The slave slammed onto the ground letting out a cry in pain, the orc standing above him smiling. In a last ditch effort the slave swung his pickaxe with all his might, hoping in some way to do some lasting damage. The orc stomped on the axe immediately halting the swing as he let out a monstrous roar echoing through the chambers of the mines.

The sword lifted preparing it's final blow to the human as he was attempting to crawl away begging for his life until he dropped, lifeless. Lodged in his back the sword remained, the orc roaring in victory over his kill. Fellow orcs joining in the victory trading coin for the life which was taken. A game to these creatures.

Destin looked over at a dwarf carrying tools over his shoulder who also was observing the death of the slave. He rarely had seen the aged dwarf in the year he had been here, but occasionally would sight him repairing the machinery they operated. Seeing the boy staring at him, the dwarf hastily gathered his supplies and dashed off to his work.

“Three days.” Destin muttered to himself in absolute disgust. He turned away from the dead body, nothing more to see continuing to chip away at the mountain side. This was the reality of his world, slaves were lucky to last three weeks. The slave was lucky his death was so quick. How long could one last before being sent back to the Gods?

His heart rate rose, a cold sweat breaking across his forehead, blue eyes widening. Destin fought mentally to regain control once more. His legs shook uncontrollably feeling as if they were melting beneath him. “Just one more.” He reminded himself still short of breath. “One more day! Keep on fighting.”

The death toll the camp witnessed on a daily basis haunted him to his core feeling as if it was an omen to his own limited time in this hell. One day soon it would be his last, and without warning, he too would breathe his last breath before being swallowed up into the ground never again to be remembered.

Wiping the sweat off his brow he ran his hand through his hair pulling it slightly. He needed to keep working, needed to have no attention brought to him. Survive. He began to calm himself swinging another hit against the mountainside the ping ringing around him. A deep breath finally filled his lungs, returning to normal. Still his hands profusely shook but it was enough to effectively keep working.

“Another day.” Destin told himself. “Three hundred and seventy days conquered. Just one more.” Always reassuring and striving to keep his morale high. Seeing what he had survived fueled his fight to keep going. The outside world seemed like only a dream at this point, but a dream which would soon be realized.

“Area experiences rain storms two to four times a week, overcast otherwise,” he whispered to himself as he swung the pick axe, chipping away at the ore before him. “Five orcs guarding us while we work.” Another swing rang with a loud clang. “No more than two hundred orcs in this camp.” He pulled his blonde hair back from his sweaty face, his entire body covered in the black dust from the mountain.

Continuing to pick away in the mine, Destin almost rehearsingly mumbled, “Wall has one guard per hundred yards approximately.Though more lie in the towers overhanging the wall. Main gate met with two towers guarding the entrance.” He gazed around spotting the surrounding guards. Speaking out loud helped him to see things more fully, as if he wrote it on paper, which he preferred, but was impossible while being enslaved. “One black gate, only be opened by three levers pulled simultaneously.”

“Silence yourself!” A worker aggressively whispered under his breath swing his axe again into the mountain keeping pace with the others. Destin looked over in annoyance which quickly dissipated when he saw the desperation of fear in his eyes, forgiving the man for the sudden outbursts.

Refusing to be phased by the slave, he continued swinging, “Wall has one guard per hundred yards approximately.Though more lie in the towers overhanging the wall. Main gate met with two towers guarding the entrance.” He gazed around, spotting the surrounding guards. Speaking out loud helped him to see things more fully, as if he wrote it on paper, which he preferred but was impossible while enslaved. “One black gate, only be opened by three levers pulled simultaneously each needing the strength of an orc each.”

The dimly lit cavern continued to echo with the clanks of the men picking away at the mountain. Time seemed to stand still with no clear way to track it. Counting the swings of your pick did little and losing yourself to the memories of the outside world almost caused men to go mad. Collecting ore had few pleasures, but if it kept him alive, he would do all he could to ensure his survival.

The orc marching by stopped turning to face the slave. He stood towering above Destin, though he knew the darkness behind him foreshadowed the pain that was sure to follow. “Quiet croul!” he commanded, grabbing Destin forcibly by the neck as he was thrown to the ground in front of the other slaves.

Croul. Orcs described us using that word meaning vermin beneath the earth. Never human, dwarf, elf, not even a creature. Croul! Never more, far less.

