[Well I've been debating for awhile, so I'm just going to come right and out just say start this off. Writing is an art, and art is the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination. While pictures and paintings are an amazing form as art, they cannot tell a true story like writing, where as writing cannot be shown in a physical form, other than one's imagination. As of late I haven't been as active as much on a previous forum I belonged to, so I shall slowly begin transferring the story over, but we'll start with the first Chapter just to set the mood and for some feedback. Also due to the character limit, a Chapter will have to be posted in a few different parts due to their length, but the following post will be the next part, so no worries there. Do your worst with criticism, I love the stuff! All that belongs in this thread here. If I decided whether or not to do character applications for stories I have done in the future, those will be sent to the other thread, as well. We'll see if I end up wanting to do that.] Chapter One (Part One) Date - 628 AD, May 31st, City of Bronislaw, Sioce, DeinosThe day began like any other, the guardsmen dawned their knight armor, grabbing their preferred weapons of choice and grabbing decently sized steel rods, strapping it to their waists. The guardsmen walked towards the gates, the gears creaking and grinding as the wooden doors slowly rotated, opening up for the previous shift’s men to walk out, wearing the same knight armor as the next shift’s, exchanging words as they passed one another, the door closing behind the men who had now just entered. These men and women were guardsmen of the City of Bronislaw, well known for its fruitful mines, and for their need for slaves to work them. The sound of iron picks cracking against stones could be heard all around, the guardsmen eyeing the Slaves carefully to ensure they did not try to rebel suddenly, despite the magic draining orbs linked to their bodies through a series of chains. Each line of Slaves consisted of ten to twelve, each linked together to a single magic draining orb powered by their own magic power, draining it into the orb, leaving them with no magic power to even cast a simple telepathic message to someone. In case of an emergency, if the Slaves were to break free from their magic draining orb by sheer luck, the guardsmen carried the beating rods and their own weapons to defend themselves. The Slaves were stripped of almost everything, aside from something to cover their genitalia, cracking away at rocks and tossing any ore they mined into a nearby cart, which when full would be pushed by a pair of Slaves towards the shaft, leading to the furnaces. Today, a new guardsman had joined the shift, a mentor above him teaching him everything he’d need to know about this job. “..and here, you will see the alarm mechanism” the Captain said, pointing to a small lever “Anything else you’d like to ask, Zlatan?” he asked, the man shook his head. “I think I understand sir, it’s simple enough” Zlatan said, a little smirk on his face. The Captain scratched the beard on his chin, giving him a little nod, but before he could turn around he heard Zlatan yell. “Hey you!” Zlatan yelled, the Captain grumbled and looked towards where he heard him yell, seeing his eyes meet with that of one of the Slave’s whom was wearing an old ragged robe. The Captain put his hand on Zlatan’s shoulder. “Let him be. That robe of his cannot be removed, it’s cursed” the Captain said, Zlatan looked at his superior, then gave him a nod, looking back at the Slave. “Stupid Orcs...It’s no wonder they go around pillaging and slaughtering...it’s all they know how to do” Zlatan spat, shaking his head. The Captain watched him walk off, then looked back at the Orc in the robe, who was eyeing him and the new kid. “What are you looking at?” the Captain commanded to the Orc, he grunted a moment, slamming his pick into the rock, sticking it firmly there “Nothing” the Orc muttered, pulling the pick back out, continuing his work. The Captain raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. He’d forgotten that the old Orc could speak Common. Most Orcs could only speak Orcish, but the oldest among them could usually speak a little Common. The Captain could still remember clearly his conversation he had with that Orc when they had first met. “Why would we want peace with your kind?” the Captain had asked him, the Orc’s cowl covering his face, his golden eyes piercing through it. “Uniting the various tribes would stop senseless slaughter” the Orc said calmly, “And then we can make amends for what we have done to you and many others”. The Captain spat on the ground and hit him hard with the rod on the back of his leg, the Orc grunting and taking a knee. “What makes you think your people would want peace now? Your tribes would never unite, each only cares about itself and doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions!” the Captain yelled, the Orc shook his head a bit and stood again “I guess we don’t see eye to eye then”, the Orc had said. That memory was burned into the Captain’s skull. He and the Orc had never talked since, and that had been almost two years ago. The Bronislaw Mines had begun around twenty years ago, only using Orc labor in the last ten. Most of the Orcs there had been around for eight to ten years each, while others like the old Orc had been freshly obtained. The guardsmen weren’t told how and where the Orcs were captured, only that they were being punished for their crimes against all of Humanity. The Orc looked away from the Captain, continuing to mine away at the rock, hearing a groan from nearby as he saw one of his fellow Orcs being beaten by a guard, groaning in Orcish tongue. “My limbs are sore stop this!” he had yelled in Orcish, the guardsman only continued beating him. “I don’t care what you’re saying, get back to work!” the guard yelled, the yells and cries of pain continued, until finally they ended when there was a “crack” and the Orc’s head had split open, the contents of it spilling out and pooling around his corpse. Many of the Orcs had gone silent and stopped, watching the event before them. The Captain walked to the center of the quarry. “What’re you all looking at!? No one said you could stop!” the Captain yelled, the Orcs quickly returning back to work as the Captain motioned two guards to pick up the lifeless Orc’s corpse, carrying it to the furnace shaft and flipping a switch next to it, a cranking sound heard as the metal inside the shaft turned and twisted, the corpse of the Orc being tossed in. The Old Orc knew his body was being sent to the crematory, for this wasn’t the first time this had happened. He clenched his fists, nearly snapping the wooden grip of the pickaxe, his golden eyes welling with energy a moment, before the magic draining orb drained him of it and took it for its own. He grumbled, rubbing his forehead as the intense pain filled his mind. He looked around a moment, watching everything around him. He saw now that his previous reason for coming here was pointless; the guard Captain was right. There was no point in seeking peace, they would never want it with them. The Orc kept thinking to himself, not even noticing the new recruit, Zlatan, trying to get his attention. “...hey I’m not going to tell you again, get back to work!” Zlatan yelling at him again, pulling the rod off his hip, the Orc remaining still, the other Orcs slowing down and watching this occur, not even a minute since the last incident. “Old man snap out of it. You’ll be thrown down the shaft too” the Orc behind him said in their tongue, but it was useless. Zlatan yelled and took his rod, swinging it, slamming it against the Orc’s back, only to hear a loud clang as the rod flew from his grasp, landing several feet behind him. The Old Orc snapped back to reality and looked at Zlatan, who fell over onto his rear, slowly crawling back towards the rod. The other guardsman now began coming closer to him, confused at what had happened. “I thought they couldn’t use magic?” “What the fuck was that?” “Kill him!” Another guardsman yelled, charging at him with his own baton, but the Orc’s hand suddenly snapped upwards, grabbing the end of the rod firmly and throwing it and its holder to the side, landing the guard on top of Zlatan with a grunt. A few of the Orcs started laughing at this display; an old man beating the stupid humans in their prime. The Captain’s voice beckoned. “Silence!” his hand going up, motioning the guards to hold. He walked up to the Orc, who turned and looked at him, his fists clenched, the pickaxe burrowed into the rock next to him. “You either come quietly, or the lot of you are punished” the Captain said, his hand holding the grip on the sword at his side. The Orc blinked, his eyes welling with energy once again, but despite the magic draining orb draining him dry, his eyes remained lit with golden fire, flowing freely out of his hood.
