Orc

Orc

by Noah Pace


Chapter 1


It started at noon. They never even realized we were there until we knocked down the town gate with a hit from one of our boulder catapults. After that, there was a lot of stuff going on. I mostly followed the bigger, stronger orcs, helping them weaken down the humans.

Our general, Murlak, was right up front. I could see him slashing through dozens of the little pink things with his battle-axe. There was only one way you could get to such a high rank as him in the Orc Army, and that was being the strongest warrior on the battlefield. Period.

The first few minutes were easy. We snuck up on the town so quietly the humans were running around trying to gather weapons and supplies while we were chopping most of their heads off. After that, it got a little harder. They had mostly recovered from their confusion within about five minutes, I'd say. They had a decent supply of swords and shields. A few of them were mounted on horses, charging our units with their spike tipped lances.

You know... It's funny how quickly your life can change. Just a week ago, I was your typical orc, living in my nice little cave up in the mountains by myself. Then Murlak showed up on my doorstep, ranting about the evil humans and how they had to be destroyed before they could cause any harm to our kind. He insisted that I help him in his cause, but I refused. I just wanted to live in my cave, eating the local rabbits for nutrition, and ignore the rest of the world. But Murlak didn't give me much choice. He eventually just kidnapped me and threw me in with the other troops of his army. I guess you could say I was "drafted."

I recieved some basic training from some of the tougher orcs. See, I wasn't exactly in the best shape... For an orc, atleast. My teeth were barely even two inches long. Teeth as short as that would get you laughed at in the typical orc community. My skin was only a light shade of green, and my arms weren't very impressive either. But what do you expect? I had been living in that cave for years, and the only things I've ever had to overpower were wolves and maybe a few bears. Not exactly challenging.

Anyway, the assault on the human city lasted about an hour. I killed a few humans with my greatsword, but that was about it. I helped as much as I could, but I didn't really care who won or who lost the battle. All I cared about was my cave... And not dying, of course.

I'm currently sitting here in camp with the survivors of the battle. Morale is high here, due to to our very satisfying victory. We only lost a few soldiers, and they weren't very useful anyway. Kinda like me. Murlak says we're going to head north to the next town, and the next, and hopefully destroy their capital. I couldn't care less. Besides, I have a plan to escape in the confusion of the next battle. I'll have to find another cave, though, or Murlak may just come back and "draft" me again. But I'm not too worried about that.


Chapter 2



"Grungan!"

"Huh?" the young orc grunted as he looked up from his journal, just before Murlak backhanded him fiercely.

"I told you not to trouble yourself with that human sorcery! Writing is pointless, I say! Now, go practice on those dummies! I need you as fit as possible for the next attack... Not that I expect much out of you, whelp."

The poor Grungan trudged off towards his tent. As he passed some of the more burly orcs of the troop, he recieved a sharp kick in the back. Grungan had always been the target for the soldiers' aggression. It's the natural order of things: Pick on the weakest member of the group. Why? Because you can. It's not a nice principle, but sadly, it has always been like this, and always will be.

That night, as the other orcs lay sleeping, Grungan once again pulled out his journal. He knew that he was safe now. The few orcs that were still awake were drunk, singing battle songs by the fire. They wouldn't bother him.

Grungan's journal was the only thing he had to occupy himself. Whenever he wasn't getting beaten by the troops, or listening to one of Murlak's famous "Humans are evil" lectures, he was writing. It was dangerous work, but he usually got away with it. He didn't earlier today, of course, but that was okay.

As he dipped his chicken bone in the poor creature's blood, and set it to the thin wooden plank, he couldn't help but wonder whether or not he would ever be able to see the familiar, memory filled walls of his cave again.

Dear Diary,

Murlak caught me again. He seems angrier every time. I'll have to be more careful if I don't want him to seriously hurt me.

The other orcs treat me just as well as usual. The walks are long and grueling, but I'm the only one who cares. (Ofcourse)

This just seems so excrutiatingly repetitive. Walk, get beaten, starve, sleep. Walk, get beaten, starve, sleep. I don't know how much more of this I can take.

I don't know when the next entry will be. I don't think I should write anymore until something interesting happens, even though I really want to. Ofcourse, the next interesting thing that happens to me might just be my death, so I can't guarantee any more entries.

-Grungan

Grungan sighed a heavy, brutish sigh, hid his journal inside his leather pack, and went to sleep.

The next morning, after breakfast, (of which Grungan got the smallest portion) the walking began. Murlak seemed perfectly content with carrying 300 pounds of supplies, while Grungan struggled with his 100.

