The Ogre’s skin wasn’t used to the sun anymore. Too long had they lived in the shadows of sorcery. Be it in their home of Krognar or the clouds of their casters in distant lands of battle.

  Like the rest of his people, Third-Fist had felt the burning sun on his skin. When they walked chained through the long Savannah, he felt the burns. But unlike the rest, he smiled. Despite the chains, despite the burns and despite what should be the greatest loss, he smiled. Their mother was dead. Ripped apart by his own hands. She was gone and they were free. Despite the chains, despite whatever the Khan had planned for them, they were finally free. For the chains wouldn’t last. Even if they would end up as nothing but sacrifices to the Khan’s dark ritual, at least finally they were allowed to die.

  Too long has it been, since he felt such joy. Once they were a menace in the savannah, riders of the grandest lions that came across the sea to raid and pillage. Even those few of them that became part of Karn’Arak sought beasts that wore wings and manes of pride instead of leather. They were the pride, no matter how far they would fly or ride or sail. They were one pride of lions that would show the world their teeth. Conquerors of the highest honour. But now that all was lost over the many centuries, he was only glad that they were finally allowed to die.

  As they were forced to walk through the hot savannah sun the old memories flooded Third-Fist’s mind. When he was not deformed into an ogre but still an orc. When the hot wind was running through his hair and when he roared in unison with his mount. Days of glory they were. He was glad that they could see the savannah sun one last time, even should those days never return. There was comfort in the end. No matter what it would hold.

  He had made sure that he was chained close to what must have been their leaders. The shaman, the chieftain and a few others. One of them a druid, another a warrior with but one arm. Her wound there seemed fresh enough to be recent but far enough that he knew it wasn’t caused in their battle. During their marsh over the day he had gazed at the wildlife around them. Disturbed by the distant fire, yet all in their natural beauty given by the land, not forced by sorcery. He saw the birds and the vultures that eagerly followed the scent of blood in the mesa. He felt the warm wind and the dusty sand wash over his rotting skin, and no matter if it was his mind or his ears he could even hear a pride of lions beyond the horizon.

  Yet when night was falling they were chained together, he started to watch the other prisoners. Not his own people. Fools they were. Still in shock of their mothers death, still lost in nothing but sorrow. Instead he watched the orcish leaders. The grand chieftain of the mesa. A man who wore a rhino's head as a cowl, and even after the battle still took pride in carrying the heavy thing. Third-Fist almost had to chuckle when he saw how much he struggled to continue but composed himself. He was not in search of a fight, but for allies and they had just murdered each other's people not even a day ago.

  While the sun was setting he listened how the shaman talked to two of the riders. One seemingly her brother, the other a leader of the riders around. He could hear that there was anger towards their Khan and he knew well if there was any promise an orc would like, it was to unleash their fury.

  A rider hammered an ironspike into the earth. Their chains and ropes were all bound to it. Around them a similar thing happened until the endless line of prisoners was broken into bundles of few. It would be easy to escape if they wanted to, Third-Fist thought, and he doubted the riders didn’t know. Either they thought their tiredness after battle would last long enough, or they were but fools.

  He was sitting across the chieftain, the spike between them. Many around them were too uneasy to sleep yet their eyes were forced to shut by their tired bodies. But not that chieftain. Even though his eyes were so very eager to sleep, he stared across the spike and at Third-Fist.

  The warlord grinned. “You should find rest while you can.”

  Thick-Skin huffed deeply and angrily while the others, the boar, the wolves, and the shaman, were just staring at him too. The one armed wolf woman was close to sink into the boar’s shoulders as he had his arm around her. Her body was as tired as her eyes.

  Thick-Skin shook his head. “How could I rest when my people are in chains?”

  Third-Fist made a bitter smile and looked away for a second. He watched the stars and the egg above before he nodded a few times. “I know that feeling well.”

  “How would you?!” Thick-Skin yelled over to him.

  Rika opened her eyes again for a moment and barked at them both. “Shut it.” She then leaned back again. Partly into big wolves Branak’s back, and partly into Kazzok’s arm.

