It was not the throbbing of his shattered tusk that woke him. It was not the obscene memory of his clan being slaughtered by the Clanless, grey-armored orcs that made him stir. His hatred of the Clanless did not keep him alive. His shame of falling in the battle and the closeness of his death did not raise him from unconsciousness. He was not stirred by the stench of excrement in the limited space of the wooden box that served as his cell. He was not awakened by the shaking of the carriage or the sharp edges of the steel cuffs carving into his ankles and wrists. He was revived by the drumming.

It was very distant, but persistent enough that Ragnok knew it was real as certainly as he could feel the blood coursing through his veins. He knew he could hear the drums. He knew that he was still alive. And he knew that he was only alive because of the drums. He never questioned this fact. He didn’t understand it, but he believed it with every beat of his heart.

The drumming gave him peace. It helped him ignore the pain of the damage both his body and his spirit had just experienced. It helped him ignore the hope that he was not the only remaining member of the Thrak Gulch clan. It helped him go back to sleep.

Ragnok was not sure of how long he was in the wooden box on the back of a carriage. There were vague fragments of the side of the box being opened, Ragnok being drug out, and his wounds being tended. In these faint memories he thought he remembered seeing several identical wooden containers piled up on the back of a flat, open carriage. He remembered awakening to find bowls of black water that he thirstily drank in spite of the cloud they seemed to place over his mind. He would awaken hours later after each bowl to find a thick, black, dry foam around and in his mouth, but this only increased his thirst and he’d drink from the next bowl without any hesitation. Through it all the drumming kept him calm and gave him confidence that he would survive.

As he slept and allowed his wounds to heal he remembered in his dreams some pieces of the massacre that led to his capture. He remembered the grey-armored orcs pouring into his village. He had heard the stories before of their assaults. They had attacked the rest of the Thrak Gulch villages and left no survivors in each assault. They had tried to fortify their village, but they had little time and little resources with which to do so. When the grey-armored orcs did come, they brought numbers that gave Ragnok and his clan no chance. Ragnok was able to kill a few before his shame of being knocked unconscious in battle. Their armor worked well against blades, but Ragnok’s hammer still hit just as hard and their armor barely softened its impact. Ragnok’s mind forced himself to relive the blow that knocked him down over and over again. He had already been cut on the left leg, the right arm, and once to the hip. That was a stab wound from a cowardly, backstabbing orc. Ragnok barely heard him approaching soon enough to partially parry what would have been a mortal wound. In doing so, he left himself open to the orc he was fighting. As the blade came towards Ragnok’s face and he saw that he couldn’t avoid it he knew he would be passing to the Ancient Realms. But the blade struck his lower left tusk first. The tusk shattered under the force of the blow, but the hit to the tusk was enough to twist the blade so it did not cut as deeply into Ragnok’s head. It instead gave him a deep gash across his cheek stretching nearly all the way from his nose to his ear. The pain from the shattered tusk is all Ragnok could remember before the blackness. Each time he relived this moment he heard an inexplicable sound behind him like a roaring bear. This is what caused him to look backwards and be able to partially parry the backstab. If not for that roar, he would likely not be alive now. His dreams continued and he wondered about this roar.

Ragnok had no memory of being taken from the carriage. He found himself lying on a straw filled cot and facing a wall made of roughly hewn logs. The wall was sealed poorly enough that Ragnok could tell that it was dark outside. The entire structure seemed to be made of the same roughly hewn logs stacked one upon another. Through the gaps in the walls he could see fires illuminating the small pathway between this and another similar shack. The drumming was still present, but louder than the drumming Ragnok could hear in the room behind him were unfamiliar orc voices each taking turns telling a story similar to his own, but these orcs kept referring to the grey-armored orcs as “the Clanless.” They told of how they had heard of the Clanless, and their attacks on other clans and villages. They spoke of how the Clanless fought without honor. They said that they had believed that their clans could never fall to such a cowardly foe. But when the Clanless came, they brought great numbers and superior armor and weapons. Their clans were all massacred. Some of them told of larger numbers of orcs being captured. Others had thought that they were the last survivors of their clans and had spoken of the shame of not dying with their clans, but they took hope at the thought that others could have been captured, too.

The only difference between their story and Ragnok’s was the hope in their voices that they were not the last of their clans. Ragnok had forced this hope far from his mind. His sole concern was the revenge he would take on those that took his clan from him and the great glory he would gain on his journey there.

Ragnok continued to lie still in his cot as the talking continued. One by one the orcs behind him told the same story over and over. With each telling of the story Ragnok was able to process his feelings and turn every emotion into a fervent desire to crush the skulls of those who wronged him. In this room stood members of just a few of the great and ancient orc clans. Clans that had tales of great glory of how they once dominated The Scar. Each of them had, at some point, been among the most powerful clans with glorious tales of their Ancients conquering vast tracts of The Scar. Some of their tales even stretched beyond the great, canyon walls of the Scar and into the human world and even the mountains. None of these stories compared to what seemed to be happening now. The Whitesun Clan, the Blood Eater Clan, the Iron Hand Clan, the Krez’Duhl Clan, and so many more have all been completely killed or captured by the Clanless.

His rage burned hot and the drumming grew louder until it drowned out the sounds of the others in the room. He stood from his cot with his decision made to go out and kill as many as he could before dying with honor. As he rushed towards the door he froze in his tracks because he heard a loud roar that sounded like a bear and rang a familiar bell in his mind. His rage immediately subsided and was replaced with a curiosity that drove him forward and into the locked door. The door cracked under his weight, and he heard the roaring continue followed swiftly by what sounded like an orcish scream. The scream was quickly cut off by the sound of bones snapping and the gurgling of blood. Ragnok’s second lunge into the door allowed him to burst through it just in time to see a large she-bear surrounded by gray armored orcs. One of these orcs had fallen to his knees in front of the bear, veins were stringing from his throat into her blood covered jowls. One of the Clanless swung a large club which struck her directly in the skull behind her left eye and knocked her out cold.

