Light from numerous torches glistened brightly against slick, dew covered cavern walls. Shadows bounded to and fro as a mass of goblins were slowly funneled into a more central location.

“Move it!” A voice bellowed out while the crack of a whip reverberated loudly against the cavern walls. The owner of the voice, an orc with terrible and cruel scars across his face yelled out to the frightened goblins while several of his brethren pushed and stabbed at the small creatures.

“We ain’t got all day!”

“Keep moving, or I’ll break yer bones!”

A piercing cry rang out from the terrifying scene as a goblin fell to the ground while one arm cradled the other. A bone stuck out of its flesh while the brutalized creature huddled up for protection as his captor moved to assault him.

“Useless beast.” Snarled one of the orcs as he loomed over the injured goblin and kicked the creature in its stomach.

“There ain’t nuthin’ good about you except for feeding your meat to the Wargs.” The orc kicked again as he made sure to burrow his ragged and knife edged boot under the prone goblin as he kicked it towards a nearby cluster of its fellow prisoners.

This was an all too familiar scene within the realm of Arun’Uk. A chain of volcanic mountains that strung from the northernmost valley of the Dark Lands and all the way to the human kingdom of Ranislava. A small tribe or clan of goblins, trolls or orcs would fight against a superior rival and lose. Only to have their surviving numbers gang pressed into servitude by the victors. While this was an ancient tradition for the roaming, orc led warbands of the south, the north had only recently seen this practice become a reality. This wasn’t because the northern powers saw the advantages that the time honored tradition could bring them, but instead because of a single leader who had so brazenly laid claim over the entirety of the volcanic mountain region.

Orukk the Blood Drinker had long claimed that he once belonged to a now defunct clan of orcs that had terrorized the various human and dwarven nations to the west of these mountains. He never bothered to explain what had happened to his former people and instead put forth the theory that a brutal killing from a feared ruler worked far better than the soft spoken words of a coward.

So far his self-proclaimed philosophy of an ever bloody warlord was successful.

Upon his arrival into the treacherous and unnamed western mountain passes of the Dark Lands, he had found ample opportunity to kill and slaughter those that were weaker than him. He had heard from many of his former brethren that crossing the mountains couldn’t be done. He proved them wrong and in doing so, named the path he had taken as “Orukks Arrival” At first he gathered a small band of orcs who saw untold potential in this newly arrived figure and once Orukk had killed their former leader they offered their loyalty.

Soon this ragtag group of orcs made their way south, where they were beset by many goblin tribes who proved to be hardly worth their time. Their numbers grew with each tribe they had bested. They had scavenged and pillaged their way further south before the roaming clans of warg riders forced them to turn east and march to the north where Orukk was told that countless numbers of goblins resided. As well as a large number of troll dens that dotted the land around them.

It was here, in the fiery mountains of Arun’Uk that the orcish warlord perfected his style of mountain warfare and swallowed up numerous tribes as his vision of an all powerful kingdom slowly became a reality. Some joined him willingly while most had to be beaten into submission.

There had been a few mishaps that had almost cost him his dream but all in all, he couldn’t be stopped.

Not now. Not ever.

Orukk watched as the mob of goblins was slowly forced into the large cavern where their former chieftain once resided. The deceased chieftains apparent throne had been defiled and smashed into pieces once the orc had claimed victory over the freshly slain corpse. Now there was nothing left of him except for a drying pool of blood, and the unfortunate goblins head that the prideful warlord held up into the air.

“Your Chieftain is dead!” The orc said dramatically as he tossed his bloodied prize into the center of the cavern. The severed head bounced once before it rolled to a stop next to a small pile of corpses. These belonged to the chieftains former concubines and offspring.

“Is there anyone brave enough to claim leadership over this pathetic tribe?” Orukk looked over the cowering mass of goblins as he stepped down and walked towards the pile of rotting corpses.

He waited patiently as he listened to the cowardly goblins stifle their anguished cries while a few orcs bellowed out menacing laughs.

When the warlord was satisfied that none present would challenge their new leader, he turned towards his lieutenants “Get them out of here.”

It had taken longer than Orukk would’ve liked, but he and his newly acquired slaves arrived without incident to the temporary camp that had been haphazardly raised. The ramshackle nature of the camp's design had proven to be both a blessing and a curse when they first arrived to subjugate the various clans that inhabited the local area. Beyond that, he was more than satisfied with how everything had turned out.

Having more bodies for his army was a good thing to have after all.

“Warchief.” Came the voice of Goronk, one of his more trusted and longer lived lieutenants. This particular orc hadn’t decided to betray his master and claim leadership over the growing clan. At least not yet.

“What.” Orukk growled as he turned to face the veteran orc.

Goronk stopped an arm’s length away and planted a close fist over his heart. It was a salute that Orukk had taught to all of his fellow orcs as well as a few of the more trustworthy goblins that had been deemed worthy of a small amount of praise.

