My screen name is Azurmina on the Young Writers Program NaNoWriMo website.

Celebration time!

The images above are from the WoW Community Site World of Warcraft - Dancing

The races shown above are a male Undead (Forsaken), and a male Tauren (bovine-like people)

I made it. :D

And I nearly busted my fingers doing so, trust me.

I decided to completely skip the part that was giving me trouble, so that chapter is incomplete. I wrote ahead instead. So I won't post anything new here until I actually get Chap. 8 done. I can't post the ahead-writing, that would totally spoil the story.

I know what you're thinking: "How can you skip ahead? That makes no sense!"

Simple. I already knew how I wanted it to end, so I wrote the ending. The part that was tons of trouble was what happens inbetween with getting there. xC

I know they DO get there the way I wanted to write out in chap. 8, but I just couldn't get it typed out. Y'know what I mean there? But still yet, I wrote a part that beongs to my story, so it is valid for the word count.

 

omg my poor little fingers.

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Here I have a picture of Thelan. :D (That I drew and coloured myself, in case you're wondering)

The little elf doesn't look too happy here, does he? Must have something to do with blowing up his furniture. LOL (you'd have to read Chap. 7 to get that.)

Drawn with a F pencil on sketch paper, coloured in The Gimp 2.6.2 (computer program) Gimp is kinda like the poor man's Photoshop. xD

 

Current Word Count: 20,800/20,000 - 104.00%

Parts of my word count may not appear on this site for censorship reasons.

 

This is only a rough draft. When it comes to a final version, I'll definitely add to it, add more chapters, and more subplots. And possibly more characters. What I'm doing now is just to give me a good idea of how I want the final product to work out. It'll reach 50,000 words someday. sooooomedaaaaay...

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Title: (Being Changed)

Summary:

A war rages between the orcish inhabitants of the Ash'Gatar region and the elves of the Winter Wood. They have been battling for fifty years, and both sides have developed a hatred for each other so intense they are willing to completely wipe their enemy from the face of the planet altogether. The orc mercenary Gro'Tash had been defeated by the elf sorcerer Thelan, and he's out for revenge. Little does he know that Thelan has sworn a vengeful vow against him. The two are out to get each other, each fuelled by hatred and a need to avenge themselves.

 

Prologue- 

He hated them, those insufferable, close-minded elves. They wanted nothing to do with the orcs, despite the many attempts that have been made to unify the two races.  Gro’Tash sat in his hut, while his pet wolf chewed on the bone of a warrior they had killed earlier that day. He sat and thought about the elves. They thought of his people as barbarians who loved nothing more than to kill. While it was true that orcs enjoyed battle, the elves failed to realise that the orcs are also quiet honourable, and they would never attempt to kill any ally. They tried to make elves their allies, but those forest people would not accept, and dismissed them as heartless monsters. So instead, the orcs became their enemies. They invaded the land and killed many of the elves; just as those magically dependant people had invaded them. It had been at least fifty years since the orcs started war against them and during that time the ravaging and blood shed did not cease even for a moment. 

 

Gro’Tash walked outside, and looked across the barren land he called home. The ground was red, and cracked. Small patches of grass grew only near the river, and the fresh running water was only a few feet from his hut. The sky was orange, as the sun slowly began to disappear on the horizon. In the distance, he could see the Orcish city of Sidgrath. He never liked living near the city. The guards were always forcing their authority on him, and he couldn’t stand to be around people for too long. They irritated him, and made his blood boil. 

 

Gro’Tash, being fifty six years old, was very experienced in warfare. He had fought many times against numerous forces with his trusty war axe, and he had gained many battle scars. These scars were regarded as trophies to the solitary orc. They littered his greenish-grey skin like blood stains on a battle field, and many more were visible on his hairless head. He glared at the city with his piercing amber eyes, still thinking about the forest people. He grew disgusted at the very thought of them. 

 

He walked back into his hut for a brief moment in order to grab the severed head of the warrior he had killed. He went back outside, behind his hut to the stone monument that stood against the mountain he lived near. The monument was erected in honour of the War Spirit. To worship the spirit, Gro’Tash believed he would be blessed with good fortune on the battlefield and the strength to vanquish any who would stand against him. He smeared the blood of the warrior on the small altar before the standing stone. The stone was adorned with runes and symbols, carved jaggedly. They looked aggressive and full of anger, and they gave off a dark aura that would make any other man quake in fear. Truly, the War Spirit was one to make its presence known.

  

During the blood ritual, Gro’Tash had asked a favour of the spirit. He wanted to find the strength to defeat the only living being that had managed to defeat him before; Thelan, the elf sorcerer. Gro’Tash had encountered this man many weeks ago, on the edge of his homeland, Ash’Gatar, where the red land met the mist of the elvish homeland of Winter Wood. Thelan had said something about taking revenge against the orcs, and he then attacked without hesitation. The might of his magical energy was too much to contend with. All Gro’Tash could remember of the battle was the frost oriented magic the elf had used, and his appearance. He would never forget this elf, for he had hurt his pride, and made a fool of the orc mercenary. That elf would pay with his life for such a deed. The image flashed in Gro’Tash’s mind for a split second; pale skin…long silver hair…violet eyes, and a blue moon shaped tattoo over his left eye. The elf had been wearing mage’s robes with armour under it, as well as pauldrons on his shoulders and bracers on his arms. 

 

Gro’Tash knew what he wanted to do. He had heard that this elf had been a prisoner in a camp, but he had escaped. If he could find Thelan, he would be rewarded for catching the fugitive, and he would have the pleasure of taking out his vengeance. He knew where he had to go to find this elf, since he had fought him only a couple of weeks ago. But it would take days to cross the barrens of Ash’Gatar to get to the misty land of the Winter Wood again, and what’s more, Thelan had a big head start, for he was already safe within the forest.

  

Elves had adapted to be able to see in the thick mist that constantly covered their home, but orcs were not capable of seeing but a few inches in front of them in that mist. It did not matter to Gro’Tash. He was determined to get back at that sorcerer for what he did. They must be some way to find him again. Had Thelan not said something about taking revenge against the orcs himself? Surely he would come out of hiding sooner or later, and all Gro’Tash would have to do would be to wait. He had decided once and for all. Once he embarks on his journey to find Thelan, there will be no turning back.

 

Chapter 1 - Through a Child's Eyes 

It was the year 1320 of the second era in the land of Ash’Gatar. The countryside was peaceful, far away from the capitol city Sidgrath. The then-nine-year-old Gro’Tash playfully chased a small beetle across the red earth. He stopped and looked around. The farmhouse he lived in was quiet. His father was tending to the boar they raised there, and his mother was in the house. The sun was setting, the air became colder, and the stars were becoming more visible in the sky. A slightly chilly breeze swept though the air, and the small bits of grass peaking through the ground swayed slowly. It was tranquil for the moment; an occasion that would soon be shattered.

 

Minutes later, shrill screams could be heard from the distance, and smoke was quickly rising in the atmosphere. A town not so far away was being attacked.

 

Gro’Tash gawked as orcish riders sped by towards the commotion. The smoke was a signal. It was a call for help to any nearby soldiers. It was apparent that it had worked, as even more orcs rode by. There were so many, he could not see his house at all, or his father. He thought that they probably would not notice if he ran toward the town as well. He wanted to know what was happening, what was causing so much distress, and what the riders and soldiers were going to do. In a split-second decision, he bolted toward the town. It was not very far, but it still took a good ten minutes to actually reach it. Gro’Tash hid behind a wrecked wagon, as he observed the situation from the outskirts of the town. Elves were attacking the orcs who lived there. Buy why? What had they done? He watching in horror as a peasant was swiftly beheaded by an elf warrior, and another peasant woman was engulfed in a strange radiant aura that seemed to suck the vitality right out of her. They were using both physical combat and magic to kill.

 

Gro’Tash looked away quickly. He did not want to watch anymore of this slaughter. He really wished that he hadn’t decided to follow the riders at that moment. He tried to crawl away, but as he did so he felt a slight pain. An elf had grabbed him by his shirt, and had lifted him in the air. He felt the man’s fingers pinch his skin. They dug in with a fierce grip, sending sharp pains through his skin that almost felt like they went all the way to the spine. The elf’s icy blue eyes seemed to glow with some unknown malice and hatred from deep within. The elf lifted his sword up to Gro’Tash’s throat, and was about to slice. Suddenly, the life looked as if it had drained from the cold blue irises. An orcish warrior had stabbed him in the side right before Gro’Tash may have been killed.

 

The strange orc man grabbed Gro’Tash and ran toward a nearby building. He shoved Gro’Tash between the large structure and some barrels.

 

“Stay right here!” He exclaimed.

 

He ran off back into the fray, his blood covered knife in hand. Gro’Tash just sat there, listening to the deafening screams, the clashing of blades, and the slicing of flesh and bone. He dare not peak over the barrels for fear that another elf may see him.

 

It seemed like hours, as the battle raged on. More and more people were chopped down, both elf and orc. Their blood stained the ground; the flow of it looked like small crimson rivers, weaving in between the bodies as if they were shore lines. The elves’ force was waning, and they finally retreated, leaving the few survivors in shock and disbelief. They just snuck up on the town, without a sound. The people’s clothes were soaked red, corpses cluttered the stone-laid roads, and weapons were lying around without owners and covered in filth.

 

Gro’Tash came out among his fellow Ash’Gatar residents. They looked confused, and angry. Some were crying and grieving, while others were becoming furious. People were too shocked to do anything but stand and stare at the carnage before them.