Chapter One (Part Two)“You were right” the Old Orc said, the color on his fists slowly fading to a metallic gray, the sound of his fists clenching together creaking with the sound of metal. “I see now that the reason I came here was pointless. Stupid” he said, the Captain’s eyebrows raised, remembering their first encounter. “I will have to bring peace myself” he said, a snake of golden flames flowing out of his right sleeve, coiling around his arm. The Captain drew his sword, but before he could even react, the magic draining orb connected to him and the other Orcs on his line suddenly exploded in a flash of blinding light. The shards of the orb shattered, flinging around like shrapnel, Orcs and Humans alike ducking to avoid the shards. The Captain shielded his face, feeling a piece of the orb bounce off his gauntlet. He moved his arm from his vision just in time to see the snake of flame coiling all around the chains connected to the Orcs, melting them. The Old Orc’s snake suddenly jolted back into his sleeve, disappearing, the flames in his eyes burning out of control as they flew freely a few inches out of his hood. The Orcs yelled and laughed, the guardsman looking to their Captain, who jolted out at them. “What’re you waiting for!? Stop them!” the Captain yelled. He had never experienced a riot from the Slaves before, this would be the first and last he would ever experience it. The Captain ran at the old Orc as the rest dispersed and began freeing the others or fighting the guards, ignoring a punch to his side, only grunting to it. He yelled at the Orc, swinging his sword, only to have the heavy hand of the Orc grab it, stopping it dead in its tracks. The Captain stared upward at their connection, seeing no blood even being drawn from his hand, a straining of metal on metal, when suddenly the Orc’s hand twisted back, tearing the top half of the blade off. The Captain stared dumbfounded, until not a second later the Orc lunged forward and stabbed him right in side, digging the end of his own blade into him, letting the Captain's corpse collapse slowly before him. The Orcs ran around, smashing the magic draining orb’s and grouping up five to one on a single guard, beating them to a bloody pulp before taking the weapons from their corpse. They used the sharp ends of their pickaxes, burying the ends through the guard’s heads, putting them down swiftly one after another, releasing all the pent up rage they had stored for the past decade. An Orc in one of the last lines yelled out in anger, his eyes bellowing with orange flames as a ball of fire flew from his hand, blowing apart one of the guards, melting the metal to the bits and pieces of his body as they all scattered about. Zlatan crawled out from under the man above him, standing he felt himself get knocked over immediately, a heavy force standing on him, only to have his neck snapped a moment later, not even being given the chance to yell in fear. The alarm sounded as a guard pulled the lever, but he was quickly cut down soon afterwards, his blood splattering along the wall. The Orcs laughed and cheered, their yell for blood filling the air, not even caring about the alarm or the danger that could follow. The Old Orc stepped up to the wooden door, turning to look at the Orcs. “Hold!” he yelled, looking amongst them, “Today we gain our freedom once more, but there are more of us who have been tormented and kept away from their families and friends” a few Orcs’ stared intently, the others following in suite “We will free our brothers and sisters, but we are no longer the barbarians we were before” he said, a yell from one Orc bursted out. “What are you on about!?” an Orc yelled. “This is all our fault” he began, “If we hadn’t killed them and their families we would not be here. We don’t fight for bloodshed now. We fight for the ones who cannot” he said, clutching his fist, a large golden flame covering his fist. “And how you suggest that?” another voice asked. “We start here. And we find allies who would help us in this endeavour” the flames began spilling out of his hand like liquid, crawling around the ground, connecting themselves to the corpses around them. “We are not mindless savages like we once were. We are all from different tribes!” he yelled, the Orcs all looked at one another a moment, mumbling and conversing “What is to stop us from uniting the rest of the tribes and stop the Humans from enslaving the rest of us?” he asked, the flames beginning to pour out of the eyes of the corpses, their eyes snapping open as the golden flames sputtered around in the morning air. “Will you all join me, or let yourselves rot and die in a God’s forsaken pit?” he asked, the Orcs yelled and cheered, turning around quickly to see the corpses of the fallen stumbling about, connected to the old Orc by a golden chain, their eyes matching that of his. They stumbled through the crowd, toward the front and to the wooden gate. “Then it is settled” the Captain said, holding his hand out to the door, another large ball of golden fire forming in it. The guard’s readied their crossbows, aiming them at the wooden door. “When they show themselves do not hesitate. They wouldn’t hesitate if they saw you” their Captain said, sitting on his horse. A loud crack was heard as the wooden door suddenly shattered apart, pieces flying all around, scattering around the open field. They coughed a bit “Hold your fire!” their Captain yelled, the smoke beginning to clear. From the smoke, they could see pairs of golden flames coming closer “Ready, aim!” the corpses walked out of smoke, still wearing the armor they had died in. “What the hell is that!?” someone yelled “Undead!” a volley of arrows slammed into the line of corpses, they merely grumbled and continued towards them, no longer stumbling, but in a brisk walk. “Reload reload!” the Captain yelled, the horse neighing in a panic as it bucked him off, running out into the field. The Undead charged forward, attacking the guards as the Orcs charged behind them, swinging their weapons, whether a pickaxe, a sword, or a mace. Soon enough the guards had been beaten to a bloody pulp, the Captain crawling backwards away from one of the Undead running at him. But suddenly the chain on it became firm, yanking it back in its tracks. The Orc walked forward past it, the golden chains connected to something he was grasping in his left hand, walking towards the Captain “Stay away from me you monster!” he yelled, but the Orc continued on, leaning down he picked up the Captain by his neck. “This is your last warning. Release our kind, or pay the price” he said, squeezing his neck tight, before tossing the Captain to the side, who cowered and watched as the Orcs began walking past him, the robed Orc yanking on the chain, the Undead walking at the same pace as him, as they walked through the field, heading east. The Captain scurried to his horse, quickly mounting it and galloping off towards Aurora. The Orcs had finally made their way out of Deinos, staring off into the distance at the Stormstand Mountains. The Orc lifted his heavy mace onto his shoulder, the flames of his eyes still burning bright as ever. One of the other Orc Sorcerers walked up beside him, looking at him. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, the Orc looked at him and nodded. “Of course. If we have any hope, it’s with the Dwarves. If we come across them or enter their villages, do not harm them” he said, the Orc nodded, his orange flames flying about in the air. “Of course Vikas. We’re by your side until the bitter end” the Sorcerer said, tapping his staff on the ground in front of them, a lantern of orange flame glowing in the night as it climbed up the staff, until reaching the very top, dangling there. Vikas looked at the golden chains in his hand, slowly absorbing them back into the metal of his body. He looked behind him, seeing the corpses collapse in a heap where they had stood. “Thank you for your help” he said to them, turning back to the face the mountains before him “Onward to the Howling Mountain.”