“While you were away a group of trolls arrived and sought your counsel.”

While Orukk had seen a fair number of trolls during his time spent out in the west, he had found it strange that there was an unhealthy number of trolls living within the mountains of the Dark Lands. At first he wondered why that was, but realized that answers were something of a luxury within the volcanic region.

“Where are they now?”

“Near your tent.” Goronk stated as he gestured towards the center of the encampment. “We tried to stop them, but they had proven to be too much to handle by ourselves.”

The orc warlord let out a dissatisfied growl as he heard the fool speak. Letting trolls inside of your encampment was something that you didn't do. The slow thinking creatures had a penchant for chaos at the best of times and could lead to utter devastation if left to their own devices. He expected very little out of the men whom he had placed trust in. Orukk could see now that there needed to be a reckoning once he was finished pulverizing some sense into the idiots with whom he had surrounded himself with.

“Fine...” Orukk allowed his anger to subside for a brief moment before he continued. “Lead me to them.”

It had been close to a full week since Iskra returned from visiting the dwarves, as well as the subsequent battle at the river.

The attack had been a shock to everyone who had stayed behind in Ruined Home. As well as those who had gone on the journey. The survivors had claimed they were ambushed and were overrun before most knew they were even under attack. This was something that Captain Boris had loathed to hear. The men who were part of the young girls' guard were well trained and well equipped. They served the banner of Duke Radoslav, one of the country’s elite few nobles who had the capabilities to maintain a professional military. To have the men come close to being wiped out as they had was something that instilled anxiety into the man who had been appointed as the head of both the military aspect of the expedition as well as the ultimate decision maker.

While it was true that the young Iskra was viewed, and often times claimed, by many as the leader of the expedition, the real power fell onto Boris’ shoulders. Every decision that was made and every plan that was thought up had to be approved by him. Even if the young girl rarely spoke to the middle aged soldier, her actions would ultimately live or die by his whim.

So far there was no need to reveal this hidden fact. Yet Boris believed he would have to reign in the girl within the coming weeks. Days even, if she continued to act as she was now.

Her decision to create a pyre for those slain had drawn the ire of a small number of the camp's inhabitants. While the deaths of the men had been felt throughout the encampment, there were a select few who had been hit the hardest. These were the families of a tiny number of the slain who had found the courage to bring their loved ones along with them. He would have preferred that his soldiers to not have done so, but there was little he could have done to prevent them from coming.

For those who grieved the loss of their loved ones without a corpse or the ability to spread their ashes the deaths had proven too much, and a select few confronted the sullen military captain. They had demanded that something be done and for him to punish the girl for what he viewed as the right decision. He tried in vain to explain that there was no way for the bodies of the dead to be transported without attracting unwanted attention and that the battered retinue would suffer further losses were they to be attacked by scavengers or other bands of goblins. His words did nothing to soothe their anger, so he did the next best thing.

A funeral was held for those who had perished. The proper prayers and burial rites had been given and a ceremony to honor the dead was held. It helped some, but for others it did very little. He did his best, but only time would tell what that would truly mean.

For now, he had other issues on his mind.

While Iskra’s return had brought both shock and relief, he did not expect the young girl to somehow befriend a small group of elves that had intervened at the most crucial moment. While he was grateful for their timely appearance, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story than was being let on. Elves were an odd race from his understanding, and they had a habit of doing things that no man could truly grasp. One minute they would raid your ports and villages and the next they would offer a hand of friendship, battling beside you as you defended your home and family. For good or ill the elves were a race that many people couldn’t help but be in awe of.

Then there was the dwarf. Always clad in thick armor, its voice echoed distantly with each word he spoke. His confrontation with the dwarf who had been given to Iskra as a gesture of goodwill was something that could wait. It was the elves that were the most pressing matter.

For the past week, he watched as the young girl, still reeling from the attack, become overly attached to an elf of a similar age. The boy had been introduced as a young prince from the elves homeland and had been the one to personally save Iskra from a dastardly goblin who held the girl in its grip.

A heroic and masterful swordsman, Iskra had claimed of the young boy as she boasted of the prince’s actions. It was evident to him that the girl had fallen for her savior, something that he suspected neither the Duke or Duchess of Orul would be all too pleased to hear. He would need to watch the pair as time went on. None too keen on the idea that the elves were using the girls' trauma to their advantage.

There was another elf that he had to keep his eye on as well. That would be Velicion, an elven woman who had claimed and subsequently proven, herself as a sorceress.

It was rare for any sort of magic to be seen within the kingdom of Ranislava. As the country was utterly void of those capable of wielding the mystical arts and those who were capable of doing so rarely visited. It had been decades since he last heard of anyone visiting the kingdom that could cast the simplest of spells.

Velicion was an oddity. She was often quiet, save for the moments she translated for the prince and would be rarely seen without the raven haired Iskra at her side. Rumors had begun to circulate that the sorceress had spun a spell into the girls' mind, but there was no real evidence to suggest that was the case. Even though he had no real way of knowing what to even look for when investigating such a rumor.