  The chieftain glanced at her for a second before he stared back at Third-Fist.

  It was the warlord who broke the silence again. “I haven’t slept for hundreds of years and I tell you that I might never again.”

  “Why would I care?!” Thick-Skin shouted back, yet indeed more quietly than before.

  Third-Fist couldn’t reply a thing. There was no answer.

  Before either of them spoke, the shaman took word. “Do you know the kind of sorcery they are all after?” Her words were cold yet her eyes burned as they studied his face.

  “Ascension…” He replied and studied her for quite a while. Then he continued. “I think you know enough to reason that it should not be allowed to happen.”

  Slowly she nodded. “Will you?” she asked, just as cold.

  He was taken back by her words and raised a brow. It took a moment before he finally smiled. “You see much…” He grunted darkly.

  She was not smiling at his remarks but continued her play. “Your mother chained you for centuries. Do you think our Khan will do anything else?”

  Third-Fist folded his arms before him and gazed up at the cloudless night. After a moment he answered. “Your Khan is no human without faith. But an orc that seeks to conquer.”

  Her eyes grew even angrier and Thick-Skin shook his head on the other side. “What else do you expect from an abomination like him?” He asked the winds. Finally words that hit Third-Fist. His composure was falling and his eyes grew angry before he looked back at Mara. “If you are lucky he may act like a dragon. He may conquer and rule for a while until he gets fat and tired.” He sighed. “Or..he seeks to be more. He seeks to alter not only the land but your people as well. Not to strengthen them as much as he would like to tell you, but to be better and more foolish slaves that will serve him until the end of time when finally he is ripped apart by his own abominations!” The warlord grunted and stared back at Thick-Skin.

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  The chieftain showed a hint of a grin. “It was such a brutal sight.”

  The warlord started to grin back. “She would have deserved even worse and I would have given anything to bathe in the rain of her blood.”

  For a moment the two grinned at each other until slowly Thick-Skin's eyes finally were forced shut. He fell forward. His Rhino cowl fell off his head and he started to sleep.

  Third-Fist looked over to Mara. His voice became lower and he leaned in closer. “Do you have any plan but to be chained back to your home?”

  She simply continued to look at him with cold eyes before he spoke yet again. “You may have trust in your brother but even should he defeat your Khan, what do you think your people will do to the rest of us?”

  Her cold wall started to falter as doubt crept into her eyes.

  Still he simply continued. “You are enemies. Even if you might have earned the trust from some of these greenskins, they are still the enemy to most of your people.”

  She was about to answer but his words wouldn’t stop. “Look at the riders and tell me you see any chance that they would let go of anyone here only because their Khan is dead.”

  His eyes went up where a wyvern was crossing the skies. They were scouting for food. “I can tell that some would even take the chance of glory and use the lot of us as a display of power. Hungry to rule just like the man they so desperately want dead.”

  She huffed and looked from him and around the many different spikes and groups of prisoners. Finally he added. “Your Khan might be vicious, he might be a snake after all I heard, but do not believe that he is the only one. Among lions, snakes can hide the best and even the grandest of beasts can fall to poison.”

  She thought for a while longer and her breathing became heavy. Finally she looked back at him. “If we would have continued to fight they would have burned us all..” She defended herself.

  He continued to stare and cut her words. “And in the morrow they will have regained their strength and even more of their fury.” She glanced at him and knew he spoke the truth. Yet he continued. “And there will be blood.”

  Desperation was caught in her eyes and she shook her head. Trying to shake the truth away. “Then what am I to do?” She asked him of all people. Her eyes were far more of a plea than she would have liked. “These are my people..my clan. I know so many of these riders and I will know even more once we are home.” She looked at Kazzok, Rika and Branak. All of them were sleeping now. Folded into each other, around arms and pelts. She smiled with melancholy. “But I can’t just abandon them either. They have aided me so much and I can’t…” Her words trailed off. She looked away and into the distant night of the savannah. Beyond the horizon it was still burning. Who knew if it would ever stop.

  Third-Fist followed her gaze to the sleeping Greenskins and then to the fire. “It is often those that care the most that are cursed with the greatest pain.”

