You quickly hurry inside, followed by your twin brother. You live in a small village of small huts. Luckily enough, you father is Chieftain Magrash, which entitles you to sleep in the Chieftain's Hut, the largest hut. As you enter, you see your father sitting in a rough woolen tunic, sharpening his greatsword. In front of him is his heavy steel plate armor, as well as several trophies from his battles.


"Mazkil, Gruzub, you fight too much. Mama is trying to put Dagden to sleep."


"Yes, papa." You both reply.


"Who won the fight?" He asks.


"I did!" You both say, before glaring at each other.


"You don't know? Perhaps you're not fighting enough. Gruzub, go down to the river and fetch water for the stew. Mazkil, sharpen my sword. I need light the hearth."


You go over to the sword, and begin to sharpen it against the whet stone, while looking over your father's trophies: An Elven Dagger, a Shrunken head, a battered golden shield, a shattered battleaxe, a studded mace, a series of Tribal Necklaces and a Dragon Skull.


"Papa?"


"Yes?"


"Can you tell me about your trophies?" You ask.


"I've told you many times about my trophies."


"Tell me again."


Papa chuckles, a harsh sound you've come to love.


"Which would you like to know about?"

You stop asking about Trophies

"I'm finished, Papa!"


Papa picks up the blade, and licks the edge.


"Yes... Sharp enough to shed dragon blood. Well done, Mazkil. Now, go fetch gather fruit."

Four years later...

"You've been on this planet fourteen years, and you haven't learned a thing, boys, unless you've seen me and Dendar take out a boar!"


You walk with Gruzub, your older brother Bagig and his friend Dendar, out in the woods. You have a small iron knife at your belt and a bow clutched in your hands. So far in your short life, you've only subsided on deer, goat and chicken, but after today you'll be able to feast on the boar you've helped kill.


"On your first hunt, it's tradition to eat a deer's dropping to gain it's scent." Dendar remarks. "Everybody knows that."


Dendar and Bagig pause, dropping to one knee, pointing to some small droppings.


"Go on, Gruzub, Mazkill. Dig in."

You eat the droppings

You drop to your knees, close your eyes, and quickly swallow a small piece of dropping. Bagig pats you on the head, and nods to Gruzub. Gruzub does the same, and with that, Dendar bursts out laughing.


"You two are idiots!" Mazkil and Gruzub Youngblood, eating deer droppings."


They chuckle as your face reddens. You open your mouth to yell at them, but then freeze. You spot a beautiful deer just at the edge of a small creek out of sight. You grab your brother, and point to it.


"Ah, well spotted, Mazkil Shiteater. Let's catch it, Dendar."


"We can't get distracted. We came here to hunt boar."


"We'll catch the deer and the boar!" Bagig cries, charging off after the deer. 


The Deer bursts off running, with Bagig and Dendar quickly following.


"Stay there!" Bagig yells at you as he leaves.

You stay there

You stand patiently with Gruzub, who looks at you.


"Just so you know, Oraal is mine." He says quietly.


You ponder this for a second. Oraal is a fat, lazy girl who's the daughter of a swordsmaker.


"Oraal? Has her father promised you a fine blade if you crawl between her legs?" You giggle.


"Hey! She has proclaimed her...!" He begins, before his eyes widen.

You ask what's wrong

You open your mouth to speak, but you're hit in the back and sent flying through the air. You hit the ground, your head knocking against a tree root and drawing blood. You shakily stand, drawing your knife, as you're faced with a large boar preparing to charge again.


"Watch out!" Gruzub yells, running to help, but it's clear he's far too slow.


The Boar charges at you, it's tusks looking deadly sharp at they near you...

You roll to the side

You roll to the side, narrowly dodging a goring from the beast's tusks. As it runs past, you leap forward with your knife, cutting through thick fur and drawing a fair amount of blood. It squeals, before running forward and turning around once more for another charge.

You dodge again

As the boar charges, you try to roll to the side, but it's prepared this time. You yell as it's tusks slash your side, causing a massive wound.