As she fell to the ground Ragnok could see the splinters that remained from the wall the bear had burst through. Behind that wall was a shack full of furious she-orcs who were castrating the limp and bloody bodies of two Clanless orcs, both of which appeared to have already been maimed by the bear on her way through the wall. Ragnok’s eyes were quickly drawn away from this scene as the body of the bear began to convulse on the ground. The sounds of bones snapping reached Ragnok’s ears as the bear began to shrink and change shape. As he watched the body of the bear wavered as if he was looking at it through the heat above a flame. When the convulsions and wavering stopped only a couple seconds later, there laid a she-orc where the bear had been and Ragnok recognized her face. “Bashuk?” he gasped. This was enough for the attention of five of the Clanless who stood nearby to take notice of Ragnok. These orcs quickly subdued Ragnok, pinning him to the ground. In his shock he barely fought back at all. One of the orcs produced what appeared to be a water skin from his hip and poured it into Ragnok’s mouth. He recognized the flavor of the strange black liquid and his vision began to blur.

When he awoke he was not sure how much time had passed, but filled with adrenaline he jumped up from his cot. “Bashuk!” he roared as he jump to his feet, “Where is-” his exclamation was cut short as he saw her bandaged and lying unconscious on another cot across the room. He rushed to her side to inspect her wounds and found a dark green poultice rubbed deep into them. Her bandages were clean and her bleeding appeared to have been stopped almost completely. As he tried to gage her breathing, Ragnok felt a hand on his shoulders. This took him by surprise so he spun angrily around and swung his left fist wildly. His fist found the throat of a short orc whose arm was already in a bloody splint.

As Ragnok spun he could feel his entire body fill with rage. The drumming in his head crescendoed and echoed his heartbeat. He could feel as well as hear the blood pulsing through his eardrums. He could feel the heat from his rage building in his ears and radiating outwards. He wanted to taste the blood of whoever was responsible for destroying the Thrak Gulch clan. He wanted to hear the sounds of their skulls crushing beneath his hammer. He wanted the last thing they heard to be the Thrak Gulch name. He looked down upon the small, wounded orc who sat on his knees grasping at his throat as if trying to create an opening for air. Ragnok knew that this orc was not to blame for the honorless deeds that had befallen the Thrak Gulch Clan. He felt the heat subside and the sound of the drumming immediately stopped.

Ragnok slowly met the eyes of the rest of the orcs in the room who were gazing upon the scene he had made. “Don’t come near her!” he glared at all five of them individually, before turning to continue inspecting her wounds. The room remained silent for the next several minutes. No one else came near Bashuk or Ragnok for the rest of the night.

When Ragnok awoke the next morning it was to the sounds of chains being drug on the dirt outside. He hurriedly checked Bashuk’s wounds and was surprised to see that they were healing very rapidly. Her breathing was stronger now and he thought that she just might wake up soon. This hope was quickly removed from his mind by the sounds of the door opening behind him. In through the morning light walked three, grey-armored orcs. One of them was enormous and muscular, the other two were tall and thin wielding crossbows defensively in front of themselves. The large one began to speak, “You are the last of your clans. You can fight us and die here, or you can come and fight for your honor.”

Immediately the large orc stepped aside and four more came in behind him carrying iron chains in their hands. They stopped in front of Ragnok and three of the other orcs in the room. Ragnok faintly heard the orc before him grunt, “Hands out,” as he held the iron cuffs in front of Ragnok. The drumming intensified as Ragnok looked deeply into the eyes of his real enemy, but he knew that this was not his time. Ragnok never stopped staring at his foe as he held his hands out towards this orc and waited. As he stared at the orc he committed to memory the face of his enemy. He memorized the blood-shot eyes, one yellow and one nearly completely white. He memorized the callus formed on the orcs cheek by his lower left tusk protruding upwards and against his face. He memorized the upturned nose and how it raised his lip up slightly so that his teeth would show even when his mouth was closed. .

Once Ragnok’s hands were shackled and just before the grey-armored orc was about to turn away he glanced back up to Ragnok’s face. When their eyes met Ragnok whispered, “I will not forget this.”

The orc just chuckled as he turned away and towards the door. Ragnok and the other three orcs were led out. The huts seemed to be just the outskirts of an enormous orc encampment. Ragnok was surprised at the number of grey-armored orcs around. He was never in a position that he couldn’t count ten even if he excluded their escort. He had never imagined an army of this size could have ever existed. As they moved close to the center it started to look more and more like the human towns east of the Scar which Ragnok had raided on the previous Silverwinter. But this town was much larger than any he had ever seen. This must be what cities are like, Ragnok thought. There were cobblestoned roads here with buildings lining their edges. Ragnok could not believe that this existed in the Scar.

They seemed to be heading towards the large and strange looking building near what looked to be the center of the city. This oval-shaped structure was at least as tall as the highest watch tower Ragnok had ever seen. It was at least 100 paces long and 60 paces wide. Even more interesting was the sound of hundreds of orcs shouting as one echoing from within its walls. Ragnok could not remember ever seeing a building like it in size or build, and he had only seen a crowd large enough to make that much noise when the Thrak Gulch clan was massacred. As they approached the building Ragnok could identify the strange look. Rather than wood the walls appeared to be made of large, consistently shaped bricks piled on top of one another and bound together with mud and stone.

