The snap, which should have been no more than a small whisper in the loud arena, somehow exploded in the ears of every orc, instantly inducing a deathly silence. The orcs swallowed hard, watching in disbelief as Grimlock's lifeless body slid out of Renark's hands, and then hit the floor with a soft, but thunderous thud.

Renark huffed and stumbled, nearly crashing to the floor from accumulated fatigue. Luckily, his warrior's pride proved stronger, and he managed to hold himself up at the last moment. The orc trembled, gaze dimming as a group of shaman stepped out of the arena and walked towards him.

Seven shamans, each from different tribes, surrounded Renark and Grimlock's bodies, cold gazes examining the corpse. The oldest, and most respected amongst them stepped forward and then crouched in front of Grimlock's body. He murmured a quick chant and then spread his hands over Grimlock.

Renark, and the orcs watched, gazes hot as green mist arose from Renark's body, eventually taking the form of a massive 9 feet tall orc. Every orc in the stadium recognized this ki-image. It was the accumulated souls of the war chiefs, passed on from each war chief to the next.

This image was the reason why the position of Orcish War Chiefs rarely changed hands. Each War Chief was, by design made stronger than the previous, and hence the distance between war chiefs and regular orcs only increased with each generation. Often, it wasn't until a War Chief was in his twilight years, or an anomaly like Renark was born that the position would change hands.

Countless orcs were thus understandably invigorated by the sight of this image, but unfortunately, it would not be theirs to have. Meanwhile, Brilith Loneheart's eyes narrowed, a greedy glint in her eyes as she stared at the image. However, she managed to rein in her desire, whispering to herself as she wrung her hands over her laps, "Not yet."

Seemingly oblivious to the attention the ki-image had garnered, the shamans' chants intensified. As if invigorated by their chants, the ki-image began to erratically sway in place, swelling in size as it did.

Within the shamans' enclosure, Renark's eyes narrowed as he stared at Grimlock's rapidly deteriorating corpse. The corpse's muscles shrunk like something was sucking all the air out of it. The culprit, however, was quite obvious. Renark looked at plumes of green smoke that rose from Grimlock's body and were then absorbed by the ki-image.

Eventually, Grimlock's corpse disintegrated, turning to dust, as the ki-image absorbed the last of its essence. By this point, the ki-image had grown an extra foot taller, and adopted a much more vicious expression, influenced by Grimlock's violent aura.

The shamans worshipped the ki-image with reverence in their eyes, and then walked over to, and surrounded Renark. The champion stood still as the head shaman approached him and then placed a hand on him. Buoyed by the head shaman, the rest of the shamans' chants intensified as they approached the critical point of the ceremony.

Renark glanced up, excitement in his eyes as he watched the ki-image descend towards him. The proud orc stood still, a satisfied smile on his face as the ki-image burst into smoke and then rushed towards him. The green smoke funneled into the orc form his nose, mouth and skin, the rapid force causing the orc to choke and gasp for air as the smoke blocked his airways.

Renark grimaced, eyes watering as he grasped his throat, but no matter how hard he tried, he could no force the smoke out to breathe. Fortunately, or unfortunately, aside from the intense pain in his lungs and throat from being unable to breathe, there did not seem to be any other side-effects. The new aura was somehow keeping him alive as it awaited the rest of the smoke to funnel into the new War-Chief.

A couple of moments later, the last of the smoke finally cleared through Renark's airways. The orc collapsed to a knee, gagging and spurting as he struggled to catch his breath. In his entire life, Renark had never appreciated the simple act of breathing as much as he did at that moment.

Unfortunately, the ordeal was far from over. With the absorption completed, it was now time for the downloaded ki-ware to modify the orcs systems.

CRACK! CRACK! SNAP!

"AAAAH!" Renark let out an uncharacteristic roar, falling over as every bone in his body was systematically crushed and then remade by the violent aura. His heart, lungs and other vital organs underwent reinforcement, becoming at least ten times tougher and stronger. Although the orc's muscles did not grow in size, they grew much denser. Presently, even the orc had no idea how strong he was.

However, the true value of the War Chief's aura was not in its strength upgrade, but in the knowledge it passed. Renark, clutched his skull, pressing so hard against it that one would think he intended to crush his own brain. But this only happened because of the vast quantity of information flying into his brain at once.

Memories, fighting techniques, battle strategies and more... The accumulated knowledge of nine generations of war chiefs rudely burrowed their way into the depths of Renark's brain, the sudden increase in load, causing the orc to double over in pain.

Luckily, this ordeal did not last too long. After a while, a sweat-drenched Renark rose from the ground, The orc heavily panted as he gazed at his arms while sorting through the numerous memories. Within those, he found out that Grimlock had indeed worked out that he had betrayed the tribe, and had intended on eliminating both Renark and Silver Spear. Unfortunately, he did not get the chance to complete this mission. And now, Renark was the new War Chief.

Renark took a deep breath, settling his nerves as he compartmentalized and then pushed the memories to the back of his mind. He would get to them later. For now, he had a clan to address.

Renark let out his breath, the release drumming in the ears of everyone present. The War Chief clasped his hands over his chest and then nodded at the shamans in show of respect. He then stepped out of their circle and toward the center of the arena, so he was an equal distance from every stand.