You continue

Gruzub charges over and stabs the boar in the side with his dagger, giving you ample time to leap up. You charge at the boar, stabbing it repeatedly in the neck. It squeals, but it's easily killed before it can resist. It falls dead at your feat.

You rejoice, for the enemy is vanquished!

You rest your foot on the boar's tusks, laughing.


"Ha! I've slain the boar!"


"Hey!" Gruzub yells. "I helped."


Dendar and Bagig burst trough the trees, a deer straddled between them.


"We caught the deer. I bet..." They pause, noticing the boar. "Cursed Reaper, is that a boar?"


You nod proudly.


"Death's Head, Mazkil, you've impressed me. No longer will you be called Mazkil Youngblood, now you'll be Mazkil Boarsbane!" Bagig laughs.


You smile proudly, knowing you will feast on boar meat tonight.

One year later...

"Mazkil Boarsbane! Gruzub Fastfoot! Let's go." Papa yells.


You quickly follow your father out of your small home and onto the small dirt road that interconnects the village.


"Boys, you've done well. I was so proud when I saw you best Harkor Clawfist in a fight, I got you a present."


You smile fondly. Harkor had insulted your brother Bagig and Dendar. They had only been recently killed by a Death Knight from the remnants of the Necromancer's Army, and you made sure that Harkor suffered for his insult. By the time you and Gruzub were finished, his face was half-caved in.


Your father hands you each a small amount of gold coins.


"Dendar Arroweye is heading down to Riverton today. He's taking the cart to pick up some goods to help us get through the winter. Take the cart, go enjoy yourself."


You thank him, and eagerly count your coins. 25 Gold Coins, all shining proudly at you.


"Go now, boys. Enjoy yourselves."

You head down to Riverton

After a long ride to Riverton with Dendar who mostly insults you and Gruzub, you eventually arrive at the small town. You eyes immediately find multiple ways to spend your precious coins. There's a brothel in the poorer section of town, a large shop full of delicious foods you wish to sample, a small gambling ring and a tavern.

You leave Riverton

Once you've spent your gold coins, you make your way back to Dendar's cart. Unfortunately, you find yourself in the poorer part of town, clearly having taken a wrong turn. As you make your way through a side street, a voice cries out.


"Hello! A little lost, are we?" A voice cries.


You turn, and are faced with a trio of men holding knives.


"Fuck off." You grunt angrily.


"'Fuck off', he says. What an angry orc." 


A voice from behind you says.


You turn, to see two more men wielding knives. 


"Listen, sir. Give us your coins, and we'll see you find your way to where you're going."

You charge the men

You run forward, swinging your blade. You slash the throat of one of the men and he topples backwards. The second man cuts your shoulder deeply, and you grab his head and smash it repeatedly against a wall, crushing it into a pulp. You feel another knife slash your back and you yell, twisting around to jab another man through the eye and kill him. The two remaining men seem nervous, but one runs forward in a burst of courage. He dives forward, sticking his knife through your arm, causing you to drop your knife. With your other hand you grab him, and push your thumb through his eye as he screams, before stomping on his head until he's a smear on the floor. By then, the final man had left, running as fast as he could.

You collapse

You fall to the ground with a thud, and lose consciousness. When you wake up, you're in the back of Dendar's cart, with Gruzub next to you.


"What happened?"


"You killed a lot of people, collapsed, and I dragged you here."


"Ah. I'm still alive, then. Good."


"We'll get you medical help when we get back to the village."


"Good." You grunt.


"Well done with the thieves, Mazkil. You've proven yourself a true Orc."

One year later...

Orc Tribal Customs are simple. The Chieftain's sons fight, and the winner takes over for him when the Chieftain is killed or reaches forty. Papa has just hit forty, so something you've been preparing for all your life. You sit next to Gruzub in front of the Shrine of Gorgok, the Warrior God, praying silently.


"I'll try not to kill you, you know." Gruzub says quietly.


"I'll try not to kill you." You reply.


"Papa killed his brother." Gruzub notes. "Death is quiet likely for one of us."