As they continued to approach this building the roaring of the multitude of orcs grew louder and louder. After a moment the roaring subsided into a lower, constant rumble. Ragnok could see a large entrance, but they were not being led towards it. Instead, they were led around the side of the building and toward a smaller set of wooden doors which were opened for them as they approached. Inside these doors was what appeared to be an arched tunnel with an iron gate at the far end. The tunnel was made of the same bricks and stone as the outside of the building. Just inside the gate the sides of the tunnel were walled with twenty heavily armed, grey-armored orcs. Along the walls on the far end Ragnok could see the silhouettes of weapons outlined by the light beyond the gate. Once all were inside their irons were removed and Ragnok immediately headed towards the far end of the tunnel towards the weapons. He could hear the orcs behind him being shoved and ordered to follow him, but his mind was solely fixed on finding a hammer. When he got to the end, he found no hammer, but instead saw large axe, a crossbow, two swords, and a pike. One weapon for each of the orcs that were with him. Ragnok thought about the crossbow, but quickly noticed that the string was frayed and nearly broken. He decided to settle for a large, two-handed axe. The axe and all of the other weapons here were dull and caked in dried blood. Once he had chosen his weapon, Ragnok looked ahead and through the gates to see what was next.

As he looked out he saw two grey-armored orcs dragging bodies from an arena and leaving a wake of blood in the sand behind them. As the door shut behind them on the far-right edge of the oval-shaped arena, Ragnok’s eyes were drawn upward to a sea of grey. The number of orcs piled into the stands of the arena was beyond his imagining especially considering how many he had seen still moving about the city. They appeared to just be milling about and talking at the moment, but the stone tunnel continued a few feet beyond the gate, so he was unable to see much. The other orcs had caught up to him now and most of them spent their time gawking at the view beyond the gate rather than grabbing weapons from the rack nearby. “Arm yourselves, fools!” Ragnok barked at them and then continued surveying the scene before him.

The arena appeared to be empty from what Ragnok could see except for two walls that crossed each other in the shape of an X in the center of the arena. Each of these walls were about 10 paces long and the whole structure was facing with one wall extending almost straight towards Ragnok. The arena itself was about 30 paces long by 20 paces wide and the ground was covered in sand.

Ragnok heard the machinations of chains moving over head and prepared himself for the gate to open. He could hear the drumming of his mind booming from what seemed a great distance. The drumming gave him focus and continued to draw nearer and nearer. His priority was to get to the wall for cover. As soon as the gate was open enough for him to crawl underneath, he was outside and heading for that wall. As he raced outward he noticed the crowd’s roaring grew much louder, but the drumming in his mind also grew louder and could be heard above the crowd. He glanced backwards as he ran and saw the other four orcs timidly exiting into the arena. “Move!” he shouted back towards them. Three of them slowly rolled into a run and the fourth looked stunned by the crowd and was slowly walking out and spinning to look in all directions at the incredible number of onlookers. As the other three neared the wall Ragnok went to the left of the partition extending towards them and his three allies followed. Less than a second later Ragnok heard the sound of a crossbow bolt being loosed from the other side of this partition. He spun around back towards the gate just in time to see the bolt sink into the back of the orc who had stayed behind. “One sword down,” Ragnok said as he moved to take a look around the wall towards the sounds of the crossbow. When he looked around the corner and saw nothing, he looked to his ally who had chosen the frayed crossbow and added, “You may want to think about going to get that sword.” Ragnok then ducked around the corner. He heard the footsteps of at least 2 more orcs approaching from the other side of the wall, but more importantly, he noticed the thinness of the walls and that he could hear the grunts of an orc struggling to reload his crossbow directly on the other side of the wall. Though he could not tell exactly where this orc was, the drumming gave Ragnok confidence in his attack and he swung hard through the wall with his axe. Perhaps it was just luck, but he felt his axe shatter through the wall and then connect firmly with something on the other side. If the sudden burst of cheers from the crowd wasn’t confirmation enough, Ragnok heard a gurgling cough as he pulled his axe back through the wall to see fresh blood coating its blade. The drumming grew even louder. He was able to take a look through the hole to see four more orcs with weapons almost identical to the ones he and his allies had. All four of these orcs looked frightened, but the two with swords were hiding behind the two with a pike and an axe.

Ragnok saw his three remaining allies peering around the wall towards him. He gave them an angry glare and pointed at them. “Go around behind,” he said loud enough where only they could hear him over the roaring crowd. Once they seemed to understand and started moving back, Ragnok began to shout, “I am Ragnok of the Thrak Gulch Clan!” As he roared he unconsciously grew louder and louder as his voice crescendoed to be heard over the sound of drumming in his mind, “YOUR STEEL IS NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO KILL THE LAST OF THE THRAK GULCH WARRIORS! COME AND DIE!” Ragnok then charged around the wall and towards the four orcs. They all took defensive stances against his charge, and he began to swing his axe up over his head and then down towards the orc with the pike. As he swung with all of his might he saw his allies coming around the corner behind his foes who all had their eyes on Ragnok. He saw his ally try to shoot the crossbow, but the frayed string snapped and the bolt fell harmlessly into the sand. The other two of his allies attacked the axe wielding enemy from behind and he fell limply on his face and into the dirt. The orc with the pike attempted to raise his haft defensively to stop Ragnok’s attack, but he was too slow. The orc behind the pike-wielding foe stepped forward and thrust his sword towards Ragnok’s abdomen. Ragnok could have tried to evade this attack, but he chose instead to try and end the life of his target. Ragnok could feel the sword going into his side as he saw his axe slide past the haft of the pike and cleave the skull of his enemy.

The pain seared in Ragnok’s ribs as he saw his allies swarm from behind and end the orc before he could even pull his sword out of Ragnok. Ragnok grabbed at the blade and pulled it from his side. As the steel left his body a heavy flow of blood followed it out, and Ragnok’s vision became hazy. But the drumming continued in his mind. He saw his allies easily fell the final opposing orc to the pleasure of the crowd. Ragnok stood on the edge of consciousness and fell to his knees. The jolt of his weight hitting the ground made the wound burn more fiercely. Ragnok could hear the drums beginning to fade as his allies began to rush towards him. His vision went dark before they got to him, and he could hear what sounded to be a distant echo of the drums in his mind. He did not feel the hands upon him that drug him from the arena. He did not hear the crowd cheering for his victory. There was only the distant drumming, and his focus to listen to it. He held to the drums and would not let their rhythm out of his mind.

