It didn’t come as much of a surprise when the old orc died. Constant health and heart issues, mixed with combat wounds can do that to someone. But as the one and only shaman of his tribe, his death still affected everyone, his son and daughter the most. Dyra and Nerax were their names.

Nerax was one of the most popular orcs in his tribe. Charismatic, sociable, skilled in magic; everything a father and a shaman would want. Dyra, on the other hand, is different. She didn’t share much of the same attributes as her brother. But there was one thing that stood out about her. But there was one thing that stood out about her. She had an ability, passed down from generation to generation. An ability called “grave-seeing,” which allowed her to see and communicate with the dead. Her gift has always been limited, but she continued working day and night to try and improve her "special power," but to no real avail. And yet unlike her brother, she still wanted to prove herself. Maybe not anymore to her father, but at least her tribe. Now, she was willing to sacrifice everything for it.

That’s why on the day of her father’s death, she decided it was about time to leave. Dyra always found mercenary work to be most appealing, despite her father’s wish not to become one. But, her dream stayed unfaltering.

Death, of course, knew about this. About her special skill, her want to stand out in the world, and of course their father’s recent passing. Most of all, She knew what Chaos wanted to achieve. It was big, of course, but it’s happened before.

The early morning fog was still thick in the air. Nerax and some other orcs were preparing the burial ritual. Wood from a hickory tree, charcoal, and special herbs; all meant to aid in the process of cremating the body. Death wasn’t here for the body, however. She was here for two things only: the soul, and Dyra. They were both in the hut near the back of the camp.

As Death approached, She could hear two voices speaking to each other. Dyra, and the ghost of her father. So her power was improving after all. Death entered the hut.

There they were. Their conversation was hushed. The sound of flames crackling and wood-burning filled the room. Death watched them silently. This was something she didn’t like interrupting. Finally, the two stopped talking and looked up. They saw her standing there. As Death began to speak, the fire flared again. Dyra and her father instantly stood to attention.

“Oh my gods,” Dyra nearly shouted, nearly knocking over a chair. “Sorry,” she muttered while stepping back.

Death smiled as she walked towards them. “No need to apologize. It’s good to see you both. Again."

Dyra nodded, looking somewhat nervous. Her father, meanwhile, kept a cool head.

“I’m guessing you’re here for me?” he asked.

Death nodded.

Dyra and her father looked at each other one last time. They were about to go in for a hug, before remembering she isn’t quite able to touch spirits yet.

“I guess this goodbye, father. Tell mother I said hello, will ‘ya?” Dyra smiled.

As her father turned his attention back to Death, She looked over to Dyra.

“You must be Dyra.”

“Y-yes… I am.”

Death scanned her up and down. “Mercenary too, huh?”

“Well, I mean… Yes, b-but not yet-”

Death chuckled. She always found it amusing how nervous mortals could get.

“If you’re looking for work, I may have something for you.”

“You?” Her eyes widened, unable to believe what she heard.

“Yep, me. But first, I have some business to attend to, if you don’t mind.” Death nodded towards her father.

“Oh, yes, of course! Lemme just...” Dyra cleared her throat and stepped back a few feet.

“Are you ready?” Death asked the old shaman.

“It’ll be an honor,” he responded.