In the Beginning...
The battle worn scorpion flew in a lazy circle above the elven outpost, firing occasional catapults and jettisons to sweep the weapons emplacements. The deck was a bustle of activity, as orcs loaded weapons and swung the ships legs to maneuver it from one course to another. The leather armored crew was well trained and had worked together long on this ship, having been hand picked by their Great Captain to work on this vessel.
That great captain watched from the bow between the claws of the scorpion as the base returned fire and elven flitters and man-o-war scrambled for the sky. He knew he was out numbered heavily, his one ship being no match for the elven outpost and its small squad of 12 Flitters and 3 Man-o-wars. Yet he had directed his shaman to fly here to this elven outpost in Lonespace on a small moon of the air planet Zaxia. The outpost was a courier point and resupply station for many long ranging elven patrols. It was well defended against a half dozen ships. The Great Captain knew this.
At this point in the unhuman war such a venture seemed foolish and without reason. The unhumans were being swept from the stars systematically by the consistent tactics of the elves and their superior vessels and magic. Most ships were loading refugees from once captured worlds and outposts and fleeing to deeper spheres far away from normal spacelanes. Some of the races had completely abandoned the stars and gone into hiding, the kobolds and the bugbears namely. It seemed likely the goblins would soon follow, leaving only the orcs and hobgoblins. Times being what they were it would not be long before they would turn against each other and the war would be finished with little effort from the elves at all.
The Great Captain knew this too. He had argued long and hard with the other warchief's and rulers, throughout the length of this conflict to forge a unified front and strike with intelligence and guile. Because despite their overwhelming numbers, the goblin races were weak, magically and mentally. Their only chance he had often declared was "to fight our way, make the elves fight as we do, not from a distance with arrows and rocks!"
It had been to no avail. He had known this too. His part in this war had been small at first, having been a chief on a back water world in Gannixspace. He had answered a call to arise with arms against the elven invaders and drive them back to their forested worlds. What he had found was little more than an organized rout as battle after battle was lost before it began by the inept bumbling of the goblin forces. Finally he had taken control of his small fleet personally and begun to do things differently.
Ever after their fleet had never lost a battle. There had been close calls. Losses that were to be expected. But they had won, time after time. They never remained in a single sphere, moving to avoid entrapment. He had worked with the orc shamans and witchdoctors and employed the first witchlight marauders, a truly glorious victory. The sphere of Bronzespace had been entirely cleared of elven resistance. Two planets were dead worlds now, but that was of little consequence.
But the witchlight marauders met their match in the magic of the elves, spirit warriors and bionoids and elven wizards later destroyed all but one of the great marauders that traveled between the spheres, the last having fled into the void after the shamans controlling it were destroyed. In a battle where he had not been present, their secret weapon had been lost in one quick maneuver. The tide continued to crush the unhumans.
So the Great Captain and his undefeated crew came to the Shiar outpost to prove a point. He knew it was a great gamble, a risk to be avoided. To others, he thought, for Dukagsh knew that he could change the odds.
"You certain he is there?" An orc shaman asked again, questioning his leader with his one good eye, the other having been offered, as is mandatory to Gruumsh, for his powers as a priest of the great orc god.
Dukagsh did not turn from his position at the bow overlooking the ram claws and blunt ram of his ship. He knew what Karzat thought of his plan, and what the shaman hoped would happen to the Captain if he failed on what Karzat finally believed had been Dukagsh's great error.
"The information is certain." The huge orc shrugged and chain mail links rattled about his body at the motion. Dukagsh was close to seven feet tall, a huge orc that some had secretly accused of being an ogrillon or orog.
But whatever his heritage he was a leader of orcs and all goblins he met. His crew was all orc because he trusted them the most, and they would follow him through a Sargasso and back again. His high leather boots were steel tipped and spiked, his chain armor was black and hung past his knees and to his elbows. He wore metal gauntlets that were spiked also and doubled as bracers in combat. At his side hung a large double edged axe of strange design, having a handle that seemed too short for such a blade. All of his orcs had seen him in combat, with elves and humans, even other orcs and ogres. All had seen him victorious. They knew his speed and keen skill with his axe and the other weapons he had about him, including the long arquebus strapped across his back. The shamans said his skill was a blessing of Gruumsh. His followers said it was because he had studied with anyone who was willing to teach him, humans, xixchil, even, some whispered, the drow.
