Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.

I suppose this is it. There are too many.

Each of Bitrayuul’s foes rushed toward him with their mouths wide open. Their imposing, sharpened teeth minor in comparison to the pair of tusks extending a hand’s length past their faces, capable of tearing through flesh with ease. All twelve of the savage creatures tightly gripped the stone blades in their hands—not that it would matter.

The half-orc raised his arms defensively, though for what purpose he knew not. Against so many, the young warrior would serve as little more than a minor obstacle. No flame to aid him, his spiked gauntlets were as useful as wet cloths against the monstrous trolls and their magical healing. All Bitrayuul could do was wait for his time to die.

I’m sorry, Fangdarr. I should never have left.

In the final moments, staring down the oncoming assailants, Bitrayuul was filled with more self-doubt and guilt than ever before. Guilt for abandoning his brother, only to perish within a few days. He wondered if he had survived so far only due to Fangdarr’s protection of him. Bitrayuul had always thought he could hold his own, but there he stood, awaiting his own annihilation.

I’m sorry, Father. I should have stayed out of the tunnels as you cautioned.

The trolls were only a few paces away. All the memories of his childhood seemed to flood back in a single wave. The cherished kindness of his mother. The selfless tutelage of his mentor. And the unshakeable loyalty of his brother. In part, Bitrayuul reflected upon the scenes of his past and realized that perhaps his passing was not the worst. He had lived a good life full of love and compassion. Did he really need to continue? Wasn’t that short time of happiness enough?

No.

That was the thought that resonated within him with undeniable command.

NO.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. There had to be more. Adventure. Love. Loss. Life.

There is more.

Planting his heel, Bitrayuul spun toward the wall and launched a balled fist as hard as he could into the stone. Beneath the force, his makeshift gauntlet of bone fragmented and fell from his hand. At first, the half-orc thought his desperate effort had failed. The stone wall stood resolute in its defiance. Then the cracks came. First a trickle of debris, then a fracture. Next came the fissure, rending apart the rocks as if they were naught but clay. Beneath its own weight, the stone began collapsing on itself and groaning in protest.

Realizing the severity of what he may have done, Bitrayuul turned away and sprinted in the opposite direction of the trolls. Their confusion had frozen them in place as they watched the fissure crease along the tunnel around them until finally the stones above could no longer handle the pressure. Following the trail of nearly dried blood droplets, Bitrayuul shivered at the sound of bones crunching and trolls screaming in agony. The pit of his stomach sank as he realized that the beasts would not die beneath those stones. Their bodies would heal and they would be forced to live in constant agony for many moons, begging for relief.

Bitrayuul disregarded the guilt-ridden thoughts and kept his head low, eyeing the trail of blood that was growing more fresh with each stride.

Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.

What am I doing?!

Bitrayuul charged onward as the snarling trolls at his rear grew closer. His stomach sank with regret as he realized the immense danger he had plunged himself into. Feet pounding as fast as they could, the half-orc traversed the pitch-black tunnel in search of senator Theiran.

This was the first time he had ever step foot in a mining tunnel before. Its vast network only became more evident as Bitrayuul approached an intersection. He stood in the center of the junction, heart racing as he pondered which direction to go. The trolls at his back were nearly upon him and every moment he delayed Theiran fell further from his grasp.

Perhaps I should turn and fight my pursuers here. Better than the tunnels.

How the half-orc longed for his father to come to his rescue in that moment. Stressed beyond belief, Bitrayuul realized he may actually fall in these mines. He looked to the conjoined tunnels one last time for any sign of where the councilman had been dragged. His eyes caught a glimpse of a few drops of blood down the path straight ahead just as his pursuers breached the intersection.

Bitrayuul turned to the vile creatures, making a mental note of the path he needed to take—if he survived. He stared down the dozen trolls with fear in his heart. With no fire in sight, there was no chance of success. He flexed his fingers in preparation and was reminded of the cut on his forearm as the blood stuck to his fingers. The group of trolls only increased their speed upon seeing the half-orc standing in wait for them. Salivating at the kill to come, their lusting eyes glowed in the dark tunnel, narrowed in wicked grins.

Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.

Fangdarr growled in agony as blinding pain shot through him. For a fraction of a moment, he felt the intense relief as all negative thoughts fled from his mind. But it was soon replaced by an intense sensation.

The orc had suffered wounds before. His flesh had been cut. It had been torn and burned. But nothing like this. As Driktarr entered his skin, the pain from the laceration was relived a hundred times over as the enchanted weapon absorbed his life force, only to revitalize him with the same energy. His wound tried to close around the axe as it filled him with life, only to be cut again and starting the cycle anew.

Blind pain raced through his chest before shooting through his whole body. The immediate transition between pain and relief continuously flipped back and forth as the cut was mended and torn open repetitively.

Finally, Fangdarr grit his teeth in pained fury and ripped his axe from his chest, ending the cycle. His lips quivered as the lasting agony finally subsided and the wound stitched itself closed for good. Tracing his fingers over the new scar, the orc struggled to regain his breath. He realized it had been the first time he had ever cut himself with his beloved weapon.

As the distraction of the unexpected outcome faded, he felt the profound sadness start to creep back in. Fangdarr groaned in frustration. Is there no respite?! He looked around from where he tripped and gasped aloud as his eyes fell upon a familiar sight in the distance: Gub’s cave.

With a huff of detestment, the orc tried to rise to his feet and turn away from the dwelling. His legs had other plans, however, and Fangdarr crashed to the ground. Lips curled in anger, he cursed his body’s weakness and began crawling in the opposite direction of the cave while muttering to himself.

After pulling himself a dozen paces, Fangdarr could feel his arms grow weary. The pain in his legs was nearly unbearable despite his crawl. His sprint went well beyond his body’s limitations, causing the muscles in his legs to tear and swell. With every motion a new wave of agony surged through him.

Exhaustion pulled him to the earth where he lay face-down and panting. The sorrow he had desperately tried to avoid came back with a vengeance, reminding Fangdarr of his loneliness. Lying face-down in the dirt by himself only added to his grief. I wonder if I will die here. Would it make any difference?

A sigh passed through his lips, blowing the hot air against the ground and feeling it reflect against his neck. All hope seemed lost. If he didn’t move, something would find him soon enough. Part of him wanted to tempt that fate, just to see another creature one last time before his demise. Fangdarr rolled painfully to his back and looked up at the screen of green above. The tinge of brown had started to wither the edge of the leaves as the seasons began to change.

As if on cue, a leaf that had more brown than green floated easily down to the orc. He watched it as it swayed each way with the gentle push of the air. But no matter which way the air tried to coerce the falling leaf, it always continued its descent. Fangdarr smiled at the irony that a single leaf could trudge through its path despite the influences against it. Be like leaf, he thought to himself.

The brown, crispened petal landed on the orc’s chest. For many moments, he just stared at it as if expecting something to happen. Once he realized what he was waiting for, Fangdarr burst into laughter. “It a leaf!” he said between his outbursts. With each heave of his chest came pain, but he didn’t care.

Fangdarr sighed through his smile, knowing his foolishness. “If leaf can do it, so can I.” Determined to not be weaker than the dead fall of the petal, the orc rotated his body in the dirt and began crawling toward the cave.

Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.

Exhaustion dropped Fangdarr to his knees in the middle of the wood. He had no idea where he was anymore. All he had cared about was running from the snickering ogre that had stripped him of his only companion. The orc scoffed to himself as he realized the falseness of that thought. My ‘friend’. Panting to recover from his sprint, Fangdarr fell to the ground and onto his back. Now that he was alone, he couldn’t stop the flow of tears any longer.

