A displeased rumble came from deep within Orukks throat as he hurriedly tapped a finger over the crude map that had been given to him by Grok'Kar, his lead scout. It had been nearly a full week since he had ordered the scouting part to go forth and report on what they had discovered, and the aspiring warlord was both pleased and displeased with what had been given to him.

"This forest," Orukk said in a displeased manner as he placed a finger over an empty portion of the map. "Why didn't you send anyone to check on it? Why is this part of my map blank?"

Grok'Kar could only look at his master with a nervous glance as he began to mumble out a worried reply. "But I did Warchief, the two that I sent in to explore the forest failed to return, and we saw no signs of them as we waited at our agreed rendezvous point."

"And you didn't think you should've gone and searched for them?" Orukk yelled as he slammed his fist down on the crudely made table.

The worried orc looked nervously at his furious master as he thought of what next to say before the angered warlord shoved a dagger into his throat. "There was no need to Warchief," Grok'Kar stopped to swallow back a burst of nervous laughter that threatened to pour out of his mouth. "That forest is said to be cursed. There are legends about the trees coming to life and eating any who dared to walk under their branches. They must've been dragged into the forest and slaughtered."

Orukk couldn't help himself as laughter bellowed out of his very being. The warlord had heard many things during his tumultuous life, but this had managed to take the cake. "Forest spirits? Trees coming to life?" The orc said in a mocking tone as he slowly regained his senses. "Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

Throughout all the years he had lived as a peon amongst many more peons he had heard many things that could only be described as fireside tales or stories to tell the young pups before their first battles. Yet he had never heard of something as silly as what had been told to him in this very moment. Orukk had been in countless forests before, and none of the trees had awakened to pull him deeper into their woods.

'Superstitious cowards.' A light chuckle escaped from Orukks lips as he shook his head with a smile. He had come to understand that those who lived in these mountains were superstitious by nature, but the chuckling warlord could now see how wrong he truly was when it came to understanding the thoughts of those he would soon rule over.

He would need to change the beliefs of his future subjects if he wished to rule over them and to do that he needed to walk in this supposed cursed forest and show the gullible fools that they shouldn't believe everything they heard.

For now, however, there were far more pressing matters to attend to.

"Forget the forest," Orukk said as his eyes moved north along the map. "Tell me about this 'Fortress' you found."

The warlord's sharp fingernails circled a crudely drawn mountain with a tiny square placed in the middle of it. A single word hung over the apparent fortress, and it read "Dwarves."

"Not two days from where we stand, there lies a fortress built into the mountainside," Grok'Kar said as he cleared his throat. "We've discovered that there's an alliance of dwarves and humans guarding this fortress, but as for their numbers. We aren't too sure. After observing the area for some time, we believe that a sizeable force guards the area."

Orukk allowed displeasure to show on his face at the mention of two of his peoples most hated enemies. Both of these vile races were seen as nothing more than muck riddled swine and the fact that they had a tendency to work together to thwart the schemes of his brethren made the warlord sick to his stomach.

A similar alliance between humans and dwarves had managed to bog down and slaughter his former master, sending the one-time prideful warband into a full-on route which in turn became a slaughter once a band of elven mercenaries arrived on their heinous mounts.

“Disgusting animals.” Orukk heard himself say as his mind returned to that fateful battle.

The aspiring warlord had managed to escape that disaster through his own wit and cunning, but that didn't mean he had been hounded day and night before making his way into the treacherous mountain paths that eventually led him into this volcanic backwater. If he wished to conquer this land as his own, then Orukk would eventually have to deal with this unholy alliance.

That fated day would have to wait as there was another location that sought his attention.

Directly west of where the alliance made its own stood another square deep in another forest.

'They avoided one forest but went into another one?' The absurdity of his minions continued to impress. He would eventually need to beat some sense into those who served under him. 'Make up your minds, or do you think me as a fool?'