Dukagsh raised the spyglass to his eye again. The elven ships were now in flight and heading toward them. The small outpost rested within the bowels of a small asteroid, the hundred year old base being already overgrown with elven art and trees. It was also, as he looked beneath the beauty and patterns of the architecture, well defended and designed to weather much. That was why his quarry had come here at this point in the war. It seemed completely safe and easily hidden from the broken goblin spy network. His prey had come to welcome a family member home from a successful foray against the ogres who had all but destroyed themselves with their infighting and stupid maneuvers. It was unusual considering the high rank of this elven man to do something like this in time of war. But Dukagsh knew, he could almost see, the haughty elf had pointed out to his peers that the war was all but over. This was no more to him than an inspection of a forward base.
Thus the Grand Admiral of the elven fleet had come here. Dukagsh had been advised in a most unusual manner.
"You would doubt He-who-never-sleeps, Karzat?" Dukagsh had turned now and faced down to the elder shaman who was no puny goblin himself, but rose only to the Great Captain's sheer thick chin. "Where is your faith?"
He did not answer as Dukagsh knew he would not. The knowledge had come directly from Gruumsh in a dream. Dukagsh had taken it as a sign. Karzat had taken it as an affront. Why would Gruumsh speak to a chief and not the shaman who had followed him faithfully for years? Why indeed? Dukagsh smiled and Karzat's face twisted further in his inner turmoil.
Dukagsh knew he had been chosen because he was the best suited to dealing with the information. He was the best orc for the job. He looked over the looming horizon once more.
Zaxia was a large planet of clean sweeping winds and multicolored clouds. From a distance its roiling power and sweeping, flame like clouds were magnificent to the eye. Within its limits were many hundreds of small asteroids up to the size of small moons or planets. All throughout the planet were great masses of floating plants of different colors and sizes drifting about in the wind currents. The heliotrope plants were like the forests of Zaxia, but mobile and shifting. Of course the elves had drawn several near their colony admiring the complex plants which grew as if there was no gravity.
"You risk much of our resources if you fail, I hope you are right." Karzat finally replied. "I go to send the signal."
The shaman moved away without bowing, and soon the signal was set as the elven ships began to move into pursuit of their ship. Wild firelight from a smoking ballista bolt arced through the sky and dropped into the outpost. To an observer it appeared to be a misfired flame bolt dipped in pitch, a common tactic of the orcs against large bases or planet based towns.
But the signal meant more than that. At that moment eight of the smaller heliotropes that had recently blown into the vicinity of Shiar began to fall apart and tumble down and away with the breezes. What was left were six scorpions and two Hammerships that began to open fire on the outpost and drop fire bombs as they came over the outpost walls.
Dukagsh smiled. He knew the elves would not have watched their lovely plants for an ambush. The pursuing ships now faltered and began to turn about, heading back to defend the outpost. One man-o-war that had been in the lead was now the last to turn and head back. That was the one, the one Gruumsh had shown him. The Grand Admiral was on that ship.
"Close with that ship! All speed!" At his commands the orcs all reloaded their weapons with new vigor, cries of battle chants and enthusiasm rang out as his plans worked as they always did. Below decks a new slave was placed in their new lifejammer, and the ships speed picked up. They were closing quickly.
As they closed with the battered man-o-war the orcs began to slaver and work themselves into a fury. They would board soon as the ramclaws found purchase, then they would taste elven blood. His best marksman had already found and hit their battle mage, they had swept the deck three times with their jettison and stone shot. It was time to finish off the admiral who would no doubt be barricaded behind his inner chamber and guards.
The ships closed, the orcs below deck cranked on the large gears that operated the claws and the steel claws plunged into the elven ship like ripe meat, tearing and scoring the surface, opening a hole at one blow and firmly clenching hold of the ships arching wing with the other. The elves were trapped. Dukagsh smiled.
"Boarding parties, attack! Bring me the Admiral!" He roared from the foredeck. Just at that moment he saw from the corner of his eye a flash of light, he threw himself to the deck even as his hand went to his axe. A bolt of lightning crackled and roared within feet of him, stopping nine orcs in their tracks as they leaped to the elven deck, and damaging the ram claw that held their ships together. Dukagsh bounded back up with his axe in hand and hurled it at the elven mage that stood still quite lively a short way off, chanting once more. His crack crew had already fired a volley of arrows in answer, but none found their mark, deflecting from an invisible barrier the mage had summoned to defend himself. Dukagsh's axe flew in a gleaming arc and collided with the barrier and then passed through. There was a scream of panic, cut short in a wet gurgle as the mage fell to the deck, nearly decapitated by the blow. A few moments later the axe returned to his gauntleted hand. The orcs surged forward with a cheer once more, twenty of them striking the deck hard, a few elves surged from hatches and ladders, some using minor magic as they led into the orcs.