 

Gro’Tash wandered, looking for the man who saved his life before. He wanted to ask him questions, all concerning the sudden and brutal attack. He walked through the streets, looking around at the bodies and the blood. The faces of the dead stuck in his mind. As he walked he remembered every face he saw, the contortions of their features at their last moment of life, and the look of their glazed eyes. The scene was extremely grotesque. The bodies were sprawled all over, limp and broken; blood and entrails were scattered everywhere, decorating the roads in such a morbid manner, it was almost mesmerising. It was enough to make Gro’Tash’s stomach churn.

  

He eventually found the soldier who had saved him. The man was tending the wounds of the survivors. Gro’Tash watched, quiet entranced, as the wounds gushed the all too familiar red iron-rich liquid. They were soon bound and cleaned, but it made the current imagery no less frightening. He approached the soldier, nervously, and slowly. It took a few moments for Gro’Tash to gather his thoughts and speak. The day’s events had a vast impact on his mind.

 

“Soldier…why did this happen? Why did those elves do this?” He asked. He was shaking slightly, the images of the dead faces flashed in his mind for a fleeting moment, which caused a chill to run up his spine.

 

“War.” The soldier said that calmly, as if it were nothing. “Do you not know child? We have been battling the Winter Wood elves for three years now.”

  

“I didn’t know. But I wanted to thank you for saving my life back there.”

 

“It’s nothing. You are not the first, and probably not the last. It is my duty to protect citizens in times like this after all. Now, go. This is no place for someone like you. Go back to your home, and keep away from here.”

 

A thought suddenly crossed Gro’Tash’s mind. Which direction had the elves gone in when they retreated? He was in a panic. Had they gone toward the farmhouse? Were his parents alive? He had many other questions he wanted to ask, but he dashed away from the wreckage that was once a bustling trade district and back into the country, to the small farm. A feeling of worry had spontaneously come over him.

 

Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he ran. He noticed that many hoof prints were embedded into the ground, and not going in the direction that the orc riders did. They were obviously the hoof prints of the horses the elves had been riding. He was hoping that they just went right by, and missed the house.

 

When Gro’Tash reached his small home, he was horrorstruck. The door of the house hung open, the fences that contained the boar were broken, and his father lay dead on the ground, war axe in hand. He looked in the house, fuelled by a small glimmer of hope that his mother may have survived, but he somehow already knew that it was not true. She was not there at all. Blood was smeared on the walls and the floor, pottery was shattered and pieces were everywhere, there were even scratches on many of the surfaces within the house. They had taken her as a prisoner.

  

He felt worry still, but now he was also angered. What had they done? Why would the elves do this? The two races never got along very well before, but an attack like this was too much to bear. It was at this moment that Gro’Tash decided that he would become a warrior himself. He would not let the elves get away with this; he would fight them, and make them suffer. He walked outside again, and picked up his father’s war axe. He remembered his father saying that it was there only for protection purposes, just in case they may need it. He gathered some food and water from inside, and intended to set off to the city. He knew there was an orphanage there he could go to, but it was so far away. Instead, he went back to the town he ran to before.

 

There, they had taken most of the bodies from the streets, but there were still wounded elves lying there. They sounded as if they were cursing the orcs, but they were speaking in a foreign tongue. Blood was still everywhere, and wounded orcs were still being treated. Truly, the damage the elves had caused was devastating to these people. No civilian was still out among the soldiers and wounded. The deep sounds of horns could be heard very nearby. Funerals were being held at that moment.

 

Gro’Tash went looking for the same soldier from before; the one who had saved him. It did not take long before he found the man. This time he was not tending wounds, but discussing something with fellow soldiers. Gro’Tash approached them, but this time without any signs of hesitation or nervousness. The soldiers turned to face him, their faces grim. The soldier that he had spoken to before addressed him.

 

“You, child, should be back home. I told you before that you should leave this place, now go. We have important work to do!”

  

“I need to be taken to Sidgrath! They killed my family; I have nowhere else to go! There must be some way you can help me get there!” The sudden exclamation surprised him. He did not expect to blurt that out so quickly.

 

“Is that what happened…there are many others like you, child. Over there, there are wagons that will take survivors to the city.” He pointed toward a few wagons near the edge of the town. They were being loaded up at that very moment. “This place needs to be restored, so the survivors are being taken to bunkers in the city. You should go with them; they’ll take you to the orphanage.”

 

“Thank you.” Said Gro’Tash, as he dashed away from the soldiers. He never learned that man’s name, but at the moment he only wanted to get to the city. Living in the orphanage for a time probably wouldn’t be so bad, and he could train while he was there. At least until he was of age to join the army and get proper combat training.

 

It was decided then. He would live in the orphanage in Sidgrath, and he would train himself to battle the elves. The city would be the safest place to go now, for surely no elf in their right mind would even attempt to approach it. And even if an army marched upon them, they would have their own, since most of the orcish soldiers were to be sent to the city. They would be going over strategies and plans, and enforcing protection around the city walls.

 

The journey would take many days, but the wagons were loaded with enough rations to support all of the passengers. Gro’Tash knew that life would not be easy from here on out, but it mattered not. All he wanted now was to make the elves pay. The years of training to come seemed a small toll to pay in order to reach his goal, and he was determined to do anything it would take.

 

Chapter 2 - The Wastes

He remembered that day vividly. And he would never forget it. He had never returned to either that town or his old home at the farm ever since that attack. He had practised with his father’s axe for many years while housed at the orphanage, and once he was seventeen years old he went off to join the soldiers in the Sidgrath training ground. He had served the army for a little over thirty-three years before he retired early to live in the small hut next to a mountain. It was within the army that Gro’Tash learned just how much he detested authority figures, and how much he hated to be told what to do. Even so, he stuck with the soldiers for all those years; he fought many battles, killed many elves, and even helped destroy an entire village once. Eventually, he could take it no longer, and he retired from the service. Instead of fighting the elves along with many other orcs, he took up freelance adventuring and mercenary jobs.

 

Of course none of those experiences would be an equal to the journey he was about to depart on. He had no intention of returning home without Thelan’s head, and no force in the known universe could keep him from setting out to destroy that sorcerer.

 

Once the favour was asked of the War Spirit, Gro’Tash went back to the hut. He gathered the necessary rations for the long trip ahead. Some water, food, bandages, a map, war axe, bow, and a quiver of arrows; that would be all he would need, besides armour and his wolf. He quickly donned the heavy leather and mail armour, and called his pet.

 

The road ahead was definitely very long, and harsh. Only a couple of villages, not even big enough to be called towns, stood between the area near Sidgrath and the Winter Wood border. It was at times like this when Gro’Tash had regretted not investing in a mount. But there was no time to get one now, and it was not very necessary in the least bit anyway. Of course, he planned to take the Crimson Road all the way to a small village called Ogadash, before switching to the road that ran between the two A’gar Mountains. That road would go all the way to the border, after going though one more small village.

 

While this plan only consisted of two roads and three landmarks, the roads were very long, and they had many curves and turns in them. Although, those turns were only for travelers who did not wish to tread through the Wastes. Those lands were filled with old, dead forests and a race of hostile and barbaric satyrs. Gro’Tash did not want to waste time on them, but he also did not want to take extra time to travel around the wastelands. Perhaps it would be safe to travel through the Wastes after all, satyrs were certainly no challenge.

  

He finally set off, onto a poorly laid, dusty trail. This was only a small route that would lead to the bigger and deeper Crimson Road.  Looking closely at the land, one could understand why the orcs needed large roads to traverse the place. One could easily get lost. There were very few landmarks around and hardly any plant life at all. Everything basically looked the same in the area. Strong gusts often blew, causing dust to fill the air. Once it settled back on the ground, it covered every footprint Gro’Tash and his wolf had made. Yes, indeed it was very easy to get lost here.

 

Gro’Tash got to the end of the small dusty trail in only half an hour, and turned onto the Crimson road. He could already see a very small bit of the Wastes far into the distance, almost over the horizon. He did not stop even for a second, and continued at a fast pace along the wide road. A cluster of rocks were along the side of the Crimson Road, with some weak looking wooden posts sticking out from between the rocks. It was obviously a sign post, but there would be no need to look at it; unless, of course, it was not a directional sign, but a warning.

 

He stopped to take a look anyway, just in case it was important. The sign read: “Warning: Satyr territory ahead. They are spreading.” Spreading, were they? It was none of Gro’Tash’s concern, but it looked like he would have to kill a few of them anyway, even if he had decided to take the detours.

 

He continued along the trail, the dead trees were getting closer and closer, and as this was happening, Gro’Tash had started to feel weaker. This was strange, he had been travelling for just an hour now, and there should be no need for rest. He kept walking anyway. He was strong, and determined. It would be no problem. But Gro’Tash could not help but think about it. Had he not asked the War Spirit for a blessing of strength? The War Spirit never failed to offer such blessings before, so why now?

  

Gro’Tash walked for a couple more hours before he finally reached the Wastes. The sun had gone all the way down by this time, and the night sky glistened with its billions of stars; hanging in the sky like ornaments. The wind was blowing again, and the dead trees could be heard making cracking noises. They were trying to fall, but could not, since they were being held up by each other. Gro’Tash’s wolf, Grezag, bore his teeth and growled. The sound was low, and threatening, which could only mean that a satyr must be near.

 

He stood and listened, carefully, scanning ahead, looking for any sign of a beast. Nothing could be seen, but that did not mean a satyr was not near. Gro’Tash tightened the grip he had on his axe, and like his wolf, bore his teeth threateningly. His large tusk-like teeth were truly intimidating, but satyrs did not fear orcs or their frightening features. The wolf and his master stood quietly, waiting, and listening, like statues. A slight rustle, and a creak broke the silence, then a satyr suddenly jumped from behind a dead tree.