Grating negativity chipped away at him. I’ll be alone forever, he thought. Fangdarr shut his eyes tightly in sorrow in a feeble attempt to shut out reality. It was no use. As he opened them once more, all had remained the same. The woods seemed to voice comfort, showing that no matter his troubles, all would remain the same. The birds would sing, the leaves would rustle, and the trees would continue in their path upward. But, in that moment, the metaphoric lesson was lost on the distraught orc. For he only wished to let the pain linger.

I wish Bitrayuul were here.

Memories of his childhood next to his half-blooded kin crept in. At first, they were pleasant remembrances of his youth. How they played together, hunted together. They were inseparable. Then even those fond recollections turned sour as the reality set in. That’s all they were. Memories. Flickering illusions of a time long since passed. Even Bitrayuul had gone from him, leaving him to solitude.

Am I so terrible?

Fangdarr wept beneath the shade of the trees. His thoughts turned from negative to dangerous as he pondered the validity of his existence. What is the point? Everyone has left. Mother, Bitrayuul, Tormag, Gub. This is my life now, to be turned away and left behind by all I meet. What purpose do I serve? He stared up at the canopies and the light that pierced through between the overlapping branches. As the orc sniffled, he could hear only the sound of his own display of emotions through the wood. Growling in anger at that echo of vulnerability, Fangdarr pulled himself up to his rear and forced away his tears. It did not drive away his anguish, but it masked his sorrow beneath a false visage of stern determination.

Agh! Why are you so weak?! he cursed himself as his teeth grit together. Get up, you fool!

Rising to his feet, Fangdarr turned to look in each direction to get his bearings. He forgot how exhausted he was, though, and nearly toppled over as soon as he was up. His outward snarl defiantly disputed his lack of energy and forced himself to remain upright. The mask that he had donned to hide his vulnerability had to work on even himself, he knew. Fangdarr pushed away the depressing thoughts that sought to cripple him. He needed to run. From those feelings and thoughts, as well as those who abandoned him.

As his powerful legs trampled through the wood, the orc allowed the pain in his calves to blind him to the clawed grip of sorrow. All he could feel was that stinging sensation in his legs as they carried him swiftly forward. For as long as he ran, he would not feel the agonizing plague that he knew waited for him.

Onward he sprinted. It seemed as if half the day was spent pushing himself past his limit. Fangdarr knew if he stopped he would collapse as his legs screamed in searing pain. Still, he pounded forward. He had no destination in mind, only forward. He growled aloud, scaring the nearby forest critters back into their holes. The outbursts drove away all living creatures, bringing a dreadful silence to the forest. There were no songs by the birds. No chittering of critters. Even the wind had halted at his presence, it seemed. There was only the sound of his lumbering footfalls and the growl of pain passing through his lips.

As he rushed onward, his foot caught an exposed root, launching him forward in a stumble. Fangdarr slid along the dirt, scraping the skin on his face, arms, and torso. Blinded from the impact, the orc opened his eyes and quickly realized his mistake. Desperately, he tried to scramble back to his feet but his legs refused to function. He started to panic, knowing too well that he needed to run to keep his thoughts at bay. But every time he tried to stand, he crashed to the ground.

Grabbing his head with both hands, Fangdarr slammed his eyes shut and began muttering to himself in terror. Need to run. Can’t think. Run. Run. Run. His fingers dug into his skull as he tried to think of a way to escape his sorrow. He could feel it creeping up his spine once more. Thoughts of his abandonment started to sink in, no longer driven away by physical pain.

Fangdarr was desperate. His eyes were getting wider with fear as that sinking feeling grew more evident. Pulling Driktarr from his back, the orc held out the blade in front of him. I need to. It needs to stop. I need to . . .

His gaze fell upon the sharpened edge and traced its curve. He reinforced his grip on the weapon and turned the blade toward himself. The twisting and poisonous feeling in his mind was beginning to set in, reminding him that time was short before sorrow once more claimed him. He looked at the blade and knew he did not want to spiral down into agonizing depression any longer.

“I need to,” Fangdarr muttered as he drove the axe blade toward his own chest.