A Tale In Fantasy (Excerpt): The Orc Way

Now I'm getting ahead of myself, and this story. This tale deserves a proper introduction and one shall be appointed to it. First off, welcome to Prynian. It is a land for all things that can be, would be, might be, and some things that should be. All manner of folk were placed here long ago, so long ago in fact, that if you were to ask the oldest living thing on Prynian right about now, it would be hard pressed to tell you an accurate account of the goings on that first day, and while much could be said explaining the details of who could have placed so many things on this land (not to mention, the reason for such an act) there aren’t many around who would be telling it to any without proper reason. So to save time (and an unnecessary explanation of things that will become clearer in time), we will start with Legend...

Funny that, whenever one hears a truly good piece of gossip, from the local Storyteller (affectionately called `Tellers), likelihoods of it being trust-worthy is slim to none. Most of all times when it starts with a rather surly gent, with enough of his wits about him from the drink to try to convey a lively story to rouse a crowd..., his opening line would be no other than: "…Now Legend has it ..." then divulge on into his tale. This one, however has more interlocking roads to cross on the way, as these are true people (as a side-note; while some of our cast are indeed, NOT people, the whole of the expression should still be taken into account for face value), each with their own short comings and faults that delay the normal workings of a quintessential "story-book" ending, but all things in moderation, let’s move on.

As we move to The Bard’s Barrel in the town of Steelfort, the capital of the human race on Prynian. It is a busy city filled with every manner of man-folk one can imagine, from nobles to paupers and all that may lie in between. Ruled by the wise and kind King Corvan Augustain, the First. The Human Kingdom has always tried to balance out the differences between the different races, as the early humans owe thier very civilization to the cooperation of others. His kingdom is in a state of upheaval currently, with a sect of people that don’t agree with their current peace with the Elvish and Dwarven races that dwell just outside their borders. As of now, there are only small riots and protests in the outer laying villages, calling raise to more citizens to be called on to become Rangers to police the lands… Now, as so I am not too rude, delving into politics, I believe that our dear 'Teller was about to go on with his tale...

"…Now Legend has it, as it's been held ever so carefully by my own family down the line, for safe-keeping mind you, all these many ages about the goings on in our land, for while the word of a rambling man is fraught with ale and mirth, you can be sure of one thing,…” our ‘Teller then takes a pause to see how his story is taking hold (and to take one more taste at his ale). All the faces in the crowd, bored from a long day of hard work and itching for something good to distract them that they were in store for pretty much of the same the next day, look toward the ‘Teller with a look akin to a 5 year old child the day he learns he’s getting a gift, the look our very same ‘Teller was looking for: the sign of an attentive crowd. Only then can you tell a decent tale worth all the merits that come along with the thoughts of a good story.

Smiling, the ‘Teller adjusts himself in his stool, to an angle that better accommodates his audience, he continues, “…that there is always some truth in any story, be it covered in lie from head to toe, there’d still be a hair’s breath of truth, or you wouldn’t be listening to it in the first place.” He punctuates this statement with a rather satisfied nod that knocks him slightly off balance for a moment. Regaining his stature, at the grins and chuckles at his expense, he decides to get along with his story (before the rest of the drink takes over for him), “Back during the war times, death and mayhem were as rampant as the fish you see in the summer stream…, and what with a new war every five months or so, always more menacing than the privious one, asking for more aid than the last, while we still buried our dead from yesturday...just dreadful business it was...".

He pauses for effect again, nothing builds a good story like a little suspense (and it’s a hell of an excuse to take a drink of ale too) "It’s because of them Orc's we all know the truth in that they started this unholy season of death visited upon us daily. “They came low and quiet, at first, whispers of things moving in out-of-the-way areas that no one could really account for, what without being there him or herself. “Then that changed the day the town of Zinc Valley fell into shadow. “Now for those of you, who are lucky not to know how bad this was, well…be glad I'll leave the peaceful bliss only ignorance can bring with you, and move on…”

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(Note from the author: these asterisks will mark when our 'Teller is develing deeper into the history of a subject, which a 'Teller wouldn't normally do aside from unless there was someone in the audience who wasn't familiar with the histories...much like yourself, so be apprechiative and listen well, as 'Tellers rarely repeat themselves, and when they do, it's never as accurate as the first time... )