 

Gro’Tash swung his axe, like a reflex, right at the creature’s head. It was a direct hit; the satyr’s head had been removed with one quick move. It rolled across the ground, leaving a trail behind it that shined in the moonlight. The great axe swing had taken more energy from Gro’Tash than he had thought it would. Just like when he started to get tired while walking. His strength was deteriorating, without reason. While satyrs were easy kills, another swing like that might cause him to collapse from exhaustion. Again, Gro’Tash thought of the favour he had asked earlier. True, you don’t always get what you want, but this situation was different. Even if he did not get his favour granted, he was as strong as ever before he left, and suddenly he started to feel weaker than he ever remembered feeling before.

 

Had the War Spirit cursed him instead? Perhaps it had, but there would be no reason. Gro’Tash had performed the rituals as necessary; and he offered the blood of an elvish warrior he had killed himself.  Why would this happen? Maybe he had displeased the spirit somehow.

 

With this, Gro’Tash could not help but question his faith in the War Spirit. He had fought for the honour of the spirit for many years, and yet this was happening. And at such a crucial time as well. Perhaps this is just a test. Surely, the spirit would not harm any loyal follower in such a way without good reason. Gro’Tash suddenly snapped out of his thoughts. Grezag was growling again, and more snaps of twigs could be heard. Instead of his axe, Gro’Tash drew his bow, and placed an arrow. A soon as a satyr showed its face he shot. One shot was usually all it would take to kill one. One after the other they fell, until it was clear that there were no more at the moment. The bodies of six satyrs were motionless on the ground now.

 

The bow had not taken nearly as much energy as the axe, but it still made him feel weaker for even having used it. Hopefully, there would be some explanation for what was going on during his journey. Maybe he should visit a shaman in Ogadash when he got there.

 

Gro’Tash and Grezag walked between the many dead trees of the wastelands. One would assume that with the trees being dead, that it would be easy to see ahead. This was not the case in actuality. It was very thin at the border of the wastes, but deeper in, the dead trees were closer together, and it was not uncommon to find large clusters of trees so big that walking around them took more than a few minutes.

 

Gro’Tash had been weaving around the trees and walking through the land for what seemed like an age. There were no satyrs around, and he had not seen any for a couple of hours. Gro’Tash decided it would probably be safe to rest a while. He put his axe up against the trunk of what was once a mighty oak tree, and sat down at the base. Grezag seemed to be getting tired as well, for he walked to the same tree and curled up on the ground. He was asleep almost instantly. Since it was practically impossible to move in this land at all without making some noise, Gro’Tash and assured himself that if any creature would try to attack, he would most certainly hear it, and he would hopefully have enough time to counter any potential threat.

  

Fatigue weighed in, and Gro’Tash was asleep within minutes. The surrounding remains of a forest were completely empty, save for an orc and his pet. They had not even been in the wastes for half of a night, so there would be ample time to rest before the sun came up. Perhaps a good rest would cure the sudden weakness that burdened Gro’Tash. If luck was on his side, he would be in better shape to continue his journey tomorrow.

 

Chapter 3 - The Winter Wood

Thelan looked out into the foggy abyss that was his homeland. He could see all of the evergreen trees ahead, and the blanket of flawless, unmarred snow that covered the ground. Any other person who was not an elf wouldn’t be able to see their own hand in front of them in the perpetually snow-covered forest, but elves had specially adapted eyes that allowed them to see in the mist. Most people speculate that this “adaption” is not natural, and they would be right. The elves heavily relied on magic, and they were constantly in the presence of some arcane energy. This constant exposure to arcane energy is what actually caused the elves to be able to see in the mist, by causing a genetic mutation infused with an abstract force. The elves considered this a huge advantage, since they would be able to safely live in the Winter Wood without being bothered by anyone else. This is especially useful for their current situation regarding the southern orcs.

 

Thelan had been out gathering plants and herbs for the local apothecary. Many elvish soldiers had been coming back to the forest gravely wounded, and some had even contracted diseases. He looked down into the bag he had been putting the gathered herbs in. There was barely enough there for ten medicinal potions. He would need much more than that for the apothecary to treat all of the ailments present in the soldiers.

 

He walked deeper into the wood, barely acknowledging anything around him that was not plant life. There weren’t many animals living in the forest, besides the snow wolves and bears. They, like the elves, were always exposed to magic. Of course, it was without the animal’s consent, they just happened to be around while magic was in use.

  

As he walked, Thelan began to ponder on the simple things in his life. Things people did not usually think about. Why was the forest covered in a thick mist in the first place? It had been that way even before the elves moved into the territory way back in the first era. How had the wolves and bears lived there before they were mutated by the elves’ magic? Perhaps they already had a strange adaption? Or maybe they only lived in the areas of the forest where the mist was thinner. After being able to see in the mist, they began to spread throughout the rest of the land. That must be it!

 

Thelan snapped from his thoughts. He had been thinking too much again. He looked around, and found himself in an area he did not recognize. “Well, that’s what mindless wandering gets me.” He said quietly to himself. Fortunately, there were many herbs growing in the area that could be used for potions and ointments. Thelan quickly harvested as many as his bag would hold, about fifty potions worth, and turned around. Hopefully, he could find his way back to Isa Village.

  

Fifty would still not be enough to help every soldier. Thelan knew he would have to go back out to collect more, but he didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to get away from the village, and to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could think more. Of course, he was also hoping he could go back to his house after delivering the herbs. He really wanted to continue his study of magic, more than anything. In his opinion, his study was one of the most important things he could do, especially since he was practicing with more powerful spells and incantations. He would need them, in order to fight the orcs more effectively.

  

He was after one orc in particular; the one named Gro’Tash. He was one of the orcs who served in a certain battalion, the one that marched through and destroyed his home town. He remembered every orc he saw that day. The ones who raided and killed and the ones who had drug him off to a prison. He had fought Gro’Tash not long ago, after he had escaped from the prison. He did achieve victory in that battle, and he would have ended the life of that warrior once and for all, had Gro’Tash not retreated.

  

It was fortunate for Thelan that the prison he went to was not the capitol city of the Ash’Gatar region. It was only a camp set up not far from the forest border, so Thelan did not have to run far to get away. Of course, the guards who saw him run stopped their pursuit when they got to the mist. Even though he managed to escape, Thelan could not help but feel guilty. Perhaps his escape made the orcs reinforce prison security, and that would be awful for any other elf prisoner. Had he made it harder for others to get away? The very thought haunted his mind for a while as he continued to walk through the snow. Another thought suddenly crossed his mind. Was it really his village’s fault that they had been attacked? The village was very close to the outer edge of Winter Wood, where the mist was thinner, where the orcs could see more clearly. Maybe it was their fault for not taking the necessary measures to protect themselves. They knew there was danger, they knew their area was possibly hazardous to stay in, but they did not move to an inner portion of the forest. Did they really bring the attack upon themselves?

 

He kept pondering and thinking as he walked, and he barely realised that he had walked back into Isa Village. He suddenly caught himself in thought and stopped. He really walked all the back to Isa in that time? Truly, his thoughts did distort his perception of time. He continued on the apothecary’s domicile, and went in.

 

As soon as Thelan entered the building, the apothecary noticed his bag. “Ah, I see you gathered plenty. Come, bring it over, I have to make the medicine immediately.” The old man had been sorting his tools and apparatuses on a table. Thelan brought the bag over to the apothecary, who started to take the herbs from the bag. He sorted them by type and stacked them along the table. He said nothing more as he did his work, and Thelan decided to sit down and wait. Perhaps he would have a new job when the old man was done.

 

As he waited he looked around the house. The floor and walls were made of wood, as was every piece of furniture in the house. There were many books on the shelves that lined one wall, and many bottles and jars were displayed on another table on the other side of the room; a door to the second room of the house was on the same wall. There was only one window on the entire building, directly across from the door. There was a strong smell in the air, it was hard to identify each different scent that made it up, but it seemed to surround everything in the house. It made the house feel almost welcoming, and gave it a very comfortable atmosphere; even though the interior of the house was just as cold, if not colder, than the exterior. Of course, no one minded this, since the elves loved the cold, and hated hot weather. Arsonphobia was, as to be expected, a very common trait among elves. Even Thelan had a deep fear of fire. Elves had only ever used fire for cooking meat, and that practise was not very well thought of.

 

And there he went again, lost in trivial thought when he should be thinking of more important things. Like how he would go about finding that orc again, or perhaps even thinking over some of the new spells he had been learning. But no, he would have to end up thinking over how the house felt because of a smell, or his people’s common fear of fire. What were they really doing anyway? Why were they fighting those orcs? They couldn’t find their way through the forest, why should they be so concerned? Perhaps the apothecary would know, he’s been around since the war started, unlike Thelan. The war had already been going on for sixteen years before Thelan was born, and he never really knew how or why it all started. All he ever knew was that the orcs showed no mercy and gave it their all when battling elves.

 

“Orveth…why are we at war exactly?”

 

“Hm? You mean to tell me that you don’t know why we’re fighting those barbarians?” The apothecary Orveth replied.

 

“No, I don’t really know. I only know that they have been killing many of us. No one has ever told me why. I know that I fight them for revenge, for personal means, but what of everyone else?”

 

“Well I’ll tell you. Years before this war even started, elves and orcs were in contact with each other. Nobody was hostile back then, but we didn’t get along that well either. The orcs began to question us, and our beliefs. We worship both an arcane deity, and a forest deity, while the orcs are monotheistic, and worship only their war spirit. They believe that there is only one true divine force in the universe that centres on battle and “honour.” The orcs thought that we were foolish, and that our magic use was an abomination and a dishonourable weapon. They felt that we were blasphemous, and that we were no better than a common animal for our dependency on the arcane and dishonor of their war spirit.