It was over quickly. The few remaining elves had obviously fought a delaying action to the last. Dukagsh admired their tenacity. It took much for him to get the same from even his trusted warriors. He went aboard as the orcs brought up to the deck a struggling wizened elf that was bleeding from many scratches and a slap across his face.
"Captain, we have the admiral!" one of the crew shouted as they saw him striding across the deck. In the background the battle over the outpost was still much of a stalemate, the defensive emplacement countering the numbers of his ships. But the elven ships had taken a beating, all but one of the flitters were gone and one man-o-war had crashed to the ground already, landing just outside the walls of Shiar. Dukagsh had expected this too. Timing was of the essence. The elves would have no doubt already summoned aid by magical means of communication. They were several other ships in the sphere that he knew of, not to mention the elven Armada that was inbound with the Grand Admiral's kinsmen. But none would arrive in less than an hour. Their time was running short.
He assessed the elf as he approached, who was held between two of his stronger orcs. The elf was older, wrinkled and with gray hair that flowed about him wildly as if he had been roused from bed. The elf seemed about to say something when Dukagsh drew his axe and gutted the elf. The orcs let him fall and watched eagerly as his blood pooled around their feet.
"That is not the Admiral!" Dukagsh bellowed, "I want him found!"
"Captain, there!" An orc sergeant cried. He pointed to an escaping wreckboat that was moving away from beneath the crippled man-o-war, under the shielding wing of the ship.
"After them!" Dukagsh leapt to the far wing and began to climb its wood-like surface, he dug in his spiked boots and clung with his strong hands until he obtained the peak of the wing. Beneath him under the curve of the wing was the escaping vessel. Without thought he leaped out on the wing and slid down gaining momentum and then landing unceremoniously on the deck of the flitter, behind him he could hear the shouts of his bravest orcs as they followed him slipping down the wing. Soon four more landed about him.
The small vessel had little space to it, but on the deck standing by the hatch that led below was a single tall elf who seemed to be quite undisturbed at facing them, bearing a single halberd in his crossed arms. Dukagsh studied him closely, he did not have the look of a mage, nor was he engaged in any spellcasting that he could see. But his easy manner put Dukagsh off.
Choices were made by the other orcs who charged forward to swamp the lone elf. Too late Dukagsh called them back, and as they moved that short distance the elf suddenly warped and twisted, spiny plates and claws protruding from his body. The bionoid met them with a matching fury.
"The sounds have ceased." The Grand Admiral Leofolan Therolas noted to his remaining bodyguard, another bionoid that went by the name of Elrin, a name the Admiral found distasteful, because it seemed so very human and brief to the tongue. He shifted in the small chair that functioned as a guidance for the furnace helm that powered the wreckboat. "It lasted longer than I had expected in any event. Georalal is normally very quick and thorough."
Although he supposed that the admiral spoke to him, out of politeness he remained quiet because he knew it was a sign of the Admiral's nervousness.
The pompous fool had insisted on this undermanned voyage and now the axe had fallen. They were lucky to be alive, and they would be lucky to make it back to the outpost. Why the admiral had insisted on leading the attack on the lone scorpion was beyond Elrin, such things are common of young elves not-
He stopped as his enhanced senses heard the sounds of the hatch opening and a body dropping down through it. Before he could tell what it was his magically tuned reactions had placed him in front of the admiral and he had assumed his combat form. He saw now what had fallen sprawled on the deck, just as he saw the large figure that dropped after it to stand over his fallen foe.
The admiral gasped, having risen from the seat and turned to see the dead bionoid. "Georalal, no!"
The bionoid was dead, and the largest orc either had ever seen was standing over the body which had in death resumed elven form. The orc carried a large axe which he placed at his side, he had a few small wounds that bled freely but the orc appeared unaffected.
"Who are you?" Admiral Leofalan demanded in broken orcish having felt it useful to learn a bit of the language of their enemy.
"I," Answered the great orc in fluent high elven, raising the Admiral's eyebrows, "am Great Captain Dukagsh."
The orc named Dukagsh began to move his shoulder as if going for a weapon. Elrin leaped forward covering the distance inside the wreckboat easily, but the orc simply stepped behind the ladder and completed the movement, unslinging the long arquebus and snapping it forward between the ladder rungs. Elrin had never seen such a weapon before and simply lunged for the barrel of the weapon. It exploded before he touched it and the blast caught Elrin full in the chest, knocking him back to where the admiral stood.