The elf would whisper to the young girl on occasion, and the girl would respond in a strangely polite manner. Sometimes she spoke with the dwarf who was always by Iskra’s side, never leaving her alone in even the most private moments.

What this strange group would discuss he didn’t know. He had done his best to question Sylvia as often as he could in some vain hope of finding something out, but the middle aged servant could only give the most minimal of answers. She claimed that their shared charge would usually ask about the prince and Velicion would provide an answer. The topics that the apparent love struck girl had asked were small and irrelevant. What did the prince like to do? Did he have siblings? What was his favorite food? And so on and so forth.

To find out how correct or wrong his concerns really were, he needed to go deeper. His concerns were so significant that he had managed to surprise himself by walking right up to the tent that belonged to Velicion.

He stood outside of the woman’s tent as he wondered how he should let his presence be known.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” The soft spoken voice of Velicion called out to him as he stood dumbfounded by his own actions. “These are your tents, after all.”

“My apologies.” The man said politely as he entered the tent carefully, warily that the elf was in an embarrassing state of undress or some other vulnerable position.

He was relieved to find Velicion sitting on the floor of her tent, a small notebook spread across her lap while she was dressed in the same outfit he had recently begun to associate her with.

“I didn’t think you were still young enough to be so bold, appearing in the middle of the night outside of a woman’s tent.” A smile appeared on her face as she teased the man while the elf adjusted her legs.

“I can assure you that I’m not here for lewd intentions.” Boris bowed politely as he gave the honest truth.

“Such a shame,” Velicion let out a playful sigh as she pretended to be upset over his words. “It’s been far too long since the last time a man had found it in him to try his luck with wooing my favor. I’ve actually grown to miss it. Somewhat.”

“Then am I to presume that Madam Velicion is married?” The captain asked as he looked around the tent. He wondered to himself if elves even had the same concept of marriage as humans did.

The tent wasn’t as furnished as he had imagined it would be. Save for a bedroll that looked to be just slightly too small for her and a wooden pole that lay flat across the ground, there wasn’t much inside. The Captain considered the fact that he hadn’t heard of any complaints from the elves that concerned their sleeping arrangements so he shouldn’t be all that worried with what the elves may or may not lack.

“Not quite.” The woman smiled as she gestured for the human to take a seat somewhere within the tent. Captain Boris obliged and sat next to the entrance, unsure if he would need to get out in a hurry. “You could say that I had been swept off of my feet by the prince’s father. One of his many concubines that he’s managed to snag for himself over the years.”

“Then you are-“

“Not the boys’ mother. I can assure you.” Velicion managed to cut off the grey haired veteran before he could finish his train of thought. “The Arch Mistress is quite a unique woman. One that somehow managed to convince our great leader of the benefits of tying his hand with hers. Though that never stopped the man from collecting a sizeable harem of women willing to spread themselves at his command. Much to the Arch Mistress’ chagrin, I might add.”

“I..see.” Boris didn’t know what he could say or should say as the sorceress laid out the boys’ familial situation. He wondered if this was something that an outsider was supposed to be privy to.

“Though I’m guessing you’re not here to hear about our young prince’s familial woes, are you not?”

“That is correct.”

Velicion motioned for the man to speak his mind as she looked down towards the small book that lay on her lap.

“I’m here because I have doubts about your people’s intentions. As I’ve already said before, your help was greatly appreciated, and you are welcome to stay for as long as you think is necessary.” The man didn’t want to come off as too ungrateful, but he needed to speak his mind and lay out what needed to be said. “Iskra’s extension of gratitude and goodwill can only go so far, however. I’m not sure what she has told you and your people, but she does not hold all of the power within the expedition.”

“I’m well aware of that fact captain. Much to my detriment, cloak and dagger politics is something I’ve become all too familiar with throughout my life.” Velicion opened the book as she spoke, carefully flipping through its pages as her eyes scanned its contents. “I’ve seen you and your men whisper to one another while you believe the girl to have her back turned. I would even go so far as to think that what little commands Iskra has given, your men have altered in some fashion.”

She turned to face the captain once more as she continued to speak.

“I’m sure that you don’t mean any ill will when you do such actions. She’s young and is bound to make mistakes that may prove detrimental to your peoples' survival.” Her fingers tapped at the book's contents while her voice remained in a quiet tone. “Perhaps you’ve been ordered by someone in a greater position to do so. I’ve heard that she is the daughter of a nobleman after all. Even if she has been banished, a parent will do all they can to ensure their child survives and comes out without harm.”

To a certain degree, the woman was right on the money. Boris was curious to know if this was because of her intuition or due to an unseen spell that had been woven.

“For the most part, you’re correct.” He said after a brief silence. “Her father had made it clear that she was to be given a chance to allow her education to flourish. She isn’t to be given any difficult leadership decisions but the small things that would more than likely suit her future once this expedition is finished.”

