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 pressed his back to the tree. Peeking around, he could pick out at least two dozen guards in the small village. The orc turned toward Raz’ja who had scaled a nearby tree and sat hardly visible through the screen of leaves. Even still, Fangdarr could see the spread of a wicked grin across the troll’s face.

Turning toward the town, Fangdarr listened to the low bustle of its people. The thought of killing humans did not breed any discomfort for the orc. He expected it never would—not after the fate his mother suffered. Though, the serene sound of innocent children giggling as they played together brought its doubts. Fangdarr looked to the remorseless troll chieftain and knew his companion would have no thoughts of mercy. He also knew it was too late to back out now.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, the orc shook away the plaguing doubts and started walking toward the village. Fangdarr stomped forward without fear as shouts started coming from the guards. They fear me before I even break words, he thought. Without hesitation, the humans started loosing arrows at him. Each missile whizzed past, only missing its mark due to their startled and shaking hands. After another few steps, one dug deep into Fangdarr’s arm, drawing a disapproving sneer from the invader and halting him in his tracks.

They should.

With a burst of motion, Fangdarr dashed toward the town’s gate. In their surprise, the soldiers had forgotten to close it, instead electing to simply shoot down the lone orc. But he wasn’t alone. As soon as Fangdarr passed the threshold, roaring with fury, Raz’ja leapt from on high toward the guard tower. The pair of daggers in his hands plunged into the spine of the nearest man as the troll landed, cackling as he quickly bit down onto the man’s ear and tore it off.

Instantly the once calm and joyous village erupted into chaos. The screams of women and children drowned out the shouts of the men attempting to organize their defense. A pair of guards ran toward Fangdarr with their swords raised but the large orc didn’t slow. He raised his greataxe high into the air and closed the distance with a bounding leap. As he landed, his weapon cleaved through the soldier to his right, severing him in two. On his left—to the man’s credit—the other guard managed to impale Fangdarr’s thigh with his blade before his face turned to horror upon witnessing the fate of his ally. Even worse, the wound the man had managed to inflict mended unexpectedly.

Fangdarr’s elation heightened as he watched every twist of his next victim’s face, jumping from each level of horror to the next. Reaching out, the orc grabbed the man’s tunic and lifted him to eye level. Opening his maw wide, his victims screams were muffled as the orc’s jaws clamped down onto his face. Fangdarr bit down with all his might, pressing his large fangs deep into the man’s skull. Beneath the crushing force, the man’s screams ended abruptly as his bones shattered within the orc’s jaws. Spitting out shards of bone, the orc pinched the dead man’s ear and pulled hard enough to tear it away. Fangdarr stared at the trinket for a moment before tucking it into a sack on his belt.

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.

Thankfully, the vicious trolls had not noticed him yet. Bitrayuul slowly rose to his feet, careful not to make even the slightest noise. The beasts continued to cackle in delight as every time they slid their blade across Theiran’s skin a new line of blood followed.

The dwarf, no novice to pain, simply stared at them with a face hardened and grim. His captors must have grown tired of his insults, for the senator had been bound and gagged. Though a dozen new wounds could be seen, the worst was where his left ear had been ripped off before being pulled into the mines. Blood continued to slowly pour down his neck in a thick ooze.

To the left, Bitrayuul watched as a pair of the creatures carefully inspected the dwarf’s finally crafted maul. Even together they could hardly lift the dense hammer, but he could tell by the sinister look on their faces that they had considered using it for their own devious purposes.

Bitrayuul took a slow breath. His body ached from exhaustion and wounds alike. He had no weapons other than a single bone-spiked fist—a useless tool against such enemies. The half-orc pondered his next move. After such great efforts to reach the senator, he had finally reached him.

Now what? I can’t fight them all, not without fire.

Staring around the small opening, the half-orc prayed he would find a small torch. But it was useless. These creatures feared fire more than anything else, there was no chance they’d carry something with them that could provide it.

What’s the point? We’re going to die here anyway. I’m going to get what I came for.

As if nothing else mattered, Bitrayuul rushed forward as silently as possible to the pair holding the maul. Stabbing one troll through the neck with his remaining gauntlet, it’s attempted wail of pain was muffled by gargling blood in its throat. He paid it no mind, knowing it would soon heal and be back in the fray. The half-orc’s attention immediately turned to the next troll. Luckily, as the first he had struck grasped its neck in agony, the heavy maul dropped from its arms and crushed the foot of the remaining creature. This time, unfortunately, its howls of pain were not stifled and the rest of their group turned in curiosity.

