Koruk walked in a circle around where the doorway was. He waved his arms around through the air, trying to feel for it, as if it had somehow turned invisible.

  “Oben!? Where are you?” He called out. Only silence greeted him.

  “Just when I thought this couldn’t get any weirder. Did I get sent home?”

  Koruk breathed deep, and sat down on the grass. He felt exhausted. The fight had taken more out of him than he realized. The dry grass felt good under him, and the sun felt good on his skin. He decided to lay down and think.

  When he opened his eyes, the sun was starting to set. Koruk smiled in spite of himself.

  “That always seems to happen.” He said to no-one in particular. He tried to recall his dreams, but remembered nothing. As he rose to his feet, he felt refreshed, although he still had a bit of a headache.

  He checked his bags, ate a few more dates, and relieved himself. Assuring himself that the doorway and his unconscious friend weren’t going to reappear out of the ether, he decided to make for the village, having no better ideas.

  The smell of smoke and cooking pork greeted Koruk as he approached the village. The river bubbled lazily alongside the cluster of houses, and orcs were going about their day. Koruk noticed with relief that the village residents all had the mottled brown and green skin of the White Moons, and he smiled. He was among his people again. It felt as thought he had been away for years.

  The villagers smiled at him and nodded in greeting, welcoming him as a distant cousin come to visit. Otherwise they didn’t pay him much mind, letting him wander the heavily trodden paths of the settlement and marvel at the simple things that he didn’t realize he missed so much.

  The crackle of pork over a fire. Children playfighting with sticks. A fishing line lazily cast into the gentle river. Warriors in training grunting as they wrestled in a field. The sun on his skin, reinvigorating yet not too harsh.

  It was idyllic. A perfect scene of Orcish country life. And it was not to last.

  Koruk was awakened from his reverie by the distant sound of a horn blowing, answered by another, from another direction. He heard a cheer rise up from beyond the town, and the red banner of the Beast Tamers rose over the crest of the hill, followed by dozens of painted orcs. They howled in excitement and fury as they charged the village, swinging their weapons through the air. From another direction came a force of riders, mounted on dire wolves and brandishing long spears.

  The villagers ran about in panic, orc and she-orc alike grabbing what they could to defend themselves, but they had been caught completely off guard. They did not even have a proper wall to defend themselves, merely a tall fence. Nevertheless, a call went out, and the two previously wrestling orcs attempted to rally anyone they could to defend the fence gates where the majority of the enemy was charging towards. Koruk took up his bow and climbed up a crude wooden watch tower, and took in the attack.

  The fence gates were shattered in seconds by the charge of a howling berserker wielding a massive club, but the villagers were managing to hold their ground there, although the battle was swiftly devolving into a chaotic melee and Koruk couldn’t tell who was winning or losing. But there was a bigger problem. Near the river, the riders had broken down the fence, and were streaming into the village. Torches blazed in their hands, the light glinting off the savage eyes of their panting mounts. The riders wore animalistic wooden masks and armour, painted in dazzling patterns of reds and whites, and they looked as bestial as the fearsome creatures they arrived astride.

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  As they rode uncontested through the village, Koruk made a decision. He shouted a warning to the orcs defending the gate, and he climbed down from the tower and ran off into the village, bow in hand, to fight. He would not let this happen. He would not allow this tranquil place to become a charnel house.

  Smoke was already filling the narrow streets, obscuring his vision. He heard muffled shouts and cries of pain nearby, but couldn’t see where they were coming from. Huts burned all around him, the riders having decided to forgo looting and just raze the village to the ground.

  Koruk coughed as the smoke stung his eyes and throat, and he struggled to keep his eyes open as he scanned for enemies. He was thankful he did so, because out of the gloom ahead of him he caught a glint of fire reflected in the eyes of a monster.

  The wolf bounded down the street toward him, barking loudly, drool flying from its open mouth as it charged. Koruk raised his bow and loosed an arrow, and to his relief it struck true in the neck of the beast. The wolf whimpered and spasmed as it fell, throwing its rider to the ground where he tumbled. It wasn’t over yet though.

  Koruk watched in horror as the wolf stood up again and charged him. It was upon him before he could draw another arrow, and wolf and orc tumbled to the ground together as the beast tried to rip Koruk’s face off. Koruk fended the monster off with one arm while he fumbled for his sword, holding onto the arrow lodged in its throat and struggling to keep it at bay. The wolf’s eyes were wild. Its breath stank of rot. Its teeth edged ever closer to his throat…

  Finally he managed to get the sword free, and he stabbed it into the side of the animal again and again, until it finally laid still.

  Koruk’s heart raced. He coughed as he sucked lungfuls of smoke, desperately trying to catch his breath. He was still alive. He could hardly believe it. He had actually killed it. He wanted to laugh, but it only made him cough more.

  Unfortunately that wolf was now laying on top of him, he tried to throw it off, but his arm was numb from the fight and he didn’t have the strength. He was trapped.

  The rider’s masked visage appeared, standing over him. Koruk tried again to shift the weight of the huge wolf, to no avail.

  The Beast Tamer slowly reached up and removed his mask, dropping it to his side. He looked familiar somehow, a youthful face that Koruk had seen somewhere before.

  “I… *cough*… know you.” Koruk managed.

  “You killed my father. You looted my farm.” The young orc replied.

  Suddenly, realization dawned. Koruk understood why the face looked so familiar. It was that boy he had almost shot during the raid, all those weeks and months ago. He had aged though. Grown up. Had Koruk been gone that long…?

  “Why? Why have you done this?” Koruk asked.

  “This is the way of things.” The boy replied.

  The boy readjusted his grip on his spear, and jabbed it straight towards Koruk’s face. Koruk dodged his head out of the way at the last second, and through some sheer force of will managed to roll the weight of the slain wolf off himself and scramble away, getting to his feet. He looked back at the young Beast Tamer. He simply stood in the street, watching. Challenging him.

  Koruk turned and ran. He ran through the smoky streets. The smoke seemed to grow denser, and he soon became lost. He turned this way and that way, but he never seemed to get anywhere. Soon he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face through the thick black smoke. He tried to call out but his voice was lost in his throat. He felt faint.

  And then he woke up.