 

Now, the orcs were being intolerant, but they were never particularly cruel to us. They later offered to unite our two races despite our separate beliefs and views on magic use, and we refused. They tried again numerous times, but still we refused to befriend them. We regarded them as mindless savages who loved only killing, and eventually, both the orcs and us elves became hateful. As time went on, the hatred grew, and both sides erupted at each other. We declared war, and the rest is history from that point. They started to attack our small towns, so we moved closer to the inner regions of Winter Wood. Our soldiers attacked their farms and trade districts, and they moved farther south in Ash’Gatar. We still launch raids and organised attacks on them, but they can only do the same to us when we’re out of the forest. ”

 

“So we just stay in this forest and do nothing? We just go and attack them and hide away? We’re practically sending soldiers to their deaths that way!”

 

“Ah, that is how many young ones view this. Thelan, we cannot allow the orcs to live if they will not leave us be. Every time an elf leaves the wood an orc attacks. When an elf travels in the outer region, he is attacked. We are confined like animals in this wood. We can go no where else, we are not in contact with other people, we cannot trade, we cannot go anywhere else where we will not be attacked. Either we fight the orcs, or we stay and live in fear. Fear that they will someday find a way to kill us even here. Fear that they will bring their fire and destroy our home. You must understand Thelan, we cannot allow this. There is no way we can call a truce with them, there’s no turning back. Unless we fight back and win! If we fight we may have a chance. We may defeat them, and we can finally live in peace! This war has gone on for far too long. I’m tired of it all. We’re all tired of this constant conflict and bloodshed. There is only one way out now, and we are trying to get there.

  

Now, please, I have much work to do here. You should go back home and study. There is much you could be learning right now; instead you waste your time listening to an old bag like me. I’m old, I’m worn out. You’re still young; you still have vitality, and ambition. Go put that to good use, you won’t regret it.”

 

Chapter 4 - A Dream and Waking

This is all just a dream, and nothing more. One is slain, but not dead. Their earthly body is destroyed, but the soul is eternal. When detached from the body it is lost. It is in the dreaming state, where reality bends, where nothing is real. When a new body is found the soul is awakened once more. It is alive, it is awake, and must continue this endless cycle of life. There is no true death, only sleep.

  

What is our purpose? Ah, that is the question; our purpose for life, and why we are here. No body knows the answer. That is why people pursue it. They do not understand it. Even the wisest man does not know the truth behind existence. And yet we keep going. We keep living, and dying. We are put to sleep, and awakened again. That is our cycle. That is how the War Spirit had intended. No great warrior is truly defeated. Who knows how many lives you have lived before, or how many I have lived. We fight, and we die. Then we are awakened to fight again.

 

There is only one true power behind this cycle. He decides our fates. His will shall be unquestioned. We battle for his blessing, so that we can live a good life. In the eyes of the War Spirit, we shall be judged by our earthly deeds, and awakened accordingly. If you question the cycle or the will of The One, you shall be awakened a weak and frail being. Your life shall be harsh, and you will have to change your ways. If you question neither the cycle nor the will of The One you shall be strong, and prosperous. This is the teaching of our temple. Abide it, and fear not your fate.

 

That was a usual session at the Sidgrath temple. It had been what Gro’Tash dreamt about during his rest in the Wastes. He had been awake for a few hours, and had travelled quite a distance in that time. There had been no more trouble with the satyrs for the time being. Surely it would take until the afternoon to get out of the portion of the Wastes he was in. He kept walking along, Grezag closely following. As they moved various snapping noises were made; the ground could hardy be seen under the many sticks, twigs, and rocks. Even though there was no threat at the moment, Gro’Tash wielded his axe, just in case. The blood of the satyrs he killed last night was coagulated on the blade. Sticky and bright red, it glistened in the sunlight. He didn’t bother to clean it off, at least not until he was out of the Wastes. Then he wouldn’t need the axe the rest of the way to Ogadash.

 

He thought about the teachings of the temple, and the more he thought the more it irritated him. Was there an actually purpose behind fighting for their blessings? Surely honour could be obtained another way? Gro’Tash didn’t care either way, he enjoyed battle. But what of the people who chose different professions? They would not be fighting for any blessings. Would simply believing in the spirit and not questioning the cycle of life be enough for them?

 

As he continued, he realised that he was still feeling weak. Even after the rest he had in the dead forest, he was still fatigued. Perhaps he was just getting old. At his age, he should still have the energy to press on. He was no old man, how could it be and age factor? Maybe he was finally getting tired of battle. He would not let that stop him. He was determined to get to Thelan, no matter how tired he would be on the way, or how unmotivated for war he was becoming. 

 

Even though Gro’Tash doubted the thought of fighting for a chance at blessing, there was no way he could deny the existence of a divine entity. After all, there was an arcane energy flow throughout the planet. The elves had mastered the art of manipulating it, so how could an all-powerful being not exist? There was always the possibility that the War Spirit was not all-powerful at all. Maybe it had some control over some things, but how could one being have control over everything? The elves could be right. There could be more than one deity that patrons a different element or earthy aspect.

 

It was nearly the middle of the day, and Gro’Tash was nearing the edge of the Wastes. He was lucky, for he only had to go trough a small portion of the dead land. The trees were creaking, the sticks underfoot were snapping, and the air was filled with the smell of old wood. He finally reached the edge of the Wastes, where the trees were fallen, and the ground began to merge with the dry and cracked red soil of Ash’Gatar. He spotted the Crimson Road not far off form his current location, and crossed the dusty land over to it. Now he should reach the village of Ogadash by nightfall.

 

Gro’Tash tried to ignore the feelings of weakness; he convinced himself that it all must be a test of faith, nothing more, and nothing less. He knew the War Spirit did exist, and that it would not decide to burden a loyal follower with a crippling fatigue for no reason. Or would it? No, he had to remind himself. A questioning like that was the mark of losing faith. That would mean a bad outcome for when he was finally put to rest and later awakened. Or maybe the idea of a “Dream and Waking” was very untrue. He finally decided, that he would not question his faith. If it was indeed not true, then there was no loss. But if it was true, then he may as well be safe.

 

Gro’Tash and Grezag both walked on for a long while, it was already a little past the middle of the day, and the village was in sight. He decided to stop in Ogadash for a time. He needed to replenish some of his rations, and he wanted to speak with the village Shaman.

 

The village was very noisy. People were walking fast paced along the small roads in the village, carrying baskets and bags. Gro’Tash expected that they were full of produce or other trade goods. A few people gave him peculiar stares, probably because of his large wolf pet. Grezag was intimidating after all, but nonetheless very docile around orcs. Of course Gro’Tash was not enjoying the crowded roads. Ogadash was small, so every villager must have been out at this time to clutter things up like this.

 

The huts were organised in small circles, usually all the houses belonged to different members of the same family. Occasionally a family friend might live in the same circle. The small circles made up an even larger circle that was the border of the village, with the trade house and Shaman’s hut situated in the middle.

 

Gro’Tash went up to the Shaman’s hut. It was red, and decorated with religious symbols, most of which were painted in either white or black. There was obviously a hole on the roof; dark grey smoke was coming from the top of the hut. A smell of burning wood accompanied it.

 

When Gro’Tash walked inside the Shaman was meditating next to a fire. He was mumbling incantations, almost inaudibly, as the fire swayed and crackled loudly. Gro’Tash sat down on a nearby mat. The Shamans considered it polite for people to sit and wait for them to finish their rituals before asking their questions. The Shaman stopped chanting, and turned around.

  

“So, what brings you here, “Gro’Tash the Head Cleaver”? Isn’t that your title?” Asked the Shaman. His voice was raspy and deep.

  

“Yes, that’s my title. I need to speak with you about a spiritual matter.” Like the Shaman, Gro’Tash had a very deep voice, but his was booming, and almost threatening, although unintentionally so.

  

“I see. Are you wondering how the cycle works?”

 

“No, I know the cycle. I am wondering about my current condition. I have been becoming weak for no reason, though I had not questioned the War Spirit, or even not performed my ritual duties as a warrior. Could it be a test?"

  

“That may be. No one knows what the War Spirit wills to happen, and some people do feel that they have been tested. Some lose faith, others grow more devoted. It’s just a matter of time before you find your path.” Answered the Shaman.

 

“What of the spirit’s power? Can it control all, or is it limited?”

  

“I believe that the spirit is an all-powerful being. You should as well. No one will force that, but if you truly know the cycle like you say you do, you should know why.”

  

“Of course.”

  

“Did you come here just to ask that? Or are you here to help the soldiers?”

 

That caught Gro’Tash off guard. There were no soldiers in the village; it was just full of bustling peasants.

“What soldiers? I saw none here.”

 

“You did not look closely enough, hm? They are here, helping to defend us. We have been expecting an elf attack. Some scouts said that there were forest folk nearby. They are very dishonourable fighters, always quietly sneaking up on us. They won’t win, not event their stealth tactics or magic can stop us.

 

Oh, and before you leave, I must ask you this. What are you here for really? I know you didn’t come all the way out here just to speak with me. Anyone could get the same answers from the Sidgrath temple.”

 

“I’m on a personal mission, if you must know. I’m hunting a certain sorcerer. His name is Thelan, have you heard of such a person?”

 

“An elf, is he? The name says it all. No, I have not heard of anyone by that name. I did hear about a prison escapee, perhaps he is the same person.”

 

“I know he is the same person, in fact, I met him shortly after he freed himself.”