After several hours of trudging through a murky swamp, the assembly stopped to take a break. Nargog, the second weakest orc in the troop, approached Grungan. Nargog was the only one who didn't beat Grungan from time to time. He wasn't necessarily a friend, but he wasn't an enemy, and that was something.

"Hey, Grungan."

"Oh. Hi, nargog."

"Listen, umm... I was wondering... Do you want me to carry some of your equipment for you? I know that you get more than your fair share of exhaustion anyway, thanks to those brutes." At this Nargog glanced at the other orcs with scorn.

"No thanks, Nargog. If Murlak finds out somebody is helping me with my equipment, he'll beat me twice as hard as normal, and I seriously doubt I can survive that."

"If you say so... Atleast we won't have to worry about that much longer."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"What?" Nargog snapped out of a thoughtful trance. "Oh, nothing. Just forget about it."

Nargog strode off, out of sight. Grungan pondered Nargog's strange behavior, but quickly ignored it. There was work to be done, and he couldn't afford to slack off under Murlak's watchful eye.



Chapter 3



Kyliiko, Prince of Narcission, was surprised when he heard a sharp rasp on his door. He quickly stowed a small, ruby encrusted ring into his bedside drawer.

"Come in," he called warily.

The prince's servant boy, Throntas, threw open the door and strode into the regal room, a look of terror splashed across his face.

"My lord, the messengers we sent to Acrion have just returned... Well, one of them, atleast."

"What do you mean one of them?"

"He said that he was only survivor, sir... He's pretty messed p-poor fellow w-was missing an arm! B-bleeding all over the Grand Hall!" The shaken young man stuttered.

"Did he say what happened to the town? To his companions?"

"Not yet, my lord. We had to rush him off to the healers... They said they had never seen a living man look so much like a corpse..."

A sudden, unbearable gloom quickly fell over the room. Kyliiko peered out of a large window displaying the courtyard below, deep in thought. Throntas shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, awaiting some sort of order from his master.

"It seems we have lost yet another outlying town... These brutes are certainly much tougher than any human nation we have ever dealt with. With each day, they creep closer and closer to Crello... To our home... To the heart of our empire... With each day, more people die at the hands of these, these... Animals! We can't allow this to happen. I must convince my father to take action now, before they appear on our doorstep."

Throntas hung his head in dismay.

"Does this mean... We will have to use the ring?

Kyliiko looked as if his servant had pulled out a crossbow and shot a bolt through his palm.

"Are you insane, boy? We don't use the ring until there is no other hope. The ring may hold great power, but the price is too steep! Have you never heard of the sacrifice our people would endure if we were to activate that little gem?"

Kyliiko glanced quickly at his drawer, but Throntas noticed nothing. He was still gazing at the floor.

"No, my lord, I have not. I apologize for my ignorance. May I request that you tell-"

"We do not speak of it!" Kyliiko cried. "You need only know this: If we use the ring, the orcs will be destroyed, yes, but we might as well line up our entire population and slaughter them before the gem can work it's magic on us. We would be doing them a favor."

Throntas looked up into his master's eyes, and recognized the lost, hopeless look that Kyliiko had been wearing for several weeks now. After a few minutes of tense silence, Throntas turned on the spot and strode out of the room. Kyliiko did not order him back. Throntas did not know where he was going, he just walked. While he trotted on, he thought to himself. What could the ring do that was so bad that the prince went into such an outrage at the mere mention of it? If it truly was that terrible, then certainly there would be some sort of record of it in the library.

The boy found himself in the Grand Hall. It was a very large, rectangular room with a polished marble floor and many doors leading into rooms with various uses. Wide, carpeted stairs lead up and around to the rooms restricted to all but the king's most important advisors. In the center of the Hall stood a large, stone knight in a sleak set of armor standing upon his podium. A pretty young girl was mopping up the last of the messenger's blood next to the statue.

Throntas walked into a long, narrow hallway, past several sets of armor and strode through the last door on the left, into the library. He spent much of his time here. His master never really need him that much, as the prince was a rather antisocial person, and preferred to keep to himself as much possible. In the evening, when his chored were done, Throntas would stride down the hallway into the library and pore over a book or two for about three hours a day.

He began his search in the Olde Legends section, but was dissappointed when all he found was a story about an old man who somehow sprouted a tree from his head. Muttering to himself, he placed the book back on its dusty shelf and made his way to Ancient History, and afterwards over to Great Artifacts of Thromula, both of which yielded similarly dissappointing results.