When he reached the center, Renark slowly turned around in place, taking a second to drink in the worship, fear, pride and awe present in the eyes of the orcs. Naturally, as was the case with all orcs, there was just as, if not, even more hostility in those same eyes, as each one weighed their chances in an Uruk-thai battle. The new War Chief knew that the coming months would be fraught with challenges from orcs eager for the throne.

However, Renark's plans did not include watching over his shoulder every few weeks. As a result, he decided to squash any and all desires in this single moment. Raising his arms to the skies, Renark roared, "Brothers! Sisters! Your War Chief stands before you! What say you!?"

ROOOOOAAAAR!!!

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Heaven-shaking, mountain-toppling roars blasted through the arena as the watching orcs cheered their new chiefs. The collective sound of thousands of orcs beating their hands against the chests resembled the thundering of a herd of rampaging wildebeests.

"Haha! Thank you brothers!" Renark shouted, his voice somehow eclipsing that of the thousands of orcs. "Grimlock was a great War-Chief, but there could only be one winner. By Drazz's grace that orc happened to be me!" Once again the orcs cheered, and Renark waited for them to continue before continuing, "Unfortunately, although Grimlock was a strong war-chief, he was not the wisest leader." The crowd instantly quieted down, a heavy tension filling the air as the hostility in their eyes grew. Even though Grimlock was dead, he was still a former War-Chief. No orc could forgive a slight against a War-Chief, even if it was from another.

Sensing the tension, Renark raised his hands and said, "Listen. I understand how you all feel." Tapping his chest, he remarked, "No one respects Grimlock more than I do! He taught me everything I know, from my very first axe swing, to leading a clan." Renark frowned, gaze turning downcast as he said, "He was wise, and strong... but he was too cautious. Too passive." The orc grimaced in pain as he stated, "Think about it! We orcs once roamed all of Daggerfall. We squabbled and fought amongst ourselves, yes, but there were never cases of entire clans scrapping over food like there are now. What Changed!?"

"No answer?" Renark's gaze turned angry, challenging the stares of all the clan-chiefs standing in front of the crowds. "I'll tell you what changed! The damned dwarfs came into our land, and using their inventions and war machines, forced us all to the south!" Palming his chest, the War-Chief pointed out, "Everyone knows the north is much more fertile than the south. It has more crops, beasts, and the waters flow free and clean. That was our land! But we were exiled to the south, where clans are forced to fight over scraps." Pointing to the north, Renark exclaimed, "The dwarfs sit comfortably upon our lands, watching and laughing as the 'savage barbarians' kill each other just to survive."

"They mock us! Laugh at us!" Renark emphasized with a loud growl. "Murder us when we go hunting in the north! Claim we trespassed." The War-Chief challenged his constituents with an angry roar, "Tell me Brothers! Can we trespass on land that is ours!?"
"NO!" The thunderclap of a response shook the entire arena. Every orc in there knew the dangers of hunting in the north. It had been drilled into them from birth. 'Avoid the North if you want to live. It is dwarven territory.'

"Does it make sense that we fear a bunch of cave-dwelling cowards who hide behind machinery? Who do not dare face their opponent in open battle?"

"NO!"

"We are ORCS!" Renark roared, his voice drumming up something within the depths of the orc's hearts. "Orcs do not fear... Orcs do not ask permission. When we want something, we take it! Trespass my ass." He spat on the floor and cursed, "Schcucks the lot of them."

"We will not take this anymore!" Renark raised his arm to the sky, gaze burning hot as he declared, "Our laxness has galvanized the dwarfs' boldness! Not only did they massacre our people, but they spat on our goodwill by not only betraying, but murdering those we sent to maintain peace." Renark snorted, gaze cold as he shouted," My first decree as War-Chief is this: The elimination of all dwarfs in Daggerfall! We will reclaim our lands. No longer will we cower in the shadows! We will take this war to the dwarfs!"

"ROOAAR!"

The arena once again exploded in thunderous roars as the orcs celebrated the new declaration. Orcs, by nature, were a battling race. An orc was only truly alive in the thin line between life and death. So, the declaration of a war was like the sweetest nectar to the hungry orcs. Nothing in this world could compare to the high they got from battling.

Renark once again waited for the cheers to die down and then stated with a grave expression. "As much as I would like us to rush to the dwarfs right now, their war machines remain a real threat. I have no intentions of sending orcs to die meaningless deaths. To combat this, we will be working with the Silver Spear Guild," The orc said as he pointed at a corner of the stadium, drawing every orc's attention to Brilith Loneheart and the rest of Silver Spear seated around her. "They will provide us with weapons and armor as well as aid us in clearing out the dwarfs."

The orcs hooted and cheered, much to the shock of the other wisben and merchants seated around Silver Spear. No one had ever seen the orcs cheer someone of another race. Especially, not a wisben, who in their eyes were weak and slimy-looking.

Brilith, meanwhile, exposed a bright smile as she received a prompt. She looked at GrizzlyDiamond and said, "You know what to do."

GrizzlyDiamond exposed a malicious grin as he glared at Renark. "Hehe. Of course." The warrior chuckled as he stood up and exited the arena, heading for a safe logout spot.

Brilith then turned her attention back to Renark, a sly smile spreading up the side of her lips as she declared, "Now, let the fun begin..."