From the ground he looked up, figuring out quickly who the offender was… Druvairurk. Monstrous, vile, there was a proven reason as to why he was captain over his encampment. Downright heartless. An orcs strength greatly outmatched any humans. Like a mountain to a hill, orcs far outmatched humans in every way, their eyes seeming to glow a golden hue. The skin itself appeared to be rotting away, blackness layered with a moldy scales populating throughout the skin. His countenance instantly revoked any hope for mercy. Towering over anyone, he easily matched the strength of five men. No orc dared to oppose him, and neither did Destin.

Druvairurk snarled, kicking Destin while he was on the ground as a yell of pain was cut short by the absence of air. He followed up with the crack of his whip across Destin’s back opening a wound on his already scarred back. Pain shot through his entire body as the captain walked away, leaving Destin on the cavern floor.

He felt the trickle of blood run down his back, the rags he wore more tattered now than ever barely absorbing the stream of blood. He always feared infection, he had watched a number of people die from the cuts they received while being whipped.

A power sturred inside him rapidly building it's momentum up the more the pain grew. “Not now!” He mumbled to himself attempting to calm himself. He knew if he was discovered as a Highborn his life would be terminated. The manifestation of white light emanating from his eyes would give his magical ability away and he could not allow for such a blunder to happen.

A deep inhale while he closed his eyes finally allowed for him to gain control and through the pain he fought to stand back up, gripping the pickaxe to begin working again. Channeling the power he sent it into the pickaxe, taking a swing as the mountainside shattered with ease.

The slave beside him was astonished by the sudden outburst of strength. Destin noticed that he just turned and continued to work, allowing it to pass without so much as a glance.

Destin knew there was a way to fight this, a way to escape. Though few have tried, those who did were immediately tortured, killed, or ultimately hung on display as a statement. There was a mistake every single escape attempt was making, Destin was sure of it. Though the key was hidden so tightly it appeared next to impossible.

The notes he took daily, schedules of guards, work loads, meals, anything to help him piece together the puzzle even though he had only been there over a fortnight. Again he went over his notes under his breath, “Five orcs guarding us while we work, unbound.” An orc slowly walked behind Destin. You never dared to make eye contact, let alone recognize their presence besides when they shouted an order.

Being unbound and unchained always loomed over Destin as a warning. Considering it a prison but to not be chained invited attempts at escape. Although no one would dare try, and those who did never made it far.

The orcs patrolled by Destin slowly, while making sure the ten men kept up the pace. Their sense of smell outmatched even the most well trained hounds. He was sure to keep his distance whenever possible. Still, today he was greatly falling short.

He looked through the chamber where he stood at the men around him. No one here were criminals, Wrong place, wrong time. That was this entire enslavement. Vertrock, a cursed name if there ever was one. The prison camp ensured to break your spirit with no chance of escape.

The whip cracked sending the echo across the entire cavern as everyone gathered what they had mined and piled it into the steel minecart. The age of it plainly seen it nearly blackened and dented with the amount of ore gathered through the years.

Another crack sent chills down Destin’s spine his back still wet with his own blood. The flashbacks scattered in uncontrollable of past experiences. The number of scars across Destin’s back were nearly too numerous to count, still he survived, yet the memories haunted him.

Once the materials were gathered, each of the three carts were hauled out of the cavern in which they were working and moved near the smelter where the real work would begin. The goal was for the orcs here to generate enough to build the weaponry and armor for their army. Something substantial was just over the horizon, but to accurately predict just what that seemed nearly impossible.

The group of nearly twelve men gathered together in single file and awaited the command to march back to camp. The orcs walked by each line of men carefully checking each for anything he shouldn’t have kept. Even innocent men at this point would be sweating with the pressure looming over them like the beast waiting to pounce on its prey. Did the orcs need a reason? No.

Towering over each of the men almost like adults to children one stood over a man staring him down, he had chosen his example for today. The orc let out a calamitous roar as the human looked up screaming helplessly as the orc grabbed him by the neck raising him to the orcs level his golden eyes reading deep into the human’s soul.

The rest of the human’s including Destin watched ahead, daring to pay no heed to the ghastly event taking place next to them. Unable to breathe, the man gasped for air, the orcs hand closing the slave’s windpipe. A smile cracked through the orcs expression as he squeezed a little harder until a snap was distinctly heard the body then released the thump of the corpse echoed through the cavern.

“Move.” Druvairuk commanded to the group of slaves. Without hesitation they immediately obeyed marching forward, the iron doorway lifting up as the orc pulled the lever revealing a thunderstorm. The violent winds pelted the rain against everyone's body, they moved forward down the switchbacks to the corresponding tents they would be resting in for the night.