Zinc Valley, the city of knights, fell into destruction after one of the most devastating Orcish raids in the history of The Greater Plains. Once the second largest city in the Human Kingdom, now just a collection of rocks and bones... The doomed city rested just on the borders of the lower end of The Lost Woods, close enough to the Orcish Deadlands, that lie just on the other side of the wood. Orcs normally don't hold animosity towards Humans, but it doesn't exactly mean they'll welcome any unwanted people coming closer to them. Now Zinc Valley, home to the strongest knights in the realm, did not succumb to the vicious onslaught of Orcish war parties and Goblin raiders easily, it very well couldn't. So therein lays the mystery, how does a village filled with not only capable, but willing combatants get destroyed entirely? Exactly how does it fall into disarry?

The answer, magic...namely dark Orc magic, the first of its kind seen since the beginning of the races. Even at that time, it was basic and flawed, but not this time...no, the Orcish Magi this time around had found something to bolster thier resolve. And the results were evidently potent, as tall towers of steel and stone were rendered to rubble and smoke without so much as even the basic foundation to keep track of where one should start looking for those graceful enough to survive the encounter.

Of the survivors, there were two, one a small child, male and mixed of human and elvish, a half-breed as thier kind is known by, not as magical as the Elves nor as short lived as the normal man. These breeds have the best benefits of both races and as such not open to their weaknesses, but in its stead, all of the envy from those around them. When the child was found he was laying on top of a pile of still smoking Goblin and Orc corpses that from the look of the boy and the makeshift sword he had made from spare matierals found at the smithy shop he was holed up in, would have to had been dispatched by the child, as there were only other children and women around him. When asked, the boy had no recollection of what had happened or how he had fought anything, the last thing he remembered was the smell of fire, the sound of screams, and that he needed to keep himself safe.

Of the second survivor, also a child, but unlike the first child, this one did not survive by the grace of the Fae, as she was horribly scarred, and upon finding her she was currently being raped by a band of Bandits that usually raid a town after a major attack (trying to pick through the spoils while the Kingdom Guard busys itself with the ones behind the attack). Her assaulters were killed and the now mortified girl would no longer speak or write....so no one knows what she might have gone through before she was eventually found by the knights searching the town.

Aside from those two, there were others who lived after the initial attack, there were many others, but for thier part, were already dead inside, while the others just consigned themselves to death, either by starvation, going for revenge or suicide when the memories became too much for them. However, this is all in speculation, as not one of the other survivors uddered more than a syllable, and even the most basic of thier gestures showed no emotion, save for dispair and trauma, so there was nothing gathered in trying to converse with them.

There were no clues to follow as the town was so decimated that every structure that marked the great city was reduced to rubble in days, and what was left was destroyed during the raids from Bandits and wild Goblins alike. A city spanning several acres, with over 5,000 civilians and twice as many guards and knights, the main force of the Kingdom Guard, wiped from the map...and all without anyone having the slightest idea why...

As a whole, every race in The Allience, that being, Human, Elven, Dwarven, Faerie, and Gnome, took thier time investigating what could have transpired, out of all of them only the Faeries found the answer, but refused to share it due to a rivalry with the Gnomes, as mentioned before, the Fae can be quite petty and rarely is it at the right time. However, they did mention that while it was Orc magic, they wouldn't see it's like for the better part of a century, and when they did, we would know it to be them...

But with the knowledge of who was behind the attack, there were few who could sit by while thier known enemies were still moving free able to plan another savage attack at any time. So The Alliance made a drastic choice. They went to war, with the enitre Orcish race. This war, dubbed The Retalitary War, began with excursions into the Orcish Deadlands to find captives they could gather information from. The first of these captives killed thier would be captors in mintues, their reinforcements in even shorter spans of time...

In time it was found out that after the attack on Zinc Valley, the Orcish forces kidnapped the resident blacksmiths and metalworkers, along with any peoples of considerate skill, the reason for which one can only assume to utilize our own skills against us, fighting fire with fire, so to speak.

