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.

Cormac looked up at the blade descending toward his temple. He knew it was over. His mind seemed to pause while simultaneously playing through a thousand memories in an instant. Memories of his youth, his parents, his wife, and most prevalent—Ori. 

What had started as pleasant recollections of his son’s smiles and joy were replaced by the haunting images of the boy being cut apart by the raiders Cormac stood against. I’m sorry, Ori. I got as many as I could . . ., he lamented. As if in response, the scenes in his mind faded to a black emptiness as quick as they had come. 

As the orc’s sword plunged toward the dwarf’s skull, Cormac simply went limp. Whether on instinct or due to the profound loss of his family striking his will, he could not know. All he knew was that he was falling to the ground.

Despite his drop, the raider’s blade still sliced through skin, cutting through Cormac’s left eye. The pain shocked him back to his senses as his back hit the ground. For a moment, he had forgotten where he was—until he saw the four orcs standing around and above him. Each of his opponents had their weapons raised once more, ready to plunge them into the dwarf.

Cormac’s will snapped back. His perspective had changed; it was no longer acceptable to end merely a few of the orcs. They all needed to die, for Ori.

Tucking his feet and pulling in his head, the guard lay beneath both of his large shields, entirely covered by the thick steel as four blades crashed down. Cormac waited for the booming thud to ring four times in rapid succession, waiting for the right moment to retaliate. Once the fourth strike landed, he rolled left into one of his opponent’s shin’s. 

The orc looked down at its victim in confusion as it rolled. Then, all it could remember was a blinding pain and see blood pouring from its groin. By the time it realized what had happened, the orc watched as Cormac rolled into the opposite direction toward another raider.

Within his shielded roll, Cormac would listen for the harsh inhale of the orc’s as they launched attacks. Each time, he would roll to his back so that his shields would intercept the blow, then continue his approach. It had to be the most odd tactic he had ever enacted, but he could not deny its efficacy. The orcs slashed as him with abandon—especially after watching him successfully dispatch of yet another of their dwindling group.

Down to two, Ori. Just two more. 

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.

Bitrayuul’s eyes cracked open slowly. It felt as if he had been asleep for a full moon cycle—and the crust in his eyes did little to dispel the thought. His body felt stiff as he strained to pull himself up in the bed. As his weight shifted, an odd crumbling sound came from beneath him. Pulling back the thick cloth on which he sat, the half-orc was confounded upon seeing he had been sleeping on a sheet of gravel.

The half-orc peered around the room as he rubbed his eyes. Everything was made of stone. From the chair in the corner of the room to the table it was paired with, there was naught but carved rocks in sight. Bitrayuul lifted his hands toward his temples but stopped upon seeing bandages on his arm and shoulder. 

Just as Bitrayuul struggled to remember the cause for his wounds that had healed, Tormag entered the room. “Oh! Yer awake!” The dwarf’s face lit up in an instant as he rushed over to his adoptive son and wrapped his thick arms around Bitrayuul. 

“W-where—” the half-orc began, struggling to breath beneath Tormag’s strong embrace. 

The commander noticed the effect his squeeze was having and relinquished his hold. “Sorry, son. I’m just so happy yer alive.” 

Bitrayuul returned the smile but remained confused. “What happened? Where am I?”

“Hmm, seems ye don’t remember. The cleric was right.” Tormag strode to the other end of the room and struggled to lift the stone chair before carrying it back toward the half-orc’s bed and setting it down with a gasp of relief. “Ye remember anything at all? The trolls invading the mines, chasin’ after Theiran into the tunnels?”

Bitrayuul shook his head.

“Right . . . well, t’ keep it short, ye went and rescued the senator—after I telled ye not t’, mind ye!” Tormag raised a finger at his son and waggled it in disappointment. “But, ye went anyway. And ye saved him from sure death, don’t ye doubt. Though, ye got cut up a bit in the process.”

Looking down at his bandages again, Bitrayuul lifted the wrapping to see the edge of his new scar. When he looked back to Tormag, he could see the concerned look on the dwarf’s face. “You mentioned something about a ‘cleric’? What is a cleric?”

Tormag’s face lit up once more. “Ah, a cleric be a follower o’ Bothain—a healer. She be the one who saved ye. We were lucky that she did, else . . . ye would’ve been lost in those mines.” The dwarf seemed to be choking back tears. Clearing his throat to avoid the awkwardness, Tormag added, “So, she said ye needed t’ rest. Ye’ve been here fer about three days.”

Three days? Bitrayuul thought. At least it wasn’t a full moon cycle. “Can I see the cleric? I’d like to thank her.”