The mountain rested in the valley which was surrounded by sheer cliffs. Destin gazed at the walls which encaged him hoping to find a way up but the slickness of the canyon walls made it impossible. Even if he could climb, his body in this weakened state could barely work a day let alone climb the entire rockface.

The rain soaked Destin’s entire body in an instant, bringing a major sigh of relief when he felt the sting of the wound being slowly cleaned. Clenching his teeth from the pain he felt the black soot of the mountain drip down his body.

For nearly a month Destin believed he had found a way to break out, to finally be free of this prison. The had calculated it out, but the issue was the number of people it would take in order to bring this plan into a reality. Thinking back to anyone who would possibly last long enough.

The muddy ground below him almost mocked him being trapped in this place. “Just one more day,” he reminded himself under his breath. “One more.” Seeing how fast his body was deteriorating he was running out of time. Regardless of his situation, he would need to attempt his escape by the end of the month, or accept the fact that Vertrock would be his final resting place before long.

The ragged, blackened mountains loomed in the distance like judges over the land. The peaks pierced the skies like a row of thorns, the mist haunting like death. Every day it seemed as though the sun would never show the cloud cover ominously watched for our fates to be revealed.

Tunnels populated the mountain side with steps carved in leading to the entrances Destin walking out of one of them. Orcs stood guard as the enslaved men exited out, walking back to the tents. A dozen or so tattered men, exhausted from the days work in the mines, returned to their tent escorted by the orcs.

Rain crashed over the slaves while they marched, the rain stirring up the soil around the mines. Every step Destin took sunk him deeper into the ground, until it was up to the slaves shins. It was going to be a rough night for sleep, he predicted that it would rain til the dawn.

Refuge from the storm was found in the tents, nearly fifty men would find themselves sleeping in the giant cover. Slaves crowded around together inside the ragged tent hoping to endure the storm. Wind howled as it pierced like a sharp blade chilling down to the soul. Water seeped through the cloth floor from the mud.

A squad of orcs escorted everyone in until the final man entered, the orcs left without so much of a word spoken. The door flaps were swiftly tied together hoping to ensure as little wind as possible would enter. Finally the orcs were gone, and they had some sense of freedom reestablished.

Fire pits populated around the entire tent the vents stretching past the roof to keep the smoke out. The task of getting the fires going was one that the men generally did joyously. Destin would sit back and watch the excitement which possessed the men as they went to work to warm up.

“Blast these sackcloths over us they deem worthy of shelter!” A worn out slave belted out to his fellow men. “The orcs do just enough to keep us alive!” He threw his hands up after overturning a fire pit.

He was right. Everyone knew the facts, most of the shelters barely were fit for livestock, let alone humans. The foodwas enough to convince a man to end his life early on top of the long work days. Still, the men did their best with what was given.

The men tried to quickly quiet him down hoping not to bring any attention to the tent. Even with the rain cover the heightened noise had a possibility to have unwanted visitors return. It had happened in the past and those at fault were taken away never to be seen again Destin recalled.

Sitting on a stump Destin looked around the tent at the flurry of men working around the fire pits and gathering the food. He checked his wound one final time noticing the bleeding completely stopped bringing much needed relief. Now he needed to ensure the kept it out of the mud tonight.

The fires begun to start around the tent except for two. The dwarf from earlier in the day was hoping to get anything, even smoke, but was without any success. The attempt to make a fire through the damp wood seemed almost futile, the dwarf worked tirelessly striving for the fire to be made. Defeated, the dwarf slammed his hands down in complete rage, “Blast these logs to the inferno! Even a dwarf can’t get a soaked log to light!”

The dwarf quickly stood up, “You try then ya yager! See if you have any luck!” He pointed aggressively at the slave and stormed off muttering curses under his breath.

The man stood in his place for a moment dumbfounded, then to hide the embarrassment pushed his fellow slaves away from himself attempting to gain back any honor he previously possessed before also storming off to find another firepit.

Destin cracked a smile laughing to himself from what he witnessed and walked over to the pile of logs once the men left to find another already lit fire pit. He checked around for any attention from the others that may be coming his way as he stacked the logs around uniformly. Placing his hand in the middle of the stack, he focused on it intently until the smoke began to rise. He brought his hand away as sparks shot out, instantly igniting the logs. Again, he glanced around making sure no one witnessed anything other than that the fire was warming the room. He admired his work a moment before finding his seat on a stump.