Chapter Two Date - 628 AD, June 1st, Aurora West District, Aurora, Deinos Morning broke in the city of Aurora. It had been almost a day since the Orc Slaves in Bronislaw had escaped. Per usual, the Prophet is viewing into her orb, looking about the city for anything that could prove troublesome. She sees streets of the market, parks, residential areas, and many more places, searching for anything at all. “You’re never going to give it a rest, are you?” a man asks from the doorway, leaning on the doorframe. “A feeling in my gut” she says, the shadows covering her body dancing about in a purple shroud, covering every inch of her form. She catches a glimpse of a man in an alleyway stabbing at another man. Placing both her hands on the orb, her palms glowing an eerie violet. “East District, alleyway on Jove Street” she says, her voice calm as ever. Not even a minute later she sees men wearing knight armor run into the scene and pummel the man with the knife, while a Cleric begins mending the wounds of the man of who was stabbed. “Did I not tell you?” she asks, standing back up, the orb floating above her right shoulder. “I don’t doubt you, it’s just you have a serious addiction” the man said, leaning off the doorway and walking alongside her down the hall. “What of the man who came into the city this morning?” she asked him. “Came from Bronislaw. You’ll want to talk to him yourself” he said. She looked over at him, her eyes narrowing. “And why won’t you tell me, Argyris?” she asked him. “It’s something you should hear for yourself. You won’t like it, I’ll at least say that” Argyris said, holding a door open for her. “The other generals and I will be waiting, Prophet.” The Prophet entered the room, the man sitting before her was Guard Captain Jerold of Bronislaw, in charge of outside security. He was covered in blood, but of his men, not his own. He had heavy dark circles under his eyes, which only widened as he saw the woman before her. “Y-you’re majesty!” the Captain said, almost jumping from his seat. “Not now. What happened?” she asked. He blinked and looked down, breathing in, then out. “The Orcs escaped from the mines in Bronislaw. They-” he stopped, noticing her start to walk around him. “And how did this happen?” she asked. “I- I’m not sure. We heard the siren go off so I gathered the men and we waited outside of the gate. They blew it open and…” he went silent a moment. “What?” she asked. “...the corpses of Xaver’s platoon walked out, acting as meat shields for our arrows” he said, “They had two Sorcerers...One used fire, but the other had golden fire and raised the dead…” he went silent again. “Did anyone else survive?” she asked. “No, the necromancer let me live, saying ‘This is your last warning. Release our kind, or pay the price’, and then they headed East towards the Stormstand Mountains” he said. The Prophet paced around a bit, then sighed. “I see. Very well you’re temporarily relieved from duty, during this time I want you to write letters to each of the fallen soldier’s families. Understand?” she asked, he nodded, the Prophet turning on her heel “W-wait” he mumbled, knocking his chair over by accident. “What?” she asked. “How...how is it possible…? Those golden flames, those are holy flames are they not?” he asked. “They are yes. All it means is he has the power of heaven flowing through him, whether he worships Heron or not. Don’t worry yourself over little things such as this, you have letters to write. Get a move on it” she said, walking out of the door, leaving him in the room to wander his mind. The door to the council room opened, the Prophet stepping in. Before her were her five Generals, all seated and awaiting her. Argyris, the Eye of the Storm, General of Aurora. Isi Swiftshot, General of Pantum. Ivo, High Priest of Heaven, General of Sioce, the region in which Bronislaw lies. Pavel the Unmoveable, General of Boreeque. And Mabon, Heron’s Hammer, General of Ywain.
Chapter Two (Part Two)The Prophet took her seat at the table and looked at Argyris “I trust you informed the others?” she asked, he gave her a simple nod. “Good. Then it’s clear we have a problem. These are the first Orcs to escape with a goal. Most run away and hide, never to be heard or seen again, but these ones want to free the rest, which isn’t normal. Most Orcs would rather kill each other than help one another, so we will get to the bottom of this before it’s too late. Ivo” she said. “Yes, Prophet?” Ivo asked. “The leader of the rebellion was a necromancer, however he had holy fire connected to him and his undead. Figure out why the undead didn’t die instantly from touching this” she spoke. “Of course, I will figure out this act of heresy immediately” Ivo said. “Ywain, Pavel, and Argyris, divert soldiers from your regions and have them stationed across Sioce to ensure any remaining camps aren’t raided and that no more rebellions break out” the three nodded in turn, “And Isi, have your scouts patrol the outer perimeter of Deinos to see if the Orcs have set up a camp. The Elves will inform us if any Orcs try to invade through Soice’s borders” Isi gave her a nod, “I will send word to Gunfran to kill the Orcs on sight if they are seen within his borders. From this point forward, if any Orc so much as disobeys any order, is seen outside of their camp, or is found out in the wilderness, they are to be put down immediately” the Prophet spoke. “Are you sure that’s such a wise move?” Pavel asked. “We cannot take a chance in them joining in the rebellion, or spreading it. More over, we can’t allow them to enrage the Orc tribes to full blown war” she said, Pavel grumbled, but gave her a nod. “The filth must be cleansed from the source, your majesty, I will ready an army of Crusaders towards the Badlands” Mabon said. “No. You will only enrage them. Some are bound to escape, and if any children are so much as spared by your men, they will stabbed in the back. We have lost time already, but we can’t poke the bee’s nest and enrage the rest of the hive” she said, Mabon gave her a nod and stood, picking up his hammer off the table. “I will begin bolstering my men around Sioce then” Heron said, Pavel standing as well. “I will bolster along the south then. You know your job, Mabon” Pavel grunted, walking towards the doors, Mabon following behind. Isi and Ivo both stood and left as well, beginning to do their own jobs. Argyris went over to a panel on the wall, taking his glove off, his hand was formed in electricity, no skin or muscle could be seen through it as sparks of electricity danced along his hand. He closed his eyes and placed his hand on the panel, sending electric waves through it. A minute later he took his hand off the panel and put his glove back on. “Some of the castle guard will be sent towards the border to help Isi and her scouts” Argyris said, the Prophet nodding, viewing into her orb once more. “As easy as it would be to hand over the Orc’s to the rebellion, we cannot allow that. We risk them creating more and more to eventually enact revenge upon us, or to pillage and murder even more than they used to” the Prophet said, sliding the orb away back to her shoulder. “What worries me is we don’t know who the leader is, but he is clearly formidable. They managed to escape their magic draining orb’s by sheer luck, but it must be the necromancer” she continued on, Argyris nodded and sighed. “If anyone on the morning shift had survived the riot maybe we’d know more, but even then we can’t get anything out of them seeing as they were all turned into undead. Who knows where their bodies are now” Argyris sighed. “Anyways Milena, I already told the guards to start announcing that you have a speech to give today” she looked over at him curiously. “I see. There is no point in keeping this a secret from the citizens, and it may make them want to avenge the fallen. The people here don’t know what Orcs are really like, not like you and I” Milena said, Argyris nodded “They don’t have to worry about the dangers of the world this far in, they’re lucky. Even more so, our race as a whole is unlucky, the Orcs are barbaric, but are smart enough not to try fighting the Draconian or the Elves and their Constructs. They don’t even bother the Dwarves, and target us only” she continued, her orb glimmering in the sunlight, rainbows dancing around the room. “It’s a strange thing, they might just see us as inferior, but we won’t know for sure for awhile, I guess” Argyris said, “As strange as it may say sound, Milena, it might be best to capture the Necromancer alive. Study him and learn more about him, and maybe even figure out why he wanted to unite the Orcs. It’s unheard of for them to even consider that an option” Milena went silent, but sighed. “He will only be taken alive if he comes quietly. If Gunfran can capture him then I will speak to him and his Orcs” she finished, walking out of the door. Argyris closed his eyes, thinking to himself. “Sometimes I wonder if we’re only making it worse” he muttered. Milena walked towards the front door of the castle, the guards saluting as two others cranked a wheel, the front doors slowly rotating open. Outside were a crowd of citizens, awaiting her speech. She cursed Argyris under her breath for telling her this last minute. She stepped out, the crowd cheering for her as she went to her stand, the orb fitting into a slot in it, making a little clicking sound. She put her hand up to motion for them to go silent, and they did so with haste. “Thank you all for arriving on such short notice. This morning we received news from Bronislaw that the Slaves there have escaped and fled” before she could continue there was various yelling and angry cries “However” the crowd tried to remain silent “We have reacted quickly and we know that they are headed toward the Stormstand Mountains. Gunfran Brimstone will be on the lookout for the Dwarves and will attempt to capture the leader of their rebellion if possible. Soldiers will be bolstered throughout Sioce and the Elves will inform us if any Orcs try crossing their borders. We have shown the Orcs before that we are to be feared by them, their fate as Slaves is their fault only, and as such these renegades will not be given mercy for the murders of our own. We will not falter because a group of Orcs has decided to break free of their bonds and run amok, they will be punished, we can promise you that. Thank you” and on that, she removed the orb from the stand, turning on her heel and walking back towards the castle she heard cheers behind her, the doors shutting behind her as the sounds became quiet. She looked into her orb a moment, her hands glowing the eerie blue again. She saw in it the throne room of Gunfran Brimstone, who was sitting on his chair. Before she could say a word, she saw before him, a kneeling robed figure.
