Act II

War

Far away from the Oak and the pines, Sha’Raph was on her way to the last clan she needed for her Khan. Master Kru’Gan and a few others had agreed to honour their Khans wish in his mountain and were now wandering the wastes for the Frostsong valley behind the eastern range. She however, took her flight to the northwest.

Her path now went over the blacksky ridge. A volcano filled mountain range that cut the wastes from both the burning valley below Karn’Arak and her current goal. The Bladelands.

It was a green land of many headlands and few isles. Of stormy sea and even uneasier orcs.

The headlands went deep into the sea. So much that the horizon was filled with different thin lands that fought against the storms. On the headlands and Isles different villages of the clan rested. Tents made of dragonfish leather, spiked on top of their bones adorned the cliffside shores. Shamans adorned in their usual chains and trinkets sang to the sea at those rifts, while warriors battled below, adorned in the same spiky fishbones. The sea washed blood and bodies from their shores, taking it greedily with the tendrils of its waves, yet in the bladelands there were two kinds of battle.

Those at the hightide, when the shore was almost drowned by the storm, and those at the low tide. When the sea went that far back that the mudflats took hold between the headlands. Then the villages stormed off to their Wolfseals, to ride over the revealed ocean floor in a grand hunt. Dragonfishes that were caught in their trap, lifeless bodies that were blessed by the sea fungi, and most holy of all, mussels that took hold of the iron pearls. From those pearls their smiths and shamans then crafted the weapons that had given this part of the north its name. Big curved blades that still carried the shine of their pearls. It’s iron hidden inside the earth of the mudflats, eaten by mussels inside the stormy sea and then crafted by fire. Blades blessed with the force of all four of the elements, so their shamans told.

Sha’Raph always liked the storms of these lands. Full of salt and sea they promised tales of distant lands. Few orcs had ever sailed far, and even less returned to tell the tales of the far west. Of creatures that walked like orcs, yet carried skin like pigs. Of warriors in armour that shone like silver and blue shamans that wore pointy hats. She had always wished to see those lands for herself but her duties would always hold her here. And even if not for them, it had been generations since an orc sailed that far. Since then the Ogres and their master had taken hold over the sea. They had made sure that no one would ever cross the ocean and that no orc would ever set foot on the far west again.

The low tide had already given room to the mudflats when she crossed the mountain range and saw the battle that was happening on them.

A small army of ogres was fighting a horde of Bladeland orcs.

The ogres were big bulks of flesh. Unlike the bladeland orcs who carried the ashen skin and fiery eyes of the north, they carried the pink skin of pigs like the west. Twice as high as an orc and thrice as fat, they were using big blocky shields of bronze. On them were different drawings of lions and other creatures. They moved like a wall, step by step, only swinging their enormous warhammers when truly necessary. Armour was carried by them only where it was truly needed. Their helmets were hiding their faces behind iron bars. Only their weapon arm was protected by armour while the other stayed hidden behind their shields. Their lower body carried nothing more than an iron belt and red linen, while iron boots planted them deep into the mudded sea floor.

It was the armour of slaves and gladiators. The kind of armour the far west only gave to those that were either disposable or meant to merely entertain.

On the other side, proud and fierce was a horde of ashen orcs. For once united by defending their sea. All the warriors were adorned in the shining leather of the dragonfishes while spikes of their bones came from different parts of their armour. Even though the orcs had surrounded the wall of shields and ogres they were losing. Too strong were the ogres protecting themselves in that circle. Shield to shield, shoulder to shoulder, while the bladeland warriors were as wild as they had ever been. Throwing spears and axes in hopes to make an opening in the Ogre wall.

Sha’Raph didn’t wait and pointed Dustfang down towards the battle and into the very centre of the Ogres. As she crashed down she had already buried some of their fat foes below Dustfangs might. While the big Wyvern started to bite and tear some Ogres in front of it apart, she slid down its tail with both of her swords ready and onto the neck of another.

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She heard a dirty laughter among the orcs “Ahaha! The khan sends us his finest!” there was spite in that voice yet his laughter seemed honest.