Once their gazes met the intruder, they were up in a heartbeat with daggers in hand. Theiran managed to kick out at one as it passed, tripping it to the stone. Before it could react, the bound dwarf lifted his boot and brought his heel down hard onto the beast’s skull. A squelching noise came, paired with a groan of pain from the troll beneath. But the dwarf didn’t stop. His boot raised again and again, slamming into the troll’s skull repetitively until it shattered bone.

Bitrayuul took the maul from the temporarily incapacitated duo and lifted it in the air. He was amazed at just how heavy the weapon was as it threw him off balance. Luckily, his back foot slid outwards to catch him enough to divert the hammer forward—straight into the first approaching troll. It’s skull blew apart in an explosion of blood and bone shards as it fell beneath the thick steel.

Even with four of their adversaries currently disabled—yet mending quickly—the last two continued their charge toward the half-orc. Bitrayuul strained to pull the heavy maul back into the air in time, but he was too slow. His eyes clenched in pain as the stone blade in his opponent’s grip sliced through the side of his lifted shoulder, barely avoiding his neck. Luckily, as the other dagger came in, he managed to intercept it with his left-hand, blocking the sharp edge with the bones along his knuckles.

In the moment that the troll began reversing its momentum to swipe at Bitrayuul again, the young warrior had managed to bash outward with the hammer, driving the troll back into its ally. From behind the backpedalling beasts, Theiran leapt onto the back of the furthest creature. He had cut himself free with the dropped dagger from the troll he had disabled and cut the throat of the rear troll.

“Me hammer, lad!” the dwarf called out while tossing Bitrayuul the dagger.

On instinct alone the half-orc tossed the maul toward the senator, forgetting about the troll between them. As the weapon lobbed forward, the poor creature tried to catch it but the item proved too heavy. Beneath the hefty steel, the troll fell to the ground at Theiran’s feet. The dwarf didn’t miss a beat. He bent to grab the hammer from the troll and immediately pulled an odd stone from his belt and struck it against the head of his weapon as hard as he could.

Bitrayuul had to cover his eyes as the stone produced a hundred bright sparks in the cave, igniting the troll that the senator had cut. In a burst of fire, the troll wailed in agony and rolled on the ground in feeble attempt to extinguish itself. The half-orc still stood defensively with the dagger in hand, though the remaining five trolls all scrambled in fear as their wounds still began mending.

In the midst of the chaos, Theiran walked confidently over to Bitrayuul, completely disregarding the frantic trolls. As if on cue, the single flaming troll bumped into one of its allies in its desperation, igniting the next. Then the next. Within moments, five of the group were engulfed in flames and screeching in the cave. The last, unwounded, ran down the tunnel in the opposite direction in fear for its life.

Staring blankly at the dwarf, Bitrayuul could only blink at how quickly the scale had tipped in their favor. He opened his mouth multiple times to speak, but could not find the words.

Thankfully, Theiran held no such lack. “Time to go home, son.”

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.

Left, right, three more lefts. Downhill, uphill.

Gods, these tunnels go on forever! Bitrayuul’s arms grew weary as he ascended the ancient iron ladder that the dwarves had placed many years ago. The winding mine twisted and turned in every direction and still the half-orc had not caught up to the senator. Worse, the drops of blood he hounded were growing more and more infrequent, leaving his path up to chance more often.

By then, Bitrayuul did not know for what reason he continued. Perhaps it was honor, or more so because there was no other choice. In truth, the young warrior was lost and had no hopes of finding his path—especially with the way he came sealed beneath the stone.

At the edge of his wits, when all hope seemed lost and no blood caught his sight for a hundred paces, a barely audible noise twitched his ear. What was that? Is that them? Halting his movements entirely, Bitrayuul turned his head to hear more clearly down the tunnel ahead.

Nothing.

He took a step toward the stone wall, placing his ear against it and hoping the sounds of footsteps would be amplified. For many moments, his face lay flat against the cold stone.

Nothing.

He let out a heavy sigh. Why did I do this? he asked himself with great regret, resting his head against the scarred wall. What could you have possibly hoped to achieve?

“Bug off, ye smelly rats!”

Bitrayuul was up in an instant as the sound lightly echoed to him. I knew I heard something! He turned his head again. I’m certain that was a dwarf. It has to be the Senator! Taking off in a dead sprint that denied the aching in his legs, the half-orc was certain he was close. He looked down at his shattered gauntlet in his right hand, then to the crusted wound on his left forearm. Still with no fire, he had no idea what service he may prove to be to the captured dwarf. But he needed to try.