Then the advance parties that were stationed on the outer edge of the Elven Woods, then the patrols that lie deeper inside of the Alliances lines. The Orcish forces seemed to be waiting on thier caution and had laid traps to catch the Alliance off guard. By the time any had noticed how close together these attacks were going off; over half of the troops sent were decimated in the trees.

They underestimated the collective progress of the Orcish race...

At first, the Orcish Warhoard had not cooperated, believing that one's individual strength makes them worthy. This obviously bred a great deal of disturbance from any who could want or could have a reasonable claim for power, but that is not the Orc Way. The Orc Way is force. The Orc Way is strength. The Orc Way is to demand what you want...and take it if you don't get it, because you deserve it.

It was the strongest of all the Orc clans that made the claim for unification, U'llsbarek, an Orc said to have lived for over a thousand years. In that time, he first dominated his own clan leaving only the strongest and most loyal to him alive. Then he took over the smaller clans, allowing for more power for him exhert against his foes...

In time his progress increased, allowing for a clan bigger in size and ability than smaller clans. However before he could make his claim to the whole of the hoard, he needed an advantage...with smaller clans still holding off his advances with use of Goblin magic, he now knew what he needed. So he did what all Orcs do in times of desperation, he prayed.

In Orcish religion, there is but one God. He does not show mercy. He does not love. He respects power and those willing to use it to thier advantage. He was only known as The Burning Life, the life that takes as it gives, leaving nothing behind as it once was. It was with his guidance that U'llsbarek found the way to unify the separate clans. The Burning Life, respecting the power that U'llsbarek had shown dominating his people into his control, gave a gift to the Orcish leader. This gift was one of power and magic, power that eminated from every step taken by U'llsbarek, reverberated through the ground with the force of a mild earthquake. His strength was enhanced far beyond the normal Orc, leaving any would-be opponents no match at all in open combat.

The magic however was the biggest gift offered, as it stemmed from The Burning Life itself, granting abilities and power not found in the confines of The Fae's Art. This new line of magic came to be known as The Burning Art, in spite of how the Fae had saw fit to bless only Elves and thier kin with magic in the first place. The Burning Art was devastating where The Fae's Art was impressive, fierce in place of natural, and filled with the desire to destroy anything that did not bend to one's will.

Armed with The Burning Art, U'llsbarek quickly dominated the remaining clans in half the time it took to dominate his own. With thier support he began his plans to make the biggest attack in the history of Prynian. After the Orcs were unified under his banner of The Burning Life, a dragon eating the world, he moved on to bring the Goblins into his fold. Goblins are the mix of a regular Elf born under the unfateful circumstance of being in the vicinity of the Orcish Deadlands. The nature of this phenomenon lies in the resentment of the Orcs.

When the Elves and the Orcs were first placed on Prynian, the Fae split the land between them when cooperation was no longer an option, as their fighting had led to much destruction during times meant for building and teamwork. So the Fae split the two and left them to thier own devices, letting each side rule thier own land. Where the first two races once lived now stands The Lost Woods, a vast stretch of wild forest that separates The Greater Plains from The Orcish Deadlands. Where the Elves saw fit to grow life and enhance each others knowlegde of the world they lived in, Orcs perfered to learn about the world through domination, and in domination, then gaining true control. In time the vast desert spanned on end of the wood, while an even more dense and lively forest grew beside The Lost Woods, leaving the still waring middle villages alone to thier own devices.

In time the leader of the forest Orcs, Miandi came to the point where she saw this would never end, and they would never advance, neither race, through thier stubbon war. Seeing no end in sight and no help from the outer clans, Miandi was desperate. So Miandi did what Orcs do. Miandi prayed.

And in her dreams came The Burning Life respecting her knowledge and foresight, for knowing what would happen down the line. His gift to her would be the darkest turn of events in any age yet to come. The birth of the Goblin race. He allowed for the spirits of future Elven children to be born with Orcish spirits inside them, allowing for her influence to the rest of thier children over time. Being Fae, the Elves did not respond well to corruption. Thier faces became distorted, twisted versions of the normal beauty Elves would show. Totally unrecognizable at this point they called themselves Goblins after thier forest God Gol'buri, The King of Mirth.

