for this very scroll. None of them were able to read it, but they knew it was the key to victory. To defeat the dragon and never lose another wolf to dragonfire ever again. That was the Arch Druid's promise. A promise he gave the clans of the south generations ago and that was so close to be fulfilled. With the scroll he would be able to defeat the dragon of the north, conquer the clans that served him, and finally bring peace back to those that never knew it existed.

Unlike the darkling he did not feel the burning of his legs, but weight in his lung. He was not used to the lands of ash and fire and he did never imagine they would take that much. He wheezed and panted, knowing it was not a runner's way, but still his only way to take air.

With the coaled lungs of the coward, the darkling closed in. Still too far for a swing of his axe, but close enough to at least throw his tomahawk with all the might he could still muster “Stand your ground! Coward!”.

His scream became a warning to the green coward as he glanced over his shoulder. He shifted to the side and avoided the tomahawk, but fell when ash and stone beneath his feet were against him. Once he laid on the ground he felt the burning heat of spewing fire close to him. A memory of home, the tooth of a great brown wolf pierced into his chest as he fell. It was the wolf's pain that finally made him roar. He was not allowed to lose.

The darkling answered the roar with his own and followed the coward. He swung his axe down at him, only for it too to be dodged as the coward rolled above the ground. One swing followed the other while both orcs thought of the people they lost to the north. The coward swung desperate and wildly for his pack and the wolf he left behind. The darkling attacked with fury and the desperate hope to set it all right again. Both fighting the fight their ancestors started before the first hut was built, and both fighting for those that were yet to battle.

The coward could feel the ash conquering his lungs but had not much more to give than to finally take his stand. This was the land of the enemy and no matter how far he would run, there was no victory.

Every time his two small stonebone tomahawks blocked the darkling’s big obsidian axe it felt like his arms would break. He was surprised they did not but still knew he could not hold another swing and so threw one of his axes at the dark chaser while he screamed.

“Fire will never take the south! We will never bow to your beast!”

The darkling swung his axe in front of him to block the throw and saw the coward fighting with his own breath.

“Your south is rotting since the day your Druid has taken hold of it!” The chaser blocked the cowards' other thrown tomahawk with yet another swing. “Our flames will be your Freedom!”

Once the coward continued to run, the dark chaser took his gigantic black axe with both hands and threw it after him.

The second of hope the coward had felt was broken by an immense pain in his back that brought him down to face the hot ashen ground. “I will not falter darkling!” He screamed as he tried to stand up only to fall under the pain and weight of the axe in his back. Not feeling anything but hatred anymore he tried to crawl further, still not giving up. His chest was burning on the ashen ground and his back cracked by the darkling's black axe. His legs did not answer his calls anymore, still he tried to crawl further and further. There was no thought behind it, just a last act of defiance.

“Finally!” were the last words the coward heard before his skull was simply crushed under the darklings heavy obsidian boot. His brains were splattered and cooked on the ashen ground and the remains of his body twitched in shock.

This was the land of the enemy and there was no victory here.

The darkling took a moment to take a few heavy breaths, more from the run than the fight. As it was so often the case a servant of the dragon had taken his prey. Slowly he first took his axe from the cowards back and then the scroll from his belt. It was old and not only precious for what it could mean for the war but the simple old parchment it was written on. Rolled together and held by a simple leather band the darkling slowly opened it. The signs on it were written with dark old ink. Pictures of wings and a mountain of the dead were the only thing he could recognise on them. He wasn’t sure if the runes on it were the same as the shamans wrote on their stones and even those he could not read. Still, even if he did not understand what the scroll would mean for the war, it was a victory for him and a chance to reclaim his name. Maybe even one day to take a beast to the sky once more.

A dark grunt escaped him with a grin while he rolled it back and found a place on his belt. He then took both his own axe as well as those of the coward before he looked at his remains one last time. “Kag magosh” he grunted with respect and then started his long walk back through the ashen plains.

The war was somewhere else, but its fate was decided between those two that very day.