"Some of you have asked me why I would call for a leadership contest. I'm not infirm or sick. Mother Trez has even been heard saying it would require a full-grown Dragon to kill me and finally give her peace!" A rumble of laughter echoed through the camp. At least two thousand orcs were in attendance as Grakkor addressed the tribes, and they all gave the old warchief the appropriate attention.
"While I could continue leading the Darkwood's orcs, as I have for my tribe for decades on strength alone, it should be obvious to all that things cannot stay as they are." Low murmurs started at that, but a single glance at the offenders was enough to restore the quiet.
"Our tribe has swelled up sevenfold in the past few years! Many good warriors gave their lives to push back the abominations, and it is through their efforts that we can speak today next to a warm fire!" A roar of approval followed. It seemed that the good old talking points about the military and sacrifice worked just as well here as they did with humans.
Grakkor stood tall, his massive frame illuminated by the flickering light of the central fire. His voice, rough like the bark of ancient trees, boomed across the clearing, commanding the attention of every orc present. His eyes held an intensity that made Neer subconsciously stand up straight.
"But life outside the Darkwood is changing," he continued, tone growing somber. "The Void was only the first challenge. Armies march all around us. Kingdoms rise and fall, and even the strongest lose their place." He paused, letting his words sink in. "But the world outside is shifting faster than we've ever seen. However much I might wish to fight these battles alone, it's not something any single orc can face. If we are unprepared, we'll be swept aside. We have to remind them and ourselves of who we are!”
Orcs were often portrayed as little more than goblins with bigger bodies—unthinking, feral, and dangerous. Neer didn't doubt Grakkor was more than capable of laying waste to any human village by himself and that he likely had done so several times, but no one listening to him speak could make the mistake of thinking him dumb.
Behind the mass of muscles and intimidating gaze laid a keen intellect. She hadn't expected it, but he showed a more modern understanding of Haylich's trends than many nobles ostensibly trained in the finest academies.
Grakkor's gaze softened, a hint of pride showing through his gruff exterior. "I have fought for my tribe, for this forest, for as long as I've been able to hold a blade. I've taken down beasts, traitors, men, and creatures from beyond our world. But there are new threats, new ways of war that I cannot rightly face by myself. I am too old. Set in my ways." He looked out at the sea of faces before him, some young and eager, others older and more weathered like his own. "And so, it is time for new leadership. Leadership that can guide us through the challenges to come. That can unify the tribes into a whole."
The murmurs returned, but this time, they were thoughtful and considering. Neer could feel the shift in the crowd, the understanding that Grakkor's decision wasn't out of weakness but wisdom.
Had anyone else tried this same speech, it wouldn't have gone as well—only someone as respected and storied as him can say something this revolutionary and face only mild skepticism.
"The Trials of Leadership will begin tomorrow," he finally announced. "The strongest, the cleverest, the most determined will earn the right to lead our tribe through these changing times. And tonight…" He spread his arms wide, a grin breaking across his scarred face. "Tonight, we feast!"
A deafening roar of approval erupted from the gathered orcs, and the atmosphere shifted from solemn contemplation to wild celebration. Several older females brought out whole boars on cue, and the smell of roasting meat soon filled the air. Barrels of dark ale were rolled out, their contents sloshing eagerly into waiting tankards. The orcs moved with an almost manic energy, spirits lifted by the promise of a glorious feast. For tonight, they could leave the problems aside.
A matronly cook handed Neer a tankard of dark ale. Its rich, earthy scent filled her nostrils, and despite her usual preference for sour wines, she took a long drink, the bitter taste of wild oats and roasted grains hitting her tongue. It was strong, much stronger than the human drinks she was used to, but it warmed her insides in a way that no wine ever had. She found herself smiling, a deep satisfaction settling in her chest as she took another swig. The ale was bracing, and she felt a certain kinship with it—raw, unrefined, but full of life.
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The feast was loud and wild, the sounds of laughter, song, and conversation mingling with the crackling of the fire. Neer watched as younger orcs approached Oliver, pulling him into their games with an enthusiasm that was impossible to resist. At first, the boy looked overwhelmed and nervous, but after a quick reassuring glance from his mentor, he allowed himself to be pulled away. Soon enough, he was laughing alongside them, his earlier nervousness melting away.
She glanced around the clearing, her eyes landing on Grakkor, who stood a little apart from the main gathering. Leonard was with him, the two of them deep in conversation. Neer's brow furrowed in curiosity as she watched them.
She had seen Leonard negotiate with nobles and generals, but the stakes felt different here in this wild place. The orcs weren't bound by the same rules as humans, and the trials Leonard would face were likely unlike anything they had encountered before. She wondered if the few diaries from orcish adventurers she had been able to read were truthful.