The dwarf walked over, incredibly dumbfounded by the spectacle of the newfound heat emanating from the center of the tent. He walked over to Destin who was in the process of pulling up a stump to sit by the fire. The dwarf crouched down, looking over at Destin, “I don’t understand boy, there has never been a fire I couldn’t start til this day, yet you seem to get it in the first go?”

The worn out slave sat on a stump, letting out a defeated sigh as he begun to wipe the blackened mud off his face, “You warmed it up for me. Guess you just needed a few more seconds at it!”

Reading the dwarfs face he knew he didn’t buy that story for a second, the wood was soaked to the core, yet somehow Destin managed to create a roaring fire. Still, the dwarf didn’t question it vocally in the slightest which caught Destin off guard. The dwarf rung out his red graying beard of the moisture, the water soaked the ground further.

With men seeing another fire was ignited they hurriedly gathered around to experience the warmth, the quiet chatter amongst one another blanketed the entire tent. The tension slowly released from the tent as the slaves gained back their humanity from the new found warmth.

The dwarf turned to the boy as he stoked the fire to keeping it alive. “Thank you for doing that. It was no easy task.”The dwarf subtly smiled through his aging beard, “You’re from New Haven, eh boy?” Recognizing the subtle shock from Destin, he continued talking regardless while placing another piece of wood on top the fire. “Your accent. Obviously the east coast to the trained ear. The dwarf moved closer to the fire to help himself dry off from the rain. “What’s your name?”

“Destin, and yeah I am from New Haven area, born and raised.” He slicked his unkempt, dirt filled, blonde hair away from his face. He gazed into the fire, almost finding solace, “We had storms there that made Vertrock weather look like nothing!” Destin’s excitement grew as he grabbed coal from the mud, “You know you could hold this coal to the sky and not be able to tell the difference from the clouds they were so dark!”

“That is, if you were able to look up during the pounding of the rain!” The dwarf jested in his rich bass tone of his voice. “I do miss that coast! Downright stunning t’was, especially the stars and the stories they told. I sailed as a merchant nearly fifty years back, New Haven was a common port for us.”

Destin nodded recollecting the hundreds of ships he would see pouring in daily. Whether it was fishing boat, or master trade ships looking to exchange their good, it was always a spectacle to behold. These were the times he could last remember truly being happy almost caused him to choke up a little. “The stunning part was the cliffside on the coast. Overlooking the ocean and city below with the two moons illuminating the night sky.” He quietly laughed to himself while reminiscing, though changed the subject to try not to dwell on it too much. “So sir, you have yet to tell me your name.”

Somewhat perplexed, the dwarf plainly responded, “No man has called me sir in a long time…” He sighed, “A long time. The respect shown to my kind has all but vanished, so I thank you for showing me this kindness.” The dwarf glanced around the room, checking his surroundings out of habit, “The name is Goddar. You seem fairly new here, Destin?”

Destin lowered his voice to not be heard from the surrounding men, Goddar leaning in to better hear, “Well, new to this tent. I’ve been in slavery for nearly a year now. Practically second nature!” Destin sarcastically joked.

For Destin sarcasm was one of the few ways he could cope. Although there was little peace to be had in enslavement, the occasional joke appeared to add some light. “How long have you been here Goddar? I will admit I’ve seen you wandering around the mines for the past while including today.”

“Ah correct, you will see me alot like that.” His voice quieted, “Well let's see we have entered the eleventh month of this year and that would mark just short of twenty-two years, so in short, your lifespan! Which is why I have no problem calling you boy!” He snarked. He rubbed his hands near the fire, “How have you survived so long?! Seriously, you know how it is around here. I’ve never met another longer than a month!” he said in bewilderment.

Destin leaned back too in amazement. Never thought someone would spent over twenty years of their life in the place and live to tell the tale. That seemed practically impossible. How would that affect someone? How could he still be sociable and not completely mad from dwelling in this place for two decades?

“How?” Was all Destin managed to have escape from his lips.

“My work is important to the orcs. Making sure the machinery is working up to their standards. Which, mind you, is rather low. Few people know the workings of dwarven mechanics.” Goddar informed matter of factly. “But surely Destin, you had bigger dreams than just being enslaved your entire life.”

“Not wrong.” Destin answered. You could hear the sadness in his voice with the realization of his predicament weighing in.

“You’re still young lad, I apologize you have started your life in such a struggle!”

