He groaned. A feeling traveled from his heart and reached every inch of his being. It wasn’t exactly painful. Yet it pierced that same. It was like a slight rise in temperature churning with the pins and prickles of disconnected blood flow. In which this feeling made him extremely uncomfortable.

Quickly he turned over his large green arm. He saw a long scar, that was stacked upon hundreds more, healed. It disappeared as if no knife ever cut into it. Knowledge came to him, in flashes and visions.

Roshu had died. Failed. At that, he perished at the hands of a child. So be it. There was no room for weakness in Shrigor. All the same. He grabbed the mental image of the black-eyed kid. Then stood from his throne. His large, 9 foot, muscle wrapped body cut an intimidating figure. “Fogur!” He yelled. Then he began to walk. Suddenly, a small creature appeared to the side of him. About 3 feet and hunched. Green with large ears and gnarled teeth.

“Yessss massster.” The little goblinoid asked. Wearing a long robe and holding a staff with a large yellow crystal on top of it.

‘Spread the word and tell the hordes. An orc captain has fallen. Roshu the Bloodzeker. “ He huffed and his nose flared. “A black eyed child, Kenan Noctis of the Sorrowful Night is to be headhunted. He is to be put on the list.” he growled.

“Yesss.” Then Fogur started to chant, his magic connected to the large formations of the palace and fortress. Then suddenly, in the heads of all the orc’s, goblins, minions, contracted assassins, and allies of Shrigor. A message was said. In the stone walls of Shrigor came the thunderous roar of thousands, hundreds of thousands of green skinned, Gruumsh born orcs.

All the same. Under the reign of Tulgon, Overlord of Shrigor, White eye of the Tempest. No one kills an orc and gets away with it.