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He was surrounded by countless Orcs and Goblins. Their beady eyes glittered
in the darkness, and they sat around the valley, all waiting for him to make
his move. But he was not afraid, for he was Tormoth the Destroyer, Orc
warlord of the Bloody Peak tribe, and he was petitioning for the leadership
of every Orc and Goblin tribe in the entire range of the Mountains of
Shiraz.
"Under your current, fragmented leadership," he shouted, his voice
amplified by Gnorrbb's magic, "you have no way of ever conquering the
fertile lowlands of the Aysen or the An-Havvans. But if you all join under a
single ruler, you can become absolute masters over all of Ulgrotha!
"But you need the right ruler. One with an iron fist, one who can beat the
humans and elves and dwarves at their own game. And I crushed the fortress
of Kazak-Aghk-K'korr in mere hours. In my opinion, there is none other than
I who can lead us together into victory. If any challenge my petition, they
may face me, here, in single combat!"
While many of the assembled creatures roared with support, there were
patches of silence. Some of the tribes would only accept the loss of their
own chieftain as a way to get them to join him.
"Who dares face me?" he asked, mocking, to the tribes that didn't seem
supportive. Fifteen chieftains stood. All were Orcs. Tormoth laughed,
quietly. No Goblin in his right mind would challenge the great Warlord to a
duel. Most Goblins were, on average, smarter than the brutal Orcs, and were
able to admit their weaknesses, thus avoiding becoming idiots like the
fifteen who opposed Tormoth now.
"Step forward, and I will fight you all, now," he yelled up. "But if you
are not down here to fight in one minute, you can count yourself and your
tribe doomed!"
"Tormoth!" a voice yelled. It was a Goblin chieftain. "Where is your
tribe?" Tormoth knew that all others would have guessed by now that his
tribe was not present at the Convocation. Technically, only a representative
of the tribe had to attend the annual Convocation of the Tribes, but
protocol generally demanded that the entire tribe attend. Unless they were
busy fighting someone else.
"They are out, hunting down the few survivors of my assault on the
Paladin's citadel," Tormoth replied. In fact, they were having a hard time.
Several patrols had disappeared, and their bodies were found later. Tormoth
had never revealed that only three people had escaped his grasp, and had
since defeated all that he had thrown against them. Instead, he maintained
that many had survived, but were being systematically slain by his horde.
The other chieftains nodded. That was a good reason for his tribe to be
absent. By then, all his challengers had reached the inner circle, where he
waited.
"Now, witness another good example that shows to all why I should be the
Warlord of all Orcs and Goblins across the mountains," Tormoth declared, and
he drew his sword. It didn't glow, but he felt it pulsate with power.
The fifteen chieftains had their weapons ready, and began jockeying for
position to strike Tormoth. Whichever chieftain dealt the killing blow would
gain possession of his tribe, and what a coveted possession that was. They
fanned out, planning to envelope the warlord and strike him from behind.
Tormoth struck, rushing to the far right of the attacking chieftains. In
two mighty swipes, he slew the two nearest him, and then he moved to hit the
third. He had to hurry, for the others would soon be behind him.
He parried a weak blow, then shattered his foe's axe with his sword, then
chopped off the head of the unfortunate chieftain. Then he spun around to
face the remaining twelve. They had shifted their position, this time
clustering much closer together in order to attack him sooner.
In response, Tormoth ran towards the center of the crescent. The chieftains
readied themselves to receive his charge, but just as he was reaching them,
he jumped. They looked up in astonishment as he flipped around in mid-air to
land right behind the crescent, and he slashed at the group with his mighty
blade. Three more of his opponents fell, screeching and gurgling as the
sword cut through their armor and bones like a hot knife through butter.
The Warlord backpedaled furiously to avoid the nine that remained. But now
they had shifted again. They formed a small knot, and charged the Warlord,
waving their weapons. Tormoth faced them, taking a strange shaped object out
from his sash. They would have never recognized it, but it was disk-shaped,
made of metal, and with very, very sharp edges.
As the nine chieftans were about to converge upon him, Tormoth made a great
leap to his left, and he hurled the disk at them. It slashed through armor,
skin and bone alike, and two more of his foes collapsed, dead, while another
cradled a bloody stump that remained of his arm.
Tormoth charged into the fray, now sure of his tactical advantage. He
slammed right into the knot of chieftains, and struck down four before an
axe struck his sword hard, forcing him to drop it. He was without a weapon.
But it was him against only three now. One held a spear, one a sword, and
one an axe. None of the three were injured.
Tormoth grabbed the shaft of the spear, just behind the blade, and pulled.
The Orc he faced stumbled forward into his hands. He grabbed the Orc's face
and crushed it hard against his knee, which he brought up. With a sickening
crunch, half the Orc's head splintered into blood and brains, and pieces of
skull. He threw the body into the grass and ducked from a sword swipe.
Then he tackled the Orc who had just tried to hit him. Tormoth squeezed and
squeezed, and the Orc panicked, trying to escape, before blood rushed from
his mouth, as his rib cage disintegrated and his lungs and heart were
squished. Tormoth threw the corpse at the remaining Orc, who avoided it
deftly. Tormoth jumped, rolling across the ground when he landed, and was
somehow behind his last foe. He grabbed the chieftain's head and neck and
snapped it. The chieftain fell, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
But he could not breathe. His face turned purple, and his head lolled to the
side.
Tormoth had won. He shouted: "Who will join me in my quest to destroy all
who dare oppose us!"
This time, everyone stood and cheered.
End of Chapter Three
Don't Miss Chapter Four - The Escape