When next his eyes opened Ragnok saw above him the face of Bashuk. She looked determinedly patient which quickly gave way to relief to seeing his awakening. He could feel the moisture of the straw beneath him and knew that it was his own sweat. He could feel pressure around his torso and a gentle tingling on his side where the searing pain from his wound had been earlier. It seemed to have been poulticed and wrapped the same as Bashuk’s wounds had been. He remembered her wounds and looked more closely at her face to see that the bruising was almost completely gone from where she was struck above the eye. Ragnok noticed the silence of the room and tried to sit up to look around, but was firmly held down by the surprisingly strong Bashuk.

“Rest, Ragnok of the Thrak Gulch Clan. We will have our revenge another day.” Bashuk whispered.

“Are we alone?” Ragnok asked turning his head to look around at the dark and apparently empty hut. From what Ragnok could tell, it was the same hut they were being kept in before his fight.

“We are.” Bashuk answered, “You must relax and rest. I do not know what they put in our wounds, but they heal quickly. Even more quickly if you remain still. You will soon need all the strength you can get, so save it up.”

“How long… where are the others?” Ragnok coughed. The pain burned in his side again with his movement, but quickly subsided.

“They are gone. The best I can tell is that they were taken to the arenas and were not victors. Nearly all victors return. You were the only one who did not. Those who fought with you told me you died with honor. It was two days before you were brought back here. I have conquered all that they set against me. I was happy to kill the orcs who told me of your death, until I found out the next day that it was a lie. How did you live?”

Ragnok just shrugged. As he did he could again feel the burn in his side and he held his breath through the agony. As soon as he sat still again the pain began to fade and the gentle tingling returned. Once his breathing settled back in he was able to think in the silence. Bashuk was just staring at him and he was able to remember what he had been wanting to ask her, “You were… changed. When you killed the grey-armored scum, you were a bear. I didn’t know it was you at first, though. I thought I had heard the same roar on the day our clan was killed by these cowards. Was that…” He coughed and winced in pain. “What did they do to you?”

“It was not them who did this,” Bashuk broke eye-contact with Ragnok for the first time as she looked at the wall as if to concentrate on her answer, “When we were attacked I could feel a power growing inside of me. I believe it is an Ancient power of the Thrak Gulch clan. When I saw our clan being destroyed this power awakened. With each of our clan that I saw fall I could feel the strength growing. With this power I could hear the war drums of Thrak himself and I changed. I did not know I was a bear until others told me. I lost myself in the rhythm of the drums and I crushed as many of them as I could. I thought I had died. I wished I had died until I saw you burst through that door,” She looked back at the door as she finished her tale.

After pausing to consider what Bashuk had said, Ragnok responded, “I have heard the drums, too. They are what kept me alive.”

Bashuk nodded, and they sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, she spoke, “They will come at sunrise with food. I will wake you then. Rest.”

When Ragnok awakened he found the room to be empty. His side was still tingling, but his bandage had been changed. He sat up in the cot and squinted at the sunlight coming through the western wall. As he sat up his side burned, but it was not nearly as painful as it had been the day before. The Silversun was setting on the Silverspring day. Ragnok was looking forward to the mildness of the Silversummer. The heat of Goldsummer always interfered with the thrill of battle, and Ragnok intended to take full advantage of the fortuitous timing for his revenge. Ragnok’s worry about Bashuk’s absence began to creep into his mind, Where is she? He pushed the feeling aside and continued to distract himself with thoughts of the coming Silversummer and the glory he would find in the taste of his enemies’ blood. His side stung as he stood up, but he needed to pace to keep his mind busy.

An hour passed and Ragnok grew short of distractions for his mind. It began to wander into territory that made his blood burn within him, and the drumming began to building louder and louder in his mind. As he felt his heart rate increase with the drumming he could feel the tingling in his side intensify. “Where is she?” he said aloud. He went to the door for the tenth time and tried to quietly test the lock as he peered through the cracks in the wall at the dozens of grey-armored orcs sitting outside around a fire. As he looked out into the twilight he saw a score of them moving together as a group. They marched directly past Ragnok’s door and continued on beyond all of the nearby huts and out into the night. Even the way they marched disgusted Ragnok. He spat upon the ground and punched the wall.

As soon as his fist hit the wall, the door opened to reveal Bashuk with shackles on her arms, legs and neck. Behind Bashuk stood an escort of ten grey-armored orcs, all but two had their weapons in hand. Ragnok was too distracted by the marching orcs to notice their approach. The two orcs who were not currently armed removed Bashuk’s bonds and shoved her into the hut before shutting the door behind her. They didn’t even seem to notice Ragnok.

“Feeling better, I see.” Bashuk observed as the orcs outside could be heard surrounding the hut.

“They fear you. They fear the courage of Thrak Gulch.” Ragnok beamed. He then noticed the bandage wrapped around her forearm. She didn’t seem to be favoring it, so Ragnok decided to ignore it. “I am ready for whatever they have next for me.”

Ragnok was able to settle down for the night and get some sleep after a great deal of effort. He awoke in the morning to the sound of drums. At first, he was unsure if these were just in his mind or actually somewhere in the encampment. But as he stirred he knew they were not his drums. He could hear the drums approaching and the marching of another war-party of grey-armored orcs passing his and Bashuk’s hut. The marching passed on into the morning air and faded from his ears. The day was long and hot, especially for Silverspring, and as it neared an end the door burst open. Nine grey-armored orcs waited outside while six more rushed in. Five of them surrounded Bashuk and cautiously extended her shackles towards her. The other one approached Ragnok, but kept his frightened eyes fixated on the She-orc. Ragnok smiled at the distracted orc as he began to place the shackles on Ragnok’s hands and feet. As they moved outside Ragnok saw five more orcs who were chained together in a line and waiting outside with more grey-armored orcs escorting them. Bashuk was surrounded by grey-armored orcs who began to lead her towards the center of town. Two more of the grey-armored orcs stayed behind to keep watch over Ragnok and the other five, chained together orcs to whom Ragnok was now attached. They were led behind the thirteen orcs who surrounded Bashuk as they continued towards the arena. Ragnok couldn’t keep himself from smiling at this scene.