 

“Ah, well then, I am of no more use to you. Leave now, I have many more prayers to recite.”

 

“Very Well. Goodbye Shaman.”

 

The Shaman gave a quiet grunt to show his acknowledgement of the farewell. Upon exiting the Shaman’s hut, Gro’Tash noticed that there were soldiers out in the village. They must have been inside a house, or out scouting before. They were adorned with the traditional orcish leather and mail armour, with either large war axes on their backs or jagged swords at their sides.

 

Chapter 5 - Defense of Ogadash

He observed the soldiers for a moment, sizing them up and watching their movements. He spotted one among them, who was a bit of a black sheep. There was a female soldier? Now that was a rare sight. While they are not often seen, a woman amongst the ranks made no difference in the battalion’s power. Females were just as ferocious as any man who had served in the army. Of course, they did seldom use the larger weapons such as the axes. Unless they were of a particularly powerful build.

 

The rest of the soldiers looked no different from one another, with the exception of some who had more scars than others. Gro’Tash strode over to the captain of the battalion, who wore a slightly different emblem on his chest piece from the others to signify his rank. This man had grey skin with a slight hint of green, and a short black ponytail. Like every other orc in existence, he had amber eyes, and large tusk-like teeth.

 

“Hail captain! What news do you bring forth from the battlefield?” Gro’Tash questioned the captain.

 

“Aye, hail fellow warrior. Our lookouts spotted a few elf scouts a couple days ago, and we did skirmish with a couple more a few days before that. We have not returned to the city, as we expect an elf attack is forthcoming. Are you here with the intention to assist? If this is so, we would gladly provide a reward afterwards for your trouble, provided you survive.” Replied the captain.

 

“Heh, I’m certain I can mange that. Since you offered, I suppose I could lend my axe to aid your cause. But I have just one request to ask of you.”

 

“And what might that be?”

  

“Thelan. He’s an elf sorcerer. I want to know any and all information you may have on him.”

  

“That’s hardly a question, wouldn’t you say warrior?”

 

“I need an answer.” Said Gro’Tash, in a slightly demanding manner. The captain did not seem to take notice of the tone of voice.

 

“I might know of him, but I am disinclined to answer just yet. Perhaps after you have proved your worth warrior?”

 

“My name is Gro’Tash, and I am no warrior. I have preferred the term “mercenary” for many years now. And since I have told you my name, it is only polite that you must reveal to me yours. Captain?”

 

“I see, mercenary. I am Hazan, son of Kal’Ash. Captain of the troop you see here. I thank you for joining us briefly; we could use all the help we can get if they indeed attack. The safety of even the pettiest citizen, as I am sure you know, is of the highest priority for us. You must understand I assume. Now then, if you would be willing to wait for a while, we must prepare; we are planning on marching north, to scout for elves. Be ready mercenary Gro’Tash. I’ll see you after the first star appears.”

 

There would be only a few hours until that time. All the while Gro’Tash occupied himself with sharpening and cleaning his axe. The blood had completely dried on it, and proved to be difficult to remove.

 

The hour was drawing near, and they would soon move out. Gro’Tash knew that he may as well help the battalion, if it meant a possibility of gaining information on Thelan. If anyone had seen that despicable caster lately, it would shorten the time Gro’Tash would have to spend looking for him. Although he might have more luck getting information on him in the next village, it was too far away at the moment. And Gro’Tash did almost miss hacking elves down, so this slight detour in his trip would be welcome. After all, since visiting the shaman, he felt much more energised and not as weak as he had before. He might get lucky in the long run; Thelan may be among the elves that Hazan expected were nearby.

 

The time was now upon them, they were to march, and look for any sign of “foreign military activity”, as Hazan had called it. Gro’Tash went outside of Ogadash, where the soldiers were gathering before the march. Hazan walked over to him, with the female soldier from before at his side.

 

“Ah, mercenary, there you are. I must introduce you to our second in command, Keza. I have already told her all about you and your…pet…”

 

“Greetings, mercenary Gro’Tash.” Said Keza.

 

“Well met Keza.” Replied Gro’Tash.

 

After a brief formation explanation, the troop was off. A few soldiers were left behind to guard Ogadash while they were away. To leave the village undefended would be a very unwise decision. They walked north, into the barren red land and did not follow a laid road; rather, they wandered straight into the dust and wind. It was very gusty that day, and no footprints could be found in the earth.

 

The troop had gone at least ten miles away from the village, and still nothing suggested the presence of elves. A few of the soldiers could be overheard whispering about the whole scout out being a wild goose chase, or that it was a trick to get many soldiers away from the village for the actual attack to take place. Neither Hazan nor Keza appeared to pay any attention to the accusations and conversations going on.

 

They went on a little while longer, and came upon a hill. At the top, a portion of a grey structure could be seen. Gro’Tash assumed it must be a stone spirit totem. There were many scattered all around the Ash’Gatar region. But considering the steepness of the hill, and how tall those totems were supposed to be, the one atop the hill they had stopped at looked far too short. Their interest aroused, the entire troop climbed the hill, and what they found shocked many of them, and enraged the rest.

 

The left over rubble of what once was a spirit totem stood there. A small stump was still left in the ground, but the rest of the totem was smashed and stone bits were lying all about.

  

“AAAHHH!! Look here! They’ve defiled a sacred symbol!” Yelled one soldier.

 

“They do so seem to enjoy rubbing salt in the wound, as it were. It was not enough that they could infiltrate our land unnoticed or attack our settlements unheard, but now they insult our god in such a repulsive manner? Such an act must warrant a most zealous opposition from us! Come, this proves without a doubt that they are near! We must act now and prevent future incidents!” Hazan shouted, with anger in his voice, backed by his fierce dedication.

 

They looked over the other side of the hill, and stopped dead in their tracks when they saw what awaited them on the other side.

 

At least two hundred elvish soldiers appeared to be making final preparations before a march. So what Hazan had expected was right, they were hiding out and planning to attack Ogadash. The elves spotted the orcs, and with their element of surprise shattered, they hastily gathered their weapons and shouted a battle cry. They charged toward the orcs, who had drawn their weapons and braced themselves. There were exactly one hundred of them, against the two hundred elves. They could not be certain of the exact number of elves, but there were immensely outnumbered. If the War Spirit would allow some kind of miracle to happen, they would have a chance at winning the conflict they were facing.

 

The orcs stood with their weapons pointed outward, and they then ran down the hill. The force of gravity gave them extra momentum, and when they clashed against the elves, they managed to push some of the first ones they encountered back slightly. A few of the elves were stabbed in unprotected areas, while others’ armour had only been dented.

 

The battle ensued and all was a blur. The movements of both sides were very swift and powerful. The elves were not as skilled with physical combat as the orcs were, but these elves showed great prowess. They moved gracefully, and quickly. Many of the orcs barely had any time to react, and some were killed instantly. While the orcs were not as graceful, they had much more power in their swings. The elves were hit with so much force that they would occasionally be knocked back, pushing over some of their allies.

 

The constant moving of feet and entire bodies stirred the dust of the ground. The air was clouded red, and made it difficult for some to see their enemy. The sounds of voices and the clashing and smashing of metal against metal were extremely loud and disoriented some of the soldiers from both sides. Gro’Tash swung his axe at the chest of an elf, who was trying to cast some kind of spell. The axe hit a tender area, and the armour cracked with a mighty sound. Splinters of the armour flew, and blood spewed forth from the new wound. The elf was down but not dead, but even so he could not continue to cast a spell. Gro’Tash took the opportunity at hand, and decapitated the elf. He was through with the task quickly and turned around just in time to catch the sword swing of another elf on his axe’s handle. Grezag jumped from behind Gro’Tash and went directly toward the elf’s unprotected neck. The wolf landed on the chest of his victim, knocking the air out of the elf’s lungs. While the elf was stunned, Grezag bit at the jugular vein, ripping the flesh from the side of the elf’s neck. The skin tore off in large pieces, and the blood spilled out, covering the ground. More elves and orcs were being killed, and the ground was becoming sticky with a texture almost like mud as the blood started to congeal.

 

Hazan was struggling with a war-mage, trying to strike while avoiding the powerful blasts of magical energy the elf was generating. His sword was able to deflect the magic somewhat, but it also damaged his sword, and started to deteriorate it. After the elf casted a spell he let his guard down for a fraction of a second. That was all it took for Hazan to land a deadly blow in the mage’s side.

 

Keza had no trouble battling the elves thus far, and she made quick work of them. One elf was cleanly decapitated; another was knocked backward and impaled on an orc’s spear. One elf managed to make her drop her sword, and in turn Keza kicked that elf’s own blade out of his hand. The elf stood no chance against Keza in hand-to-hand combat, but another one took the situation to its full advantage. An arrow was shot, and it landed right in Keza’s back. She was not killed, but only stunned. While his happened the elf she was already fighting prepared a spell. Another orc soldier managed to kill the war-mage before he could cast the spell, and protected the fallen Keza while she removed the arrow. Once it was out she continued in the battle, but this time struggling to keep her balance and posture.

 

The battle continued fiercely, more elves were killed, just as more orcs were. During the heat of the conflict, Gro’Tash made an important observation. After the elves used some magic they became weaker, and easier to catch off guard. The elves’ greatest weakness was that their magic use siphoned their energy, as if the arcane energy was some kind of leech. It was perfect; if the orcs could avoid getting hit by their spells, their enemy would get weak, and they would be sure to win! It would be very stupid to announce such a thing, as the elves would catch on and purposefully not use their magic. Gro’Tash just had to hope that his orc brethren would figure that out themselves.