If the expedition was able to finish what it had started, but the Captain kept quiet about his doubts concerning their immediate future. He didn’t want to show any weakness towards the woman that sat in front of him.

“What sort of future would await her in that scenario?” The elf asked as she flipped to the next page of her notebook.

“I can’t say for certain,” The man said with a quick shrug. “I’m not in a position to be privy to the whims of nobility. Though if I had to guess, I would say that a loyal ally of her family would most likely have a son become wedded with her.”

“The wonders of belonging to a powerful family.”

Boris let out a rough grunt as his reply while he watched the woman flip to another page.

For what must have felt like an eternity, the two sat in silence. Perfectly contempt to just sit there, not willing to say a word to one another as time passed by. Velicion was enveloped in her book, always keeping her eyes locked onto its pages while the grey haired human watched on in silence.

“Was that all?” The woman said as she looked up towards the Captain while she slowly closed the book.

“Not quite.” The man said after a brief moment, unsure of what he wanted to say next.

“Then what is it you wish to say? I don’t imagine you as the type of man to just willingly stay up so late to talk to a complete stranger.”

Boris nodded as he began to reply. “Truth be told, I can’t help but wonder if something was done to Iskra.” Velicion raised an eyebrow at his words but kept quiet as the man continued to speak. “I’ve never seen someone attach themselves to anyone so quickly. I know that there are those who find themselves attracted to their apparent saviors, but for Iskra to be as attached to the boy as she appears to be is something I can’t view as being genuine.”

The girl was young and bound to find a level of attraction, appropriate or not, with someone close to her age. Yet, it was as he said. The girl was apparently enthralled by the elven boy and spoke of him as if the two had already married. Sylvia had found it quite adorable that the daughter to the Duchess of Orul had found herself in a fairy tale like situation, but had expressed concern at how quickly her charge was falling for the boy.

“Are you suggesting that I’ve placed a spell on our adorable little giant?” Whether she referred to Iskra's height or had some other meaning, Boris couldn't say.

“That or the prince was the one to do so.”

Velicion let out a small chuckle as she smiled at the man before her. “Is it that hard to believe that someone so young has a crush on someone else through no fault but her own whims?”

“Not necessary, but my suspicions still stand. Your arrival and subsequent rescue of the girl should be viewed under heavy suspicion, even if no one is willing to admit that. I can’t help but feel how much of a perfect storm your people’s arrival was.”

“I can’t help but wonder if you’re a tad bit too paranoid.” The elf said as she let out another chuckle, this time she laughed louder than before. It wasn’t the sort of laughter that implied nervousness or anger, just that she found amusement in the man’s words. “Though I have to say that your head is right where it needs to be. Suspicion is healthy after all, but only to a certain extent.”

“You’re not upset at my words then?” Boris asked, curious to know what the woman was thinking.

“Not at all, I’m actually surprised that you seem to be the only one who’s willing to speak up about our arrival. Though having said that, I would be careful when it comes to your suspicions.”

“Why is that?” He reached to his sword, wanting to feel the familiarity of his sword but quickly realized that he had come unarmed.

“Paranoia can do more harm than good, especially in the long run.” Velicion placed the book to her side as she stretched out her back. “I can assure you that what Iskra is doing, with regards to Prince Aurelius, is in fact genuine. No spell has been wrought upon her body, nor has she been cornered into subjugating herself to the whims of the prince. I’m not sure what else there is to say about it except to give the girl some time. Perhaps she will come out of it and return to what you usually consider as normal.”

Boris said nothing as the woman got up from the floor and stretched out her arms. She did a few stretches to return the feeling into her limbs before looking down at the man.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep now.”

Under the early morning light, the decimating howls of wargs could be heard somewhere in the distance as an out of breath and ragged looking goblin struggled to take the next step in his perilous journey. The distant voices of orcs were heard as they barked orders at their mounts while they encouraged them to catch up to their prey.

The malnourished and sickly creature looked ready to give up and surrender himself to his would be captors as he wrapped his fingers around a low hanging branch. His breath came in quick, ragged gasps as he looked behind him.

Dasher feared that this was the end of his admittedly short and pathetic life.

He knew that he shouldn’t have struck at his clans' chieftain, but his drunken rage had won out and now he had spent the last four days clinging onto the increasingly distant hope that his former clansmen would give up and return empty handed.

So far, their fear of being struck down by the potbellied ruler had proven a much stronger motivation then what Dasher had initially thought.

The goblin was drenched in sweat as he listened to the sounds of his pursuers draw ever closer. His feet moved on their own volition when the fear of being brutally mauled to death had proven a reliable enough motivation.

He wasn’t sure where he was or how far he had gone. All he knew was that trees were becoming a common sight compared to the flat and grassy plain where his people had lived.

His dirt covered, and ragged shirt managed to snag itself on a stick. The pointed end scratched at his skin before it tore off what little clothing he had left.