“When I get my hands on you grey cowards, I’ll cut you up and eat your eyes!” The orc walking in front of Ragnok shouted at the grey-armored orc leading their chain. “You’ll beg for the relief of your honorless death!” The orc continued. Based on his appearance, Ragnok guessed he was from the Dama’Harar Clan, an Ancient clan that came to the Scar from distant mountains ages ago. This orc’s stringy hair was woven into a thin, wispy braid that went down his back and contrasted with his stone-grey skin on his back. He had three of his four tusks and a large gap in his teeth where his upper right tusk once resided. This orc walked with a certain deliberate agility as if he had spent weeks practicing each step. The posture of this orc made Ragnok straighten his own back as he walked. The grey armored orcs that he continued to berate just ignored his comments as if this wasn’t the first time they had heard them.

Walking two orcs in front of Ragnok was an orc that looked similar to the first, but the agility in his movement appeared more natural. Ragnok supposed he was also of the Dama’Harar clan. Ragnok noted a tension in each of this orcs steps as he could lurch forward to attack at any moment. His skin was the same as the firsts, but his hair was quite different. There was a thin line growing right through the center, front to back on top of his head. The rest of his head appeared to have been severely burnt and scarred which prevented any more hair from growing. His tusks were fully intact and appeared to be regularly groomed. He seemed to at least be smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

The third orc looked entirely different from any of the other four. Ragnok took a moment to acknowledge that the two closest and the two further from him in this chain looked similar as if they were related to one another or at the very least from the same clan. The one in the middle, however did not fit in with either group. His head was completely bald and his skin was so dark blue that it appeared almost completely black. He was extremely light on his feet and Ragnok noticed the silence of each step of this strange, dark orc. Ragnok had no guess as to which clan he was from.

The fourth and fifth looked almost identical to one another in build and size. They were enormously muscular and Ragnok could only assume they were brothers. Their skin was light brown with mottled, darker brown spots covering them. Ragnok guessed they were from the Grim Maw Clan. One had thick black hairs sporadically lining his thick jaw. The others jaw was thicker still, but had no facial hair of note. Seven of their eight tusks were still fully intact. Their lower tusks were thicker than the upper. It appeared to be a family trait. The one with all of his tusks remaining had nearly perfectly symmetrical tusks. The other one’s tusks appeared to have been damaged when he was younger. The lower left one appeared to have been stunted and had grown thicker rather than longer, holding his mouth ajar. The lower right tusk had grown longer as if to make up for the stumpiness of the other. It curved inward nearly touching his cheekbone.

As they approached the center of town, the roaring from the crowd at the arena was louder this time than Ragnok’s last recollection. As they entered the side entrance and into the tunnel the roaring subsiding and was replaced with something else. Ragnok could feel the building shaking rhythmically. It felt like the earth was shaking and this continued the entire way down the tunnel. Once they reached the end they could see a large orc in the center of the arena. He was banging on a giant drum with two flaming drumsticks one after the other. The earth seemed to shake with his drumming. Ragnok saw the crowd of grey-armored orcs above him stomping along with the drumming and cheering him on. Beyond the drumming orc was more of the empty arena, and Ragnok could see the gate on the other side, behind which were dark silhouettes of their apparent opponents. Ragnok quickly turned to see the rack of weapons on the wall, this time he found three great-axes and two great-swords. It looked like they were short two weapons. Only one, Ragnok thought. Bashuk is her own weapon.

“I am Zonk,” Ragnok heard the familiar voice of the loud-mouthed orc who was directly in front of him on the chain. It felt as if his voice was being projected directly into the back of Ragnok’s head, and Ragnok was sure he felt spit on the back of his neck. As he turned, the orc was standing at a distance that showed a great lack of personal space and his arm was extended towards Ragnok, nearly touching his chest.

Ragnok remained silent and just stared into the face of Zonk. He could see how uncomfortable the silence made Zonk, and he was just beginning to relish the feeling of this moment when he was interrupted by Zonk’s voice, “...and this is my bloodkin, Donk… Looks like we are being placed together, but just stay out of our way and you’ll all be fine!” Zonk finished as he gracefully finessed a sword from the rack on the wall.

“I am Ragnok,” Ragnok started slowly, addressing the orcs before him and slowly turning towards the weapons on the wall. “Together with Bashuk the She-bear the entire Thrak Gulch clan fights with honor beside you.” He finished with confidence as he pulled an axe from the rack.

One of the nearly identical orcs stepped forward, the one with the tusk nearly digging into his cheekbone. “I am Nalgor of the Grim Maw Clan. This is my blood, Talgor. We fight for the glory of the Grim Maw!” They each grabbed an axe in unison, muscles rippling with each move.

Appearing from the shadows behind them walked the dark, blue-skinned orc. His eyes were fixed only on the sword he began to reach for as he talked, “I am Grishnok. My clan is dead. I fight to survive.” He then walked passed Ragnok towards the edge of the tunnel and into the shadows, blending into the darkness and out of sight.

Ragnok heard the now familiar machinations of the gate begin to whir. This was followed almost immediately by growling coming from Bashuk. Her tightened face showed Ragnok the pain she was experiencing as she fell forward. Ragnok could feel the pain as he watch her bones stretch, twist and grow. Her entire body appeared to distort and waver slightly as if Ragnok was viewing her through the heat of a flame. In only a couple seconds the orc was gone and replaced with an enormous, roaring bear.

“I’d always wondered what that looks like,” Donk spoke for the first time.

“It looks like it hurts,” Zonk laughed and jabbed Donk with his elbow.

