Gor’mash readied his bow as he saw the deer before him in the woods. It was not their season to be this far north, yet the dragon’s warmth drew them closer to the mountain. He released the arrow hit the deer just in the neck. It made a few jumps before it fell. With the bristling of the leaves around him and a cold wind from the west he took his knife and started to empty the beast. Liver and lounge were the only guts of interest to the clan, the rest would feed the forest. Soon he carried the now empty beast over his shoulder and took his way back to the valley.
Never had winter been so warm, yet the clan so restless. The Dragon had forced them to the same duties as their Khan did. It wanted an army. It wanted the mines to be free, and the forges to be lit. Yet unlike Aru’gal it had the means to achieve it all in the time that it needed.
After the night of its arrival the leaders, Nar’Ruuk, Ur’Back, some elder Shamans and Gor’Mash himself, told it of the dire state of the mines. It was not amused, had shouted at them for all the clan to hear, continuing its display of rotting power. Yet he knew, he was far from the only orc thinking about its defeat. Every hunter must have seen it, and even those that only herded the yaks, even those that only healed and gathered, even those that never truly left the mountain must have seen the fear in its eyes. The very effort it needed to have them open.
It didn’t even wait for the morning when it tried to convince them otherwise, for it freed the rest of the mines by itself. The clan stood far away, even though it wouldn’t have waited for that to be, and it positioned its gigantic form in front of the entrance. The last standing dolmen, once holy to them, were brought down by its sheer weight like a tent by a bear. It gathered its strength, breathed and huffed until its throat was glowing more and more and finally it breathed into the entrance. The valley was shaking, and the horizon, where mine and ground were close, was set aflame from below. Some swore even all the way up to the mountain its heat could be felt and others said the boiling sea was hot enough to turn to fog that day. Snow melted for far distances to leave the ground wet and the rivers full.
The Dragon smiled after its deed was done, for it knew the clan would fear it. Yet when its eyes turned to the crowd they still darted around like a hurt doe about to die. It checked every orc and axe, every sword and spear and hammer. No one was raising it. Not yet. But many grabbed their weapons tight, and even more countered its gaze with their own. It huffed and settled down in front of the now free mines and waited. As much as it tried to do so in pride, it was easy to see how even one breath of fire had taken a lot of strength from it. Its breathing was heavy and smoke was leaving its nostrils and mouth for days to come.
Old legends had told them how it took years until the mountain was cold enough to move in, once the dragon had hollowed it out. Yet now, the mine didn’t even take a day. It remained hot, but they could enter the next day, and the beast demanded so. It had melted the rubble that once had made its tunnels. Most of it was dried but hot, and formed many places of the once painted mines with black obsidian. Some of the sidetunnels were not usable yet, for instead of obsidian they were still filled with thick globs of molten stone. But it was enough for them to take the mountain’s blood once more. And with that ore, once holy and only taken when in need, was gathered in mountains, and forges, once places of song and tradition, were lit day and night, to arm them all.
Gor’Mash was afraid during it all. Not for his own life, he was fine if it should end, but for what their clan would become. They were proud and would fight, as every orc ever would. But a rider knew an orc only fought well with reason, and a threat would never be answered by following it. Only by a challenge. Such commanded the drum in every orcs chest.
He had assumed the day would come when some fool would try their luck. One spear, one axe, just one wrong word and the dragon would end half of their people in one breath. But no one dared, and still they all knew the same truth their Khan had learned so many years ago. We can beat it.
He returned from his hunt like every other day with a deer on his back. Even though he was meant to scout the forests instead, yet left that to the riders that actually had their wyverns again. The dragon had released them from its control after they had pledged their loyalty to it. All with grinding teeth.
Now the clan needed every bow for food when so many were forced to the mines and the forges. The craft done by such force was as expected. Crudely made, dull and brittle. Weapons and armours any apprentice smith would have been scorn for, yet the Dragon only demanded more.
Once the old rider was back at the tents he started to prepare the deer while watching the dragon slumber next to the mine. A mountain of red scales to rival the one they called home. He took his knife and started to remove its pelt and head. Nearby a fire was ready for the meat and next to it Nar’Ruuk stood watch, glaring at the Dragon with all the Ire the old Chieftain could still muster.
“Not at the mine, Chieftain?” Gor’Mash asked with a dark glint in his burning eyes. The ire turned his name worthy gaze to him and huffed. He shook his head, before slowly crunched through the snow. Once next to him he settled down across the deer and nodded at it. “Fat for the season.” He said approvingly.
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Gor’Mash only nodded to that and continued to remove its pelt. Nar’Ruuk looked over his shoulder and to the slumbering Dragon before he returned his gaze to the old rider. “Do you think it can hear us?” he asked with a whisper.
