The iron taste of blood lingered in the air. It got more the more Kazzok drove his axe into the Ogres on their path down. His senses were heightened, his body strengthened, yet his mind numb. He snorted while his voice carried far less of an orc but the beast inside. His hair had grown long enough to almost be fur, his cut off nose had turned to the round nostrils of a swine and his mind saw nothing but red. Not only for the blood that was spilled but because the ogre's mere presence forced his totem instinct to hunt his mind.
He roared and hacked and slaughtered, to an unending wave of flesh. After a while the ogres organised themselve enough to make a wall of warriors down at the path from the cliff. He was screaming at them yet his muscles burned. He needed to breathe. While leaning on his axe the Ogres were marching up as one wall of flesh. He sighed and rolled his shoulder when other greenskins rushed by.
It was Thick-Skin, Scale-Eye and the other Chieftains that still had been atop. They screamed the union of their tribes through their longues and into battle. Their spears and axes and blades started to hack at the Ogre wall. Slowly they chipped away at them, yet slowly their own numbers dwindled as well. Everyone who was falling was a chieftain. And all of them of tribes that had vanished somewhere in battle. Yet right here on the edge down, they stood together. From the bristling pines, over the savannah and the earthen plains, to the white wastes and the rot mire further down in the south. They all stood as one. Side by side, screaming and hacking, and dying.
Yet it wasn’t pride that conquered Kazzok’s heart, but a deep sorrow. They stood proud, but he couldn’t deny the end. They would die. Hacked by ogres and cursed by the witch that led them. But he was an orc and he would die a warrior's death if it had to be so. If the tribes would end this day, he would die alongside them, to battle on with the ancestors once they met them again. His old teacher would be among them and he would tell him that it was a good fight.
He roared while both fur and muscle grew stronger on him and charged in once more. Next to the chieftains he did his duty. His axe splintered arms and crashed through helmets into heads.
Just when more marched in, a roar boomed over the edge of the cliff. It was loud enough to rival the distant choir of sorcery and even the thunder above seemed quiet against its sheer might. It forced the battle to stop for a second. Both ogres and orcs ducked down at the might that echoed through the sky and even the choir of sorcery stopped. A sudden silence went over the battlefield as everybody could feel the lurking doom. Kazzok’s beastial instinct settled in and the hair on his neck rose. It was so much that it forced him out of his swine form and back to an orc. He gasped and coughed yet both in silence for nobody dared a sound. It was as if time had frozen. None of them, neither the Ogres, nor the greenskins and their beasts had ever heard a roar as mighty. Neither dared to tell legends about it, and even most of the ogres chose to forget the beast of all beasts that had casted it before.
Neither orc nor ogre knew how long the frozen moment went on but soon blood was spilled again, even when another roar boomed over the distant horizon, they continued. Though it was already closer than the last.
Just after he and Thick-Skin had hacked an Ogre into pieces, his ears flicked. He fell a few steps back as Rika’s scent caught his nose. A grunt escaped him when he saw her riding towards them. Mara was behind her, drooling and her eyes near to closing. Nearby greenskins saw her as well and Kazzok could tell their nervousness as they saw that the shaman wouldn’t sing anytime soon again.
He walked in and laid a hand on Branak as he looked up to Rika. “Did you see anything? What is that thin~” his voice was broken by another roar, far closer and louder than the last two. When his gaze followed it he saw that the eastern sky slowly turned to a red glow. Yet his eyes quickly returned to her with concern.
She struggled to speak and he saw that even she was nervous for the truth. Before she could, Mara mumbled something. Kazzok didn’t hear and stepped closer. He aided her to sit straight behind Rika again. “What is it, Shaman?” he repeated the question to her.
“..Dragon…” she weakly answered. “The Dragon…her prey…the prey they all seek..” finally her weak but burning eyes locked with his. “Ascension…”
For a moment a natural panic rose in him but he wasn’t allowing it to conquer his thoughts. “What can we do?” He demanded to know and was answered by eyes bereft of any hope. She shook her head and leaned onto Rika once more. His eyes went lost in thought before he went back to Rika. “But it has no reason to be after us…” He looked over to Mara again to get it confirmed “Does it?”
