Lymar Village,

Kirkcour Woods.

17th Banem 1092 12:42 pm

Crackle...

Kashi and his companions stood among the centaurs, faces serene as they watched the burial rites of the fallen centaurs. Like most woodland tribes in this world, the centaur tribes chose to burn the bodies of the dead. This was as because wildernesses and deserted regions were home to many evil spirits that sought out freshly buried bodies to inhabit. It was not unheard of for undead to rise from graveyards. The situation was much better in major cities because cemeteries and tombs were often blessed by priests to reduce the chances of undead corruption.

"Thank you, Kashi-dono." Darian expressed his gratitude as tears flowed down his cheeks. His heart ached as he looked across the burning pyres to the new widows and children that solemnly stood by the Lymar Tribe's chief. Determination burned in his eyes as he gripped a new spear strapped to his right flank. "I swear I will make the bastards responsible for this pay."

"That you will," Kashi promised as he watched the smoke plumes rise to the sky. Usually, this ritual would have been held at night, but because of the expeditory nature of Darian's next task, it was pushed to the afternoon. Kashi bowed to the burning pyres then turned Drixlia around. He tapped Darian on the shoulder, "Come, we need to hurry if we're to reduce the number of pyres that will rise tonight."

"You are right." Darian solemnly murmured. He saluted his companions with a bow then led Kashi, Shadow, and Larsial out of the village.

Darian halted at the village entrance when he saw ten young warriors awaiting their arrival. Darian's brows furrowed as he looked at the warriors. "Why are you all here?"

"The chief has asked that we escort you on this mission," an armored centaur stated with a salute. "Please allow us this honor."

Darian's pupils trembled as images of his companions flitted through his eyes. "No, I cann-"

"Why don't you let them?" Kashi interrupted before Darian could complete his rejection. "Do not let your comrades' deaths cloud your judgment. We are embarking on a dangerous mission with no assurance of victory. Every able-bodied soldier we can get on our side is without a doubt, a plus. Imagine if you died because you rejected help. Do you want your comrades to suffer guilt even after death?"

"Your words are harsh," Darian rebuked with a steely gaze.

"Harsh they may be, but true nonetheless," Kashi calmly countered. "Every soldier who picks up a sword is ready to die for the land they believe in. To pretend otherwise is an insult to their honor and name. These men have chosen to risk their lives to protect their homeland. Why do you wish to prevent them this honor? Or could it be you feel you are the only one worthy of saving the centaurs?"

Kashi's rebuke bit into the core of Darian's soul. The centaur prince's heartbeat quickened as realization dawned. Just what had he been doing this whole time? Darian let out a sigh and looked at the warriors. "You may follow. Please, your life is most important of all. You can only save others while you live. Do not forget that."

Kashi let out a smile. "Don't worry too much. As long as I'm here, you probably won't have to do much." This was not simple boasting on the daeben's part. Kashi had calculated the average strength of the common Blight from Shadow and Larsial's battle. As long as an anomaly like the marilith did not show up, he was confident in clearing out any number of blights. This confidence was even more pronounced when he thought of the hundreds of arrows he bought from the centaurs.

"These villages, how far are they from us?" Kashi asked.

"The closest is about an hour's ride from here," Darian stated as marked the earth with a few dots to represent the villages and their distance from each other.

Kashi's brow rose as an intrigued glint flashed in his eyes. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," Darian confirmed as he connected the dots with a line. "It's a spear."

Kashi's eyes lit up as he studied the strange formation. There were six centaur villages in Kirkcour Woods. Of the six, three made up the spear's 'shaft' with Lymar positioned at the spear's butt. The final three formed a rough triangle, which when connected to the furthest of the villages on the spear's shaft, formed a diamond-like shape that was precisely the spear tip.

Kashi rubbed his chin as an amused glint shone in his eyes. Could this be the reason the centaurs were unwilling to leave this place? Could there be a secret related to this formation? Kashi thought about it, then shrugged it off. No use wondering. Time would eventually tell. More importantly, something was strange about this image. "Didn't your father say four villages were under attack? Including this village, that should make five. I count six here."

Darian's eyes grew heavy as he drew an X on the first village. "The Bedu clan was wiped out a week ago, and its shaman was captured."

"There are six shamans?" Kashi questioned with a furrowed brow. "This ritual, are you sure it works with five shamans?"

"It will work," Darian confirmed with a nod. "However the effects will not be as good as when it is carried out by five shamans."

"I see," Kashi muttered as the wheels in his head began to spin. "So, that's how it is."

"Kashi-dono?" Darian worried that Kashi would be displeased and hurried to explain. "The chief meant no harm. He did not want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger."

"It's fine," Kashi placated with a smile. "I do understand his reasoning. It's just unfortunate that I will have to disappoint him. I am precisely the kind of person who seeks out unnecessary danger." Kashi asked as he recalled a troublesome point. "Are you certain the shaman was captured and not killed, and do you have any way of knowing if he's still alive?"

"Yes, he is alive," Darian confidently stated with a firm nod. "I saw him at the enemy's camp. Some soldiers were torturing him for information, but he would not budge."

"Torture huh, such an ineffective method," Kashi rebuked. He then added with a laugh. "Alright then. Let's go liberate those villages first. We'll figure out how to rescue the shaman later."