Gor’Mash looked over the Chieftain and to the mountain of red scales. He shrugged his shoulders. “Who can say?” he answered and ripped at part of the pelt to get it off. While he used his knife to remove more of it, Nar’Ruuk continued to stare at him. “I don’t care anymore if it does.”
Slowly Gor’Mash’s eyes met his. “You won’t be the only death if it does, Chieftain.”
“You have seen their faces.” The ire answered with such. “Do you truly think anyone would rather serve it longer?”
The slumbering Dragon stirred far behind the Chieftain yet not even a flinch was echoed in him. Gor’Mash made a sad smile. “Is this how you would have your clan end, old friend? Fighting the dragon that carved our home?”
Nar’Ruuk sighed. “A fitting end, I say.”
Fire was born inside Gor’Mash’s heart. “Would they say that too?” He asked far louder than he meant to. “The mothers and children, the elders and sick?!”
Nar’Ruuk remained cold in his gaze. “Look at the mine, and tell me.” He said, with far more warmth than his gaze had promised. “Old friend.” He finally added which calmed some of the fires inside Gor’Mash’s heart.
After a while of gazing at the Dragon his eyes returned to the Ire. “Do you have a plan, Chieftain?” He asked cold and quietly.
The wind slowly started to rise from the west again before his Chieftain could answer. “There is a wound below on its right chest…” He whispered. “You have seen it too Gor’Mash, I know you have.”
The old rider nodded. “I did.”
“Sword and axe could pierce it there.” His Chieftain said but Gor’Mash shook his head. “Sword and axe are too short for it to even feel them.”
“Maybe not alone but with the shamans’ aid it could be struck by more than orc.” The Chieftains eyes widened with his own words while the winds from the west grew stronger.
“Maybe…” Gor’Mash answered while he stared at the distant slumbering mountain of scales.
Both remained silent for a while. Only the rising breeze from the west made sound as it touched the distant trees at the edge of the valley. “A weapon needs to be struck right there…maybe then it takes its course through its body..”
Nar’Ruuk turned around and watched the dragon. With a slow nod he returned his gaze and answered. “Even if it may not kill it, it will hurt it.”
Gor’Mash started to grin and for a second it was echoed by the ire. This was the reason he had been one of the longest serving chieftains their clan had. While the picture of the beast’s pain blessed his mind he still tried to think it through. “The weapon needs to be big enough…made of Iron..not obsidian. I have seen how it can protect against the forces of the sky.”
Nar’Ruuk nodded and thought ahead himself. “And not an axe, or spear…surely not a hammer. A wooden handle would certainly break.”
“A sword…” Gor’Mash continued with a nod while the breeze slowly grew to harsher winds that brought the remaining cold from the western mountains.
“A sword.” Nar’Ruuk echoed with a distant smile. “Imagine if we live through our fight…” He said and for a rare sight smiled brightly at his old friend. “It would become a weapon of legend..”
“The Dragonslayer..” Nar’Ruuk answered with a grin and a nod.
Suddenly they both ducked down as the Dragons voice roared behind them. “No…”. The western wind was slowly rising to a storm while the dragon slowly came to its feet.
Nar’Ruuk lowered his head towards Gor’Mash. “It was a good plan..” He said and stood up to face the dragon. Yet to both of their surprise it did not look for them but rather raised its nostrils into the wind with widened eyes. “She wouldn’t dare…” pure panic was laid bare in its eyes. Once it composed itself again it darted around the clan. “Riders!” it roared and had Ur’Back fly by to talk with it. The watcher was too distant for the two old men to hear.
“I don’t like this…” the Ire said. Gor’Mash only nodded and tried to hear the Dragons voice instead. “Gather your warriors, and follow me! We end this war today!” It looked like Ur’Back tried to argue but was cut short by the Dragons roar. “Gather them, Watcher! Or I will take your Wyverns instead!”
With that Ur’Back grabbed his horn and let it sing through the valley for all the Frostsong to hear. Even though it was meant for the riders, all of them rose and were ready to answer the call, yet none of them for the Dragon. Some riders quickly dashed back from the pines, making tree and snow follow the harsh wind of their wings. Others came from the caves of the hollowed mountain. With widened eyes Gor’Mash saw how some of the warriors down at the mine and the forges started to ready their weapons. Yet before anyone could act stupid the dragon started to fly itself. Many on the ground were sent away by the cheer force of its wings. “Follow me, my riders! Protect me! And I will end it all!!” It roared and started to fly for the western mountains. Quickly the riders formed a cloud around it while its roars gathered red lightning in the distant skies once more.
“What is it doing?” Nar’Ruuk asked.
Gor’Mash was left bare for an answer as for a moment he could only think about his own Wyvern and where the boy they called the beast might have led it. “War, Chieftain.” He finally answered. “It is going to war.”