Finally, when he was just about to abandon the task, he uncovered a dusty, nameless volume in the Myth and Folklore section that had caught his eye. He flipped through the pages absentmindedly, but soon gasped and dropped the book. It landed with a loud THUMP on the floor, displaying an illustration of a small, red ruby ring.



Chapter 4



Throntas stared at the little illustration with his mouth slightly open. After a few moments of stunned silence, he knelt down and retrieved what took him so long to find. The text regarding the ring was somewhat brief:

The Ring of Thurio was once a fabled artifact said to channel the power of Thurio, the War God. Seven years ago, a ring fitting the description of the Ring of Thurio (a small golden circlet, encrusted with a brilliant ruby) was discovered at the base of the Pillar of Champions northeast of Crello. Suddenly, the member of the archeological team who had discovered the ring let out a piercing scream. His companions could do nothing as his head suddenly exploded, and bits of his brain splattered the ground. The ring has since been held within the vault of Crello's Palace, so that our king's soldiers can keep a close eye on it.

Throntas reread the passage several times before he realized just how dangerous this ring was. That archeologist had merely touched it, and his head had exploded... It was no wonder the king wanted to keep it so far away from his people, deep underground in his own vault... But he couldn't keep the news of the discovery hidden. Every man, woman, and child in the kingdom heard of this groundbreaking find. He had, however, successfully covered up the bit about the exploding head. Except, it seemed, from the author of this battered old book.

"Come on, boy. It's getting late."

Throntas jumped as he heard the crusty old librarian ordering him out. Wanting to tell someone, anyone, of this startling news, he hurried out of the library and down the hallway into the Grand Hall.

Many important looking people were standing around, talking animatedly with one another. Throntas suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be waiting on these nobles at this very moment. He darted through the winding hallways to the servant quarters and into the small room where he and his father lived. He grabbed his servant's uniform and, pulling it on as he ran, burst once more into the Grand Hall. Nobody seemed to notice his spectacular appearance, however. They were all too busy with their own affairs.

As he retrieved a small platter of morsels, his best friend and fellow servant Gario tugged on his sleeve.

"Hey, Throntas, I was wondering what happened to you. The party's been going on for at least half an hour. Where the heck where you?"

"Not now," Throntas whispered. "There are too many people here. Just wait 'till later."

Gario seemed curious, but did not inquire further. As the party wore on, Throntas noticed several excited nobles whispering loudly to one another. From what he could gather from their poorly contained conversation, they believed the king himself was set to make an appearance at the party soon.

No less than ten minutes later, a small band of trumpeteers descended from the large staircase and announced his majesty's arrival. The nobles quieted instantly, looks of utmost glee splashed across their faces. King Serello soon came into view, wearing an impressive set of lavender robes. After many "Ooh's" and "Aah's" from the sycophantic crowd, Serello held his palms up to request silence.

"I must thank you all," he began, "for accepting your invitations to my most, erm, humble gathering tonight."

Several of the nobles chuckled appreciatively. A small grin evident on Serello's face, he continued.

"I must confess, however, that good food and company is not the only reason I have planned this get together. I am sure you have all realized that I am well on in my years." Which was very true. It was said that the king was well into his seventies.

The crowd gasped as they realized what this meant.

"I am pleased to announce that I am hereby relinquishing my crown to my only son, Kyliiko."

The Grand Hall was suddenly filled with roaring applause. The nobles looked around them, attempting to find Kyliiko so that they might be the first to congratulate him on his new honor. No one, however, could find him.

Throntas scanned the crowd quizically. Where was his master? Surely he had recieved an invitation this most important of events? Serello himself seemed just as surprised as the others. Had something gone wrong?

Just then, the pretty girl Throntas had noticed earlier burst into the room. She had a crazed look to her now, like she had just seen something traumatizing.

And so she had.

"My majesty, sir!" she called over the voices of the startled nobles. "It's the prince! Come quickly!"

And without another word, she turned on the spot and darted back the way she had come. The Grand Hall's occupants soon began their chase after her, Serello included. Gario caught Throntas's attention and shrugged his shoulders, then proceeded to chase after the rest of the people.

The girl led the way towards the prince's tower room, where Throntas had spoken with Kyliiko only a few short hours ago. She flung open the door and there, as if a gruesome painting framed by the door, was Kyliikos corpse. Or what was left of it.

For the body was not whole. It first appeared as if the prince had been decapitated, but there was no head in sight. There was however, a small ring lying on the floor, spattered with blood as bright red as its gem.