"This spot here," Orukk said after he pushed the violent thoughts away and pointed towards the single word that had been squalled above the square. "Do these humans have anything to do with this 'alliance'?"

"It's hard to say Warchief," The scout said as shook his head. "We didn't see anything that connected them to the dwarves, but it's a possibility. They are humans after all."

For once, Orukk was in agreement with someone else other than himself. What his lead scout had said was true to a fault, they were humans and humans had a tendency to align themselves with the disgusting creatures known as dwarves.

'Krung and Grok must be playing their usual tricks,' Orukk pitied himself as he referred to two of his people's gods. Krung and Grok were the twin gods of war, and they were known to play cruel tricks upon the orcs for they found the suffering of their worshippers to be amusing.

Whatever the case for why or why not the humans were where they were at, Orukk understood that they needed to be dealt with.

The mountain fortress of the alliance was something that required numbers and equipment that he did not have, but this encampment of humans located in the forest was a different matter.

"What are their numbers like? Any hardened defenses?" The warlord asked as he looked towards Grok'Kar.

"They've surrounded themselves in wood," The scout began to repeat the knowledge given to him. The orc was slow to speak, but the words he chose were deliberate in their intentions. "They're fools if they think trees can save them from fire and as for their numbers… It's hard to say. We only saw a handful of the pink-skinned cowards and not much else."

Grok'Kar continued to speak more on what they had seen around the human encampment, but Orukk heard none of it. The warlord's attention was elsewhere as he drew up imaginary battle plans and envisioned a future where he stood over the charred corpses of his fallen enemies.

If the humans were to link up with those to the east of them, then Orukk doubted that he would be able to wrest control over the land from their bony hides. He needed to strike at his enemies while he had the upper hand. The warlord doubted that the forest-dwelling humans had numbers similar to the rabble he had managed to wrangle together and any walls would be seen as a trivial matter when he allowed the trolls under his command to run wild.

Fire would also help, but he was hesitant to use it as he understood an uncontrolled blaze would spell disaster to his plans if the orcs and goblins that served under his iron grip feared its flames.

Orukk nodded his head, pleased with what was transpiring in his head. Everything would go as he planned it because he was Orukk the Blooddrinker, ruler over these mountains.

Dasher held on for dear life as Gore pushed its freshly healed body to the limit, forcing the goblin to cry out in vain in a poor attempt to force the beast to slow down its breakneck pace. Wargs were known to be quick to recover from all, but the most heinous of wounds and the creature had recovered spectacularly from its injuries over the past several days, and the frightened goblin wondered if his admittedly poor veterinary skills were of any help.

Since then, the two of them had wandered in various directions until Gore had decided that it had enough and allowed for its savior to climb atop of its back. At first, Dasher had countless issues staying on, but after one too many tumbles it had finally clicked for the goblin, and he now rode the white-haired beast like any everyone else. Albeit with clenched teeth as he gripped clumps of fur between his fingers for fear of any mishaps on his part.

Cuts, scrapes and other various bruises covered large portions of his body, but they were signs of his determination to learn and not of hard-fought brawls or skin-of-the-teeth victories.

Dasher's thoughts grew wild in all sorts of vivid imaginations. Not too long ago, the fearful goblin had managed to run away from his old tribe, only to be chased down and nearly killed by two of his former masters. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he had been saved by what he could only describe as some sort of divine avatar seeking out those who it deemed worthy to serve as its many mortal champions. For whatever strange and mystical purpose, it had chosen him. A lone goblin writhing in his own blood waiting for death to take him.

He could hardly believe that any of this was real, and Dasher wondered when reality would correct itself and return him to the time to when he was laying on his back, wallowing in his own misery as he bled to death.

Yet now he rode on the back of Gore, a beast that he had managed to save. Not just any creature for that matter, but a white warg. The very same warg that the elven woman had said he would rescue.

Dasher shook his head in disbelief at the lunacy of his situation as he stifled back a cry of laughter.