Chapter Three Date - 628 AD, June 1st, Howling Mountain, Modred, Stormstand Mountains The Orcs made their way into Modred through the night. During which the Dwarven guards patrolling the night came across them. Vikas and the rest came quietly, only wishing to speak with their leader, Gunfran Brimstone. The group of Orcs were led back to the capital, Howling Mountain. As they approached it, they could already hear the banging and clanging of metal on metal from outside the great forge. The Orcs were led inside, given curious looks by most of the Dwarves passing by or just watching. Dwarves were traders, not specifically allied to any race except their own. The giant city was lit by torches, fires, and by the Forge itself. As they passed by, they could see a hammer as big as they were being slammed down onto a slab of metal. The Orcs stared in awe, never having witnessed something like this before, most murmuring to one another. They reached a large steel door, which slowly slid open. As the Dwarves stepped in, they beckoned only Vikas to come. More guards surrounded the Orcs, watching them while Vikas stepped inside the throne room. There on the golden throne sat the Dwarf King himself, Gunfran. He looked bored, reading a book. “Lord” the guard spoke up. “Aye?” he asked. “You have visitors.” Gunfran looked up curiously from his book, noticing the Orc before him. His bushy eyebrows raised, but he set the book down. “Come closer. My eyes ain’t what they used to be” he said, the guard nodded to Vikas who began walking forward. Gunfran put his hand up, Vikas stopping in his tracks “at’ll do, at’ll do” he leaned forward, hopping off his throne and walking up to the Old Orc. Gunfran was only up to Vikas’ knees, but he was still something to be feared even like that. He had a large adorned hammer that was made of platinum placed firmly on his back, a family heirloom. He eyed the old man and thought out loud “Hmmm….” Vikas’ eyes began giving off their faint golden fire, Gunfran saw this and began twiddling his braided beard, stroking it. He climbed back onto his throne and leaned back. “Alrigh’ then, what brings you here?” he asked. “We seek refuge in your lands. We have recently escaped Bronislaw’s mines in hope of freedom” Vikas spoke, the Dwarf sighing. “That won’t do. We won’t hold fugitives of the Humans. They’re valuable trade partners and we can’t afford to lose that supply line of theirs” he said, Vikas’ put his hand to his chin, the metal of his hand visible to the Dwarf “And who might ye be? You haven’t properly introduced yourself, ‘ave ya?” he asked, Vikas looked back up at him. “I am Vikas Devilscry” he said, nothing more, nothing less. “Ah. What tribe do you all belong to?” he asked. “Many of us are from different tribes, some are from Rageclaw, Sunshear, and many more” Vikas explained, Gunfran stroking his beard as he listened. “I see, and yours?” he asked. “I have no tribe” Vikas said, the Dwarf raised his eyebrows. “Is ‘at so? Care to explain then? Orcs don’t live alone” he mused on, Vikas crossed his arms. “I was to be the leader of my tribe, but I left in search of knowledge of this world. When I returned, my tribe was gone” Vikas said. “And what might this knowledge be?” Gunfran asked. “I hope you don’t find it rude by me saying this, but I can’t say” Vikas said, Gunfran shrugged. “Fair enough. Well sorry we can’t help you, but I’m sure the Humans won’t chase ye into the Badlands” Gunfran said. “That’s not an option” Vikas said, Gunfran raised an eyebrow at this. “Ah?” he asked. “My goal is to unite the tribes. We cannot start that until the rest of the Slaves are free, for many of the Orcs outside your doors are members of different tribes. If they can show the rest of their tribe how we have all managed to survive with one another, their hearts may take a change” Vikas said. “So your goal is to free tha’ rest of your kind is it? The Humans wouldn’t allow ‘at, they need your people to work their mines and other jobs they wouldn’t want to filthy themselves with” he said, Vikas nodded.
