There stood Yurgul on a platform within his massive tent. He posed with his chest out and tusks glossened. He flickered his eyelids in a show of arrogance and indifference. The moment was perfect with the setting sun's last rays slowly scaled the cloth walls around him and a light breeze rustled the trees and brush surrounding the camp.

Yurgul looked down at his numerous aids and stratergists. A countless number of useless dandies not worth being called Orcs, much less future leaders of the Western Clan; the great Third Clan. But he could not do without it, or so his father told him.

Power was more than the size of your biceps or how hard you could swing a battleaxe. It was a culmination of everything around you, from every blade of grass to the largest beings.

Until this day Yurgul could not fully understand what his father meant, no matter how hard he tried to delve into its meaning and find the promised bottom of the well, he found only more darkness he must wade through.

He fixed his pose, doing his best to look as dainty as possible. Raising a hand like some dancers he had watched during a wedding of some well traveled Merchant Orcs.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, his massive frame could not be hidden. He was beyond muscle bound, every muscle had layers of muscle on them.

He despised his stance.

Despised how much a few of the ladies fake swooned at his show.

Despised how fake impressed the young aids and strategists tried to look, but failed miserably.

But no matter how much it irked him, he had to develop some form of soft zone. It meant everything to him he do so because it meant…

...well, Raneria, only disciple of the Master Orc of Strengthening, would finally love him too.

Yurgul flicked the scroll in his hand open, its crack deafening in the pin drop silence. It was filled with his writing, art he had created, a poem worthy of masters if what those around him were to be trusted.

He wasn’t convinced they were, honestly.

“Raneria,” he began, pausing for greater effect.

“I lovin youse.

Lovin youse, so very much.

And youse will lovins me soon toos.

Cause my muscle is great.

And my swingin hammer, even greaters.”

The entire hall erupted in cheers and clapping. From their reaction, he could have spoken with enough power to cause them advancement in the Path.

In response to the crowd, Yurgul bowed with a flick of his long robe, attempting to copy the dancers and dandies in front of him. He had worked for days on end, with hours of lack of sleep in the process to create this masterpiece.

Each of the aids got up in a standing ovation feeding his ego, but he knew better. It was obvious he was untalented in the arts of the dainty. But hard work could overcome any obstacle or so he used to believe.

Nowadays, he wasn’t too sure about that.

But, that was beyond the point he guessed.

Stepping down from the platform with heavy feet, from having stood in those awkward positions for too long, he made his way towards the crowd. They in turn parted to let him through. He had been following the same schedule each and every day.

An hour of them listening to his poems and giving their own art, which was nowhere near as good as his. Then followed by five hours sparring wherein he beat the ever living lights out of anyone who out did him during the poem sessions or he simply did not like.

Pushing the tent flap out of the way, his eyes were greeted with the last rays of the sun, blinding him for a second.

Only for him to jump and roll without a moment's hesitation. He felt a current of wind flash before him and a heavy thump and scream of pain from behind him.

He rushed to his feet. Dove towards the right and his great hammer and shield. Every moment he heard a thunk behind him as arrows he could feel were laced with a powerful path, strong enough to hurt him, kept zooming in his direction.

Yurgul had his shield up and large body sideways to cover it all as a rain of arrows assaulted his area like a never ending river.

In his moment of utter focus, he drowned out the roars of angry Orcs or the cries of help so many shouted. Even the magic cast by the very few that had paths in the Paths of Energy, sprung around his aids and him, he pushed forward rushing to meet the hidden enemy head on.

It mattered not who shot arrows at him, but what did matter was the audacity to dare insult his honor without a duel or a battle in the fields. Men facing men, muscle facing muscle.

How could he possible expect the human’s to carry such high morals? They were vagrants and were only ever worth being slaves to their true masters; his Clan.

With a mighty roar, his Path to effect. His dark green skin began to become purple as rage ravaged his blood. He charged at the tree lines and behind him were at least a thirty of his best men.

With a bloodthirsty smile stretched across his face at the thought of his hammer meeting flesh as he swung with all his might. He was sure he would not meet anyone with metal, but energy, that was a matter wholly different.

A fist shaped purple energy was launched from his massive hammer, within a second, its came to a screeching halt and screams of pain and the pure destruction of the trees in that area satisfied his lust temporarily, but that was only fleeting.

He jumped past the destroyed tree line, searching for the enemy. Only to find a few dead human bodies, twenty-seven from his attack, strewn about and nothing else. It was clear from the signs that the number of deceased was miniscule in comparison to their actual count. The sheer amount of arrows was testament of that.

It only made Yurgul wonder if the Elves had begun to intervene in their wars again. Humans were not known for their honor, but even they would not stoop so low as to kill from a distance.

“Great Fist! They attack from the north!” A warrior shouted as he crashed through the broken wood. “They target our food!”

“Get them!” Yurgul screamed with every fiber of his being. He could not stop the madness as it creeped ever closer every time he pulled deeply from his Path.

He sped across the camp faster than any other could follow, his powers increasing every moment his rage continued to boil. With a few moments, he was already at the other side swing his hammer again, but this time at the burning food. He had to get the dry food away from the fire.

The energy crashed destroying the fire, but the damage had already been done. The fire was not normal he knew that to be true beacuse it ate at the grain and resources faster than natural flames. Not worthy of being mentioned as a great Path, but still one never the less.

“Come out you cowards!” Yurgul roared.

He got no response. Only the groans of his men and the scraping of metal armor filled his hearing. Not a sound from the forest other than the natural sounds.

Did they not plan to take advantage of his army's confusion? Where were the damnable cavalry the human’s loved to tout every time they met during negotiations?

And most importantly, what the hell was going on?