'What's next,' The goblin wondered as Gore jumped over a small outcropping of exposed rocks. 'Am I to find something that is only whispered about in old stories?'

Dasher didn't have to wait long for an answer as Gore came to a sudden and sliding stop.

Shocked at the sudden action, Dasher could only watch in horror as his hands loosened their grip around the still moving beast. He stared stupidly up at the sunny sky as he tumbled and fell onto his back.

The goblin groaned in pain as he rolled over onto his stomach and carefully pushed himself off of the ground. He rubbed a bruised hand over the back of his neck and moved his joints in various ways to make sure that nothing felt out of place.

"Gore," Dasher said in a disgruntled tone as he placed a gentle hand over the creatures back. "'What's all this about."

The beast paid little attention to him as it stared off into the distance, looking towards whatever had forced it to stop at such a breakneck speed.

Curious as to what it was, Dasher stepped forward and joined his mount in staring at whatever had caught its attention. What he saw next was something that he was all too familiar with.

There were around a dozen or so goblins. All huddled together as their cowering forms were beaten and battered into obedience by three scrawny orcs. The small band of marauders barked various orders at the prisoners while a nearby warg tore into the wretched corpses of those who had most likely caught the ire of one of their captors.

Fortune appeared to be on Dashers side as neither the orcs, the lone warg, nor the goblins themselves seemed to have noticed the lone rider. He winced in pain as one of the orcs moved forward and grabbed one of the prisoners and battered the poor creature into a bloody pulp.

"Nothing we can do about that," Dasher said to himself as he began to turn away from the brutal scene. "Come on Gore; let's get out of here before they notice us."

Dasher had barely managed to take the first step when he heard something clatter to the ground behind him. Confused as to what had made the noise, he turned and saw the elven bow hanging loosely against Gore's still bandaged side. Next, he noticed that the quiver had somehow tipped over and spilled the arrows given to him by the Tall Lady's magic chucka.

The goblin rolled his eyes in frustration as he took a step towards the bundle of elven arrows. Dasher had assured himself that he had secured the items across the wargs back to a degree where he didn't have to worry about them, but he could now see how wrong he had been.

Kneeling down, Dasher moved to pick up the missiles one by one. As the bundle of arrows in his hand grew, he stopped to admire one of them. To his untrained eyes, the goblin saw them as ordinary objects, but in the back of his mind he knew that they were special. To him, everything that had been handed to him by that fearful elf was of a mystical quality that he couldn't even begin to explain. It scared him in a way, as all things elven did.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and moved to place the arrows back in their quiver, only to find that the bow had somehow fallen off of Gore. With a frustrated sigh, Dasher placed all but one of the missiles back into their leathery home and knelt to pick up the weapon.

What happened next surprised him.

As if by instinct, Dasher stood and knocked the arrow against the bowstring as he made ready to fire. Nervously, he looked on as he let loose. Only to watch it fall flat at his feet.

Relieved, he made to pick it back up and place it back into the quiver, but he could only chuckle nervously like a maddened fool as he watched his body repeat the process for a second time.

The arrow went further this time and far off to the left. No one seemed to have noticed what he was doing. Or if they did, then they 'weren't at all concerned about a lone goblin taking wild potshots at them.

'Let's just leave.' He tried to tell himself as his body continued to move on its own accord. His fingers picked out another arrow and placed the missile against the bow's string.

The second arrow went further than before, but it was still a ways off of its target. The group failed to notice this one as well.

More arrows were soon fired off; each consecutive shot came closer to hitting their, as of yet, unaware targets.

That was until the latest shot landed directly next to one of the orc's feet.

As the orcs turned to see where the arrow came from, Gore growled and dashed off towards his counterpart. The two beasts snarled and barked at one another as if they were battle-crazed demons.

One of the orcs motioned for a second one to follow him while the third and final orc was forced to stay behind. Someone had to watch over their prey while they dealt with this upstart.