Chapter Three (Part Two) “I am aware of this” Vikas said as he took a knee “All we ask is that we are allowed on your land until we are ready to free our kind. When that time comes, you and your people will not be caught in the middle, I promise you that much” Vikas said, Gunfran sighed heavily and leaned back. “Well…” before he could continue on, an orb appeared in the air above them, Gunfran looked up and raised an eyebrow “Well ain’t this a surprise” he said, Vikas stood and looked upwards “I’m guessing you’re lookin’ for this lot ‘ere, Prophet?” Vikas’ glared slightly, knowing full well who that was. “What is the meaning of this?” Milena’s voice echoed from the orb. “Nothin’, the Orc here just wants safety in my lands” Gunfran said. “Explain yourself, barbarian” she said, Vikas looked upwards, his cowl falling backwards, revealing the black hair on his head, his face showing no signs of age. “My goal was to seek peace with your kind. Two years ago I arrived at Sioce and was taken captive before I could even begin. I had finally seen through my arrogance that this is no simple task. I wish to free the rest of my kind and unite the tribes. When that is done, we will continue forth to make amends” Vikas said. “Your kind is already making amends for their doings. They are doing the work my people are unwilling to do. I cannot allow you to free them without force. Your rebellion is better off running off to the Badlands to keep out of our sight. We will not pursue you, and if Gunfran is willing then he should give you land in Oisin, away from us. I cannot risk you uniting the tribes only for them to go berserk and kill more of my people. Alone your kind is just a minor threat, but united I fear of the outcome” Milena said. Vikas went silent, letting out a heavy sigh, his eyes fading back to the pupils, the fire dying out. “I can’t say I’m pleased with your work, but if you don’t come into contact with us again, then you and the rest of the rebellion can live. But if we ever see you again, there will be blood” Milena spoke, before the orb suddenly disappeared into a swirling purple vortex. “And there ya have it” Gunfran chuckled, “She can be a bit harsh at times, but it’s for the best” he said, twiddling his pudgy thumbs “Right, well here’s the deal than. You will be permitted to live in my lands, but you and the rest of your people must help with the farms in Oisin. If ye can handle that, you’re free to create a village there” Gunfran said, “From one job to another, yes, but! If you’re gonna live here, that’s the price you have to pay. Traders will visit ye’ and buy your crops that you don’t need, and sell you things you do need. Might even sell you farm animals fer the right price, they will” he chuckled, “But ah...as far as going to the Badlands...not a very good recommendation. Lately the Orcs there have been warring with another nonstop. A bloody mess it is.” Vikas sighed once more and gave Gunfran a nod “Very well. It’s not ideal, but it’s the next step, I suppose. Thank you kindly” he said, bowing to him. “Not’a problem, I’ll even visit if it gives me an excuse to leave the bloody throne” he laughed, “Nuran!” he yelled, a Dwarf much younger than Gunfran appeared from a room to the side. “Aye?” Nuran asked, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw the Orc. “This ‘ere is Vikas. We’ve struck a deal, if you could lead him to the valley I’d appreciate it” Gunfran looked over at Vikas “This is me pride and joy. Nuran Brimstone. When I hit the bucket he’ll be one sitting here” he smirked, Nuran walked up to Vikas, extending his hand out. “A pleasure to meet ye” Vikas gave the Dwarf a little smile, kneeling to shake his hand “I am Vikas Devilscry” he said, Nuran chuckled to himself. “Ah that’s quite a mouthful, would Vikas do?” Nuran asked, he gave the Dwarf a nod and stood back up. “‘ight then, lets get a move on!” he said, opening the doors of the throne room, not expecting the group of Orcs before him “...My there’s a lot of ya isn’t there?” he exclaimed “Never seen so many Orcs at once who didn’t want to crack me head open” he chuckled, reaching up for one of their hands. The Orc looked at Vikas curiously, who gave him a simple nod. The Orc reached down and shook Nuran’s hand, nearly crushing it with his grasp. He pulled his hand away, laughing a bit as he clutched it “Ah he’s got a good grasp he does! Alright, the lot of ya, follow me!” he yelled, starting to march down the halls. Vikas smirked to himself. “We’ve been given land in Oisin, a valley south-east of here. We are free to build a village there so long as we can create a farm to help provide for the Dwarves” Vikas said, the Orcs laughed and cheered, running after Nuran, who started running in a sprint too. Vikas heard the chuckling of Gunfran behind him, curiously he looked back. “Lively as ever. I won’t have much time in this world left, so when my son takes my place, make sure he does a good job” he smiled, “I look forward to visiting that village of yours soon enough” he said, turning back towards the throne room, but then stopping, looking back at Vikas. “Ah I forgot to ask. What’ll ye be naming the place?” Vikas pulled his cowl back up, the golden fire gently brushing along the edges of the hood. “Hummingdawn” Vikas said, Gunfran raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice, I’ll be sure to inform my men to add it to their maps” he smirked, closing the doors behind him. Vikas looked back down the hall, seeing the last of the Orcs turn the corner, he grumbled and shot forward, running after them. Night was coming, and Nuran had lead them down to the valleys of Oisin without error. They walked down the path until they reached a wide open area, a mountainside to the north, and forests surrounding the southern and eastern edges of the open area. “We’ve been meaning ta’ start a town here but never really had the time. I’ll send some men to send supplies to ye, they’ll arrive in the morning” he said. “Thank you again, Nuran. And thank your father on our behalf” Vikas said. “Aye, will do” Nuran said, walking back down the path until he disappeared out of sight. Taugh smacked his staff back down on the ground, only this time a small fire started. The Orcs sat around it before each one eventually fell asleep. Taugh fell over, asleep too, the fires dying out. Vikas leaned back as well, closing his eyes as the quiet of the night overtook him.
Chapter Four Date - 628 AD, June 9th, Aurora North District, Aurora, Deinos “Interesting…” Ivo mumbled, looking through books upon books in his private library. A week had passed since the Prophet and the Orc spoke, an agreement had been made. The public was outraged at the outcome, but were at least pleased that the rest of the Slaves wouldn’t be freed. New guards were to be stationed at Bronislaw, along with a fresh batch of Slaves. Ivo had spent the time between then and now trying to learn more about Vikas’ holy fire, and had stumbled upon something of great significance. “Magic users who are born with golden fire are said to have good intentions and seek only the best of a situation…” he muttered, “Most spells can be easily attuned with the golden fire, giving them and their spells the power of Heron. It can be manipulated to heal wounds, exorcise Undead and Demons, and return souls to previously deceased corpses…” he thought a moment, his eyes widening “Wait…!” He rushed across the room, picking up his orb and tapping on it. A minute or so later, Milena’s face appeared in it. “Yes Ivo?” she asked. “Prophet! I think I’ve figured it out!” he said. “And?” she asked. “They might not be Undead if their souls are returned to their corpses!” he exclaimed, she thought a moment. “That could explain why the gold fire doesn’t burn them alive...but why do they obey his every command then?” she asked. “Sorcerers often attune their spells with the element they are born with. It might not make sense, but he could be attuning them with his holy power, to protect them from such attacks. And based on Captain Jerold’s report, the Undead under the Orc’s control exhibited more life-like qualities. Normal Undead would have stumbled and walked, but his could run at a full sprint” Ivo said. Milena thought a moment, crossing her arms. “Without a soul, bodies cannot function normally, which is why Undead have little to no control over most of their body. This is something we haven’t seen before” Ivo continued, “Whoever this man is must have some greater knowledge than us to know how to do this. Orcs as a whole aren’t that bright, but usually their smartest are Sorcerers, rarely Paladins.” Milena smirked to herself “We’ve only encountered a few Orc Paladins, those of which had worshipped Arshen, only…” she said, thinking a moment, “I remember the Orc Paladin of the Sleesh Mire had worshipped Kaliash” she paced around the room, putting her hand on her chin, staring out the window “He had considerable control over the Undead under his command, but only the Orcs. Any Humans or Elves he had brought back were as useful as any other shambling corpse.” Ivo’s eyes widened. “Well I might have an idea as to why, now that you mention it” Milena’s eyebrows rose under the shadows of her aura “When one wishes to return the soul to that of the deceased, they have little time. However, the body’s soul must accept to be returned to it, as odd as it sounds. However, most are still badly hurt upon being returned, and since there’s little time to send them back to the plane of existence, they can’t do much” Milena nodded slightly, “However, my guess is that the Paladin probably created the Elves and Humans into undead husks and controlled them. But the Orcs, he must have returned their souls to