In truth, Gol'buri was only another form of The Burning Life. Having multiple clans under his power since the dawn of the ages, left most of them wanting independence from those concidered weaker, or less deserving of power. So The Burning Life made several instances of himself, and spread them amoung the Orcs and the Elves, so that wherever they would go or whatever they would do, they would be in his debt, and under his power.

This was no different with the Goblins, as in time they weren't allowed into the very villages they would be born into, being thought as a curse from the Fae, a rebuttle from them not joining the other Elves in the Magi War. It was these stranded and frustrated few who were found by Miandi, and taught the ways of the Orc. It didn't take long for them to get used to the new lifestyle, which fit them much more naturally than normal Elven life, which was mostly training in magic and science, as to understand the world. The mixture of the two backgrounds gave way to a new society, one that would use magic and logic to take advantage of anything they could. After that an Orcish form of common sense called forth thier lessons in The Burning Art, to which they adpoted and then mastered, far beyond it's normal calibur as it now rivaled The Fae's Art on almost every level...

Along with the domains thier power afforded, the Goblins left themselves in an area close enough to Humans where they could, and on often occasions were, mistaken as Elves and given the opportunity to masquerade as them in efforts to break The Alliance. Dressing as hooded Elven Magi was thier most obvious ploy, as most would be hooded to begin with, and they rarely spoke when they did. Speech is a talent not favored amoung the Orcs, and as such, leaves one feeling as threatened speaking to an Orc, as much as looking at one with his weapon in hand...

However, the Goblins were just the advantage that the Orcs needed, with their Elven ancestry; their speech was inheirently more fluent and pleasant to the ear. This made it easier to converse with the Human troopers that they came across during thier trips away from thier home in The Lost Woods. In time, there was so much influence from the Goblins that small fights had broken out between the neighboring townships and villages. And watching her children blessed by The Burning Life to live until the last of her kin dies, was Miandi, The Goblin Queen, Bride of Gol'buri, The King of Mirth.

This was the dawn of a new age in the area of land known as The Greater Plains. Since the begining, Elves and Fae had been the only practictioners of magic as they were the only ones that knew the rules of magic... However with the Goblins, the world learned that magic was not being restricted by the powers that be, more so that it was waiting for those powerful enough to use it. And so did the Goblins become powerful, powerful enough to rival the Elven villages next to them, wars then broke out, lasting for over several decades, the rements of which are still visible to this day...

Elves believing themselves to be the masters of all things arcane and magical, was left terribly unprepared for the onslaught of destructive magic that was unleashed by the skillfully destructive and malicious Goblin Magi, who themselves were well versed in the Elven schools of magic, and used that knowledge to decimate thier foes. Thier greatest threat came from thier voice, as it was through deciet that the Goblins brought the most devastating defeat known to The Greater Plains. Being basically Elves in nature, Goblins are born with a more elegant tounge than most Orcs, as flowery words are most definitely not the Orc Way. Orcs use words as one would use weapons, that being, viciously and without restraint, better to have ones opponent think wary of thier prey, than be thought weak himself. That being said, an Orc is just as threatening in a conversation as he would be walking to you with an axe in his hand...

Goblins on the other hand are craftier, as they don't have the wild brute strength of the Orcs to assist them. Instead, they use thier enhanced intellect, and keen senses to trick unwary travelers and Human Kingdom Guards into thinking themselves Elven Magi, wandering the Woods... These hapless souls befriend, enlist and share not only details of thier town, but also detailed information concerning thier Kingdom, and The Alliance. After no more information could be gleaned, the Humans were then slaughtered, having thier remains scattered amoung the outlaying trees outside thier village before they would then attack. Several more towns and villages fell in a similar manner, enough for word to reach U'llsbarek, and for him to seek out the aid of Miandi and her elk...

Then Zinc Valley fell into flame. The plan was simple, because no one would expect an attack from magic they did not know of, so that would be thier main and only form of attack. A long-range bombardment of high-level devastation fireballs decended upon Zinc Valley, from Orcish spellcasters taught The Burning Art from U'llsbarek, rained down enough explosive fireballs into the area. Thier targets were marked by placement crystals left in place by Goblin Raiders who had placed them there earlier in the week. The Raiders would enter the town as merchants then move about the town sizing up the defences and the lay of the city. Then scouts would pick out places of high traffic and importance and leave thier placement crystal. The crystal in itself was merely a becon to focus the Goblin Spellcasters energy for locking on to later. Focusing on the vibration in the crystals, thier destructive fireballs left nothing of the outlaying city, aside from sundering rubble...and mangled remains of people defenseless against the onslaught. Smoke rises from the center of the town, the area where the greatest of thier fireballs came upon them, the very size of it was said to be the same as the sun, if there where one around the right size for the city...