"Grandpapa didn't kill his brother." You add.


"Fair point. Whatever it comes down to, I love you. You are my brother, and I would be proud to be killed by you."


"Well, I'm great and mighty. Everyone I kill should be proud of it." You chuckle.


"I take it back, I'm killing you, you prick."


You both laugh, as Papa arrives. He quietly removes his tribal beads, and drapes them around the Shrine.


"Ah. My neck feels bare." He sighs. "Boys, tomorrow is going to be the most important day of your life. One of you will become the victor and chieftain, the other will fall and may die. I just want you to both know I feel nothing but pride towards you."


You struggle not to tear up, and by the way Gruzub is tensing, you know he's also struggling.


"I've always treated you as my father treated me, stern but loving. Whatever you become, be it Chieftain, Warrior, Mercenary or even a whining baker, you will be the greatest at it there's ever been."


Your father nods, and lays his great sword in front of the Shrine.


"It's late. Go, sleep, rest up."


You nod, and stand and begin heading to the hut. As you walk, Gruzub begins to chuckle.


"What?" You ask.


"Do you remember the time when we were boys when we tried to make a glider out of chicken feathers?"


You laugh.


"And we were standing on top of the mountain, with you about to jump." You add.


Gruzub nods, smiling.


"And you yanked me back when you realized chickens can't fly." Gruzub smiles.


"Ha! You would've died! Remember when we caught our first boar?" You smile.


"Yeah. I ate so much boar that night I almost puked."


"That was the mead, Gruzub."


"I miss those days."Gruzub nods.


You arrive at the hut, and you grab Gruzub in a hug.


"Good luck tommorow." You say.


"Good luck."


You both go to bed, scared and nervous about tomorrow.

The next day...

You stand, fully armored in plated steel, next to Gruzub and the Shrine of Gorgok. Priest Jinser stands by the shrine, holding two short swords.


"Gorgok! Watch over this fight and please bless these warriors. Watch over this fight and see that the greatest Chieftain is chosen!" The Priest wails.


He holds the two swords out, and you grab one. Gruzub grabs the other.


"Let the fight commence! First to render the other unable to stand wins!"


You take up a fighting stance, as does Gruzub. You slowly move forward, before you both swing your blades. Sparks fly as they collide, and the battle commences. You land the first blow, smacking into Gruzub's chest as he stumbles backwards. He draws blood first, slashing open a small bit of unprotected arm. It's obvious that you're the far superior fighter, with Gruzub struggling to avoid your attacks. Then, the Fates pluck your string.

You pluck

An eagle, far above you, drops a small turtle from a great height, hoping it's shell will shatter on the ground. The turtle smacks into your head, knocking you backwords. Gruzub takes advantage of your confusion, stepping forward and thrusting his blade. The blade enters you chest, Gruzub carefully avoiding your organs but thrusting deep enough to cause you to scream. When he withdraws, blood spurts out, and you struggle to stand.


"The Fates seem to dislike Mazkil." The Priest notes loudly, though you barely listen.


Gruzub continues to attack, and you barely manage to defend yourself. Eventually, he kicks your leg and you fall backwards. This leaves your throat exposed, for Gruzub to easily slash your throat and make sure you fall and never get up.

You try to regain a fighting stance

To your surprise, Gruzub hesitates, before taking up fighting stance again, allowing you to gain a defensive position to defend your open throat and stop your demise. Your energy waning, you decide to take one final effort to defeat Gruzub. He swings his sword at your legs, attempting to floor you, but you block the shot and head butt him. He falls backwards, and you swing your blade, smacking into his head. His helmet flies into the air, leaving his head and neck unguarded. You know you don't have enough energy to continue fighting.

You behead Gruzub

You swing your blade down with a roar. You sword connects with his neck, and his head falls to the ground. You drop to your knees, looking at your dead brother. You barely comprehend the Priest grabbing your hand and holding it up, loudly proclaiming you the victor. Papa walks over, draping the Tribal Chieftain beads and necklaces around your neck. Mama walks out and gently kisses your head, before closing Gruzub's eyes on his decapitated head. The Priest has the body taken away to be burned to ensure it makes it to the afterlife. You struggle not to weep for your brother, while Papa kneels down to talk to you. 