“no..” she answered with a sore voice.
“Then it will fight that ugly floating thing outside and we only have to wait don’t we?” His eyes shifted from one woman to the other.
Finally Rika added. “And survive.” “And survive.” He echoed her with a grin that was cut short again by Mara. “It is weak…and if she wins..” she coughed up some blood. “Then we are all doomed…”
A nearby greenskin came close after listening in. “Of course a darkling would tell us to protect the dragon! They ar~” “Shut it!” Rika barked at him and looked back to Kazzok. “Are we truly saved deeper in if that thing comes?”
“I don’t know…” he answered slowly and looked down at the slaughter he was so eager to join again. “But what else can we do than gather?” She nodded. He huffed. Their eyes remained locked as the years spent together and those that might be robbed of them went by. Everything was said and both charged into battle. The wolf and the boar side by side. The daughter of the crown druid, and his apprentice. The children of the oak, united in death and battle. She brought her tomahawk down at everybody who dared close while Branak gorged at every unprotected piece of living Ogre he could find. Kazzok swung next to her while his view became narrow once again. Despite everything, despite the slaughter and coming doom, despite the beast taking over his mind and despite the death surrounding them, he was glad. Glad that Rika was with him in these moments. Even though they could be robbed of a future they both had dreamed off for most of their youth, the ending was always like this. Dying in a grand battle, side by side, with those you love next to you until both would close their eyes. They would not cry when one would die, for they knew the other would follow soon. They would not linger on sorrow but die by the same axe or flame or sorcery.
When he was open for an attack, she slashed the Ogre that tried, when her unprotected side was attacked, he hacked at the Ogre who dared, when either couldn’t see ahead, Branak gorged into necks and bellies.
There was no room for thought, no room for doubts, regrets or love. Only battle. Once they had fought their way down the cliff the chaos only grew, for even if they stayed at the edge the ogres had more angles to attack them now. As they used their advantage the druid thought his end had come, yet a whisper was carried through the battlefield. The ancient tongue, even though weak and flickering, like a flame in winter's icy rain. The ogre before him screamed in pain as his weapon started to glow in heat. He used the chance to cut his head and the shaman behind him smiled.
Before they could continue their onslaught. Horns were sounded outside of the cliff. The Ogres raised their heads, some of them losing them for that moment of distraction, while the rest of the legion started to march back. The greenskins looked around with raised brows and unbelieve in their eyes. Some started to roar and follow before Thick-Skin’s voice ordered through the cliff. “No you fools! To the blood arena!”
“Why not follow them?!” An eager greenskin with a bloodied cougar cowl asked.
Kazzok roared down himself. “The lightning you dimwitted bastards!”
Some heard him and stopped. Some tried to shout the orders further, while slowly the chanting of sorcery started again. He felt its pain creeping in again and looked up to the sky. Where the east slowly turned more and more red, the black clouds above the Mesa were full of thick veins of dark lightning. Some crashed down on the tops while others crashed in front of the gates. Some of them further than others. He knew what it meant and grunted in disappointment, even less to defend them around the Menhir.
Suddenly above them at the cliff lightning crashed and freed the stones at its edges. He wanted to shout orders yet his instincts set it and only roared. It was enough. The orcs around them realised the rockfall and started to run for the centre. He waited until Rika was riding ahead and followed while his fur grew once more. The wind whispered the closer they came, yet it was not the shaman, neither the sorcery but the dark promises of the obsidian menhir in the mesas centre. And he knew very well that all could hear it.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
When they approached the inner gate, he looked up and saw it was one of those that only carried tradition and nothing to close it. A grunt escaped him yet he couldn’t deny that it was no different to the oak. Built and added for traditions, not for battle. Because their battles had always been against the north and their wyverns. Against the riders of Karn’Arak when they were looting the south, not against marching armies. Both in the Pines as well as in the savannah. The only reason the outer gates could be closed were beasts, but not armies. And now they paid the price.
Back when he heard of the Khan and the Scroll he knew it would mean war, yet he never expected a forgotten enemy like this. How could he? They had only ever heard of the Ogres in tales, when master Rakkan spoke of them. Tales of lions that turned to slaves.