Dukagsh walked back around the ladder and held the arquebus up before him training it on the downed bionoid which was struggling to its feet. He looked at the admiral and smiled a toothy tusk filled smile. The admiral did not flinch. "That is the difficulty with your bionoids, their shells make them rather tough to kill."
"That is why I have two barrels on my gun." Dukagsh stated with finality as he pulled the trigger again and the arquebus erupted with a roar that deafened the now defenseless Admiral as it spattered him with the blood of his loyal bodyguard.
"Now we are alone." The orc finished in near perfect elven. He slung his now empty arquebus upon his back again and produced the axe that was still red with the sparkling blood of the elves he had slain.
"How did you know I was here?" Leofalan asked matter of faculty, he did not fear death and he certainly felt that it would come soon so his natural curiosity was unleashed.
"Know that our great god Gruumsh told me of your intentions, he delivered you to me so we can turn this war around."
"Surely you don't believe that killing me will do anything but enrage us further and expedite the war against your kind?"
"Of course I don't. Your life is far more valuable to me than your death." Dukagsh shrugged. He went to the porthole on the side of ship, seeing his own ship he grasped the symbol of Gruumsh he wore about his neck to alert Karzat that he had the admiral and to pick him up.
"You are most unusual for your kind Dukagsh. Most of your brothers have fled the stars and yet you engineer this daring plan and capture me with little difficulty. I almost believe that your god did lead you here." He glanced out the forward view and then smiled. "But it appears my god has led others here also. The Armada Soul's Light arrives early."
To his dismay Dukagsh saw that Leofalan was right, but what disturbed him more was that his own ship, the Burning Spear, was fleeing the engagement. Karzat was abandoning him! Cursing loudly he surged to the viewport to see better, forgetting the admiral behind him. The armada was closer to the outpost than the wreckboat. It would be easy to swing around and pick him up and still flee before the armada could discover what had happened. But they fled instead, because Karzat wanted him dead. He remembered the elf at the same time that he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. He whirled about to face the short elf who remained unarmed.
To his surprise Dukagsh saw that the elf pitied him.
"They have left you to die, and to take your place." Leofalan shook his head sadly. "This is why your people fight, Great Dukagsh. They care little for the elves. They fight for the pleasure your gods."
"What do you know of my gods?" Dukagsh reverted to orcish.
The admiral also changed his language, then thinking better of it continued in elven. His orc wasn't really very good. "I have spoken with them."
Dukagsh frowned and his hand went to his axe.
"You may doubt me of course, I know you are taught to disbelieve anything an elf might offer or say, but it is true. As the Grand Admiral I have communed with Corellon personally on some occasions. I have met various incarnations of your gods as well. Not all of them of course," he waved aside the orcs axe as it cleared his belt as if it were a fly, and the orc let it be pushed aside, mesmerized as he was by the elf's words. "But I do remember Gruumsh in particular. He's built rather like you know. Larger and uglier. Only one eye. Spear and torch, the whole bit. But do you know that he couldn't care less about your success or failure here in mortality? He is in constant war with Magubliyet of the goblins in the planes of Archeron, and he only cares that you grow up to learn to fight and then die so you can aid him in an endless battle on the fields of Archeron over a cause that is now long forgotten."
Dukagsh was confused, some of these things he knew were true from the legends and stories of the shamans and witchdoctors told as he was a youth. The stories were the same wherever he went among all the orcs. But the rest?
"You are an elf, you cannot understand the ways of the orcs or our gods..."
"But it was Gruumsh One-Eye that told me this. Surely even an elf can proclaim the truth as he has heard it from he-who-never-sleeps."
"I have always wanted to ask this question of an orc chieftain, but none have ever been interested in parleying with an elf. But you are different, very different Dukagsh. I believe that is why you were led here, and that is why you were left here. You are a threat to the way of life for the orcs. I am a man of military background and education. You understand strategy and tactics very well, I can see that from this raid alone."
"Consider this, I am willing to guess that you often have tried to change the way your leaders arranged their warfare, or challenged their thinking or strategy. You are like what alchemists call a catalyst, a substance that causes a reaction and a change to occur on any other materials that are near it. You are able to do more than the others because you already understand that you are more than what your gods allow. This is the biggest difference between my race and yours. This is why we always win. We see all that we can do, we allow ourselves to grow beyond our expectations. The orcs unlike you, act on what the shaman says and live by the legend and stories which are told around the campfires at night."