“BAH, get yer damned toe-fingered hands off me!”

The sound is growing, I’m getting closer! Slipping on the stone beneath his feet, Bitrayuul scraped his knee and tore the skin. He growled in pain and frustration at his foolishness as a trickle of blood traveled down his shin. There was no time to pay attention. He could only keep moving.

It was not the angry insults of Theiran that the half-orc heard next, but screams of agony. Bitrayuul could only imagine what horrors the sinister cretins may be doing to the dwarf—and soon to him.

Bitrayuul’s eyes looked ahead and saw the mine shaft growing smaller and smaller, bringing him to a crouch. Then on his knees. Then to crawl along the floor as only a small opening could be seen. He did not think he would fit at first, but if the trolls could have dragged the fully-armored, thrashing dwarf through then he knew he could squeeze by.

As he pulled himself through the suffocatingly tight path, the young half-orc began to panic. He could feel the stones around his shoulders and legs with their jagged embrace. There was no way he could back out of the hole. He would either need to move forward or die there. His heart was pounding in fear. His chest huffed relentlessly, only adding to his terror as his lungs grasped desperately for air.

Tears streaked down Bitrayuul’s face. I may die here . . .. Wiggling frantically, the half-orc only made his situation worse. He held his mouth closed to silence himself; the worst he could do in that moment was summon the trolls. With his lips pursed taut, his air was consumed twice as fast.

Stop! Stop panicking! It was no use, he felt trapped. He tried to pull himself forward even a finger-length but stopped as he felt the sharp stone digging into his abdomen. Even worse was the path that still remained—covered in even more jagged edges. His eyes fell upon those stone thorns in the suffocating tunnel and witnessed the glaze of crimson they had been painted with recently. Dwarf blood!

The knowledge that Theiran had traversed this same path and come out alive served as little warmth to Bitrayuul. Though, it was enough to convince him to keep pulling. Gritting his teeth as the rock beneath his torso tore through his flesh, the half-orc steeled himself and slid onward.

Just keep pulling. Go. You can do this.

The pain was immense as he reached the final squeeze of the tunnel and its set of sharpened stone teeth. He could feel the warmth of his blood gliding across his skin as the rocks cut into him. His shoulders, his arms, his legs. Everywhere his flesh was ripped, leaving a smear of blood in his wake.

Finally, his hands reached the outside of the tunnel and felt it open up. Bitrayuul whimpered as he dragged his large body through the remainder of the hole before rolling out onto the stone in relief.

As he opened his lungs filled with air, the half-orc opened his eyes. He immediately gasped and placed a hand over his mouth. There they were, naught a dozen paces ahead. Six vile trolls were huddled around the dwarf, prodding him with their stone blades and laughing in glee at his torment.

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 you want?” Fangdarr growled as he wraps his fingers around the shaft of his weapon.

The troll stepped toward him with confidence, smiling around its long tusks. Fangdarr took note of the collection of bones tied together and worn as loose armor. With each step the intruder took, they rattled together making the orc wonder how the troll had managed to sneak up on him without notice.

Though a pair of daggers stuck out from the creature’s belt, its arms hung limp with no sign of aggression. Fangdarr could tell by the sheer confidence that the troll needed no time to produce the blades at the first sign of trouble. His eyes stayed narrow as the unwarranted visitor closed the distance. Yet, the orc made no move to stop him.

Stopping an arm’s length from the orc, the creature cracked its mouth into a wide grin. “We have been watchin’ ya, orc.” It had been so long since Fangdarr last encountered trolls that he had forgotten their odd accent, causing his face to twist in confusion. The troll caught his expression. “Ahahah, don’ be shy, now. Whacha doin’ out here in ya lonesome? Why ya ain’t with ya other kind?”

Fangdarr gripped his axe more tightly. He was not fond of the pressing questions from one who had just entered his home.

Upon seeing the orc tense, the troll patted the air with a relaxed smile. “Alright, alright. No need for dat.” His eyes shined deviously. “Me name Raz’ja. I’m da chieftain of da trolls. All of dem. Who ya are?”

Refusing to release the tenseness in his shoulders, Fangdarr held his gaze. “Fangdarr.”

Raz’ja grinned at the lackluster response. “Are ya with da Zharnik clan?”

“No. Me father was chieftain, long ago.” The orc didn’t know why he added the detail about his father. Perhaps pride or foolishness. He cursed himself for revealing too much. But Fangdarr realized that if the troll chieftain had wished for his death, he would have simply flooded the cave with a horde of trolls. The orc’s body relaxed in slight.