The sounds of a howl echoed up towards the early morning sun, an indication that the wargs had found the goblins trail and were ready to run him down.

Dasher shook his head as he wheezed for air. His mind was not where it needed to be as he nearly ran into the trunk of a tree and stumbled over an exposed root.

He barely registered the fact that the trees were much thicker and closely compacted to each other than before. He had once heard a rumor that a place where trees were so numerous and grouped so closely was called a forest. How odd it was for him to be able to see a forest with his own eyes for the very first time. Too bad that this would also be his last time ever seeing one.

The fleeing goblin ran into branch after branch as he fumbled his way through the immense thicket. Never too sure where he was going as the howls of the wargs drew closer with every moment that passed. He needed to find relief from his pursuers, but there was no obvious way for that to become a reality.

He slid to a stop before slowly taking a few steps back. The sound of rushing water was evident as he stared down at the deep and treacherous rapids that blocked his path. He turned to his left and then to his right as he searched for a way around or for a place to hide.

A voice called out and gave an order. They had found him.

He could try to swim across, but he didn’t know how and the river looked far too dangerous for him to learn on the spot.

Something snapped behind him as a warg let out a gruesome snarl.

“Finally caught up to you.” One of his pursuers said with a cruel laugh as he dismounted from the nasty creature. The orc reached for his weapon and drew it, the flat of its blade clicked against a nearby rock as his pursuer spun it in his grip.

“End of the line, whelp.” The other orc said as he leaned forward, patting his mount for a job well done.

The first orc took a step closer. Instinctively, Dasher took two steps back. He was dangerously close from falling into the river.

“Where are you going?” The orc said with a wicked smile on his face as he continued to walk closer, which in turn forced the goblin to take an equal amount of steps backwards. “What’s wrong…Not brave enough after what you did to Thok’rul?”

Dasher looked between the two orcs as he mumbled for a reply but was unable to say anything as his fear forced his mouth to remain shout. The scared goblin teetered over the rivers edge. End of the line.

The two orcs laughed as they watched the pitiful creature struggle against its fate.

“Well?” The orc who sat atop his mount let out in a drawn out and bored manner. “You gonna throw something at us? Or do you need to get drunk to do that?”

Both orcs laughed once again as they teased their prey over that fateful moment when their chieftain had finally managed to push the cowardly goblin into action.

The goblin swallowed deeply, unsure of where he should run or if he must accept his death.

“Come here…” The orc closest to him reached out as he went to grab his torn shirt.

Dasher wasn’t sure what had happened but the last thing he remembered was him falling into a body of ice cold water. It was both deafening and blinding as his body was tossed and turned in the chaotic turmoil of the river's rapids. He didn’t know what to do, so he did what came naturally.

Struggle in vain as the world around him attempted to drown him in the freezing water.

“That’ll be all for this morning.” Captain Boris said as he concluded the morning meeting. Chairs were pushed back, and the fabric of the tent flapped against the wind while the men talked amongst themselves as they made their way out of the command tent.

Ever since the young Iskra and her retinue had returned from their journey and told the harrowing tale of the attack, the progress on the camp's defenses had made considerable progress. The trench had been dug out to what had been specified and the pikes were nearly all in place, they just needed to find a way to flood the camps earthworks. With the nearby lake it shouldn’t be all that challenging, but the grizzled veteran of over thirty years wouldn’t be surprised if something would eventually go wrong. There was always a way for failure to rear its ugly head.

The wooden palisade was also coming along nicely and was expected to be finished within a timeframe of two weeks. The man was glad that he would eventually be free from the constant and monotonous noise of nearby trees being felled. He swore that he had heard it over thousands of times by now.

“Iskra,” He called out to his young charge as she slowly rose from her chair. The young girl must’ve decided that it was best to wait for most of the crowd to disperse on their own before she thought that she would be able to leave without issue. “I wish to speak with you for a moment.”

The young girl looked over to him with a neutral look as she paused halfway off of her seat. Nothing was said as she quietly looked over to where the elven sorceress stood. Velicion shrugged her shoulders and gestured for the girl to do as she pleased.

Boris wasn’t sure what he wanted to think about the elven woman, especially after last night. The talk with the sorcerous had not gone the way he wanted, but trying to correct the mistakes he made would have to wait for another day. There was one thing that he needed to address, and that would require the elven woman to vacate the premises.

“Madam Velicion,” Boris said in a polite tone as he turned towards the woman while he gestured towards Iskra. “May I have some privacy with the girl?”

The elf gave a polite smile and made to move outside but not before she leaned over Iskra's shoulder and whispered into her ear.

He wondered what the elf had said. This wasn't the first time he had caught the sorcerous whisper into the young girl's ear. The elven woman had managed to stick close to the girls' side as some sort of self appointed advisor. Captain Boris wondered if his charge was slowly being manipulated or the effects of sorcery were slowly being worked into her mind. It was just another suspicion that he had to deal with. There was something odd about these elves, but the grizzled man couldn’t quite put his mind as to what it was. One of the many reasons why he found it so hard to even begin to imagine him being close to their newly acquired allies.