“It does,” Donk’s smile quickly turned into a grimace as he tried to stifle the yelps of pain. He also began to fall forward and he, too, became distorted in Ragnok’s vision. Seconds later there stood a ferociously squealing boar with powerful tusks lowered aggressively towards the ground as if ready to charge. Ragnok could see the same tension in the legs of this boar as he had noted in Donk earlier.

Bashuk turned to Donk and roared her approval, slobber flying from her teeth and into his ear and the side of his face. Donk squealed at her shaking his head to dry his ear and pawing impatiently at the dirt in front of the gate.

Zonk winked at Ragnok’s disbelief and then spun his sword gracefully in front of himself. Zonk began to move his feet rhythmically with the spinning of his sword before striking a balanced pose and becoming completely still, waiting for the gate to open.

Ragnok could see the far gate had already began to open and the orcs from inside were headed out into the arena. Ragnok could count ten of them. One of them lowered his crossbow towards the still drumming orc and loosed a bolt. The bolt hit the orc squarely in the side of his skull and he fell lifelessly towards the ground. The crowd roared its approval for the beginning of the bloodshed, and the gate began to raise in front of Ragnok and his allies. The drumming in Ragnok’s mind did not build slowly this time. As the gate opened it started immediately at full volume and drove him onward into battle.

Donk was the first through the gate and he moved incredibly quickly across the battlefield, but Bashuk was only a few steps behind. Zonk led the rest of the charge as Ragnok, Nalgor and Talgor followed only a few steps behind. Grishnok was nowhere to be seen, and Ragnok assumed cowardice had kept him trapped in the tunnel.

Three crossbow bolts were loosed towards Donk. Two of them bounced off of his thick hide, but the third stuck in his shoulder. His stride slowed slightly which allowed Bashuk to pass. The fourth crossbow was almost reloaded from killing the drumming orc when Bashuk got to them and swiped three of them across the chest. The fourth stepped back just before she was able to strike, but Donk swept up on him like a spear and he was impaled on Donk’s tusks and taken to the ground. The six, sword wielding orcs began to move in on Bashuk and Donk who were separated by their speed from Ragnok and the rest of his allies. Bashuk took four strong hits that seemed to have almost no effect on her. She swiftly bit down on the neck of one of the crossbowmen. Ragnok had to imagine the sounds of his neck snapping as the drumming in his mind grew even more deafening as he finally neared range to attack. Three of the sword wielding orcs were behind Bashuk and Donk. Two of them began to turn to face the charging Ragnok, Donk, Nalgor and Talgor, but one remained focused on Bashuk’s back and began preparing a lunging thrust. Just before Ragnok was about to strike this orc in the back to stop his attack on Bashuk, Ragnok noticed Grishnok slip in from seemingly nowhere and lunge his sword deep into their foe’s kidneys. Ragnok was able to adjust his strike to hit the next orc in the shoulder just as he turned towards Ragnok and his charging allies. The axe sank deep into this orc’s shoulder, spraying blood on Ragnok’s face. Ragnok’s roar was matched by Bashuk as she maimed another foe.

As Ragnok pulled the axe from his enemies shoulder and looked to the next target, he saw Nalgor and Talgor swing their axes as the same target, knocking the orc onto the ground as his entrails spilled forth. Ragnok saw Zonk close in swiftly on another orc whose eyes were so fixated on Zonk’s dancing sword that they did not see his kick. This knocked the orc off balance and Zonk capitalized on the opening, hewing the orc to the ground. Donk flung two dead crossbowmen to the ground at least one of which had a gaping hole in its abdomen from where the tusk was ripped out as he fell.

The final two orcs appeared to pause, though Ragnok could not tell if it was their fear, or the comparison to the speed at which Nalgor and Talgor rushed them. Before anyone else could react, the nearly identical brothers had moved forward. They unleashed two devastating blows each and both of the orcs fell to the ground leaving a mist of blood where they once stood.

The grey-armored onlookers let Ragnok and his allies know that they were pleased, growing loud enough that even Ragnok could hear them over the drumming. Zonk sliced the head off of one of their fallen foes and held it aloft and the crowd grew louder still. Zonk continued to bask in the attention, and thus was the last to notice the two score grey-armored and heavily armed orcs pouring into the arena. They hurriedly surrounded Ragnok and his allies, stripped them of their weapons, and ushered them forcefully from the arena.

As they were swept out, it was chaotic and the drumming in Ragnok’s mind subsided.

“Where are we going?! I was just getting started!” Zonk shouted at the deaf ears of their escorts. They were led from the arena and across the street into what appeared to be a large barn. Inside there were orcs holding buckets of water. One orc approached each of them and wiped the blood from their bodies and then dumped the remaining water on their heads. Zonk complained aloud at every action they took, “If I still had that sword, you’d all be in for it!” All of his complaints were ignored.

After the bathing, they were taken through another doorway into another section of the building. Here they were outfitted in grey armor. This armor was identical to what the rest of the orcs were wearing besides one thing; this armor had a black stripe running down the center of the chest and the back. Along the far wall, guarded by dozens of grey-armored orcs Ragnok saw several weapons, and he was disappointed to find that none of them were hammers.

A large orc in grey scale armor walked through the door. This was the first Ragnok had seen this grey armor as anything besides chain. The rest of the orcs in room stood silently, watching as this orc entered. His face was scarred from what appeared to be an old injury. All that was left of his nose was two gaping holes.

“Who the hell are you?!” Zonk demanded and the room fell completely silent.

After a long pause, the orc spoke, breaking the silence in the room. “Your clans are dead. Now there is only you, and a chance at glory. You will join the Clanless, or die fighting against it. We give you a chance at honor and justice. We have already taken the Scar and it is only the beginning.

“There are a few clans that continue to stand against us. One such clan can be found a few days journey to the south. You will head east against the current of the Talruk River until you find them. You have proven yourselves to be valiant fighters. You will show us your true worth. Their banner is a snapped bone. You will take it and bring it to us to prove you are worthy to join the Clanless, or you will die. If you stray from following the creek bed, you will die. If you choose to take their banner and bring it to us, you will join the greatest war this world has ever seen. Even the Ancients cannot compare to the glory of this war.