Panicking, Dasher narrowed his focus on the two charging orcs and fired off a volley of arrows in rapid succession. Most missed, but a few managed to land a hit on the defiant orcs who continued to barrel their way towards the lone goblin.

As if on purpose, both orcs gave a gut-wrenching roar at their opponent as they ignored their wounds and took increasingly larger strides. The goblin had only managed to make them angrier, something that Dasher never intended to do.

Dasher quickly looked back to collect more ammunition but grew disheartened at what he saw. There remained a single, lone arrow. Gathering up all the courage he could muster, Dasher drove away all thoughts of fear and waited for that crucial opportunity to present itself.

With every blink, the charging orcs drew closer by leaps and bounds. With no weapons on hand, the lead orc pounded his fists against his chest and gave one last defiant roar. The second orc was a different matter altogether as it brandished a crude ax, the bloodthirsty monster let out an ear-piercing cry as he raised the weapon into the sky before pointing it towards Dasher.

Were he in any other situation, Dasher would have preferred to run away or allow for Gore to take care of the threat that he now faced. He understood that he 'couldn't run away and that in doing so would open himself up to a gruesome death and as he watched the lead orc leap into the air he raised the bow and fired his last shot.

Both Dasher and the nameless orc could only watch as the arrow narrowly slipped past the 'orc's bony fingers and bury itself into the back of the shocked orc's mouth.

The two of them slammed into one another and toppled to the ground, just in time for the second orc to bury its ax into the back of its ally, seemingly caring little for the welfare of his now dead friend.

The orc called out to the goblin as it moved to pull the ax out of its dead friend, but Dasher heard none of it as his attention was focused squarely on Gore as it flew through the air and tackled the now weaponless orc to the ground. Sharp, pain-filled shrieks filled the air as the blood-soaked warg snapped and tore away at the orc's flesh and bone. Blood soaked the land around them as something snapped.

The orc let out one final blood-curdling cry as sounds of teeth tearing into flesh flooded Dasher's ears.

“Now's not the time to eat Gore." Dasher said in a ragged breath as he barely managed to push off the dead orc on top of him. “We've still got that other one to worry about.”

The goblins companion paid little attention to his words as it continued to tear away at the ravaged orcs corpse.

Disgruntled at the wargs unwillingness to continue the fight, Dasher rolled the first orc over and tried in vain to pull out the embedded arrow. The missile was lodged in something that wouldn't let go, a bone most likely, but the goblin needed that single piece of ammunition so he continued to tug and pull.

"Warmaster!" Cried an unknown voice, forcing Dasher to jump in surprise and whirl towards the source.

Before him stood several goblins with bloodied faces and battered bodies, Dasher assumed that they were the prisoners who were previously huddled together.

"Warmaster," Came a different voice as more of the freed prisoners called out to him in a similar manner.

Dasher mumbled incoherently as he looked around the group. His eyes lingered over their wounds before he finally managed to force out a reply. "What about the other orc?"

A chorus of words reached his ears as everyone seemed to want to answer at once. None of them looked to wish harm upon their savior, but that didn't stop Dasher to look towards Gore.

The white warg appeared uninterested in the current happenings of its master as it continued to stuff its face full of orc flesh. Gore looked towards the goblin and gave an unconcerned huff of air as it cracked open the orcs ribs.

"One at a time," Dasher said after a short while as he raised his arms in the air to try to discourage a multitude of voices from filling the void. “Where's that last orc?”

"Back where we were," A raspy voice said after a few pushes from the others around him. The goblin motioned back towards where they had all come from and pointed out a lone orc lying on the ground. "Crushed his neck. So he should be struggling for his last breath here in a little bit."

"Right." A confused Dasher said as he gave the group another look over.

An awkward silence filled the air around them as no one seemed to wish to speak first.

Eventually, it was the raspy-voiced goblin who found the courage to speak up. "Warmaster," He said with grim determination on his face. "Where are we going next?"