the undead husks, and they continued fighting” Milena looked over at Ivo. “How does that explain Vikas’ Undead then?” she asked. “Necromancer’s turn the dead into husks and control them, but most souls are unwilling to be brought back into a body like that. However, with the holy augment he has, it might make up for the soul needed to have the body function correctly, perhaps. If the men had their souls put back into their bodies, they would have stabbed him in the back instead of attacking their fellow soldiers.” Milena leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. “In other words, you and Mabon wouldn’t stand a chance against him...Wonderful” she muttered, “I guess it’s a good thing a deal was worked out then” she mumbled to herself. “Sadly yes, while I don’t like his misuse of Heron’s power, I wouldn’t stand a chance. But we know what we’re up against if it comes to it, and we’re bound to find a solution by that time” Ivo said. “Thank you then. You can return to your regular duties, I have another person to talk to today” she said, turning the door knob. “Oh? Who?” Ivo asked. “Rilas Mai’gal” Ivo’s face turned a bit sour. “Good luck” he said, turning back to his book. The Prophet had pulled up a chair to her balcony, viewing into her orb until she heard the loud screech of a hawk. She looked up to see a stone like bird with a man on it, the stone was a bluish grey with runic markings on it, glowing a bright blue. The bird’s eyes glowed just like the markings, it’s beak stretching as it screeched, talons aiming towards her. The Prophet didn’t flinch as the talon’s grabbed onto the balcony railing, the rider sliding off and patting the bird’s wing. “Go ahead and enjoy the view, Blue Moon. I’ll whistle for you when it’s time to leave” the man said, the bird screeching loudly, its wings flapping as it took off again, flying above Aurora. “It’s been awhile Milena” the man said, turning to look at her. The ends of his ears were pointed, and his eyes were a bit narrow compared to that of a Human’s, along with a thinner frame. “What happened to your last Construct, Rilas?” she asked, the man shrugged and leaned on the balcony. “I gave Shadowfire to Folen. Figured he would like a horse” he smirked. “Why is it you’ve begun turning your Constructs into animals lately?” she asked, he shrugged. “Golems are nice, but it’s nothing like soaring on the wings of that magnificent creature” he said, looking out at Blue Moon. “Anyways the Constructs aren’t important, we’re here to talk about the Orcs, are we not?” he asked, she gave him a nod. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Bronislaw incident” he nodded “The leader of the rebellion is an extraordinary Necromancer. He’s dangerous, but he wants to unite the Orc tribes and make amends for their crimes. They have been given land by Brimstone and are creating a village in Oisin, at the current moment they have agreed to remain neutral with us and to not contact the Orc tribes” she crossed her arms behind her back “Which leads to my point - Do we remove the Necromancer and his little group, begin clearing out any Orc tribes we can, or do we leave them be and wait to see what happens?” she asked, turning to look at Rilas. He didn’t even wait to say his answer. “I’d say the first two options. While Orcs aren’t that big a threat for my people and I, they halt your expansion and contribute to losses of lives and resources. Plus they’re barbarians who can’t be tamed” he chuckled, “You’ll want to remove that little rebellion, too, before it can foster children and spread its roots. Sure Brimstone will be rightfully pissed, the man hates to see unnecessary violence, but he’s long overdue to be visited by Shahzad. When his son takes over, we’ll give him an offer he can’t refuse. He owns his own caravan after all, he knows the value of an offer when he sees it.” Milena sighed and nodded. “The old man has the will of a mountain, it’ll be at the most ten years” she said, Rilas shrugged and stretched his arms up. “That’s plenty of time. They would still be children by then” Rilas said, Milena turned towards him. “Even the children are violent. I can remember countless times where one of their children watched its parents get slaughtered before their eyes, and rushed out with a weapon to attack one of my soldiers. Most are too shocked to even stop the killing blow, they don’t want to have to kill the child” she said, Rilas’ smirk shifted into a bit of a frown. “Well, it’s the best option we’ve got right now sadly, Milena” Rilas spoke, she gave him a nod and he whistled for Blue Moon, who came flapping over and landed on the balcony once more “I’ll send my men into the Badlands soon then, I’ll send a carrier pigeon to give you the exact date” he said, climbing onto the Construct falcon. “I have one more favor to ask” she said to him. “Certainly, what is it?” he asked, sitting himself into the saddle. “Contact Ashbringer and see if he can lend some aid. He’s the closest to Oisin” Rilas’ sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. “Do I really have to deal with that fool?” he asked. “You can handle him better than I can. Besides, you know how they look down upon us “lower races”, you’re lucky he even considers the Elves an evolved race” she said, he sighed and nodded. “Alright fine. I’ll see what I can do” he said, Blue Moon’s wings flapping, lifting them off the balcony as they flew back south towards Esari Forest. Milena thought to herself a moment, sitting back in the chair on the balcony. “How does an Orc possess so much power…” she wondered out loud, “Orcs have natural magical energy flowing through them like the Elves, but it isn’t as controllable...Perhaps that is the knowledge he searched for…” she muttered, closing her eyes as she snapped her fingers, her book appearing out of thin air. She opened it up and began reading silently to herself, the past flashing before her eyes. Her eyes flew open, looking down at the city below her she watched as children laughed and played, men and women interacted with one another as all in this world was fine. “They could never understand” she muttered, snapping the book shut as it faded from existence, she opened the doors back to her room and closed them behind her.
The Pact of Heaven and Hell Exert from The Book of The Gods There are those who would commit crimes, and those would commit no crimes. As such, it is commonly known where such people belong. The souls of the good may rise to Heaven as their body dies, while those who wish to see the world burn would be sent into the depths as their bodies crumpled. Two such people were born, Heron and Cirino, born on the same day to the same mother. The twins grew up with one another, learning the ways of Law as they watched the world bloom around them. But when they looked upon the world, they were bitterly disgusted. There were those that were pure and would not harm even an ant, and then there were those who would kill and steal even from the defenseless. Upon they themselves dying, Shahzad of the Deceased collected their souls, but he was curious of the two. As he looked into their souls, he saw purity among the bad apples he had collected in his lantern. With the curiosity of his mind taking over, the Reaper plucked the two souls from his lantern. With them, he created a pact. His lantern had become full and cumbersome over the ages, filled with souls most foul. While he enjoyed their fate of eternal darkness, those who did not deserve such a fate had no choice but to join them in the darkness. Heron and Cirino agreed to this pact, thus creating Heaven and Hell. Heron of the Heaven residing over Heaven as he greeted the souls of the good and pure, welcoming them with open arms to Heaven where they could remain in peace for the rest of eternity. With his holy power, he created the Angels, protecting Heaven from any outsiders who do not belong, even aiding those in the plane of existence who was deserving of their aid. Those who had been touched and aided by these Angels quickly spread word of Heron, creating churches in his honor and praying to him for safe passage to Heaven one day. However, the immense holy power given to Heron had rendered his body useless, only inhibiting him to reside in a state of eternal paralysis, while he could speak, his body was useless. The holy power within him is the only thing keeping Heaven in one piece. While he cannot move himself, the Angels he has created do his deeds for him. It is common for Paladins to follow the same rules as the Angels, committing acts of justice in the name of Heron, for he cannot commit these acts himself. Cirino of the Depths happily took the foul souls, and with his dark power, created Demons to torment these souls for all of eternity for their wrongdoings. Each torturous experience was nothing compared to the next. Their souls were ripped apart, before they had become mended again just to torment them even more. However the dark power Cirino possessed had unintended consequences, it toyed with his mind, rendering it useless as it drove him to insanity. He saw this is as a danger to himself and those who were living, quickly blinding himself to halt the insanity. Before he had blinded himself, however, he had ripped open a temporary gate to Valerius, releasing Demons to the surface who grew curious, being mistaken as beings of evil for their dark powers and slaughtering those who had done wrong. It is commonly mistaken that Cirino’s intentions are malevolent and evil, however he is no different than Heron. Often those who worship him do so in private, so as not to be shunned or killed for this act. Worshiping him is seen as an act of dishonor and disgracefulness.