  She chuckled at his words and looked back over to him. “A calming thought..” She replied.

  He smiled back. “Hence why I tell it myself so often.”

  His mind went back to the atrocities they committed on their way to the Mesa. To the fire and slaughter they had left behind and his eyes went to Thick-Skin. For the first time since his self declared mothers death he thought about the future. “There will be more..” He said distantly and gained a raised brow from Mara.

  Slowly he shook his head. “There will be so many more…”

  “What do you mean?”

  For but a second longer he gazed into the dark before he looked back at her. His mind was struggling for words. When a distant Wyvern was roaring above, he found them. “Her home..my moth~ the sorceress’ home.” He knew their politics after centuries of service yet he struggled to make them simple. “There will be more like her, and sooner or later they will try to chain us all. She was among the shunned because she needed centuries to get other clans, but that will be all the more reason for them to send another..”

  “Another sorcerer?” Her mind was struggling to get to his words, as it still lingered on their current chains.

  He nodded. “You want to know why I am here with you? Why I didn’t send my people at all your tasty throats after her death?” His eyes were a strange cold fury. “Because once they come, once the far west knows what happened to her, they will abandon the wait. The only thing that held them back was the hope that one day she would finally do it, but she failed. Now they will send more, and plenty. If the clans don’t stand together in the next years then they will all be crushed by the might of the west.”

  She remained silent. “Why..why do you tell me?”

  “You are a shaman.” He replied. “You might be young, but it is you who are to fold words into meaning, and meaning into song.”

  She struggled to look at him. For a few moments after the battle she had felt a weight be lifted off her, but now there was even more.

  “And you are already on your way. The greenskins saw that you, a Darkling, defended them against the sorcery. My people, saw that thanks to you that sorcery is so much weaker than a shamans true elemental song..” His eyes were staring with intent. “Only question that remains is your own people…and even if my ears are rotting my eyes can see that not every rider is willing to give their lives for the Khan, no matter if snake or lion.” Just then a wyvern crawled on a small mesa nearby and gazed over the prisoners. It didn’t bother him and he whispered. “But you can’t wait only for your brother to take victory. You must carve one for yourself. For all of us or they will do so themselves and unleash all their fury at each other.” He huffed and saw nothing but the growing fire in her eyes as he continued. “Times are changing shaman. There will always be blood in our lands but it is on us to make sure few of it is spilled with each other. You must find a way.”

  “We all do.” She answered darkly. Something inside her was stirring at his words and she answered the call. “Words will never be enough. You might have forgotten who we are, but strength and fury is the clan's language and I am not a woman of either.”

  He was simply waiting, for he saw that there was more to be said.

  Finally she continued. “But I know that words can guide fury. They only need to answer their pride.” She sighed and looked up at the distant egg in the sky. “There will be a slaughter~” She started and he answered. “There always will be among our people.”

  She continued without taking her eyes off the moon. “But if we can guide it at his most loyal riders…then there might be a chance.”

  “Promise them slaughter, promise them vengeance. If there is anything an orc will answer, it is the drums of fury in their burning heart.” Third-Fist added and she nodded. She seemed determined yet in doubt. “Still I must trust my Brother and take his victory…or it will all be for naught. They won’t abandon Aru’gal. Despite their hatred. Some fear him, many feel like they owe him a debt. He saved lifes, plenty of them yet his words remain poison.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “But he will die.” She told herself and then looked over to him. “He will die.” She repeated in trust to her brother and turned her back to him. She needed to rest and like many of them her eyes were shut by her body soon enough.

  Sleepless like the other Ogre’s Third-Fist remained awake. He looked over to another spike where one of his centurions was chained with a few others. They looked at each other for a long moment until Third-Fist held his hand horizontal above his belly. Then he made a fist. A sign to wait for orders. The centurion nodded and looked on sternly. Yet like many other ogre’s their eyes rested on the cloudless night. The many stars and the egg’s silver shine. It had been so long since they saw it. And here it was in all its beauty. For the first time in so long there was hope. It was slim but there was hope. Either for a great victory for orckind, or for one final death and an endless rest under the stars.