Kazzok and his party reached the big arena in the mesa’s centre. The gigantic obsidian menhir stood watch and mirrored the black clouds above. Kazzok could see how some of the other greenskins glared at it. How they thought of the hope it offered.
A few healers had readied their small circles around the arena. More and more orcs lumped to them. There was a woman who aided a man walking from one of the cliffs. She had his arm around her shoulder. For the first steps he lumped on but more and more he simply hung from her until there was no life left. She snarled with tears in her eyes and still dragged him on and to the healers. Kazzok couldn’t hear what they said, only see that she was angry. Her anger was followed by sorrow. She looked up at the black clouds and shook her head. Before slowly she simply walked into the cliff. Alone and eager to die.
His gaze went to Rika and sorrow took over his heart. One of them would be the sad lone walker in the cliff, while the other would have to watch from the afterlife. He wasn’t sure what would be worse.
“Kazzok!” Rika barked at him. “Help me here! She needs water and rest and..I don’t know!” He rushed next to Branak and aided Rika down. Mara almost fell when she sat alone on the wolf but he caught her in time. Rika walked around and gathered what she thought to be of their supplies. Leatherbags with herbs to wake the mind, waterskins to wash them down, and minced bones to lure the ancestors for aid. Kazzok looked at what remained while so many healers did their best to aid warriors close to death. Screams of pain and sorrow filled the air and he knew they would not last.
Rika made a short whistle sound and Branak laid down. Kazzok nodded and laid Mara next to him. Her head was supported by the wolf's back. Her breathing was heavy and as sore as her voice. Both Kazzok and Rika kneeled down next to her. He looked over the supplies and took some of the herbs from a bag. Dried purple flowers. He minced them between his fingers and started to smear their dust under her nose.
While he did he looked over to Rika. “Is your wound still holding?” he asked while opening a waterskin.
She answered as she watched him lifting Mara’s head to carefully give her some water. “I think the wound might be old enough now.”
He looked at her with a raised brow before she huffed and continued. “It hurts, but it’s holding.”
Carefully he brushed a finger over Mara’s neck to message her muscles, so the water would go down. After he was done he drank from the waterskin himself before he gave it over to Rika. He was about to speak when another roar boomed through the sky once more. It was close enough to make the earth shake while more and more of the black clouds were conquered by red.
Mara’s eyes shot open while Branak growled. She wanted to sit up but Kazzok carefully pushed her down again. “Easy shaman. You have drained yourself.”
Rika looked around nervously before she gave Mara the waterskin again. The shaman drank while Rika quickly shifted to dig a small pit in front of Branak. It took longer than it did with two hands and maybe was smaller too. Once she was done she wordlessly took the waterskin again and poured the wolf some of it. Eagerly he drank. As if he knew there wouldn’t be much time for more of it.
He was right as he suddenly started to whimper. Kazzok felt an immense pain that scratched on his mind while the menhir's whisper echoed through the arena once more.
“You. Need. Me…”. Rika petted Branak. The wolf was coughing up some of the water he just drank and whimpered in fear and pain. Mara lifted herself from the wolf and laid a concerned hand on him and one on Kazzok. Just then the voices continued. “Dragons and sorcerers. Ogres and Wyverns. What can you do against both?” Its voice was made of many, it's warnings made to all. The wind took up once more and circled around the menhir.
“Dragon..?” Someone asked. “Wyverns…” Scale-Eye continued.
Despite the pain Kazzok managed to gaze at the menhir. More and more stood around and considered its offer. “No!” he was able to grunt out while his form shifted with the rising winds.
“But he is right..” someone said. Kazzoks heart dropped as he saw it was Scale-Eye.
“Chieftain..” he spurted out and forced himself to stand. He looked down at Branak, Mara and Rika. “Whatever happens..protect each other.”
His heart dropped further as he saw Rika’s eyes at his words. He loved her when she was the strong warrior of the oak. Yet he loved her more whenever her armour of muscle and barks fell. She said nothing, he only heard her huff and knew that she understood the duty.
Slowly he lumped at Scale-Eye in pain. “Chieftain..” he took both hands at his shoulders and locked his pain ridden amber eyes with the lizard orbs of his chieftain. “Remember what we gave to get rid of him..remember why we did..”