Chapter Five Date - 1 DR (Dragon’s Rule), December 17th, The Isolated Rise, Ash Summit, Saigarus A large gust of wind blew some of the ashes off the summit, circling around in the air until they disappeared from sight. Ashbringer, as he was called, slowly descended from above and landed on his summit. The giant red Dragon let out a mighty roar, notifying to the others that he had returned. A creature of some kind was curled up in his grasp, as he tossed it to the side, the limp body tumbled down the summit until another Dragon with white scales had caught it in its grasp. “Interesting” the white Dragon mused mused. “They call themselves ‘Humans’, it seems they are evolving at a faster rate than their ancestors, the Orcs” Ashbringer spoke, looking around his Summit a moment. The Human’s eyes slowly opened, immediately emitting a shriek of terror. “Quiet you” the white Dragon spoke, pinching its head with its claws before it popped like a balloon. “They look less barbaric, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t just like them, still” it said, its snow white wings flapping a moment as it took flight, tossing the lifeless corpse down the mountain, not even hearing the crushing of its bones from the height they were at. “I suppose I’ll go research them a bit more personally” the dragon spoke before lifting off and roaring loudly, a gust of snow flying from its mouth, immediately melting from the heat of the Summit. “Very well. Return soon, Whitewing” Ashbringer said, looking around his summit as Whitewing took off towards the north “Where is that imbecile” he muttered. A minute or so later, a smaller looking dragon, walking on two legs, reached the top of the Rise “Zyaalor, what took you?” the Dragon growled. “Sorry master, I had business to attend to” he spoke. Ashbringer inspected him closely, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, he still had the same red scales just like himself. Ashbringer merely grunted and climbed up the top of the rock spire. “I will need you and your Draconian to remove the Humans when Whitewing returns, they will defy us, and so they must be burnt to ashes” Ashbringer said. Zyaalor walked up beside the great dragon, peering off into the distance towards the Stormstand Mountains, the ashes of the Summit obscuring its view. “A shame then. Such waste of life is laughable” Zyaalor spoke, spreading his wings. “If they choose death then that is their fate” Ashbringer said, not even a little bit of regret or worry in his voice. “I will inform the Draconian at once then, master. We’ll be ready to fight before Whitewing returns” Zyaalor said, the great Dragon merely nodding as the Draconian jumped off the spire, gliding down below. Zyaalor landed gently on the rough rock of the Collapsing Ridge, peering around he saw the Draconian working away at their various tasks; mining, smithing, training, etcetera. The holes in the Ridge glowed brightly from their fires, the ashes from the Summit blowing down with the wind, some of the ashes even landing upon the life sized statue of Ashbringer, hot coals placed in his mouth for dramatic effect. Zyaalor grunted and went to a weapon rack close by, picking up a blade and inspecting it, before handing it to a green scaled Draconian passing by him. Before the Draconian could respond, Zyaalor’s maw opened up towards the sky as a jet of fire streamed out into the air, catching the ashes within it. The Draconian stopped what they were doing, each opening their maws as well and lifting them towards the sky, various elements flying into the air; ice, wind, fire, electricity, water, even corrosive acid. They looked towards Zyaalor who drew a giant greatsword, at least the size of his body. The sword was made of Iridium, and had various bones of mighty creatures forged into the blade, hilt, and even the grip. “We’ve been suppressed long enough!” Zyaalor yelled, his talons gripping the bones tight. “Whitewing has left to investigate an evolved race, without him, Ashbringer and the rest will be defenseless” he continued, “We shall no longer take orders from these tyrants! We are the ones who work away, the ones who build their mighty shrines!” he yelled, swinging his greatsword with one hand, cutting the front legs of Ashbringer’s statue clean off, causing it to slump and slide off its stand, crumbling upon the rock. “We were created alongside the Dragons, but why are we to be considered inferior to them?” he continued walking around, “They cannot walk on two legs! They cannot forge great weapons with their own hands!” he yelled, “And they wish to not be seen in battle alongside us, they don’t want to be seen with such an insignificant race!” he growled, slicing the head off of Ashbringer’s statue, gripping the horns of it firmly as he threw to the ground, shattering it with his foot. “The ashes will no longer blow down on us, but of the corpses of these mighty dragons! They will feel the shame we have gone through for centuries!”, he raised his sword up towards the Summit, “We will make them flee in terror, as they realize we were the masters all along!” he roared, his wings spreading as he flew upwards, an army of roars around him as his fellow Draconian rose up above the ash clouds with him, their weapons drawn and ready. As they pushed through the first cloud, a wind dragon by the name of Zephyr turned to look at them, surprised at the sudden intrusion. He pulled in a large amount of air before pushing it back out, pushing some of the Draconian back down the mountain, while those who could withstand the gust of wind flew through it, a green scaled Draconian pushed right through and impaled the great Dragon with his ivory greatsword, the end of the blade going through the top of the Dragon’s skull as its life faded away, the Dragon emitting a groaning roar to warn the others, before its corpse tumbled down the mountain, disappearing under the ash clouds. Roars from above were heard, Zyaalor grinning to himself as he watched Zephyr’s corpse disappear. He looked back up towards the sky and heard the thunderous roar of Ashbringer from above, along with the roars of the other dragons inhabiting Ash Summit. From the smoke more dragons came, three to be precise; the corrosive Dragon Viper, its scales green as grass, the water Dragon Ladon, its scales as dark as the deep of the ocean, and the electric Dragon Ethelinda, its scales black as the ash. Zyaalor ignored the three, flying past them towards the top, Ethelinda turned and opened her mouth, only to feel a stabbing pain in her side, quickly turning back around and swatting a Draconian away with her tail, crushing him into the mountain as his body tumbled towards the earth. Viper and Ladon growled, Ladon spewing water from his muzzle as Viper sprayed his poison into it as he flew past it, digging his talons into a Draconian’s body, ripping it apart as the two pieces went limp. Ladon’s poison-ridden water splashed on the scales of the Draconian, burning away at them, but they continued their charge, before tearing Ladon apart until he was chunks of meat, no longer recognizable. Viper flew back around, spraying his acid on the Draconian, burning right through their scales, destroying any muscle and bone underneath, the melted corpses plummeting behind Ladon to the base of the Summit. A Draconian lunged towards Viper, his giant hammer swinging, only to have Ethelinda use the hammer as a lightning rod, a bolt of lightning flying from her throat, shocking the Draconian as Viper plunged him into the depths of his gut, swallowing him whole. “Know your place whelps!” Ethelinda shouted, her