Darian looked at the daeben with deep respect in his eyes. He knew the daeben primarily wanted to help his horse. Kashi should have considered the missing shaman as a significant loose edge. Instead, the daeben had pushed that to the back of his mind in favor of rescuing the trapped villagers. Darian doubted he would ever be able to repay the mounting debts.

"Yes, Kashi-dono." Darian charged into the woods with Kashi's entourage by his side, while the village's warriors brought up the rear. The thundering of hooves boomed through the forest as the company sped toward the first village.

This was bound to be the most taxing hour of their lives.

***

Oerbora, Daggerfall.

1:45 pm 17th Banem 1092.

The city's population skyrocket within the last couple of hours as orc tribes from all over the region gathered at the rallying point. The thick smell of blood and rage drowned the city in a malevolent atmosphere akin to a powder keg. The raging orcs barely kept their emotions in check, but all it would take was one spark, and the entire place would go up in flames.

A company of orcs rushed through the city gates on panting wild boars. Typically, the guards would never allow such an unruly entrance, but today was a special occasion. With so many angry orcs entering the city at the same time, there was a high chance the standard searching procedures would end in a catastrophe.

The orcs jumped down from their mounts as soon as they passed the city gates. There were no stables in the city large enough to handle this many mounts so the beasts were handed over to some guards who would arrange a place for the mounts outside the city.

These orcs were the warriors from Rhatheth, led by the powerful duo, Grovitch, and Durst. Durst's large frame and long tusks commanded respect from nearby orcs, a privilege he instantly exploited by grabbing a nearby orc. He obtained the location of the meeting place for the tribes from the orc then led his brothers to the given position.

There was only one structure in the orcish city capable of holding the thousands of orcs gathered from all over the region.

The arena was not what most would expect. It was a large patch of land, around which rising, interlocked wooden benches were built. Each level of the benches could hold at least one thousand orcs sitting side by side and it there were five levels, which meant a seating capacity of at least five thousand orcs.

The arena significantly paled in comparison to others like it in the other countries. The trees in Daggerfall, while suitable for building huts in tandem with clay, were terrible for making large structures. Their wood was soft and brittle, often times snapping into pieces when stressed. As a result, all the wood used in the construction of the benches in the arena and Oerbon's walls were obtained by raiding Ederwood's boundaries.

Durst and his tribe arrived at the arena and were not surprised to find a large crowd gathered in the arena. The sheer number of orcs not only filled up all the seats but also spilled onto the fighting grounds. In this scenario, those pushed to the edges of the arena were the weaker orc tribes. The fiercer tribes and their chiefs had the authority to force their way to the front.

"Move," Durst calmly ordered the orc in front of him.

"Huh!?" The orc was already irritated at being shoved all the way to the back. He was ready to crush the idiot who tried to cut the line. He turned with a loud roar, "Do you want to di- Durst!" The orc screamed as soon as he realized who was behind him. Durst's imposing frame and large tusks cut a figure no orc would forget after a single encounter.

"It's Durst!"

"Blood-Drinker Durst!"

"Move! Move!"

Durst snorted as a path formed from Orcs willingly stepping out of the way. He and Grovitch led their brothers to the center of the gathering. The regular tribe members stopped roughly halfway through, and Grovitch stopped one step before the center where a small circle of elites stood.

Durst joined the elite circle, his gaze narrowing as he examined the twenty tribal chiefs. There were too many of them to remember their names, but his gaze hovered on a young orc who was silently sharpening an ax.

This orc's appearance was quite eye-catching. Most notably, unlike most orcs, despite being a male, the young orc's build was quite lean (by the orcish standard). In the eyes of humans, he would appear as a muscular man in the vein of men like Dwayne Johnson. To orcs, however, this was quite puny for an adult of their kind. The orc's ears were a lot more pronounced and pointed than regular orcs, evoking memories of the elves. He was blessed a full head of reddish-orange hair that fell down to his shoulders. Finally, like most orcs, he was barechested, revealing a perfectly-chiseled frame and some tattoos that ran along his chest and arms.

The young orc sat alone with his ax. No one approached him, nor did he bother to speak to anyone. The orc was ostracized by the rest of the orc tribe mainly because of his almost non-existent tusks. They were so small, they were virtually negligible, which constituted as a major disgrace to most orcs. There were those who speculated he was a hybrid between an orc and an elf, but there was no proof to substantiate these theories.

However, despite all these 'stains' on his name, this ostracized orc had won a place at the center of this gathering. This was no accident. Neither was it a gift or something he was granted out of pity. The young orc claimed this place by, becoming the current reigning champion in the arena.

Durst looked at the champion, but could not recall his name. It had been a long time since he had come to the city after all. He shook the matter out of his head as two orcs walked to the very center of the crowd.

The two orcs were an old shaman and a massive orc in the prime of his life. The massive orc oozed terror and blood, but his eyes also held a rare trait among the orcs, wisdom. The terrifying orc turned in place and took in all the orcs present. 

Pain, Grief, Anger, Hatred.

These terrifying emotions choked the very air, and the orc could sense it all. He took a deep breath, swallowing all the rage in the air. Somehow, everyone in that area suddenly felt he was looking into their eyes. Grimlock, head chief of the south-eastern region only said two words, "Brothers... Rage!"

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