“Ah, there ya be,” Raz’ja began, seeing Fangdarr unfurl his defensiveness. “And what about ya? Ya goin’ to be chieftain too?”

Fangdarr laughed aloud at the thought. “No, Fangdarr not going to be chieftain.”

“Why not? Ya are strong, intelligent. Ya father were chieftain before ya. What stoppin’ ya?”

Pursing his lips in irritation at the incessant questions of his path, Fangdarr quickly discovered he did not have an answer to the question. Why not? he asked himself. After pondering in silence, he met Raz’ja’s expectant and sinister gaze and shrugged. “Don’t know how to become chieftain.”

It was the troll’s turn to laugh. “Ah, don’t ya worry, orc. I can help ya with dat. What say we strike a bargain, ya?”

Fangdarr’s eyes narrowed dangerously once more. “What bargain?”

“Raz’ja help ya become chieftain of ya people, as ya father were. In return, ya form an alliance with da trolls. Together, I think we can do great things, ya.”

A moment of silence passed as the orc considered the agreement. He searched for any sort of downside yet came across none outright. If he was to truly become chieftain, wouldn’t an alliance with the neighboring trolls be much better than as enemies? With humans to the north and west, trolls to the south, and dwarves to the east, the orcs were surrounding on all sides. An alliance would only serve to aid them.

Fangdarr extended his hand, ready to seal the agreement. Rather than meeting the orc’s hand with his own three-fingered grip, Raz’ja let out a cackle of laughter. “No, orc. In my culture, agreements cost ears.” When Fangdarr raised his eyebrow, the troll laughed harder. “Ears. Humans, dwarves, or elves. Any of dem will do. An agreement typically cost one ear each. But dis be an alliance between chieftains. We must collect a hundred together—just by ourselves—to seal the alliance. So, will ya hunt with me?”

Retracting his hand, the orc eyed the chieftain in front of him. He could see the lust for the hunt on Raz’ja’s face, savoring the thrill to come. Fangdarr recalled the way his mother was hounded through the forest, hunted like a rabid animal, by humans. Slowly, his own smile started to show.

“I hunt with you.”

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 looked out from the mouth of his cave, enjoying the soft breeze as it rustled the trees. Months had passed since he had crawled back to the dwelling where he had Gub and nearly all memories had been driven far to the recesses of his mind.

Lifting the piece of boar leg to his mouth, the orc rose to his feet and turned deeper into the cave. He stood near the fire, warming his hands to ward off the chill. The turn of seasons was beginning and the breeze he so loved took on a stinging bite. Winter was coming soon, he knew. The first he would endure on his own. Fangdarr continued to warm his hands while scanning his abode. He had been preparing for the change of seasons since early in his arrival, gathering all the supplies he could.

A smile crept to Fangdarr’s face as he remembered his mother’s thoughtful and loving teachings and how they would spare him from a death of sheer cold. With the knowledge she had bestowed upon him, the orc had created a large fur blanket from the boars he had hunted. Its thick hide would serve him well, as would the stitched pillow quilted together with squirrel and rabbit furs. He had even stored a mass of bones and apples for the harshest of days where he could not leave the cave.

Everything seemed in place and Fangdarr was confident he would make it through the the winter. Though winter often lasted only a single moon cycle, the season was treacherous. Harsh, icy winds were the worst of it, despite the deep snow that often came. The trees within the Lithe diminished the elements greatly, but even with their protection the risk of being outside was too severe.

Fangdarr tore the last bit of meat from the haunch in his hand before tossing the bone into the pile nearby. Then, careful not to catch scorch his hands, the orc put another log into the fire to ensure it continued through the night.

As the orc walked over to his makeshift bed, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye near the cave’s mouth. Instinctively, he grabbed hold of Driktarr and waited defensively. Time passed on with only the wind and crackle of flames in his ears while he waited. Fangdarr was certain he saw something. It may have just been a bird flying by or perhaps a rodent, but the back of his neck tingled in suspicion.

“Who go there?” In truth, he didn’t expect a response, but felt compelled to ask in any case.

Silence.

Rationality tugged at Fangdarr. There was no one there. Why would they be? With the onset of winter coming it made no sense for anyone to be outside of their own dwelling. Unless . . . they sought his.

Fangdarr’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he repeated himself. “Who go there?!” He stomped his foot against the cold stone to express his irritation and attempt to dissuade any who may think to enter.

After many moments, the orc’s suspicions were confirmed as a single troll entered his cave.