"You seek to crowd my mind with your lies." Dukagsh barked, but the sinking realization of the fact was shaking him to the core. It was something he knew to be true because he had been living it every day of his life. He had been fighting to put a voice to it since he had first become a warrior and seen the way their gods demanded and manipulated their lives so much, kicking the orcs down whenever they might have gained an advantage to themselves. The final proof was the fact that he had pulled off the greatest victory of this war for their cause and he had been betrayed by those gods and left to die. Now the elves would assuredly defeat the remains of their fleets and there would be no more orcs in space. There would be no orc empire among the stars as the shamans had promised. It was never their intention to do so. At every chance they had to establish themselves, the shamans had moved them on and the opportunities had been lost. It was not the orcs fault! It was their own gods! They were as greedy and jealous as any of their shamans.
It was as if lightning had struck his head. Dukagsh reeled with the possibilities. Then he crystallized with a new purpose, or perhaps it had been his original purpose all along and he hadn't known it. But he had not lost yet, he still had the admiral.
He reached for the admiral only to see him twist a ring on his finger and begin to fade from view. Dukagsh snarled and struck out with his axe only to strike the chair as Leofalan faded to a mist, then disappeared. A voice remained behind.
"You are a worthy opponent Great Captain Dukagsh. It is unfortunate that you were born to a side that was never interested in winning the war. I would have enjoyed having you at my side. I wish you luck, but I know you will not survive. May you at least find rest in death."
The voice echoed and then was gone. Dukagsh sat alone on the furnace helm, the wreckboat continuing its slow forward course.
He raised his head. He had not lost yet. He brought the small wreck boat about and headed for the last orc hammership that was now also fleeing the outpost at the approach of the armada. "I will survive, if only to enact revenge on those that betrayed me!"
He swore an oath to Gruumsh to that effect then, but a thought crossed his mind that halted his speech. The Admiral's words 'Your gods couldn't care less about your efforts...'
Gruumsh had betrayed him too. How does one exact vengeance on a god?
Dukagsh did not know. But he had not lost yet, and he would have more time.
On board that hammership minutes later, Dukagsh was greeted with surprise and cheers from his orc followers. He shouted for the captain of the vessel and was approached by Captain Rark shortly.
"Dukagsh! We must flee, the Armada arrived earlier than we expected.
The other ships have fled already!" Rark explained.
Dukagsh nodded his head. "Yes, we are through now, set out for the sphere. We leave this place forever."
"Where is the Grand Admiral? Is he-?" Rark was hopeful of course that the Admiral would have struggled and resisted, forcing them to kill him.
He was loyal to Dukagsh, but did not understand how keeping the Admiral alive would be so useful as killing him and striking fear into the elves hearts.
Dukagsh knew this was what his loyal captain Rark thought within his mind. Raised up by shamans and witchdoctors, Rark could conceive little else. But he could be taught to do more. That was why Dukagsh had chosen him over other orcs.
He looked Rark in the eyes. "The Admiral was captured by me. He escaped through magic."
Rark looked downfallen. It was a possibility they had considered, but they had hoped that Gruumsh would take care of that also in his own divine way. Rark looked up his eyes dimmed with understanding and sorrow. "Then this war is truly lost."
"No!" Dukagsh roared this with such ferocity that Rark was taken aback. Dukagsh spun about and swept his arm across the sky from horizon to horizon. "This war was stolen!"
Months later a ragtag fleet of orc ships and stolen or broken down human freighters was led by Dukagsh beyond the normal flow rivers, past his own home sphere and still farther, they stopped for air and supplies, stealing or raiding never leaving survivors. They followed an erratic course and traveled close to the edge of sargasso's to be sure of no pursuit. Dukagsh took the measures but knew the elves felt no need to chase them. They were defeated. Broken.
The orcs would never be a threat to the elves. All of the goblin races combined would never threaten the elves. The elves knew it. Dukagsh knew it. For the entire journey he kept to himself. Plotting. Thinking.
Finally they arrived in a faraway sphere, with six planets, and a bright yellow sun. After scout vessels returned with reports of their findings Dukagsh chose the second planet. Lush. Full of life and vegetation. It also had a wide hot desert expanse with nothing but sand for miles around. This is where he took the orcs.
Many complained. The priests and shamans especially.
"Where will we hide from the accursed sun?" They demanded.
"We will build shelters and homes." Had been his answer.
"We can't build houses! We take them! We dwell in caves and mountains. What do we know of building with our hands? We are orcs, warriors!"