Dmitry leaned his head back against the tree and stared up into the starry night sky as an obnoxious sounding yawn escaped from deep within his body, followed by a sickening snort of his nose before proceeding to wipe whatever snot came out against the sleeve of his tunic. This was the third yawn of the night, and the sleepy young guard suspected that there would be plenty more to come. The tired guard wasn't used to keeping watch during the late evening hours, and he tried everything that came to mind to help stay awake during the early hours of his watch.

Being from a hamlet of only thirty-odd people, the young man had found it difficult to adjust to the rigorous demands of a military lifestyle. It wasn't his fault that he had found himself in this situation he had often grumbled to himself; one day men wearing fancy clothes had waltzed into his home and demanded a number of the hamlet's abled bodied men. They were being pressed into service, and there was no escaping their fates.

Since that time, he had learned how to hold a spear, march in formation, and do all manner of things that demanded more and more out of his sun-kissed body. Day and day out he did things that kept him tired and aching in pain, so who could blame him if he found it difficult to stay awake once the sun had started to set and the stars slowly twinkled into existence.

Which was precisely why the disgruntled man had made it his life's mission to only do guard duty when the sun was still bright and slowly rising over the horizon. For a good long while, it had worked. Until he had been forced to march out towards the nearby river and watch over a bunch of overly educated men as they argued amongst one another. Nearly coming to blows as they insulted the other over something as stupid as the finer points of building a bridge.

'Do this. Do that.' He snidely mocked them as he mimicked their voices in his head. 'Chop these trees down. Put up those tents. Don't do this. Put that away.'

The engineers had worked the group of about fifty men to their limits over the past two days, and all they had to show for it was a scattered mess of tents and a massive pile of uncut lumber. Dmitry found it difficult to understand what the issue was. He had often wondered why they couldn't just build the bridge now instead of fussing over the matter if their "numbers" were right or not. Whatever that meant.

He could get over their attitudes towards the rest of the group, the arguments they had with one another as they ate and watched the soldiers chop down trees, and so on but what he couldn't get over was why they had put him on nights watch.

Dmitry let out a wordless grumble as he shook his head in frustration. He just wanted to get some sleep, and the man in charge of the watch wasn't of any help. 'Always running around. Checking up on us to make sure we aren't falling asleep.' The tired guard spat at the ground as his attention slowly turned to his partner.

"Hey Ivan," He called in a raspy voice in a vain hope of catching the attention of his pudgy watch partner. "You done yet?"

Dmitry strained his ears as he waited for a reply, but grew more frustrated as none came. In a disgruntled huff of air, he shook his head and pushed himself away from the thin tree that had served as his resting spot. "How badly did you need to piss, huh?" He called out again as he stepped forward into the dense tree line.

"Ivan? Where you at? We don't got all night, you know."

There was more silence as the disgruntled man crept deeper into the forest, making sure to scan around him as he looked for the pudgy young boy.

This wasn't all like how Ivan usually acted. Usually, the plump younger boy would be talking the ears off of his partner, with every few words being interrupted by a haggard wheeze.

"You sick or something?" The sleepy-eyed soldier called out.

A sharp, dry crack caught Dmitry's and he turned to look at what had made the sound, but something grabbed him from behind and pulled him to the ground. He tried to scream, but a hand gripped his jaw shut so the young soldier could only struggle in muffled gasps as something metallic twinkled above him.

He kicked into the air and punched at the sky with all of the strength he could muster, but it was all for naught. The gods had lost all interest in his life and were unconcerned with his fate as his muffled cries reached their peak as a dagger was forced deep into his throat. Blood poured freely from the wound as the blade tore open a gaping hole; nearly severing the young man's head from the rest of his body.

Dmitry wasn't the only victim that night; his killers continued to creep through the woods and stalked the remaining guards on nights watch before silently and effectively killing their targets. When the sign had been given, they stalked into the camp and slaughtered the rest of the men like pigs as they slept comfortably.