"You are Chieftain now, Mazkil. Chieftain Mazkil Redblade, leader of the Red Blades. You will lead the tribe to greatness. Tonight, we celebrate. We celebrate your ascension to chieftain, we celebrate the great fight, we celebrate your brother's journey to the Afterlife. He fought so well I'm sure Gorgok himself is Gruzub's cup-bearer." 


You nod. The path you're going down is set. Gone are dreams of becoming a mercenary or a raider. Now, you are a Chieftain.

You continue

The Path of the Chieftain


You sit on the small wooden Chief's Throne in the Main Hall. Tribal Necklaces and Beads are around your neck, feeling a lot heavier than they are thanks to the guilt and grief from Gruzub's death. Papa has vacated his role as chief completely and given all his responsibilities to you, taking Mama and leaving to a small farm up the mountain, leaving you in charge. Still, he's left you with two lieutenants and advisors, Elder Doct and Thraka Flameborn.


Elder Doct is an aging Orc, the oldest in your village. She is a traditionalist, who had fond memories of the old days when warriors fought duels for honor and farms were farmed by hand with hoes rather than with mules and donkeys. She values older values like honor, isolationism and keeping the village moral and traditional.


Thraka Flameborn is the polar opposite of Doct. He is one of the few Orc Mages, specialized in pyromatics and flame-based magics. He is a very modern and progressive orc, who wants for the industrialization and modernization of the village as well as a better relationships with the outside world.


The pair enter the Main Hall, and begin approaching you. Elder Doct is in ancient, dusty armor from his days as a warrior, and has a face like a wrinkled, rotting prune, while Thraka Flameborn is a younger, smaller Orc who looks like a child playing dress up with his father's red Mage Robes.


Huh. Perhaps you are still bitter and angry at the world because of your brother's death.


"Congratulations at you ascension to Chieftain, Chieftain Mazkil." Elder Doct says happily.


"My brother just died."


"Oh... Yes, sorry, Chieftain." Doct apologizes.


"What's the issue?" You ask.


"Raiders have been spotted at the Eastern Woods, by Jagik Longstride. She says they've been camped there for at least three days, raiding surrounding farms and market caravans." Thraka says.


"What am I to do, then?" You ask.


"You should grab your sword and lead our warriors to wipe them out." Elder Doct says.


You grab your father's long sword, or your long sword now. It's a massive steel blade, the blade inscribed with Orc Runes. It's been handed down your family for four generations, when your great grandfather shattered his family sword on an Elven Shield.


"Where are the men?"


"Down at the armoury." Thraka adds.

You head to the armory

You sling the sword over you shoulder, and begin marching towards the armory. The Orcs are all standing around, wearing plate armor and chainmail, wielding swords, axes and maces. They respond to your arrival with eagerness and bloodthirstiness.


"Ah! The Chieftain's here! Time for battle!" One of them says gleefully.


Because of your age, you know you quickly need to take charge and show your dominence.


"Alright men! We had killing to do! On my lead!" You shout.


You begin marching towards the Eastern Woods, followed by the the Orcs. With that, you begin leading your War Party towards bloodshed.

Two Hours Later...

You spot smoke just in the distance, where the raiders are presumably camped.


"Orcs!" You loudly whisper. "To arms! We'll wipe out the fiends to the last man."


You move forward slowly, further through the woods. You arrive at the edge of a small glade. There is a large opening where there's several dozen tents. A group of around thirty Orcs wearing chainmail armor and wielding axes, short swords and maces. You give a few hushed orders to various Orcs to target the various flanks to make sure not a single raider survives. Then, you raise your sword.


"CHARGE!" You roar, sprinting forward.