Dukagsh smiled, "You have failed as orcs and warriors. Now we will see if you can at least build a house for yourself."
The orcs had laughed. The priests had growled and complained. Threats were muttered.
They used their ships to haul water, wood and materials from the more fertile lands nearby. Small huts and hovels sprung up. Villages began. A year later Dukagsh returned from a trade mission with several large crates aboard their ship. This drew looks of hope and glee from the orcs. He gathered them all near.
"Within these crates lies your future! All the power that we will ever need to accomplish our goals!" Dukagsh had bellowed and then struck out at the straps holding them shut. Anticipation ran high. Orcs young and old had wondered what was within. New weapons? Powerful magic for the shamans to use? The secret Marauders?
The crates split wide and the contents fell to the ground flapping out like injured birds. The orcs rushed forward, then stopped. A young orc reached out to pick up an item from the crate. "What is it?" the whelp whispered.
"Books?" An incredulous Karzat stumbled forward from the crowd. His hatred for Dukagsh was well known. But the orcs revered him. His power was not great enough to slay the great orc leader. He knew well enough. He had tried three times now. He also knew that each time, Dukagsh knew. Dukagsh was mocking him, challenging his best and defeating it easily. He struck out wherever he could.
"We are orcs! We do not read as the elves or humans! We-" Karzat began to rant, his one good eye blazing.
"You have failed as orcs. You have barely succeeded at building your homes. Some of you couldn't even do that yourselves." Dukagsh cut him off. This last was meant for him and the other shamans who had not raised a finger to build their huts, but the shamans had required the other orcs to build homes for the shamans before allowing them to build their own. It was a point of anger among them. Dukagsh had seen to this. He had helped build other homes until all had a roof over head, then he had built his own. "These books contain knowledge, wisdom of many races. Secret knowledge, how to grow crops, how to forge steel, how to build ships, how to fight with skill."
He bent down and picked one up, taking it to Karzat. "This one explains how to build a house. You could use this most of all."
The orcs laughed. But then one asked, "We cannot read. What can we do with these except burn them for warmth?"
"You will all learn to read. I will teach you. My captains will teach you. You will gain the secret knowledge of the dwarves, the humans, and the elves." There was muttering at this, what could an elf know that was worth anything? He continued. "When you are done, you will know how to stay warm in any winter. You will know how to stay cool in the scorching flames of summer. You will learn how to fight with skill and savagery. And you will practice!"
Two years later the new settlement had grown considerably. The huts had become mud and clay structures that insulated against the elements, and they had defeated an opposing population of salamen in great battle, being outnumbered two to one.
At the victory celebration Dukagsh spoke again the first words he had uttered to them since that day two years ago. He wore his full chain armor wielded his great axe and stood beyond the raging bonfire that had consumed the last of their enemies bodies. He raised his arms and silence fell among the dancing and singing orcs. Shamans and priests held themselves at the center of attention, proclaiming that He-Who-Never-Sleeps had delivered them.
Now they fell silent too. What would he say now after all this time?
"Three years ago, as the Shamans tell you, we were defeated by the elves through trickery, magic and the weakness and stupidity of the goblins, kobolds and ogres. I tell you that the goblins, kobolds and ogres were indeed weak and stupid."
This brought laughter and scattered howls. Even some of the shamans smiled, but not Karzat.
"But the shaman's also tell us, that a crippled warrior should not live or lead. A leader that kills his own troops before entering battle should be slain and replaced, the strongest taking the lead. The shaman's also say that the old are weak and should be killed when they can't fight and can't lead!"
"Today we had a great victory. We were outnumbered, and we won. They rode great lizards and breathed fire. We won. The shamans say that Gruumsh gave us the victory. Where was Gruumsh or the shamans on the field today? Where were they when you trained in the desert? Where were they when you learned the tactics that brought you victory? Where were they when you learned to read and gained this knowledge?"
Protests broke out among the shamans. Some orcs rumbled and looked fearfully about at the free use of Gruumsh's name by one other than a priest.
But Dukagsh drove on, the flames seemed to leap and grow with his fury.
"The war with the elves wasn't lost! It was stolen! Stolen by the shaman's who killed their troops and chiefs because they wanted power, or because they hoped to gain glory for themselves! But worse they teach you that is their right and privilege. They teach you to follow them and their god that teaches them to kill their own troops, to honor the shaman's as they grow old and weak! They teach us to worship a cripple!!"
Stunned silence filled the air. Fingers grasped at weapons.