And then there was the dwarves. He had far more suspicions about them then the elves. Upon their first meeting he had forced himself to stay still, something that his intuition had practically begged with him to do the exact opposite. Then there was the smell. That one dwarf that Iskra had managed to bring back with her had a strange odor that reminded him of a deep burning forge mixed with a sickening smell of sulfur.

He wished there was someone capable of investigating these people. He needed to write back to the Duke, but the next supply train wouldn’t be here until three months from now.

“What is it Captain?” Iskra’s voice dragged him away from his thoughts as she sat back down into her chair. A look of confusion covered her face as she stared at the absent minded man.

“Yes. Sorry, I had my mind elsewhere for a moment.” He cleared his throat as he looked down and brought his right hand over a rustled stack of loose papers.

“First…” Captain Boris stopped messing with the sheets of paper as he moved to sit down. He didn’t think that standing up would feel as sincere as he wanted to make his apology be. “I would like to apologize over what has been said these past few days. You’re young and haven’t had the opportunity to see the world for what it actually is. Being sheltered would do that, but that’s not something to be against. Nor am I trying to force you to feel wrong for having lived in such a manner. I’m not at all surprised that you wished for your saviors to stay for a brief period, and for that, I’m sorry if my words had managed to hurt you in any way.”

The two individuals were quiet for a moment before Iskra let out a regretful sigh as she lowered her head.

“You don’t need to apologize Captain. Your concerns were more than appropriate, and my mind was going through a lot at the time.”

Boris nodded his head. He was quite surprised that the usually bullheaded girl had accepted his apology while also taking partial blame as well. Maybe the events at the river had managed to humble her after all.

“So,” Iskra said as she raised her head and straightened her back. “Is that all you wished to talk about?”

“Not quite.” Boris stated as he leaned back into his chair. The man was somewhat relieved that the girl took his apology so well. He wondered if their arguments were something that she didn’t find upsetting. If that wasn't the case, then maybe Iskra was quick to forgive and forget.

“Then what is it you want to talk about?”

“It’s about those of whom you’ve managed to surround yourself with. You seem to be far more trusting of complete strangers then I thought was possible. That’s not to say there's a small chance that these people aren't good mannered and mean well, but we can't rule out the possibility that these dwarves and elves you’ve managed to find are actually using you for their own purposes.”

Straight and to the point. That’s what he needed to be right now, and if the girl felt wronged because of his choice in words then that’s a matter he’ll have to navigate as time goes on.

“Are you-” The girl was visibly upset as she swallowed her words. More than likely she wanted to throw insults at the man, but she must have thought better than to do so. Her face was red with anger as she attempted to remain calm. “Are you saying that I’m nothing more than a pawn to our new allies?”

Captain Boris watched as the girl brought her hands out from under the table and slowly clenched them into fists. She struggled to fight the urge to slam her enclosed fists down onto the table as she slowly brought them down. She relaxed her hands and stretched out her fingers. Her delicate and slim digits drummed across the wooden table.

“In a sense, yes. Our allies, as you’re so quick to call them, shouldn’t be so easily trusted and I have a suspicion they plan on using you to further whatever goals they have for this region.”

Iskra lowered her head as she brought her hands over the nape of her neck, effectively hiding her face from his sight as she let out a deep breath. “Need I remind you of the history of Voldigrov? Of the countless men and the untold number of expeditions the kingdom has lost in trying to tame it?”

He shook his head, not needing to be taught about the kingdoms disastrous relations with the very region they now inhabited. Throughout Ranislava’s history, the kingdom had time and time again attempted to bring the volcanic mountains under its heel. At first, the kingdom wanted to bring civilization to the land and wipe out the various goblins, orcs, and trolls that roamed the region but eventually it had been left to its own for generations. The staggering amount of men and treasury that had been lost in trying to claim the land had proven too much. Especially once the country had lost its fourth king on an ill-fated foray into the apparent “Dark Lands.”

The kingdom was more than happy to leave the land alone, satisfied that it served a near impenetrable border for its more northern neighbors. Boris wasn’t sure why but the current king had decided that acquiring a complete map of the mysterious duchy would be a tremendous moment for the royal crown. It was a sentiment that the Duke of Orul shared and one that ultimately led to his daughters’ freedom from her eventual beheading.

“So then,” The girl started to say again as she covered her face in her hands before slowly pushing her head up in a frustrated manner. “What’s wrong with making friends? The dwarves have been nothing more than accommodating, and the elves saved our lives just a week ago. I’m not so sure about you Captain, but I would much prefer to continue on living and if that means I need to make friends with someone the moment I meet them, then I will.”

“And what if these friends of yours are eventually proven to be a threat to us?” The man asked hypothetically, curious as to how the girl would respond.