“You will find all you need for your journey in this room. Take it and leave. If you linger long, the Clanless will know you by your chain. Any uninitiated found in the city after sunset is fodder for the Clanless. The Silversun is already low in the sky. Move swiftly.” When he finished his monologue he turned and walked from the room. Ragnok stared silently at the wall of weapons before him, but he did not see the weapons. His mind was busy trying to catch up on all that had been said. Ragnok had lost himself in the first four words the orc had spoken, “Your clans are dead.” He knew the truth of these words. And now they want us to kill the Bone Crusher Clan? Ragnok tried to distract himself with the idea that vengeance against the Bone Crushers could be his destiny, but he could feel the silence in the room. Ragnok looked to Zonk, surprised he had held his tongue for so long. Zonk’s face looked as defeated as Ragnok’s spirits. He looked to Bashuk, but her face was cold and blank.

“We should go,” Bashuk said and began searching through a crate in the corner of the room. She pulled out two leather satchels, handed one to Ragnok then headed towards the door. Before exiting, she turned back towards the group, “Grab your things.”

“We will crush them, won’t we Donk?” Zonk said with a forced smile as he grabbed Donk’s shoulder and shook him. Zonk threw a satchel to Donk, whipped a sword from the wall, up and back down with a flourish to his side. They headed for the door and Bashuk stepped aside, waiting for Ragnok.

Grishnok already had a sword and Ragnok just caught a glance of his back as he exited the door in front of Zonk and Donk. Ragnok threw the satchel over his shoulder and walked towards a great axe on the wall. As he approached the axe he could hear the drumming in his mind begin to echo in the distance. It grew louder as he grabbed the axe and he could feel the relief loosen his face. He could almost smile. Perhaps this glory was the reason he had been kept alive by the drumming.

Ragnok saw Bashuk cock her head slightly as if she wanted to ask a question. Perhaps she saw his demeanor change. She paused for a brief moment, as if thinking about something but then softly said, “Let’s go.”

As they walked south and out of the city of the Clanless, Ragnok saw the faces of the grey-armored orcs as they passed. Many of the Clanless seemed to make a note of the black stripe on their armor. Some would then glance at the sky and look back at Ragnok and his allies with hunger and disappointment in their eyes. Others just stared at them with indignation. The vast majority, however, seemed to intentionally ignore their existence.

A small group of grey-armored orcs followed them through the city. Ragnok imagined that they were just hoping to catch them still in the city when the Silversun set. He began to think that they might follow them out of the city and attack them regardless, but they did stop at the edge of the city.

“We’ll just keep heading south if you want to come and take your shot!” Zonk shouted back at them. It was unclear to Ragnok whether or not they heard, but he feared that Zonk’s mouth would eventually get one of them killed. He intended to be sure that when it did, it would not be Bashuk or himself.

The road was relaxing. Ragnok had not had time to enjoy travel since the last Silversummer. It was his first as a Thrak Gulch Warrior, and that Goldfall was the start of the attacks by the grey-armored, Clanless orcs. They had heard of the attacks, but had never seen them until that day which was now only a few weeks ago. The elder’s often spoke of how the cowardly methods of the grey-armored orcs reminded them of the Ancient wars with the Bone Crusher Clan. Ragnok had been told stories as a child of his clan’s wars with the Bone Crusher clan. He had heard the hatred in the elders’ voices as they passed on the stories, and he believed it. He tried to feel the anger. He tried to hate them, and he thought that he had. But as they traveled, and the days passed on the road Ragnok was able to truly feel this hatred for the first time. The drumming grew louder in his mind until it was a constant force that drove him forward. Forward to the death of the Bone Crushers and revenge for his ancestors.

They slept for a few hours each day wherever they could find shade from the sun. The ground was hard and rocky, but it did soften a couple times as they crossed some of the smaller streams that fed into the Talruk and eventually into the Great River. As they neared these streams more trees would dot the landscape and this would slow their travel as they rested in the shade. Zonk spoke at Donk nearly incessantly for the entire trip. He spent most of his time complaining about the heat even though this was Silverspring and the mild Silversummer wasn’t even upon them yet. Donk typically just agreed with Zonk’s exaggerations. You could see Nalgor and Talgor’s annoyance with his complaints in the twitching of their muscled necks, but they gave up within the first 24 hours on trying to get him to take a breath between sentences. Perhaps this same annoyance is what led Grishnok to keep his distance from the rest of the group. He typically stayed ahead and often disappeared from sight only to show back up on the horizon waving them forward several moments later.

The travel passed swiftly as Ragnok’s focus drew him onward towards his vengeance. It did not seem to Ragnok that a week had passed when they could see the Bone Crusher sigil waving in the distance. The village was exactly how Grishnok had described it when he returned from scouting ahead by appearing from behind a tree. The Bone Crusher village was small, and only a few hundred yards away from the creek bed Ragnok and his allies had just crossed through. The Bone Crusher Clan had certainly lost its former glory from the days they warred with the Thrak Gulch Clan. From this vantage all that could be seen was what appeared to be a hastily constructed barrier surrounding a more well-crafted wall. These walls surrounded two thirds of the village and butted against a steep and treacherous canyon wall that completed the other third of their fortifications. This canyon wall was too tall for the cliff to be used as a way into the village. It was likely carved an age ago by the Talruk River and the creek that now gently gurgled behind Ragnok.

There was a large clearing around the village as any nearby trees appeared to have been used to form the walls. There was no gate, but rather what appeared to be a choke point in the walls which would allow only one or two orcs to walk through it at a time without brushing shoulders with the iron-tipped spikes protruding inwards. The Bone Crusher sigil waved proudly on a large, leather banner stretched between two posts above the largest building in the center of the village. These posts raised the sigil high enough that it was in the light of the rising Silversun, while the rest of the village appeared to sit quietly in the shade created by the nearby cliff wall.