"The shaman's teach that Gruumsh lost his eye in battle with the elven god Corellon. That he was tricked and defeated! He lost because he was stupid and vain! Weak! Corellon defeated him and took his eye, leaving him alive because he knew that Gruumsh would never be a threat to him or his children again! Because even the elf god knew that Gruumsh was a cripple! Not worthy to live or take space and food at our dinner tables! Yet we worship him! And we wonder why we always lose! We lose because he does not care whether we win against the elves; he knows that the orcs, his children can never defeat what he himself could not defeat! You know it is true what I say! You know that to this day the shamans teach that our reward is to go to Archeron and fight the goblin spirits of Magubliyet forever more! Where are the elves? Why does he not take the hordes of our ancestors spirits and attack the lands of Arvandor? Because he knows he will lose! He already has! Now as a crippled coward he instead bullies the weak goblins and slaughters us and wastes our lives to console his misery and weakness. When you came here I told you that we had failed as orcs and must live as something new now. Now you know why! Because as orcs you can do nothing but fail! The shaman's prevent your victory, their god prevents your victory! But today I have brought you victory! Today you claimed your own victory, and you did it because you did not act like orcs!"
Silence reigned, then a cry. "Blasphemy!"
The orcs turned, Karzat strode to stand before Dukagsh, his remaining eye bloodshot with rage. "Blasphemy! You dare to question our creator, our great leader!"
"I question a weak old cripple, who cannot fight his enemies and would rather kill his strong sons then risk being replaced! I do the duty every orc is taught, but you shaman's have twisted to prevent us from knowing the truth and becoming more than what you allow us! Deny it! What orc here has not seen with his own eyes what I speak of? Did I not capture the elven admiral, only to be abandoned to die by this elven bastard because he wanted to control our fleet? Who will not stand by me in this truth?"
Dukagsh and Karzat stared each other down. Great hatred passed between them like flaming pitch arrows shot across the skies. Around them they heard growls and the sound of weapons clearing sheaths. Commands were shouted and the sounds of footsteps drawing nearer marked the approaching nearness of doom for them.
"You are old. Weak. You are a relic of a god who hasn't enough sense to die." Dukagsh taunted him. He knew that Karzat had feared he would do this. Perhaps even the fumbling, half blind god he followed had tried to warn him.
"You are a traitor! You deny your maker, and forsake the order he has given us! What would you do? Make us human? Follow the elven gods? I know you have been teaching their tongue to your captains! What would you do without our gods?" Karzat demanded imperiously, demanding obeisance.
At that moment the creak of drawn bows and whistling arrows muffled their speech. Both orcs smiled, certain that their enemy, the true enemy of the orcs would fall now to their combined outrage. Both were right.
Karzat fell down, shock on his face as his old body rapidly lost strength and his life spilled on the floor. Behind him he could hear screams as the other shamans and priests were slain by the warriors. As they perished he felt the power of Gruumsh flee from him, as quickly as his own blood poured.
Dukagsh stepped forward and seized him by the hair of his head, pulling his head up. He forced the priest to look in his eyes. "What will I do without our gods? I will win, like I always do. I will replace them. I will become a god!"
He flung back his hand with his axe, and Karzat whispered hoarsely, "Gruumsh- will ... stop you."
Dukagsh smiled, "Gruumsh does not care. You may tell him yourself when you see him, all that I have said. If you are lucky, he won't immediately destroy you for reminding him of the truth of his pathetic godhood."
The axe fell, and Gruumsh and Karzat were with the people of Dukagsh no more.
All was quiet again. Finally Rark cam to him, a bloody sword in hand. He looked at his leader with apprehension but excitement at the change to come. "So who are we now? What shall we be called?"
Dukagsh looked at him and across the savage orcs that that he had dragged across the spheres and forced to grow. "Someday I will give you a name. A new name to conquer by. A name that will not limit you but unleash your desire for revenge. But until then, you are my people. That is enough for now."
Years later Dukagsh's people had undergone many changes. They no longer claimed the history of the orcs. The records of that race were kept for study but never again used to teach anything but how to fail.
Dukagsh's people learned to read. This taught them patience. They learned to speak the language of their hated foes, the elves. This taught them wisdom. They learned every bit of knowledge they could from the other races on their new world. Then they destroyed them. They learned weapon skills from humans, dwarves and giff. They traded for tools and learned to make new weapons. They took books from wherever they could and began to teach their children the wisdom they held, and the wisdom of their Almighty Leader Dukagsh.