eyes glowing a bright blue as another jolt of electricity flew from her mouth, frying a Draconian in front of her. Zyaalor continued his flight up above, ignoring the fighting below, until he landed on top of the Summit, Ashbringer standing atop his spire, looking down upon him. “I should have known this was your doing, Zyaalor” the Dragon growled, jumping down onto the stone in front of him. “We’re the masters now, Ashbringer” he pointed his greatsword towards him “If you refuse to bow to your true masters, then I will have your head!” Zyaalor growled, blasting a puff of smoke out of his muzzle. The great Dragon laughed a little, the fire spilling out from the sides of his jaw. “I would never bow down to such an inferior being” Ashbringer said, lifting off the ground, his wings pushing the ash around in the air, creating a thick smog, making it impossible for Zyaalor to see out of it. Suddenly, a wave of fire entered the smog, Zyaalor dodging to his side to avoid the fire, the ash cloud breaking apart, revealing Ashbringer high above him. The dragon howled again, diving downwards, the fire spilling from its mouth creating a cone of fire around him as he picked up Zyaalor around him, the Draconian yelling in pain as not only the Dragon’s teeth dug into him, but the molten fire burned at his body. He wrenched himself free, pushing open the Dragon’s maw as he rolled out, tumbling onto the summit, coughing a bit of his own blood out as he stood back up, readying his sword again. Ashbringer slowed to a stop, landing back onto his spire, looking down on him once again. “Why do you betray us? We are the ones who have kept you safe since the beginning of our existence” the Dragon spoke, the molten magma pouring down the spire from his mouth, pooling around the base. “If this is how you thank us for safety from the barbarians of this land, you’re no better than them.” Zyaalor growled, his talons digging into the rock
Chapter Five (Part Two) “Then put us out of our misery! We were not born to hunt for you and erect statues in your dishonor!” he yelled, Ashbringer roared towards him as a giant ball of fire flew from his maw, hurtling towards Zyaalor. Zyaalor raised his blade in a blocking motion, the fireball splitting into two, going to the sides of him, exploding the ground in a flash of light and engulfing it into flames. “Hmm” the Dragon mused, “So you’re sword was made just for me as well” the Dragon’s eyes glowed a blood red, breathing another wave of fire down on him. Zyaalor again blocked the wave, the Iridium sword easily absorbing the heat of the fire, the blade glowing a faint red from the intense heat. “And if you kill me what will you do? Omega and Whitewing still live, along with the lesser dragons across this land” the dragon spoke, hopping off its spire, splashing in the pool of magma around the spire. “Anyone who survives this battle will warn the others, as well. It would only be a matter of time until we return stronger than ever.” Zyaalor grinned, hefting the greatsword over his shoulder. “Then we will slaughter them just as I will you!” he yelled, charging forward, Ashbringer flapping his wings to push him back, but he continued his charge. Ashbringer growled and swiped his talons, gripping the sword, trying to wrench it from Zyaalor’s hands, but he held it firmly and was taken with it, pushing the sword upward and slicing Ashbringer’s claw clean off, the howls of pain filling the air. With his sword free he flew up into the air, the Dragon rising as well, the greatsword falling back down with Zyaalor as he cut off the left wing of Ashbringer, the Dragon falling down with a crash, trying to stand. Zyaalor landed on his back, yelling in rage as he slammed the top of his blade into the Dragon’s spine over and over, the blood spluttering squirting out from every hole made, the Dragon howling in pain. Finally Zyaalor got off of him, walking around to see the Dragon. The Dragon’s magma had stopped spilling from its jaw, replaced by its blood. “Go ahead. Kill me!” it yelled, Zyaalor yelled once more, swinging his sword with one motion as it sliced through Ashbringer’s neck, his head coming clean off as it slumped onto the ground, the blood flying everywhere, covering Zyaalor and his blade as he sheathed it once more, grabbing the Dragon’s head by the horns and tossing it down the mountain. The severed head of Ashbringer flew past Viper, whom’s eyes widened as he saw it fall past, some of the blood covering his scales. “Ashbringer!” he growled, looking towards Ethelinda, who had just snapped a Draconian in two with her great jaws. “Sister, we must warn the others!” Viper yelled to her, she perked up, looking down she could see the head of Ashbringer just before it disappeared under the ash clouds. “We will be back!” she growled, the two Dragons howling in unison as they took flight, far above the clouds as they flew off north across The Collapsing Ridge. The Draconian cheered with one another, throwing Ashbringer’s head into the pits of The Collapsing Ridge, disappearing from existence. “Brothers and sisters” Zyaalor growled, descending onto the Ridge, “We no longer live under the clouds of ash” he grinned, “We have no need to kill the lesser races, they will kill one another in due time” he said, looking up towards the mountain “The Summit is ours, and we will live high above the clouds of ash. The Dragon’s reign is over, and now begins the rule of the Draconian!” he yelled, the rest cheering with him, their cries of war filling the air. Zyaalor and the rest flew back to the top of the spire, leaning against the spire was Ashbringer’s claw. Zyaalor sat in it, leaning back to himself with a grin. “And now we will bring the ashes to them” he said calmly, unsheathing his blade and leaning it against the claw “We are the Dragons now. And as such, we will name ourselves like them. Let it be known from this day forward that I am Zyaalor Ashbringer, the Tempered Talon.” Date - 628 AD (After Dragons), June 10th, The Isolated Rise, Ash Summit, Saigrus Blue Moon screeched into the air, slowly descending upon the Rise, Ashbringer sitting in the chair, now only made of bones and metal. He leaned his head on his hand, not even flinching as the bird landed. Rilas climbed off the Construct and made a little bow. “Greetings Zyaalor” Rilas said. The Draconian snorted out a puff of smoke. “What do you want?” Zyaalor grumbled. “The Prophet would like your assistance in removing some Orcs” he said, the Draconian laughed and stood up. “Hell no. I want them to fight, the Humans are just too weak and scared” he laughed, Rilas’ eyebrow twitching a bit. “I suppose, but there’s a rebellion this time.” The Draconian stopped laughing and looked at him, his attention caught now. “A rebellion?” he asked. “Yes. It’s lead by an Orc Necromancer by the name of Vikas Devilscry. According to reports years ago, he suddenly appeared in Bronislaw seeking an audience with the Queen. He was denied and imprisoned. Two years later he broke out and led the Orcs to the Stormstand Mountains, where they’ve been given land by Brimstone in Oisin. He wishes to unite the Orc tribes.” The Draconian grinned a bit “A worthy opponent” he mused, “I won’t bother with the Orc tribes. But him. He catches my interest” Zyaalor chuckled, picking up his sword and sheathing it on his back. “I will think about your offer. The most I’ll do is confront this Necromancer” he said, waving his hand away “Get out of my sight.” Rilas nodded, climbing back aboard Blue Moon, the bird screeching once more before taking off and disappearing into the ash clouds above.