Destin seemed to shrug the compliment off slightly, “Every day. Every single day, they attempt to break your soul. Humans, dwarfs, elves, good people drop dead daily, so much so that we are practically used to it. They’ve tried to break me, and I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

“But you resisted. You held strong. I grew up in these mines. The caverns know me better than I know them, and though I’ve been captive in these walls for twenty years, there’s still a sense of home.” Goddar lost focus on Destin for a moment, remembering the past. A sad smile broke through as he realized it's all changed. “Wish you could have seen this mine and city in its prime lad! The feasts in the grand hall were never forgotten!”

“I can only image Goddar. Now that would be something amazing to witness.”

He looked over at Destin for a moment, “The city is all but destroyed now by the orcs when they captured it… my father was lost in the battle, and I captured and forced to convert this majestic mountain into a prison camp…” He whispered as to not allow the others around to hear.

It made sense the secrecy Goddar kept locked away, yet his knowledge and whereabouts of the area was critical and Destin could see that. He was starting to brew ideas. Goddar obviously was a vital resource with potential in finding a way to escape. A feeling of hope serged through Destin as if to electrify his body. He still needed to tread carefully seeing as this was still someone who was practically a stranger, but the dwarf was unique.

Still, not knowing much about the dwarf made it rather difficult to accurately judge his character. Trapped for twenty years, even if it was the home you were raised in, being in captivity for so long would take its toll. He was difficult to read.

“Why are you telling me this though?” Destin questioned. “I mean, you barely even know me as is.”

Goddar threw his hands in the air, “Honestly, people like us are so few and far between, I figured my story would live on better if said to someone who has proven their survival here compared to the regular slave. You’re different lad, I’ll give ya that. You still have a high spirit, which in this camp, is rather rare.” He noted.

Compliments were never something Destin felt he could take well, so he quickly altered the topic, “Thank you, but also, anything you want to know of the outside world? I’m sure a great deal has changed.”

“True, it has indeed. Yet I find the stories these fellow men provide to be rather accurate and up to date.” Which was correct. Destin had been away from the world far longer than these men, and even if he could tell Goddar any news it would be year or older.

A slave by the fire chimed in to the conversation, “You’re telling me! The High King of Arthemis just had a great battle outside of The Reeves against King Airrick of Stormforth not more than a week ago.”

“The civil war is still going on?” Destin said, “Anyone close to a victory yet?”

The man chuckled slightly, “Eh, not really. As you know it's been nearly a fifteen year war by this point. Absolute madness!”

“What ever happened to the General who was killed over a year ago?” Destin inquired.

“That was a mess. The High King declared that he was a traitor to the crown. His generals were the ones who discovered his treachery and slayed him on the spot.” He answered.

“No not on the spot! You have it all wrong, it was his fellow generals that did it! They found the note to King Airrick revealing the truth!”

Soon the conversation was erupting from amongst the men, “Ha! You’re a fool if you believe that!”

Another slave continued the conversation, “Betray the High King? Madness! You’d be a fool, and that general got what was coming to him! Though you heard his son escaped eh? May the Gods deliver the same fate for such treachery!”

The argument broke out between the men around the fire seeing that some were Stormforth and others for Arthemis. Destin sat with his head down staring at the mud lost in his mind. Traitor. His father… a traitor… In no way was that the case, but at this point there was no point to correct it. A note? No. It was Destin’s fault entirely when he was discovered using his ability… Still, the High King declared it, seeming to cover up the truth of it. Yet, his father would forever be remembered as that traitor of the realm. His heart uncontrollably ached, his father who protected and hid the secret that Destin was a Highborn, his name forever scathed.

Goddar hit Destin lightly on the arm getting him out of the trance, “This is also why I don't ask. The useless talk of politics always creeps through.” He bellowed a laugh standing up as he was preparing to leave. “You’ve survived far longer than anyone previous lad. Fight on! Your life’s path does not keep you locked in here forever.”

Destin nodded at Goddar wiping the single tear away from his left eye. He continued to sit, still silent not replying to the dwarfs comments. He attempted to shake the news of his father from his mind, but to no avail.

Goddar grabbed the boy's attention one final time before departing, “We sometimes do our best to watch out for one another. Keep that in mind, Destin. You’d be amazed who you’ll find reaching out!” Goddar walked away as another slave sat next to Destin, stretching his hands out to begin to thaw away the bitter cold.

He sat there the rest of the night alone surrounded by company. Destin failed to communicate, failed to eat, failed to remove the memories weighing his heart. It was his fault his father died, and he would never forgive himself for that. The storm continued on, and he knew what he needed to do that night.