Dukagsh personally fathered over a hundred whelps. He declared that the females were just as valuable as males, if not more so because they carried each new generation of increasing might of his people. The women learned warfare, tactics, fighting hand to hand. They were also commanded to seek knowledge and increase the might of the race. The women took to it quickly and parents together raised their children to venerate Dukagsh and the rules of their society.
Each child was taught the rules of failure:
They studied engineering, math, architecture, and farming. Lastly they studied magic and began to unravel the secrets of the energies that moved the worlds and fired the stars.
Finally when four generations had passed, the old but still sharp and impressive Dukagsh gathered his people together again. He had lived over a hundred years. His people came together in hope of gaining their name. The name promised by the revered Dukagsh that would begin to send them back to the stars again and reign in terror over the elves.
Various students of magic and war helped him to his place and using their minor magic's broadcast his voice so the multitudes could hear him.
"Today is the first day of a new world for us. We arrived on this planet as strangers, exiles. Today we own it. There is no opponent, no creature we have not slain or enslaved. This world is ours in four short generations.
"Tomorrow my body will die." His people muttered in dismay. He waved for silence. "I know this. But there is a way that I will remain with you forever more to guide you as you study and struggle."
"But first I give you a name. Long ago I came to this planet with two thousand weak, bickering orcs. Today there are nearly one hundred thousand. You are organized. Skilled. You have mastered yourselves and in doing so have mastered this world. All those beyond this will continue to do the same as long as you keep true to the path I have shown you. Study and struggle. Think and then act. Never underestimate your enemies, for they will be numerous. Do this and you will conquer, you will travel far, for all roads of knowledge lead to the elven destruction. Do this and you will always be my children. Do this, and you will always be- the Scro!"
The word gathered in the air as the assembled hordes heard it, absorbed it and exulted in it. A name! The new name! The mass began to chant.
"Scro. Scro. Scro."
"Tomorrow this body will die, but you my people, my Scro, can keep me with you."
"Scro! Scro! Scro!"
"Tonight and through tomorrow till I die you must worship me, you must honor me and revere me. You must dance and sing and praise my name, my works and my glory!"
"SCRO! SCRO! SCRO!"
"Do this my people and I will become your god! I will never leave you and I will never forget my promises to you, so long as you never forget your vows to me! Do this and I will be god of the SCRO!!"
"SCRO!! SCRO!! SCRO!! SCRO!!"
The celebration and ritual continued all through the night, and into the next. The scro burned every remaining city of the original natives. They sacrificed prisoners to Dukagsh, they danced, they drank, they rutted all in Dukagsh's name. On the following night the tempo reached a crescendo and the sky filled with clouds of thunder and lightning. The blasts lit up the ground and sizzled among the worshippers, but none were hurt. The thunder of elven doom kept time to their agonizing dance and frenzied pleasures, all in the name of Dukagsh.
Finally it all ceased and for a moment silence smothered the land and all that was heard was the slithering hiss of a last breath escaping old lungs. A cry of agony, rage, frustration and victory rang out at once in unison from the scro the combined breath of the new nation took shape and color, swirling into the clouds overhead, gathering as an amorphous mass. Lightning blasts struck from the clouds on all sides, and the earth shook until every scro was thrown down. Yet the scintillating brilliance above forced even the prostrated to look upward and behold the flowing patterns, the spinning colors like the flow and like nothing at all. Finally it exploded, like a sun it blazed over the surface of the entire world.
Stillness filled the air. Winds began to blow lightly and push the storm clouds away. Every scro looked up expectantly. Had they failed? Was it not enough?
A sound. Soft at first but growing in strength, then heard with certainty by every scro on the planet.
Laughter. The laughter of Dukagsh. The laughter of a god.
Their cheers echoed for miles, then they began to collapse from the exhaustion of their efforts until none remained conscious.
From his enhanced view Dukagsh saw into the heart and mind of every scro. He saw the most faithful and the best talented. He chose his new Warpriests, his captains and his new Almighty Leader. He gave them insights and dreams to pursue to further their own skills and the glory of their race.
When he finished he let them rest for three days.
They had much to do these children of his. He had to lead them onward and out into the stars again. They must face the elves again, but this time without fear or weakness. This time they would force the elves to fight their way and the elves would be forced to flee into exile.
Dukagsh smiled. He knew it would take time, he was a god certainly, but he had already felt his limits reaching the minds of his people. He would have to grow in power along with his people. But he knew it would happen, just as he always knew before.
He would always win, and now someday he would defeat Gruumsh as well.
His revenge would be complete.