The Ogres still tried to turn, yet whenever they did they were cut down by the Bladeland Orcs. Even during the chaos of battle Sha’Raph could spot a few of the famous swords among the warriors. They were white like pearls yet all red from the blood that was spilled. She spotted the laughing warrior. He had lost his blade. While Sha’Raph rushed to defend him, he instead rammed his spiked shoulder into the fat ogre belly before him. Screaming and laughing as he was sprayed with blood “The sea is our witness my brothers! The ancestors smile on us this day! Ahaha!” He got his sword back from the Ogre gut it was stuck in and together with Sha’Raph and Dustfang they continued the battle. Like the dervishes of the wastes, Sha’Raph danced with her twin blades from Ogre to Ogre, drowning them in a thousand cuts, while the laughing Warrior and his Pearlblade defended her back where Dustfang could not.

Soon the Ogres were cut down, and the mudflats red with blood running from their big torn corpses. Sha’Raph put her blades back while Dustfang still tore and ripped an Ogre corpse apart. Looks were changed between the confused Bladeland orcs while the laughing warrior spitted to the side and grinned at Sha’Raph.

Before anyone could speak lightning struck the horizon. Now Sha’Raph could hear that another, and bigger battle was happening beyond the northern headland as well. Shaman songs were sung and lightning was striking down. Screams echoed over the empty sea and gurgling blood was carried in the fury of their voice.

Sha’Raph was about to ride off again as a big hand touched her shoulder from behind. When she turned she saw the darkly grinning face of a young but proud orc. It was the one the rest was following, and the one who had defended her back. “If you want to tear more of those fat bastards apart, fly west.” he was still breathing heavily between his words. Clearly this wasn’t his first battle today. “The shamans will take care of the north.”

“Why are they here?” Sha’Raph replied, plain and cold from beneath her black mask.

The orc before shook his head “Ha! And I thought your Khan was a smart boy!” another warrior gave him a flask that he drank big gulps from before he handed it over to Sha’Raph. She shook her head, and pointed at her mask.

He shrugged his shoulders and continued after he emptied it “Their master wants back what has been stolen from her..”

For but a second Sha’Raph had to think before her hidden eyes widened “The scroll..”

“Aye..” the bladeland warrior replied darkly “That damn scroll..let the ancestors curse it until it withers back to the dung it was stolen from.”

Many thoughts went through Sha’Raph’s head yet she needed some clarity before she could put them forth. “How many?” her voice remained cold, and became even colder through the sound of her mask.

“Ha! Today?” he asked while he walked over to a dead Ogre. Using his sword he removed the helmet to reveal the dead face. Despite its pigskin they carried tusks yet eyes that seemed far more similar to what the creatures of the west would call their own. He shook his head as if he was disappointed before he faced Sha’Raph again. His grin was far gone. “Tell you Khan that these Bastards try to invade us!” he walked towards her as he spoke and aggressively pointed at her once he continued “His hunt for that thing is what caused my warriors to give their lives! Whatever he might demand now it better come with more aid than you!”

Sha’Raph only stared at him from below her mask. “Your warriors?”

He glared at her showing more teeth than just his tusks as the sea flavoured wind grew stronger. “You are the chieftain then?” she added.

The Chieftain of the Bladeland orcs changed often. A title they battled for when there wasn’t an attack like now, still he seemed so young for such a role.

He took a few steps back and opened his arms proudly “Isn’t it obvious hahaha!” his warriors laughed with him while few looked annoyed instead. There was more to the truth she was told, yet she couldn’t ask before she felt water on her feed. “The tide is coming..” he said, which made a few warriors run towards the shores in an instant. “Go to your homes my warriors. The battle will continue when dusk falls!” A few cheered at the promise of violence before they ran away, yet he remained staring at Sha’Raph despite the quickly flowing water.

“You are here because of the watcher aren’t you?” he asked while staring at her darkly.

She just nodded.

“Let me fly with you. With the tide the battles are over anyway.”

She thought for a moment, not liking the thought of a stranger on Dustfangs back. But she knew the kind of orc he was. So she answered “Too lazy to run, oh mighty chieftain?” a grin was carried in her voice.

He laughed “Ha! Who but the mighty chieftain would dare to ride such a beast?!”

His grin confirmed her idea of him. Without an answer she started to climb her Wyvern. Once he followed she finally spoke “Where are we flying then?”

“North..” He said as they saddled inside the big carved out scale. “To the shaman..”

Lightning struck behind the northern headland once more and they took to the sky.

While they dashed through the salty winds her mind finally wrapped around the reality she had found here. War was not coming from the south, but the west. Something she didn’t expect and that her Khan would hate to hear.