 

The battle was gruesome and bloody, and they had suffered heavy casualties. But they did win; they killed two hundred elf warriors. They hoped that slaying that many would put a dent in the army’s force. Gro’Tash looked through all of the bodies in the open land at the bottom of the hill. None of them were who he was looking for. It was nightfall, and the troop returned to Ogadash Village, with only forty six out of the one hundred soldiers they left with. Even though they lost many, they have prevented a potentially disastrous attack on the village, and they had rid their land of the elf troops who may have attacked other towns. They could enjoy their victory for now, but new threats would soon show up; it was inevitable with the elves.

  

The following morning, funeral services were held for the orcs who had died the previous day. As it goes in orcish tradition, the funeral services only grieve for them for the first half of the ceremonies. The second half is spent cremating the bodies, and reading religious books regarding their cycle of the dream and waking. Many other soldiers were wounded during the battle; they were being treated in the hut of the local cleric. Keza was among them, she was being bandaged after her wound had been medicated. The cleric had said that an open puncture wound such as hers is a danger. It could make her vulnerable to infection, or even the contraction of diseases. Some were in danger of dying of blood loss, and others had naught but a few new scratches on them. While others had more hindering injuries, such as one orc’s loss of an eye, and another’s broken arm that was nearly deemed bad enough to require amputation.

 

Gro’Tash’s reward for assisting the troop in that battle was a pouch of gold currency; sure to be of much help. A piece of his armour had been damaged in the battle, and replacing it would not be cheap. He decided to take the rest of the day to rest at Ogadash. After the battle was over, the energy he felt before quickly faded, and weakness set in again. He was convinced that it had some relation to the War Spirit, but he also wanted to see if resting would cure the problem.

 

The day was completely uneventful. The bodies of the elves had been left in the desert to rot, and there was very little military activity, on account of the many wounded and dead orcs. Guards were patrolling the area diligently, watching for anything suspicious, Clearly, Hazan was a paranoid sort. He still expected more elves to come, and he had sent a messenger to Sidgrath, requesting more troops to be sent out to help patrol and scout the area.

 

Now Gro’Tash felt like leaving, but his armour was still at the blacksmith’s hut, in the northernmost hut circle. If only that black smith was a bit faster, he would be out of that village and continuing his quest to kill Thelan. But alas, he was practically stranded in Ogadash now. But repairs were of the utmost importance. Gro’Tash had gotten into a hurry to get out and in the next village, where he was sure someone would probably now more about Thelan’s whereabouts.

  

Hazan walked up behind Gro’Tash, a sword in one hand, and a map in the other.

  

“Ah, there you are mercenary! I have a proposition for you!” He announced.

 

“And what be that, Hazan? Let me guess, it has something to do with joining your troop?” Replied Gro’Tash, he had to refrain from using a sarcastic tone, there was no need for impolite dialogue.

 

“Not exactly, but close. As you know, I sent a messenger to Sidgrath asking for reinforcements. And that is not all. I also requested another battalion to come with my troop; we are leaving tomorrow for the north. One of the elves on the battle field was still breathing. We interrogated him for a short while before he finally collapsed from blood loss. We got a lead from him; apparently they are forming up far north of here.

 

Along the road that leads between the A’gar Mountains lies a village, Oza. Near there, the elf said they are preparing a great attack. One that not even our strongest warriors can fight against. He said that they would march through the entire land until they reached Sidgrath, where they would overthrow King Agul. Strong words from one so weak, are they not?”

 

“Indeed, and very confident that they will prevail. So you plan on confronting them?”

 

“But of course. And I wanted you to come with us. Your ability on the battlefield would be invaluable to us, if you would accept.”

 

“I am not here to join the military again Hazan, I am here for personal gain and nothing more.”

 

“But you were headed to Oza anyway, weren’t you? I heard it from the Shaman. He said that you are looking for an elf sorcerer. It would be on your way.”

 

Gro’Tash took a minute to think about it. He knew that Hazan was trying to get him to attend the march with the “It would be on your way” speech. Trouble was, the weakness was back, and though he hid it, he was very tired. It was enough that he had planned on departing for Oza on his own out of raw determination, but to assist a military cause and to fight another army of an unknown mass. Though he did so enjoy combat, and there was the lingering possibility that Thelan would be among them, he doubted that what strength he had left would pull through this time. The sudden burst of energy, and the overall victory over the elves just yesterday was regarded as sheer luck in Gro’Tash’s mind. And good fortune does not smile upon any one person or group for too long.

 

“Are you sure the new battalion will be here by the time you have to leave?” Gro’Tash finally questioned.

 

“I am most certain.” Said Hazan. “So, what say you? Will you join, or will you not?”

 

“Actually….fine. I will join you, but not for free. I am not of your army, I require pay. And besides, what good am I if I do not participate in our campaign against the elves?”

 

“Excellent! Certainly, pay it is. You are doing us a great service mercenary, and I do expect you to behave as any other soldier here. Understood? I’ll see you again tomorrow then.” Hazan seemed happy that he had gained a new fighter in his war effort.

 

Chapter 6 - The Battle of Oza Fortress

The new soldiers had arrived very late that night, yet still had plenty of strength in the morning. The army that had arrived was very large, and most of them had to rest outside during the night. They came wearing the same armour as Hazan’s troop, wielding swords and axes while carrying shields. About fifty of them stayed as extra protection for the village, and the other three hundred went to fight. There were still more that would come to Oza, but they had yet to reach Ogadash. They would catch up, surely. 

 

The plan of action consisted of going to Oza village, securing its border, and the rest of the army would occupy the old abandoned stone fortress nearby. The fort was quite out of the way, and not on any particular road. It could just be seen from the northeastern edge of Oza village. The structure had been abandoned for many years because they did not previously need it during the war, but it would still be in good condition, and suitable enough to house the orcish army during their watch for the elves. After their stations were manned, they would have lookouts keeping watch and switching shifts for night and day, and scouts would be deployed to track any leads and search for the base of the elf army.

  

Once the sun had risen, the troop was off. Their journey across the land would be very long, for there were many days of travel between Ogadash and Oza. Keza would not be joining them this time around, she was still wounded and in danger of becoming infected. Hazan lead the troop in front, on his boar mount. The orcs of Ash’Gatar had mastered the breeding technique to get very large, riding boar. They breed the smaller boar on different farms, completely separate from the larger animals. Many other orcs were riding as well, but only the higher ranking soldiers. Other lower ranked soldiers went by foot. As far as Gro’Tash observed, a few others had brought pets along. Some were smaller boars, some were wolves, and others were large snakes.

 

The many foot steps caused a great noise, the ground even shook slightly. Their legs carried them for many miles without a single man tiring. Gro’Tash was fatigued, of course, but he hid it well. He intended on going on until the very end, even if it meant his own demise.

  

Time passed them by quickly, as the minutes turned into hours. They barely noticed the sun rising and setting until the need for rest did get the better of them and they would have to set up camp for the night. They usually went for a couple of days without stopping even once. They wanted to get to Oza and the fortress as soon as their pace would allow.

  

They were almost half way to Oza, and had seen no sign of any elf during their journey thus far. But they would save the searching for a time after their arrival in the village. At the moment, many more soldiers were taking the same path, onward toward the old fort and to what would possibly be a great battle. Still they moved on, never resting until they were almost falling asleep on their feet. A little over half of the distance between their starting and ending point had been covered now. Their supplies were beginning to become scarce, and some soldiers went without food and some without water for at least a day. They should be in the village soon however, there they could possibly replenish. There were many of them though, and the village was quiet tiny. Perhaps they would not have to be there for very long and they could go back to a larger settlement soon. At least that was the hope of many who were marching. 

 

While elves were fairly weak and frail physically, they had one great advantage over the orcs; their magical prowess. Using it too generously did drain their energy considerably, but that did not take away from their magic’s power. A single elf could manage to kill more than one orc with a single spell, easily.

  

The mood of the army varied between the soldiers. Some were confident, and enthusiastic, while others were beginning to think they were fighting for a lost cause. The elves had powerful magic, and a very safe homeland they could hide in. Cowards, all of them. They come out to fight one day and run away to their thick mists the next. It was a wonder the orcs had ever achieved any kind of victory over them. Some of the high council members of Sidgrath had considered trying to burn the trees down. It would be a kind of experiment, just to see if removing the trees would have any effects on the mist. The idea had yet to be put into movement, mainly because most soldiers who could do the job were already preoccupied fighting away the elven forces and defending villages and towns. 

 

Many of the men remained silent throughout the entire journey, but some could be heard whispering to each other occasionally. When they did, their conversation always concerned the war.

  

“That is not fair.” Said one.

  

“They’re cowardly! Hiding in their forest like that. Why don’t they just come out and face us?” Said another. 

 

“Because they have no honour. They don’t believe in that.” A cynical remark from a third soldier. 

 

The march had come to a halt suddenly. Some people did not react in time and bumped into each other. Mummers and whispers arose, so much that it became very loud. Gro’Tash shoved ahead, to the front of the crown next to Hazan. There, he got a good look at what had caused the stop. They had reached Oza village, or what used to be Oza village. The huts and the trade house had been burnt down, and there was still some smoke rising from the ruins. People were dead and covering the ground, some of them were elves. The soldiers up front were frantic, and they ran up to the village, weapons drawn. There was no living soul within any hut, or out in the open aside from the army that had just arrived. Some of the men screamed in rage and frustration. They had already failed at their mission. They missed the elf army, and it was too late to protect the village.

  

A few of the soldiers stayed in the village, in order to meet the others who were coming. The rest of he army went ahead toward the fort, visible in the distance, across the open and bare field of Ash’Gatar. When they approached, arrows had rained down upon them. The elves had taken the fortress as their own base.