Before she could dwell on it further, Neer felt a presence beside her. She turned to see Hussa, the massive female orc who had led the warriors to greet them earlier. Hussa's size still impressed her; she was nearly as tall as Grakkor and just as powerfully built, by far the largest female around, but Neer recognized a keen intelligence in her eyes.
"You're the half-blood warrior," Hussa rumbled so low it was almost lost in the noise of the feast. It wasn't a question.
Neer met her gaze evenly, refusing to be intimidated. "I am." Disgust was an old companion to her. She had hoped to avoid it here but wouldn't buckle under it.
Hussa nodded, her eyes narrowing as she studied Neer more closely. "You move like an orc but carry yourself like a human. It's strange."
Neer raised an eyebrow, taking another drink of her ale. "I am both. I've learned to fight with both human discipline and orc ferocity. It has allowed me to kill many."
Hussa grunted in approval, crossing her arms over her broad chest. "Good. You'll need both if you want to survive here. The Darkwood isn't for soft city girls." Neer almost snorted her drink from her nose. She had been insulted many times in her life, but never had anyone called her a soft city girl. Monster, freak, savage, brute, and many others, yes. But that? It was a first.
She glanced over at Grakkor and Leonard. "The Trials won't be easy. Strength alone won't win them, no matter what your pretty boy can do. If that were all the chief wanted, he'd have kept his position to himself."
It was fascinating to see how Hussa, who should, by all rights, be a strength-focused warrior, spoke of being a brute as if it was a great fault. Really, the more she delved into the orcish culture, the more she was charmed by it.
Neer tilted her head, letting Hussa's words sink in. She then leaned forward, narrowing her eyes just slightly. "No matter what the challenge, Leonard will win. He's more than prepared to face whatever comes his way. You'd best be ready to bend the knee when he does."
Hussa let out a harsh snort, her tusks gleaming in the firelight. "Bend the knee to a human? You're as delusional as you are strange, half-blood. I've faced beasts that make your human lord look like a child playing soldier. I won't lose to him, no matter what Grakkor thinks he's capable of."
Neer held her gaze, silent but unyielding. A sharp retort bubbled up inside her, but she swallowed it down. This wasn't the time for a fight, not at the feast. The trials would come soon enough, and there would be plenty of opportunity to prove their worth then.
Hussa wasn't done. She stepped closer, voice dropping to a low growl meant only for Neer. "You might feel comfortable under that human's command now, but deep down, you must know it's wrong. Orcs don't submit to humans. It's unnatural." With that final barb, she turned and strode away, her hulking figure soon lost in the sea of orcs celebrating around the fire.
Neer's jaw clenched, her fangs bared in a moment of frustration. But she didn't move or give in to the instinct to follow Hussa and prove her wrong with steel. She had grown too much for that. Besides, she knew better than to start a brawl during a semi-religious feast. Instead, she forced herself to take a deep breath, letting the tension in her muscles slowly unwind.
Fucking bitch. Does she think I can be provoked so easily? As if she were the first to taunt me.
Just like she was used to doing when under the jeers of Thelma's nobles, Neer worked through her anger by clinically observing her surroundings.
Thirty-seven warriors are standing on guard, and four shamans with active spells look out for enemy attacks. Twelve elders to handle the drinks and ensure no one goes overboard before the big day.
Her gaze soon settled on Oliver, who had been pulled into a series of rough games by a group of teenage orc girls and a single male. The boy, with his flaming red hair and shy demeanor, was clearly a novelty to them. They surrounded him, laughing and teasing, pulling him into playful headlocks. Oliver's face flushed bright red as he struggled to free himself from their grip without getting too close to their broad, muscular forms. The girls giggled at his discomfort, clearly enjoying his embarrassment as much as the game itself.
Neer couldn't help but smile. Oliver was trying his best to maintain his dignity, but his blush only deepened with every escape attempt. The orc girls, for all their roughness, weren't unkind—they were simply playing with him in a way that was normal for them, a way that highlighted their strength and his unfamiliarity with their customs. He was as interesting to them as an exotic animal, and his red hair only made him more fascinating.
Neer shook her head, taking another drink of her ale. The boy would survive. He always did. And in a strange way, this was probably good for him—a lesson in adapting to new situations, just as they all were learning here in the Darkwood. Watching him struggle and blush, she realized how different this world was from the human courts they had known. There were no pretenses here, no hidden agendas. Strength, wit, and endurance were what mattered. The orcs were blunt, but they were also refreshingly honest.
Even Hussa, with her provocations, was not as nasty as many human nobles she had met. She would still enjoy seeing the woman eating dirt after Leonard defeated her, but she could understand her words weren't malicious. In a convoluted way, she was looking out for her.