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“No human force could uproot an entire village in one fortnight, much less one single night alone. “As only they could, the Rangers (peacekeepers and freeswords that travel the Greater Plains in service to the King) who found that town knew the hand that wrought this mayhem, all that were left of the village was foundation and bone, all else reduced to ash…” Looking about the crowd, ‘Teller decides against one more sip and continues, “…, so here we are in our present age and day, when the rumors about those days continue still. “Sure, the war has been good and done with for a quite a decent stretch now and we’ve seen not an Orc’s leavings much less one in whole…”

Now ‘Teller leans in close, as if to confide in his crowd a most important secret, “…but there’s been word that one of them Elf Mages found himself rather fond of Orc history and decided to compare notes with the real deal. “Mind you, Orc’s aren’t brainless kill-drones, set to rape, burn and kill (although they do rape, burn, and kill), they’ve got as much structure as us folk here, which I find to be the reason they don’t take to kindly to us- but that’s another tale for another time, as I feel the drink upon me I would like to feel myself upon it once more... Good Morrow Gents, Ladies, and all of you who would be otherwise, but too shy to want to be noticed.” Afterward, the crowd talks amongst themselves, some afraid, and some brave…making plans with weapons in mind, and tools to administer them with…

On this night there are a few that keep to thier own company, one hooded figure standing by the entrance as if he's waiting for someone; the next a man who by all appearances looks to be part of the Kingdom Guard, just off duty for the night sitting close to the Tellers table; waiting for a good tale to come up to take his mind off something horrible that happened earlier that day...

After him the next most suspicious person, would have to be the man standing outside the tavern apparently leaning up against a tree. This person has been obviously paying attention to the activity inside the tavern, but remains outside, as if waiting on something...the only person he interacts with is a small slender woman, who keep her hair wrapped in her shawl as to keep the long flowing locks of hair bound upon her head from flying into the winds, which are rather more active tonight than most nights. She speaks to the man and him to her; however what is said between the two is not heard...

Back inside, the Kingdom Guard orders another flagon of ale for the 'Teller, if...:"he can go more than three seconds without his head in the bottle, I don't come to the tavern to see how well a drunk can hit the ground...although I'd give you a solid silver mark for that first tumble earlier...", remarked the Guard who kept his helmet on for the duration of the exchange.

"Looking to take yur troubles away in tales, eh?", replies the 'Teller, smiling at the Guards moxie... "Not one to blame ya, been doin' the same since I were a lad, learning these here tales from me Da...I tell ye what, get me three more to match this 'un here, and I'll tell the grandest tale in all of The Greater Plains...The tale of The Return of The Burning Life..."

At mention of the title, the entire tavern goes quiet, and most are waiting to fish out where the person bold enough to mention those words are, as all have heard of The Burning Life, the ever-living encarnation of contempt and dismay for all those not swayed to his power. As well, all know that he very well almost took over the world, not even a year from tonight. Now with the captive audience of the entire tavern waiting on his next words, our 'Teller clears his throat for an annoucement...

"Ladies and Gents, plus all those who would be otherwise, harken well to my voice and learn of the bravest heroes our meager Greater Plains have and probably will ever know... I spoke of one such of these heroes before, but no hero ever stands alone, so for those of you willing to concider my tale...remember that these days we live in, while not the best, were granted to us by those who knew it could get better..."

"Why I wonder if any of you would even remember any mention of Brook, Hero of Stonewall; Zanith, The Ranger Lord; Knil of The Mountain, The Dragonguard; and last but not least Frit of The Lost Wood, Guardian of the Land...", our 'Teller looks about for hints of recognition on the faces of his audience, but finding none, mutters a solem sigh, and continues on... "No matter, these people saved your very lives, and for that reason you should be glad to be able to hear it in full..."