The Raiders are quickly taken by surprise, grabbing any nearby weapons and raising them in defense. You swing your sword, which bites into one of their necks and beheads him in one clean sweep. You kick a second to the floor with one swift kick to the head, knocking him to the floor. You raise your sword and stab downwards, going through the raider's stomach. Within a few seconds, the fighting is over. The raiders have been quickly wiped out to the last orc, leaving none alive.


"This was quicker than I had hoped." One of the Orcs remarks.


"Orders, Chieftain?" Another asks, turning to you.


"Burn the tents, the bodies and take anything worth taking." You reply.


"Yes, Chieftain Mazkil."


Your men quickly begin removing armor, weapons and jewelry from the dead Orcs, and wrapping their corpses in tents. Once this is finished with all the corpses, they set the wrapped corpses alight, which quickly begin burning. You sniff the air, and smell the delicious smell of sizzling flesh.


"Chieftain! I counted the amount of beds versus corpses. Twenty dead raiders, but there's over eighty beds."


"There's more! We believe there's at least sixty more raiders off on a mission at the moment. Orders, Chieftain?"


One of the Orcs, one of the very few archers you've brought, Kanim Darkwit, steps forward. 


"Sir. The Raiders will be hungry and tired. They'll be here soon. We can lay an ambush. There's a good vantage point in one of the trees..."


"Coward! Where's your honor, boy?" Another Orc, Jakku Bearsbane, roars. "We're not abandoning all honor and reason in favor of hiding like does! We find the raiders, and wipe them out to the last man."

You return to the village

"Curse the Gods, I'm not wasting my time out here in a freezing, empty forest waiting for what could be days, weeks even, for the raiders to return, all while subsiding on nuts and berries like a fucking chipmunk. We head back to the village for a warm meal and a large drink."


"Yes, Chieftain." The Orcs all bark back.


You wipe the blood off your longsword on the wet grass, and turn to begin the long walk home.

You head back to the village

The next day, you walk along the street, Thraka and Doct off managing your work for a while. You survey your village. Children are brawling in the streets, the elders are drinking and the adults are working. Everything's good. You think to yourself. You notice a young Orc woman who's name you haven't learnt, and feel a pang in your heart as you notice how beautiful she is. You feel a pang in another place, but that's neither here nor there. You realize that one of, and perhaps the best, duty of the Chieftain is to have a heir to the throne and get married. You'll try find someone soon enough. Not today, though. You continue strolling around the village, before you notice at the edge of town, a trail of caravans approaching. You raise an eyebrow, as there are no scheduled caravans set to arrive over the next few days. You walk up, and to your surprise, notice the caravaneers are not the Orcs you're used to seeing. They're all men. Usually there's a few men mixed in with the Orcs that run the caravans. You walk over to the caravan.


"Hey! Who are you, then?" You ask loudly.


The Humans on board are wearing red cloth with gold Eagle symbols embroidered on them.


"Greetings! I am Giorgio Lates. I am a merchant from the Kingdom of Mankind."


"I recognize the sigil. What do you want?"


"I am a merchant, kind sir. Orcs are famous for their steelwork, and I had the pleasure of working with some Orc Mercenaries. They're blades, axes and maces are unrivaled, except for Elvish blades, which are as easy to find as an honest merchant. Which, you so happen to have found." Giorgio says, winking.


"You wish to buy blades?"


"Buy? Not exactly. I doubt you have much use for my gold. I wish to swap, to barter, to trade."


"For what?"


"We have much to trade. Food, Drink, Steel, Iron, Wool, Jewelry, Gold, Silver and much, much more. We wish to open up a trade route between here and the Empire." Giorgio grins.


You frown. Traders are prone to take advantage of humble villages like yours. The Village is also dedicated to crops, farm work and general self-sufficiency. To increase your smithing and weapons production, you'd need to sacrifice your self-sufficiency. Still, it could increase your village's profit and the standard of living.

You agree to trade with the Kingdom of Man

"Yes. Yes... I like this plan. I will expand the blacksmith's, and begin producing weapons for the Kingdom of Man."