He got his response in the form of an unconcerned shrug while the girl waved away his scenario without a single care.

“What does that even mean? Am I alive? Have I been harmed by them? What if I’ve been whisked away to some far off land where I’m treated as a treasure?” The girl was furious that her apparent second in command even dared to suggest what he had. “If you were to give me a choice between going into the kings’ dungeon or being handed off to some foreign noble as a concubine in their harem then I would choose the latter.”

“What if that noble had a penchant for violence again the women?”

“It would still be a far better fate than to have to wallow in my own misery in some dark and cramped hole.” Iskra slammed her fists hard against the table, her voice cracked as she began to imagine herself being forced back into the run down and miserable pile of stones that had once been her home for several months.

“Have you ever been down there?” The girl asked as she opened up her hands and brushed the surface as she swung her right arm out. “Did you know that there is little to no light down in that miserable place? Barely a candle was lit during the time I had to suffer inside of its cages, while the piercing sounds of the rusting iron scraped and tore away at my hearing. Did you know that the warden likes to keep his prisoners chained up to the walls? Forcing them into strange and warped positions all day and only letting their chains loosened to the point where getting to your meal proved to be a challenge that was more trouble than it was worth. Or how the guards would shout at you and bang on the bars if you tried to even utter a single word beyond a simple “thank you” as they threw your food onto the filth covered floor? What about the times that it rained and how it would seep into your cell, drenching you in ice cold water as you struggle to stay warm with a single, ragged cloth that barely covered your body?”

Captain Boris stayed quiet throughout the girls recounting of her time in the kings' dungeon. This was the first time he had heard anything remotely like this, but he wasn’t all that surprised. She had been sentenced to death, and it wasn’t likely that favors would be pulled to get her out. For all anyone knew, she was dead the moment she had received her sentence.

“Every night I thank whichever gods had found the mercy to keep me from harm while I was down in that terrible place.” Iskra pointed up into the sky before she slammed her fist back down onto the table.

A guard peeked his head inside, curious as to what had happened but quickly returned to his post when his superior turned the man away with a flick of his head.

“So…Captain,” The girl said as she brought her hands up before pushing herself away from the table's edge. She was clearly finished with him and would listen to no more of what he had to say. “I think I’ve had enough of this suspicious slander against our newfound friends. Velicion has graciously invited me to watch Prince Aurelius’ practice his swordsmanship. If you need me than simply look for a group of elves.”

The chair fell back onto the ground as the young girl got up onto her feet and rushed out of the tent.

Captain Boris could only stay seated as he watched the tent's flap furl in the girls' wake. She was quick to anger, of that he was sure. It would certainly explain why she nearly killed that Kasmira girl.

The grey haired veteran rubbed his face in frustration as he wondered if this moment would eventually bite him in the ass.

The usually loud encampment was far more lively than usual today. The ramshackle nature of the camp had proved to be a blessing to the thousands of goblins as well as the handful of orcs and trolls that had made it their home. Willingly or not.

Orukk had ordered the camp to be taken down and for his followers to ready themselves to depart south. The orc was satisfied with the numbers he had managed to scrounge together and had decided that the more fertile lands to the south would be more ideal for what he had planned. The tales of a bountiful population of game that his people could slaughter and roaming packs of wild wargs to tame for mounts would be a boost to his dreams of retaining control of the volcanic realm.

Of the nearly three thousand bodies he had pressed into service, almost all of them were goblins save for a handful of orcs and trolls that had pledged their services to his rising empire.

There had been a few moments over the past year that had led to the self-proclaimed “Lord of the Fire Mountains” to nearly fall into ruin, but in the end he had risen above it all and now welcomed any challenge as a testament to his prowess. Orukk the Blood Drinker, as his followers called him, flashed a grin as images of his ultimate victory began to swirl in the back of his imagination. He saw himself standing over the corpses of his enemies as he-

A loud crash rang out from somewhere close by.

The wailing and pitiful cries of the injured and dying reached his ears as he moved to investigate.

Voices called out as someone barked orders as its owner tried and failed to keep order and discipline.

The warlord understood what had happened the moment he turned the first corner.

A troll, massive in stature and towering over the camps tallest structure stood over the wreckage of a busted and caved in wooden hut. A rocky and oddly shaped club was gripped in its left hand as it stood dumbfounded over its victim.

Goblins had gathered together in a gaggle as they raised their voices and struck out their arms while they yelled and berated their torturer for doing what it had done. The troll paid them no mind as it raised its club once again and slammed it into the mess it had created.

Blood splattered across the ground as wood shattered and splintered in every direction. A few goblins clutched at their wounds while a few brave souls tried to run into the collapsed building. It was a vain attempt at finding any survivors while the troll raised its weapon once more. The troll had a happy and satisfied look on its face. A sign that it enjoyed smashing up the ruined hut.

Off to the side stood an orc whose name that Orukk couldn’t be bothered to remember. The warlord bellowed out to the nameless orc and hurriedly motioned for him to come near.