His chieftain’s eyes turned to him. They questioned him.
Suddenly a voice came from the menhir. Kazzok turned to see Thick-Skin standing in front of it, his weapon risen and ready. “Whoever of you fools dares close will be cut like the Ogres!” Kazzok smiled through the pain and returned his eyes back to his Chieftain. “Don’t forget what he has taken from us..” He pleaded and for a moment it seemed as if his words were ringing true. Then the sky turned red.
With a last roar gigantic claws clung to the cliff above. It was a creature of myth, a mountain of red scales whose height more than rivaled the mesa itself. Around it darkling riders landed aside from it. Their eyes burning through the dark as they gazed down at the greenskins. Their oldest enemies.
A moment of silence was born. The world did nothing but watch, as the dragon's throat started to glow. It huffed and gathered its breath before it roared fire into the sky. Its heat was felt all the way down in the arena. The greenskins ducked down by its utter force and Kazzok knew it could not be stopped.
Scale-Eye pushed him aside and the pain made him fall. Their chieftain charged for the menhir, and he was far from the only one. Thick-Skin was about to swing first, yet lowered his weapon once he saw how many were about to rush in. He gave up. They all did. And finally knives were drawn, hands were cut and blood was granted to the Menhir.
It was Scale-Eye’s voice above them all that hurted Kazzok the most. “Let the old pacts be renewed. Let the wilds be our voice once more. Let us be part of the hunt!”
Then the old runes on the menhir started to be filled by the blood given to him and the winds began to rise. Every druid, every animal and their one shaman, felt a pain yet unknown. An aching of the mind that went through all their nerves and muscles. Through all their limbs and skin. It tore on them, it pulled on them, it demanded them.
And finally the winds stopped and from the Shadows of the Arena a shadow appeared. It was the same Mara had seen before, the same that Rika had seen in the pines. The same that had haunted the south for so many generations. And now it would again. Slowly it took its step from the darkness and into the red lights of the blood fed runes. It was a giant, as big as a tree. Fat and with flesh that carried mold of rot. “Finally…” it said and gazed up at the dragon with a grin of greed. In his hand he held a tree like a staff. From it corpses of orcs dangled with the rising wind. It whispered in the same tongue of sorcery the ogre's mother did and Kazzok could feel how he turned. How the beast inside him was willing to answer. He saw Branak’s eyes go dark and foam forming around his mouth. Other animals, mounts and companions, turned to the same wild throthing state. A gigantic spider and her rider merely twitched their faces while they clicked their teeth together. A bat who lost her rider in battle, screeched while licking its mouth. And even Kazzok could feel how the bloodlust was taking him over. It wasn’t even the scent of blood that took him over, he had smelled that for the entire night. It was Rika among all that he could smell. A scent of memory, of promise and home. A scent of deep love and far more primal things that urged inside him now. He screamed as he tried to fight it, like all the animals and druids around the arena he tried to fight. He fell to his knees and looked up. His mind still saw how even the riders' wyverns were fighting nature's call to hunt, yet the Dragon seemed unphased. It only watched and waited.
When Kazzok looked at the menhir he saw how all the greenskins that had offered their blood turned to the werebeasts that their totem made them. Scale-Eye’s roar was the loudest among them as the Chieftain of the pines turned to a monstrous combination of orc and wyvern. Mara did turn to nothing yet she was convulsing and spitting as the whispers spoke to her the same. At last Rika could not sit idle and rushed for Kazzok. She laid an arm around him. Her scent was overwhelming him. Her warmth was crushing him. “No..” he uttered between his grunts. “Go..please go…I..” He squealed into the sky as the hair on his arms turned to fur. “Don’t let it be me…” he pleaded at her. “Don’t let me take you as prey…”
He could smell her emotions. Her love and fear, her honest concern for him. “Go!” He shouted and fell on his back as his view narrowed. Where there had been colours in the dark before he started to see a greenish hue over it all. Where there had been thought or reason for the battle and his family, he started to see nothing but prey.
While Rika returned to her throthing wolf and the now puking shaman, he was lost. Lost to the wild and nature, lost to the call of the hunt and the beast inside.
His breathing became lower and more steady and finally nothing but grunts remained.