  

The doors on the building opened, and the elvish army poured out. They had their weapons out, the mages and sorcerers had their magic at the ready, and arrows were still coming down on the orcs. Hazan knew that they would stop soon enough; they would never risk hitting one of their own. The orcs brought their shields up over their heads to protect themselves, and they pointed their weapons forward, ready to strike or to absorb magic. 

 

The arrow fire ceased, and the two forces collided with great force. There was no way to estimate just how many elves were there, but the orcs had little trouble killing them so far. Magic was shot from the sidelines, and the soldiers were forced to scatter and surround every elf they could. It would reduce the chance at being hit by a spell, since the elves never risked hitting another. With their ability to use magic drastically cut off, the elves were forced to use physical combat. The mages were killed easily, they had not prepared for losing their magic. The elf warriors were still trouble and the archers from before had come down from the roof of the building to join the battle below. The sounds of the battle were horrific. There were grunts and gasps for air as people on both sides were hit hard. Blood was splashing, swords were clashing, boar and wolf pets were making pained noises, and more and more people quickly fell.

 

While their long range options were eliminated, the elves began to use short range spells. They appeared to cause more harm, but they also looked as if they took up more energy. Hazan swiftly swung his sword around to hit an elf preparing a short range spell behind him, just as another elf ran to his other side, and ran his knife into the small space between Hazan’s chest piece and the chainmail underneath. The force of the stab was enough to break through the chainmail. Hazan turned around in response to the sudden pain. It caused the elf to loose grip of the knife, and it fell to the ground. Hazan stumbled slightly, and kneeled on the ground, his wound bleeding, he had dropped his guard for only a few seconds, but it was enough for the elf to pick the knife back up. The elf grabbed Hazan’s head, and put the knife to his throat.

 

The slice was clean, and the ground below was stained. The cut released a vast amount of blood, and the elf quickly left Hazan to die, to go and kill another orc. “The Captain Is Down!” A soldier yelled, loud enough for all orcish soldiers to hear. They fought on, regardless of their slain captain. Gro’Tash had felt weak up until they reached the fortress, but now, in the heat of battle, he was mysteriously energised again. He hacked at the elves, and swung his axe with great force. Every elf he hit was killed instantly. The elves continued their assault upon them, and killed many of the opposing soldiers quickly. Their slaying was swift, so much that their opponents rarely saw their movements. While the orcs did lack speed, they made up for it in the power behind their swings. One fatal flaw that nearly every orc possessed was their clumsy movement, and less than graceful attacking. They only relied on brute force, and less on agility. 

 

Their power was no match for the speed of the elf’s blade handling. So many of the orcs had died thus far, and even more elves were emerging from the fort. They tried to continue, the orc numbers were becoming little, and the elves did not seem to fall in numbers. The shuffling of feet and the sound of all of the voices distracted a few people, breaking their concentration on the fight, allowing for their enemy to land many blows.  

 

The orcs continued to attack the elves, swinging axes and swords wildly, with the elf mage’s hands flaring a pale blue colour, and the warriors fighting gracefully and quickly. From the fort, an elf emerged who looked to be of a high rank. He was clad in blue and silver armour, wielding a thin sword adorned with elvish writing. His movements were strange, as if he were using a different fighting style that the others. His fighting utilised more stabs than fast swings and slices. Most of the orcs recognised that style; it was the technique that humans used. He was powerful, and fell more orcs than any other elf had managed since the battle began. The orcs tried to fight him, but they were quickly defeated. None of them could land a damaging blow upon him, no matter how much they tried.

 

They were losing the battle, badly. The elf army kept pouring out of the fortress, and they were too fast for most of the orcs to contend with. “Retreat!” Roared one soldier. “Fall Back! Fall Back!” They had no choice but to run, there were too many of the elves, and they were losing too many orc soldiers. “Aeternum Vale!” Yelled an elf archer. Gro’Tash knew that phrase; it was not of the elvish tongue. It was a human phrase. The humans who lived to the east of the elf land had influenced their language? Or were the two allied? It was an interesting observation, and it would seem likely given the fighting technique of the strange elf. Perhaps it was worth mentioning to King Agul, but that would set Gro’Tash’s personal quest back for days. He did not want to take the time to go all the way back to Sidgrath to council with the king. Instead, he had intended to tell a fellow orc, and have them relay the message back to the king. 

 

The orcs retreated back to Oza Village for the time being. They decided to wait for reinforcements to help them out, if the elves didn’t decide to come and attack them first. Many of the surviving orcs whispered amongst themselves, hushed and secret; as if they were conversing about some forbidden subject. 

 

“Since when ‘ave we been so cowardly? Runnin’ away from those infernal forest folk.”

  

“It’s either we run, or we stay and die. If we do that we’ll forsake everyone to their own doom!”

  

“I’d rather die in battle than run from it!” 

 

“Then I suppose you don’t care about the common people? We’re their last defense! We can’t just go and die, leaving them to the mercy of the elves.” 

 

“If we don’t fight them they’ll just go and attack us anyway! Better we take the stand against them I say.” 

 

“And then what?” 

 

“Then we fight them, what else?”

  

“We could shoot at them.” 

 

“They would do the same! There’s no advantage for us there!” 

 

“Oh, but those dirty elves ‘ave all the advantages, don’t they? Magic, and a possible alliance with the humans?”

  

“As I said before, they don’t know what honour is.” 

 

“How long did the battle last? I lost track of time, but all I know now is that I’m too tired to do anything right now.” 

 

“As am I. I think it lasted for at least thirteen hours.” 

 

“How long until the reinforcements should come Amek?” 

 

“That, I cannot estimate Kesh, but I can only hope they arrive soon. We need the help, we can’t just abandon our efforts, but we also cannot send ourselves to certain doom.” The orc named Amek replied, his tone of voice hinted at his own doubt in their war effort.

 

“The situation is grave.” Said the soldier called Kesh. “I don’t believe we can win this. The captain is dead, our second in command is wounded, and we’re squatting in this dead village with our enemy not but a couple of miles away.” 

 

“Not to mention that elf fellow with the inscribed blade. I thought elves weren’t supposed to be as proficient with sword handling, or even hand to hand combat as they are with magic.” 

 

“I would have thought for sure that if we cut their magic off somehow then we’d have them.” 

 

“Well obviously, this is not the case.-“ A soldier started, but got cut off.

  

“Learnin’ new tricks from their human friends no doubt.”

 

“As I was saying… it’s clear that they have become very good at handling a weapon other than a bow. If we hope to win this, we’ll need many reinforcements.”

  

Kesh looked up suddenly, as though a thought had just struck him. “Why don’t some orcs learn the arcane arts? That’ll catch ‘em off guard. They would never expect that!”

  

“It takes years to learn that!” 

 

“Oh, right…” 

 

The soldiers started to quiet down for a little while, but they were soon talking again. But this time louder, and less cautious of the nearby enemy. 

 

“I wonder why they haven’t come for us.” Said Kesh.

 

“Let’s just be thankful they’re not roused for battle right now. In the meantime, what are we going to do now? Should we go back to Ogadash and meet the reinforcements on the way, or shall we stay and wait for them?” Amek spoke softer than the others, paranoid of the elves.

 

“I’d think it safer to go back. Better than staying here, we’re sitting ducks now. Besides, we need more rations, we can’t bunk out here.” Said one soldier named Vjak.

  

“I’m with Vjak!” Called one soldier in agreement. 

 

Amek spoke again, louder to address all of the surviving soldiers. “Right then, everyone! Come, we are going back down the road to Ogadash Village. We’ll restock our supplies, and then meet the others, and come back here. Those elves won’t stand a chance then!”

  

“Aye!” Almost every soldier called out in unison. They got up, regardless of being tired, and set off back down the same road they treaded before. The journey back would be harsh on them, since they were low on supplies. No one expected they would make it very far without the need for rest. Nevertheless, they marched on back to Ogadash.

 

Chapter 7 - The Subject of Magic

Thelan’s hands flared up, a coloured swirl of mysterious energy materialised in his palms. The way to use this magic was simple; all a person had to do was use their willpower to bend the arcane energy flowing through the fabric of their universe. The usually invisible force could be seen if the manipulator gathers an abundance of it in one small space, which was the swirl of energy that had materialised. Once gathered and compressed, the energy could be tossed like a ball. Surrounding elements could be used to alter the ball, such as snow, or even cold air, to produce frost magic. Fire could be used to create a fireball; though no elf ever dared use fire magic. 

 

The swirl formed itself into a spherical shape, it almost looked like an orb of marble; pale blue and glowing. More of the substance gathered, it grew bigger, and bigger. As it increased in size, it did the same in power; a bit too powerful for Thelan to handle. He began to feel overcome by it, and released it. The ball flew away from him, right into the wooden cupboard in his home. The piece of furniture burst and all of the papers, books, and clothing stored inside were strewn about in his entrance room. As well as the contents of the cupboard, the splintered wood from the small explosion scattered as well. The room was a complete mess, covered in wood and paper. A few of the books and articles of clothing were damaged, but otherwise nothing of great importance had been destroyed. The tome that Thelan had been reading, in order to learn how to control powerful spheres of energy, had been blown off of its stand. Thelan picked it up, and brushed the splinters from its pages. He set it back on his bookstand, but turned the pages back to a previous chapter. Clearly, more practise was needed before he could move on to "Chapter 12- Controlling Gathered Energy."

