There is a short lived cheer before the orcs come to realize the damage that has been done. Darton leaves with Celise to inform Jarn that the fighting is over. Ozarrik walks over to his dad’s corpse. Varin, Vali, and Dhievni are already around his corpse sobbing. Dhievni has straightened out his limbs, but a few bones poke through the skin.

Ozarrik falls to his knees before his father, Varin and Vali hold onto him, and the three cry together. Zitirius looks on with a sense of sadness but nowhere near the grief the others show. Rheensuf glances at the commotion, scowls, and turns back to look over the corpse of the second giant.

Erevan collects his ballista bolts from the battlefield and loads them up on his sled. He gets his ballista and loads it up. Then he checks inside their tent to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind.

Jarn and the young hunters return with the young and elderly of the tribe. They find many of their loved ones and their leader have been killed. The tribe grieves for the losses sustained.

Erevan begins helping some of the tribesmen gather wood. They begin to build a funeral pyre.

“I told you there would be losses.” Jarn approaches Erevan.

“They were minimal. Considering the destruction that could have happened.” Erevan says in a low tone.

“You should come back to the hunter’s compound with us.” Jarn suggests.

“And why would I ever do that?” Erevan huffs.

“Because the orc Warlord died. The Claimants will have to duel to see who will reign.” Jarn informs the young Burkwood.

“Give me one more night here. Then I will join you.” Erevan says.

“So be it.” Jarn turns and leaves. Gathering the young hunters on his way out.

Erevan turns and walks to where Ozarrik is. He is with Varin, Valin, Taghig, and Nawne. As Erevan approaches the group opens up putting out arms for him. Erevan joins there family embrace and for the first time in over a month he feels tears start to well up in his eyes.

This was his new family. And now they too have lost their father.

Eventually Ozarrik and Erevan carry his body to the funeral pyre. They toss him on and step back. Erevan looks at his friend Oz and their eyes lock.

“What happens now?” Erevan asks.

“My siblings will challenge mine, and each others, claim to the title of Warlord.” Ozarrik says.

“By challenge you mean…”

“Only one of us will live through tomorrow.” Ozarrik admits.

“Then we should leave.” Erevan suggests.

“And go where?” Ozarrik asks.

“Hvardrik can get us out of here.” Erevan says.

“Then we leave.” Ozarrik resigns. “I can’t beat them in a fight. Not yet.”

Erevan and Ozarrik eventually retire to their tent. They stay up for a few hours, peeking out to see the smoldering embers outside, and not a figure in sight.

They exit the tent, Ozarrik walks towards the funeral pyre while Erevan beelines to the giant leader’s corpse. He tosses a red coin onto the giant corpse and a black portal opens a few moments later. Hvardrik steps out, looks at the corpse, and looks back at Erevan.

“Counts as one.” Hvardrik says as he casts an incantation. The shadows underneath the corpse drag the body into darkness below. It disappears and the shadows return to normal.

“There is another corpse over there.” Erevan points at the other giant.

“By the Gods. How do you get into so much trouble?” Hvardrik says under his breath.

Hvardrik walks over to the other giant corpse while Erevan jogs over to Ozarrik. The half-orc is looking at the ashen remains of the pyre.

“Your father was brave. Died slaying a giant. Not many warriors have that.” Erevan says.

“He did slay a giant. He did it with the family sword. The binding item for the ritual of our clan.” Ozarrik mutters.

“What are you saying? We have to go.” Erevan puts a hand on Ozarrik’s shoulder.

“I need to do something.” Ozarrik steps away from Erevan and into the giant skull through the fur door flaps.

“Shit.” Erevan says. He runs over to Hvardrik.

“I’m almost done here. Your orc friends will never see me.” Hvardrik says.

“No, I want to go with you.” Erevan admits.

“What? Why?” Hvardrik seems taken aback.

“The situation isn’t the greatest here. I need a way out. I don’t have to stay with you, but I can’t stay here.” Erevan says.

“Alright, you can come with me.” Hvardrik shrugs.

“And my friend Ozarrik.” Erevan quickly adds.

“Who?” Hvardrik gestures around to the empty camp.

“He’ll be here. Just give him a minute.” Erevan says.

“I’m accustomed to teleporting wherever I want within a hundred and fifty mile radius. And you think I have any patience left in me?” Hvardrik snorts.

Ozarrik emerges from the great hall, running to Erevan and Hvardrik, holding the black greatsword. He stops in front of them. A small bit of blood runs down the blade.

“You need to go.” Ozarrik says between deep breaths.

“Done and done.” Hvardrik claps and the black portal opens up behind them.

“You’re coming with me, right?” Erevan asks.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m going to return this blade to its rightful owner. My ancestors pillaged it on a conquest. I know it does not belong to us.” Ozarrik says.

“We can find a way to help you.” Erevan says.

“Except my teleportation is at its limit here.” Hvardrik mutters.

“I’ll be alright. Ask for me in Yokind. Ask for the Frostblood Orc. I’ll make a name for myself in no time.” Ozarrik puts a hand out.

Erevan grabs his arm and pulls Oz in for a one handed hug.

“It’s been only a month, but you are a brother to me.” Erevan says.

“Thick as blood, strong as steel.” Ozarrik smiles as he steps away. “Now go.”

“Alright.” Erevan says reluctantly.

He turns and steps through the portal.