“What does that thing think it’s doing?” The warlord asked as the orc rushed toward his leader.

“He’s clearing out the camp, Chieftain.” The orc said as he placed emphasis on what the troll thought ‘clearing out’ meant.

“Of course it is.” Orukk muttered to himself as he watched the troll smash the building once more while the surrounding goblins wailed and rushed towards the ruined hut.

Trolls were notorious for their blatant disregard for everything that wasn’t themselves. More often than not they would even place themselves in deadly situations because of how dull their minds were. Orukk had once heard that trolls couldn’t feel pain. Some claimed it was because they were so stupid that pain wasn’t a concept that Trolls could even grasp, while others claimed it was because their hides were so thick that they couldn’t even feel their guts spilling out from their stomachs.

Whatever the case, Orukk believed it. Especially now that he watched as the troll noticed a large piece of lumber sticking out of its forearm. The beast looked shocked to find the piece of lumber lodged within its body, and the orc looked on in a bored manner while the troll gripped the bloodied piece of wood and yanked it out without a second thought.

A goblin fell to the ground, its head bouncing off into the distance as the massive splinter was swung about like a plaything. The unlucky creatures’ brethren backed away and made to escape, not wanting to share a similar fate to the beheaded goblin.

This was why he didn’t want the trolls in his encampment. They were far more trouble than they were worth at the best of times, and at the worst they could bring utter devastation given ample opportunity to cause enough chaos and havoc.

He needed to make sure that he gave the trolls a place to stay the next time they set up camp. Somewhere that was far enough away from the rest of the encampment.

“Deal with it.” Orukk stated in a brisk tone as he turned away from the ongoing carnage. He didn’t want to be in the trolls reach once it really got going. Once trolls had decided that the chaos they were bringing was fun enough they wouldn't stop until they grew bored or had died. Usually, it led to their deaths.

“At once!” Bellowed the nameless orc as he saluted his chieftain before he called out to the troll and demanded that it stop at once.

“Idiots.” Came Orukks’ tired retort as he walked away from the unfolding disaster while the familiar sound of bones snapping like twigs reached his ears. The orc ignored the piercing cries of anguish as he turned towards the camps center.

Looks like he'll need to find a worthy lieutenant that was worthy of the responsibilities that was placed upon the promotion.

Dasher coughed as he spat out an immense volume of river water. Snot and saliva covered his face as he gagged and hurled out the tremendous amount of water. He had been coughing the stuff for what felt like an hour.

His life had taken a strange twist and an even odder turn when he had awakened with a start, his body half covered in sand and soaked to the bone in ice cold water. He was amazed to find himself alive after his tired and worn out body had fallen into the river. The gods that his people worshipped must have a far more cruel and painful death planned for him.

The weak and mentally drained goblin turned over on his back, an arm lay across his chest as he coughed out more of the river's water. He hoped that was the last of it.

He closed his eyes, ready for the pleasant darkness of slumber to take him. If he could just die here, peacefully under the star filled night sky, then he would be happy. It would be a painless and somewhat pleasant death. He was willing to accept that. Fate be damned if he had to suffer in agony if he were to truly die.

Howls broke the night silence. Dasher’s eyes shot open as his body instinctively readied itself and rose up and off of the rivers sandy embankment.

The frightened goblin looked up into the sky as the large and ever present blue moon glowed brightly in the pitch black night sky. It was at that moment that the tired and wretched creature realized that the moon had barely moved from where he had last remembered it.

Barely a sound was made. Somewhere close by, an owl hooted while a Nighthawk let out a victorious cry. The running water of the nearby river was soothing to his ears as it lapped against his bare feet. For a moment he had convinced himself that his mind had played a trick on him and let out a sigh of relief. He rolled back down and laid flat on his back, ready to return to slumber when the howl returned.

It was still a ways off. Far too distant to be able to judge how close it really was.

Dasher didn’t want to take any chances in finding out if it was a wild creature that made the noise. Thoughts of a pack of wild wargs tearing into his flesh was too great of a motivator for his liking as he forced himself off of the ground before immediately falling back onto his knees. His body was still weak and needed more time to recover. What little rest he had been given had not been enough. It would never be enough.

The distant howl returned, followed by a second one. The two were distinct from one another. That much the goblin understood as he listened quietly in a subdued manner. Dasher hoped and pleaded to the night sky as he wondered if the two creatures were in a pack together.

He received his answer when the howls returned once more, this time in unison as they sounded off. Doing whatever it was that the bodyless sounds attempted to accomplish.

Finding the strength was difficult, but he managed to bring himself to his feet. His vision blurred as he reached out in front of him as he tried to find something to hold on to. He found nothing but still managed to stop himself from falling over for a second time.

His courage to take the first step returned as the second howl sounded off. He needed to get as far away from here as quickly as possible.

Tiredly, he groaned in anguish as he cursed the gods for not taking his life while he had slept.