Prologue - General Beliumor
----------------------------------------
"And once again, I win," a black-haired dwarf said happily as he downed yet another beer. The dwarf opposite slammed his hand down on the table with the force that made a few empty kegs fall down to the floor and exclaimed, "Cheater!..."
"Haha, don't be a sore loser. He beat you fair and square!" a spectator said and handed the grumpy dwarf a beer. Laughter rang out in the Tavern as the dwarf muttered a few curses before downing the beer, finishing with a loud and satisfied burp, that made even more laughter resound in the crowded room.
"Swoosh"
The door suddenly swung open. The frosty air made the easy-scared people in the Tavern shudder and the sound of the far-away frost wolves didn’t make it better.
Beliumor finally entered the Tavern after a cold, unsuccessful night… 4 casualties and 12 wounded… He shook his head in resignation, looking around in the tavern.
There were some dwarfs playing card games on one side, and a few dwarfs that had a pointless drinking contest. A spark from the fireplace flew out and floated through the air before finally dying out. Dark spruce wood walls, home-made furniture and a huge painting of a heroic dwarven trying to drink two kegs of beers at the same time.
This would be a perfect place for Beliumor to spend his remaining years drinking after his retirement, but he didn’t have that luxury right now.
"The ogres..." Beliumor thought with pure rage in his eyes.They slaughtered his family, ending the life of his wife and his only son, Korah. Beliumor would hunt down every last of them, bathing in their blood and ripping their hearts out and feed them to the man-eating trolls...
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
4 years later -
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
In the Northeast mountains in the dwarven territory, in a secluded ogre village in the frosty mountains, with tall spruces acting like a bulwark against the curious, the cry from a newborn echoed out.
Ogres rushed to the center of the village with smiles plastered on their faces as they entered the Clan Hall. The ogres were originally a dumb race with far lower intelligence than humans or dwarves. They mostly wandered around alone, killing traveling merchants or occupying caves that they filled with gold, jewels and all kinds of shiny things that caught their curious and greedy eyes.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
But after centuries the Ogres managed to evolve. They became more intelligent and they built villages. But it all came to an end when the dwarves, coupled with the fearsome enchantments of elves managed to almost exterminate all the civilized Ogres. With that came a prize of course...the dwarves lost almost a third of their combat strength, letting the Demon Lord Karathz escape from his imprisonment from the Reinhart mountains. And this clan was one of the remaining tribes that had survived from that gruesome war...
The ogres' happiness went straight right through the ceiling as the head shaman announced that the newborn was the prophet described in the Holy scripts that had been passed from long lost times...An ogre...born with completely white skin, yellow glowing eyes, and two black horns. The prophet was destined to achieve greatness and lead the Ogres forward in a new direction, a direction that would put them above any other race and result in the extinction of their arch-nemesis, the dwarfs...
Unfortunately, the Frost Ogre clan wouldn't have the chance to experience that...At the evening, the feast was prepared for celebrating the Prophet's birth. Roasted deer, barbecued pig and all kinds of monsters and all luxuries were served. The moment when the Ogres had put away their weapons and gathered everyone in the town hall, the sound of a warhorn erupted from afar.
Hundreds of dwarven soldiers clad in armor poured through the forest gaps and into the village. Even though the Ogres were taken by surprise, they erupted in fury for interrupting their celebration.
The Ogres were strong. They had a thick hide that enabled them to withstand blow after blow and they had regeneration abilities far above that of other any other normal creature. But, under the constant bombardment of spells and hammering of dwarven warhammers, they eventually took their last breath and were killed one after one.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
The village was now barren and the broken wooden buildings were charred. Corpses of both dwarves and Ogres covered the frozen and blood-stained dirt. There was only silence except for the rain that fell to the ground, trying to wash away the blood that corrupted mother nature beauty, and the occasional mourning of war comrades that had been torn and ripped apart by the Ogres.
Beliumor stood above an Ogre corpse before he smashed It's head like a watermelon, brain matter and blood exploding like fireworks. The dwarven general was literally covered in blood and a few occasional cracks on his armor could be seen there and there, exposing his scarred skin to the frigid air.
Beliumor wasn't happy. This was just one of the many Ogres villages that he would slaughter. He couldn't...No, he wouldn't allow himself stop...He had to exterminate them all until they were completely wiped out from the Northen lands. Only then, could Beliumor finally rest in peace...
----------------------------------------