“Great!” Zonk spat sarcastically. “I hate fighting as the sun rises.”

“So do they,” Bashuk responded over her shoulder, still staring angrily at the village.

“We should move in while there’s still shade,” Donk suggested.

Ragnok could hear the drumming in his mind begin to deepen, and its tempo increased with the thought of moving in now, “We shall shed their blood for the glory of Thrak Gulch!” He shouted, slapping Bashuk in the shoulder. “Those walls are no match for you, She-bear.”

“We should move in quietly,” Grishnok pointed to where the wooden walls met the cliff wall on the south side, “The ground is hard as stone near the walls. It is hard to dig, and their walls will be weaker. And we can use the darkest part of the shade for cover.” He began to silently trot off towards the cliff without giving anyone a chance to disagree with his plan. Judging by their swiftness to follow, there wouldn’t have been much argument.

The drumming rose in Ragnok’s mind as they moved quietly along the canyon wall and towards the Bone Crushers. The sounds of Bashuk ripping the spikes from the ground as she charged through the walls joined with the rhythm of the drums and helped drive Ragnok onward. As he entered the village he heard a few Orcish voices shouting from the nearby huts. There were nine huts in the village and to Ragnok’s left he saw an orc who had just been pacing inside the walls begin to reach for a horn on his hip. Ragnok began to charge towards him as he heard the loud crash of Bashuk tearing one of the walls of a nearby hut into pieces. Ragnok could hear the weighted footsteps of Zonk, Donk, Nalgor and Talgor as they charged into the village looking for foes. Ragnok shouted, “Kill them all!” and could feel his allies’ steps increase in speed along with the drumming in his mind.

As he charged the orc with the horn, Ragnok passed a tent-like hut with walls made of leather and he heard the sound of steel being taken from a sheath and footsteps coming around behind him. The orc with the horn was raising it to his lips now and Ragnok chose to try and stop him rather than worrying about the sounds behind him. His strike was true and it cut through the horn and his axe was buried into the face of this orc, but only after the orc was able to release a short, loud blast. Ragnok could feel the footsteps coming behind him and turned just in time to see Grishnok’s sword pierce through the wall from inside the leather hut and into the back of the Bone Crusher that was charging at Ragnok. As the orc fell on his face, Grishnok’s crimson sword disappeared back through the hole it had created in the leather.

Ragnok turned around this hut to help Nalgor and Talgor with whatever orcs remained, and he saw two orcs with crossbows on their backs climbing on top of huts along the far wall. “Archers!” Ragnok warned, but Zonk, Donk, Nalgor and Talgor were fighting back to back and surrounded by eight Bone Crushers. These orcs had not had time to put on their armor, but all of them had either a sword or an axe in hand. Ragnok pushed forward to help and saw the She-bear burst through the other side of the hut she had entered and toss a battered Bone Crusher corpse to the ground as she moved in as well.

Both of the Bone Crusher crossbowmen were able to get their shots off and they chose Bashuk as their target. One of the bolts appeared to bounce off of her, but the other stuck deep into her side near her kidney. Bashuk and Ragnok pushed onward towards their friends, but Ragnok saw two more orcs with crossbows climbing on top of the huts. Ragnok was able to finish off one of the Bone Crushers that Zonk had wounded and with the kill he heard a loud gong in his head. The drumming was blending with the sounds of combat to push Ragnok onward. Zonk felled another Bone Crusher and Nalgor and Talgor coordinated to kill three more. Bashuk swept in and wounded another three, one of which lost his weapon and fell to his knees looking dazed.

Ragnok heard two more crossbow bolts being loosed and felt a sting in his stomach. The drumming skipped a beat as the pain in his abdomen shot through his body. He saw another bolt fly through Nalgor’s neck, stunning him as Talgor decapitated another Bone Crusher and charged toward one of the huts that had a crossbowmen on top of it. Zonk swiftly and expertly sliced the throat of one Bone Crusher orc and stabbed another through the chest. Before either of these could hit the ground Zonk’s tusks were deep in the chest of a third who spewed thick blood from his mouth as he also fell.

Ragnok grabbed Nalgor by the neck, trying to stop the blood that was gushing between his fingers. He dragged Nalgor towards the nearest hut. Ragnok heard a loud crack that sounded like wood being broken and a hut falling down. Then immediately after a loud thud of an orc falling several feet to the ground on the other side of the hut behind which he was hiding. Ragnok tore cloth from Nalgor’s pants and tied it firmly around Nalgor’s neck hoping it would stop the bleeding. Ragnok heard two more crossbow bolts being loosed as he finished with the makeshift bandage. He peered out, clutching the bolt in his abdomen and his vision blurred. He saw Zonk and Donk finish off the last of the Bone Crusher’s on the ground. Ragnok saw Talgor grab the leg of one of the Bone Crushers on top of a hut and pull him to the ground, but as she did he loosed his bolt and it hit Zonk squarely in the side of the head and sank deeply into his temple. As Zonk fell limply to the ground Ragnok saw Bashuk climbing from under the rubble of what used to be a hut with two more bolts sticking out of her rump like porcupine needles. Ragnok saw the two remaining crossbowmen. One of them was trying to reload, and another was aiming directly at him. The bolt was loosed and Ragnok tried to evade it, but his current injury made him move too slowly. The bolt sank through his armor and into his shoulder. He saw the grey armor turning red with his blood as the light faded from his eyes and the sounds of combat started to fade.

He saw a glance of Talgor pulling the final crossbowmen from the roof and impaling him to the ground with her sword. He saw Donk, no longer a boar, holding Zonk in his arms while roaring mournfully at the sky. He saw Nalgor’s chest rise and fall as he remained on the ground. He saw a blurred face before him that he could not see well enough to identify, but he knew that it was Bashuk’s. His vision faded until it was only blackness and there was nothing left but the drumming.