 

He had been trying to perfect his use of more advanced magic over the past few days. He hadn’t been sent to find medicinal herbs for a time, since the troop set off to the deeper region of the Ash’Gatar region, something about heading toward a fortress before the orcs could get there. Of course Thelan would take that as an opportunity to improve his use of magic. Even so, he could not help but worry about the troops. Elves could not survive in that desert region for very long, they dehydrate quickly. The northern parts of the desert, closer to the Winter Wood, were easier to live in because it was colder, and easier to get back to the forest. Lower regions, like the area the troops went to, were harder to live in. Water was scarce in that area, with very few rivers and possibly one or two oases; and of course the heat. An elf could not last for a day and a half without water or at least some kind of moisture in the lower region. When prisoners were caught, it was not uncommon for them to die on the way to Sidgrath. If they did, the orcs would just dump the bodies on the ground for the buzzards and continue along their path.

  

Then again, orcish prisoners were treated no better by the elves. Orcs, being used to the heat, and having the ability to go without water for a few days, could easily survive Ash’Gatar, but the weather conditions of Faleneth (the elvish capitol) would kill them. They froze easily, and if one died while being escorted to the city for questioning, they would be drug out into the wilderness and left for the wolves.  

 

Thelan had read through chapter eleven a few times, and making sure that he memorised all he could. Being able to control more energy at a time would be greatly beneficial. He was bound and determined to find that Gro’Tash orc, and killing a few others of that man's race in the meantime would be a plus.

 

His study had made him become secluded from the rest of the people of Isa Village, an act that was very frowned upon by elves. They were very social people, delighting in gatherings of all kinds; singing, dancing, talking, or even doing nothing. Elves enjoyed being together, and when one isolates them self from the community, they’re often thought of as a queer sort. It was strange for an elf to not socalise, and even more of an oddity for them to stay shut up in their house whilst doing so. When one wishes to be alone, they usually live on the outside edge of a town, or leave the village entirely. Thelan, on the other hand, remained right in the village, in his house among many others. People walked by his house shaking their heads disapprovingly, or whispering to each other if more than one person passed at a time. Some were becoming suspicious of him, thinking that he was taking up some dark art, or being involved in a cult of some sort. While Thelan considered such accusations and rumours completely preposterous, the villagers did have some reason to believe them. It was not unheard of for a mage or similar class of caster to become corrupted and begin practising taboo spells. It was also common for those types to go against their own, either alone, or by joining up with known enemies. Thelan tried to assure his fellow countrymen before that he was in truth not planning anything dark, or unnatural. Of course they dismissed what he said and preferred to believe that he was up to no good unless they were to be proven otherwise. They were very stubborn folk, it was very hard to sway their beliefs, and even harder to convince them that they are wrong without solid evidence. It didn’t matter to Thelan anyway, because no one could convict him without having their own proof, and, being wholly innocent, there was nothing they would be able to present before a judge. He decided to leave them to their gossip and idle talk. 

 

He cleaned up his entrance room, and moved the contents of the former cupboard to his bedroom on the floor above. He grabbed the book he was reading from, and left the house. Practising out in the wilderness of the forest would probably be safer, and it would prevent further damage from being inflicted upon his house. Perhaps he could find a nice rock to shoot at. 

 

Out in the forest, Thelan did find a fairly large rock. It would be perfect to cast at, judging from its size it would take a lot to destroy it. He propped the book upon a smaller stone nearby, and began to read. Remembering everything he had learned so far, he tried to gather a large amount of energy again. With any luck, he could maintain control over the energy sphere.

 

He tried for several hours, casting and gathering again and again, each time causing a little more damage to the rock, although he could not maintain the sphere for very long every time. Power was not the issue; it was Thelan’s ability to handle the energy that really needed work. For every spell he cast he felt weaker. Magic use took a lot out of someone, and more advanced spells, like the one Thelan was currently trying to master, was no exception. He had to stop and rest a while, before his stamina completely gave out on him.

 

As he rested Thelan began to ponder everything that immediately came to thought again. Wiavila…the Winter Wood deity; or the “Patron of the Forest” as most of the older people called it. Was it real? Was it just a lie? Thelan was betting on lie. He had never seen any so called “miracle” happen that was said to be performed by Wiavila with his own eyes. People believed they did see her work, but it was most likely something that could happen in nature any other day. What exactly was it that Wiavila actually did anyway? Did she cause that strange mist, or does she “protect” the woodland and its inhabitants? That is what most people did believe. They insist that if the orcs did not ever come to the forest themselves, it is because they have been repelled. That is just ridiculous. They never came to their homeland because they can’t stand cold weather is all. It’s a simple matter of not being adaptable. 

 

Now, Aveilian the patron god of the arcane, occult, and magic had to be a truth. Every elf knew magic existed, and they bore witness to it every day of their lives. Clearly, another force was at work beyond what anyone could physically see. Perhaps Aveilian was just the name for the force that caused arcane energy. Whatever the case, it was very real. Wiavila had no real impact from what Thelan could tell. Maybe it was a just a matter of faith he could not understand. As long as he could remember, he knew that elves were supposed to be polytheistic, believing in two gods; while the orcs were of a monotheistic religion, keeping their faith in their “all powerful” war spirit. It was one of the main differences between the two people that caused so much friction and conflict.

 

It was hard to concentrate on learning with such strange thoughts invading his mind, taking over and continuing on a train of thought that never seemed to end. Every speculation led to many more, stealing his focus from what he believed was more important. Sometimes he felt that he just thinks too much. Oh, but what of it. He already almost defeated Gro’Tash before, he could do that again, and this time he could make sure that the mercenary would not get away. The wolf would be no trouble. It was but a common animal, no different from the ones that lived all over the forest. It was a beautiful day anyway. Perhaps he should just rest for the remainder of the day. Maybe even set out to find that orc tomorrow. He would have to be careful, not for his life but for his confidence. The sudden feel-good attitude would have to be controlled, as to not drive himself into overconfidence in himself. That would be far too dangerous; it would lead to his death for certain.

 

Thelan got up and grabbed his book. He may not need it now, for he could take on that orc again. But was he just procrastinating? Trying to find an excuse for not studying the technique he could not grasp. True, it did frustrate him; he got a little discouraged and put off by the whole situation. Thelan may even have been a little bit angry at himself for not being able to succeed in his many attempts to master the spell. He let positive thoughts drown out the negative. Like two different sides of his mind were fighting one another for control. So far the positive side was winning. Gro’Tash would be no problem, and with him gone, the orcs would suffer quiet a loss. That particular mercenary was very well-known for his brutality and efficiency in battle. 

 

Dusk drew near, and Thelan started for home. The snow had a fresh wet sheen to it. It must have been new snowfall. He had now decided to stop trying to control vast amounts of energy, and go in a different direction. He would learn how to cast a spell that would do damage over a length of time, instead of all at once. It would require extra work, and his original thought of hunting down Gro’Tash the very next day would be completely void. Though he was sure it would be worth the extra days spent

 

Chapter 8 - (not yet named)

This chap. is also horribly choppy and quickly-written. I would recommend not reading it. 

The orcs had met the reinforcement troop half way back to Ogadash. They were many, and they led a few pack boars, carrying enough rations to support both their own group and those who had come from the battle ground. They brought news from the capitol as well. It was said that King Agul was rallying the remaining army from the city to march upon the elves in their own homeland. They planned on taking large braziers to the forest with the intent to burn down as many trees as needed to reach the elf villages and cities within. 

 

The continent that the Ash’Gatar region, the Winter Wood, and the human-ruled land was incredibly large, and covered in many more forests that were not occupied by the elves. The loss of part of Winter Wood, they figured, would not affect the rest of them. They didn’t plan on the annihilation of the entire forest, but just enough to possibly deplete the mist in the area. It was only a theory, but if it worked the orc will have gained a huge advantage in the war. 

 

The group being temporarily lead by Amek informed the reinforcements of the situation at Oza village and the nearby fortress. The reinforcements’ leader, A’Gaz, suggested they get some rest, their new numbers would soon go back to Oza, take on the elves, and reclaim the fort. Afterward, they would wait for the rest of the army and join them on the way to Winter Wood. Gro’Tash decided to take the opportunity, stay with the army for a little longer, and be led directly where he wanted to go.

 

It was already a short time past noon, and the group took the rest of the day to rest. They never bothered setting a temporary camp; the stop would only be until the next morning, then they would travel back to Oza over a couple of days and face the enemy head-on. Amek approached A’Gaz with the intent to ask questions about the march. Gro’Tash sat aside, more that willing to hear A’Gaz’s answers. 

 

“What else have you heard of the planned attack?” Amek started. 

 

“I have heard that the elves are gathering their forces back to the woodland. The rest of our army will come from Sidgrath and go through Ogadash. Then they will follow the way to Oza. I would like to get rid of the elves taking refuge in the fort first, and then when the army gets there we can join them.” A’Gaz replied calmly. 

 

“And what of the braziers? And burning trees?” Amek asked. “Surely you don’t mean to destroy the whole forest.”

  

“Of course not! It’s just a theory. Maybe if a few of the trees are lost, then the mist will become thin. If it does, we will be able to go right in there.” 

 

“And you are sure that we can end this war once and for all?” 

 

“We are not entirely sure if we can achieve that, but if the fire idea works we’ll have a great advantage. Besides, the elves appear to be afraid of fire. Even if getting rid of the trees doesn’t get rid of the mist, we can still scare them, and they’ll be less likely to come around killing people and attacking farms.”

~STOPPED

Had a major writer's block, so I skipped this part and wrote ahead of it.

When I finally get this darn chap. done, I'll put the rest up. Perhaps after some revising.

 

Chapter x

This is where all the ahead-writing I did will go when I get the chapter above done.

 

You may ask-

Will this novel ever become Not-Boring?

I say: No. Just no.