"Ah! Fantastic, Sir!" Giorgio replies happily. "I promise, you won't regret this. I'll increase the amount of caravans coming up here, and have the first few stuffed with a little... gift, a show of appreciation. I've you've never had Elk, or Trout, or Lamb, you'll enjoy the caravans."


"It'll take us some time to begin producing weapons, but once we're started we'll be able to produce quite a bit."


"Ah, good, good." Giorgio grins.


You negotiate the smaller details and offer the merchants each a bed and mead, but they politely refuse to head back down the mountain. Despite Giorgio's friendliness, it's quite obvious most of the other merchants and guards were unnerved by being so deep in Orc territory. Still, you think this trade deal with greatly benefit the Red Blades.

Three Days Later...

You sit on your throne in the Main Hall, in the midst of a feast to celebrate the death of Chieftain Dadic, your Great-Great-Great-Grandfather, who was brutally stabbed to death by Elven Assassins. Despite being unarmed, surprised and quite old, he put up a grand fight. Twenty Elves entered this very great hall to assassinate him, three went out. Thraka and Dokt stand on either side of you. For once, they both agree on what you should do, although Thraka's much more brutally honest.


"Find a girl to fuck." He says.


"What Thraka Flameborn means is..."


"To get your dick inside a girl." Thraka laughs, to Dokt's embarrassment and frustration. 


"Chieftain, every Chieftain needs one to share their soul with. You need a mate." Dokt says.


You survey the room. You spot a young Orc girl dancing in the crowd. She's small and cute, and you briefly make eye contact. She gives you a flirty wink. A pretty girl would do good to help you survive the cold winter nights.


Making use of the drink and food is a tall warrior. Her head is cut short and she has a large, impressive blade on her side. A warrior is someone you could relate to and respect as a mate.


One the opposite side (both of the room and orientation), a youngish Orc stands quietly, a leatherbound book in his hands. He looks intelligent, but also has soft features and a nice smile, which he quickly flashes at you.


Finally, there's a massive beat of an Orc holding a blade that could cleave horses in half with one blow leans against a wall. You recognize him as Ironsoul, a fantastic warrior notorious for spending large amounts of time in brothels in the company of Orcs who choose to have an adventurous life working in the brothel rather than on the battlefield.

You talk to the dancing Orc

You walk over to the dancing orc, and smile.


"Hello."


"Hi." She replies cheerfully.


"I am Chieftain Mazkil."


She giggles.


"Obviously. I make sure I know the name of the Chieftain."


"Ah. Good." You reply, awkwardly.


You realize while you're very skilled and courageous in the art of warfare, you suck at flirting. Thankfully, she's better and very interested.


"I am Sarunt. So, do you want to get a drink, Mazkil?"


You nod eagerly, and head over to the drink stand.

You continue spending time with Sarunt

You spend the next few hours talking with your newfound mate. Sarunt is quite intelligent and flirty, almost your exact opposite. You'll make sure that your relationship continues and develops into what could be a prosperous marriage.

Four Weeks Later...

You sit on your throne, resting your head on your blade as Thraka Flameborn and Elder Dokt tell you about the village's state of affairs.


"There's been a change in the management of the College of Alexandria. They've begun to accept Orc students." Thraka says to you. 


"Well, this is very good for racial relations, but what do the Red Blades care?" 


"There are many more profitable jobs that can be found if you work in the College. We could greatly improve their lives."


"These jobs would take these people away from profiting the Red Blades, cost massive amounts of money, and mots likely they wouldn't receive these jobs for being Orcs. These students wouldn't be able to get the jobs, and they wouldn't be taught how to farm or fight, so when they came back here without jobs, they couldn't work here."


"The Elder exaggerates greatly. There's plenty of work ot be found, especially with Orcs. Learning at the College of Alexandria would mean that our children would have better lives."


You briefly consider the thought. Perhaps the Young Orcs would have better lives in and after the College, but it would definitely take away from the tribe's size, and perhaps the Orcs would be left untrained in manual labor or the ability to find actual work after discrimination stops them from finding educated work.

You send young Orcs to the College

You decide to send these young Orcs to the College. You want them to have a better life than you and your ancestors have had, and make sure the Orcs aren't left out in the education world.

Five Weeks Later...

You sit on the Throne, looking over hunting cycles. Gemin's Point is good hunting ground, but it could lead to fighting between the Dead Bone Tribe, who also uses the area. You could send hunters there, not send hunters there, or the third and by far the greatest option, fall on your own sword and end the painful trial worse than any other Orc has endured of doing crop rotations or hunting areas.


You hear yells outside, and the doors to the town hall is kicked open. A group of six Orcs appear, dragging a brutally beaten man with them.


"Chieftain! We have found a man in our territory, the goat fucker." One of the Orcs yells, tossing the man in front of you. "He's been hunting our deer and boar for weeks, it seems."


"Explain yourself, human, before I release my warriors to tear you apart."


"Sir, please." He says, begging. "I'm from the village of Eckleglade. It was destroyed by an Elvish Assault Party, and we were forced to flee. Many of us headed to the hills and mountains, to hide from Elvish attacks, and formed small camps up there. I was only trying to hunt to feed my family."


"Sir, orders?" One of the Orcs asks you. "Shall I take his head?"

You have the Trespasser executed

"Hmmm... Where are the camps, trespasser?"


"Sir, if I tell you..."


"Don't preside to know who I am or what I'll do, trespasser."


"They're at the Morinspeck Mines, sir."


"Good."


You stand, and swing your blade. The Man doesn't have time to blink before his head falls to the ground, rolling onto the floor. You turn to your men.


"Send warriors up to Morinspeck Miens. Force them out, and kill anyone who resists or refuses to go."


"Yes, Chieftain." They say cheerily, running off to find armor and weapons.


"Well, that takes care of that problem." You think, kicking the head aside.

Five Weeks Later...

"Chieftain! Chieftain!"


"Yes?" You ask.


You're met with a young Orc, a cousin of yours, who reminds you of Gruzub. You feel a twang of guilt, before deciding that in honor of Gruzub, you're going to kill this Orc if he brings up something like the placement of the new well or whether to build the new stable of stone or wood.


"There's a disaster up at the Kes Nests."


"Disaster? That's a strong word."


"It's accurate. A group of Zombies have engaged a Red Dragon perched on the mountain."


"If Death and Destruction met on a Road." You quote, remembering one of the few books you read as a child.


"What?" The Orc grunts.


"The Poem, where the Grim Reaper meets the Mother of Dragons on a road. They debate their roles, with the Grim Reaper saying how his job is necessary ot prevent overpopulation, while the Mother of Dragons says that she prevents empires from wiping out all... What the fuck am I doing? I'm not explaining a children's poem to you."


"Sorry Chieftain. The Warriors are suggesting you lead a party up there."


"To do what?"


The Orc shrugs.

You lead an army up to the Kes Nests

"Assemble the warriors." You say. "Get me a group of sixty warriors who are hungry for blood."


You have the group assembled, and quickly begin making your way up the mountain. About halfway up, you begin to regret it.


"It's cold, my feet hurt and I'm fucking tired." You grunt as you trudge up the mountain.


"Damn right, Mazkil." Urug Eaglebow says.


You look further up the mountain, and hear the howls and rasps of the dead as well as the roars and screeches of the dragon. There's few dragons up here, so you presume this Red Dragon fighting is Mont Pre'Igni Rubrum, a near unpronounceable name, or the Volcano of Gargarum. The Undead are no doubt deserters from the Necromancer's Army. You reach the top of mountain, at the edge of a crater. At the center, a large group of two dozen undead soldiers armed with spears and swords are attempting to kill the dragon. It seems the undead are very unmatched.

You fight both the Dragon and the Undead

You charge forward, your blade swinging.


"Go! Send the dead back to their graves and the dragon to Gorgok's Trophy Room!"


You behead one of the undead, its rotting skull flying through the air. You feel a blade slash your back, before a jet of flame sets you alight, melting your skull.

You death

You let out a pitiful scream as your life is taken from you.