“Eh, we’ll see. Clerics are an odd bunch, sure as stones. Besides, the Council has demanded they see ye once ye wake. So have a wash,” Tormag’s hand waved to a large, hollowed stone full of water on the far side of the room. “When yer cleaned an’ dressed, I’ll be outside.”

Bitrayuul grew nervous at the thought of meeting the council. When he first came into Tarabar, many dwarves were not accepting of him, and Theiran had warned of the Council’s expected disapproval. But before he could raise his concerns, his father was already walking toward the door. Bitrayuul’s shoulders slumped with worry and he sighed.

The half-orc failed to notice Tormag had stopped at the door and turned back toward him. A genuine smile was plastered onto his face. “I’m glad yer safe, son.” With a nod, the commander stepped out, leaving Bitrayuul standing in the stone room alone to prepare.

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 followed Raz’ja back to the mountain pass, each carrying their bloodied sack of ears. The orc was met with a thousand gleaming eyes as he entered the narrow path. The trolls’ wicked grins nodded with approval from all around. They clung to the rocky walls, eagerly awaiting news from their chieftain.

Raz’ja walked through the jagged passage with supreme confidence. The orc watched as any troll who made eye contact with their leader shied away in fear. Fangdarr’s respect and admiration for the cunning troll rose with each step he took. At any time, Raz’ja could easily be overpowered by sheer number, yet none dared move against him. A commendable feat, to the orc. 

As the pair entered a dark tunnel, their eyes shifted to see better. Fangdarr was forced to bend low within the tight corridor, but continued silently. He could feel the anxious presence of trolls close on his heels, too curious to hold back. The thought made his skin crawl, but he trusted Raz’ja. After all, why would the troll chieftain go through all the trouble for a sack of ears?

The passage seemed to go on forever—and got smaller the deeper they went. At first, Fangdarr had wondered why they would choose to dig into the mountain. But all became clear as soon as they had reached the end of the tunnel. Raz’ja waited for him at the opening with a wide smile on his face. The troll extended his arm in a wide sweeping motion. “Welcome, brutha, to my kingdom!”

Fangdarr’s jaw fell slack in awe. The cavern they had entered was so vast! It extended farther than his eyes could see and with trolls scurrying over nearly every surface. There were no buildings, nor even any plants. It all seemed so barren, yet immense. It was as if the sanctuary was some sort of enormous hive, crawling with the wretched creatures. 

Taking joy in the orc’s wordlessness, Raz’ja stepped forward before stopping at a crudely carved stone slab. He pulled the sack from his belt and dropped it atop, drawing Fangdarr’s attention. Without prompt, the astonished orc, too, set his ears on the stone. 

“Alright,” Raz’ja started as he dumped both bags of ears. His eyes lit up upon seeing the torn pieces of flesh in all different sizes—even childrens’. Cackling loudly, the troll turned to Fangdarr. “The agreement is met.”

“What this mean?” Fangdarr tilted his head curiously. 

“Ears asked, ears received. The alliance is fulfilled. Now, we make you chieftain.” 

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.

The first orc closed in, eager for the kill. From behind, the rest of the raiders were close on its heels—all seeking the easy victim. 

But Cormac, against his most base urges to lash out on instinct, waited with determination. He didn’t care if he killed them all before he fell, just a few. Each shield was held firmly in place in anticipation.

As the nearest orc’s iron blade came plummeting down, the creature’s face elated at the thought of cracking open the dwarf’s skull. Instead, the sword was met with the thick steel of Cormac’s shield. Before the bloodthirsty orc realized it’s attack had been halted, the dwarf stabbed deep into its thigh. With a yelp of surprise, the orc fell backward, frantically trying to staunch the black liquid that poured from its severed artery.

One down, Cormac thought.

There was no time for reflection, the next two orcs were upon him and the others were beginning to flank him. Taking the initiative before he was completely surrounded, the dwarven guard bravely charged toward the pair of beats in front of him. The orcs were taken aback by his sudden offensiveness and were caught off-guard. With a well-aimed strike to the heart, one of the raiders fell to its knees while Cormac’s other shield slammed into the other’s forearm, pressing the orc’s own blade into its neck. Gargling its own blood, that creature too fell to the ground and desperately attempted to stop its lifeblood from spilling onto the ground.

With three down, the odds were increasing. However, nine still remained and had now circled Cormac. The lust in their eyes lingered, but a spark of hesitation had crept into each raider. This time, five leapt in at once, seeking to overwhelm the stalwart guard.

Certainly outnumbered, Cormac would never be able to fight all at once. His only hope was to reduce the number of attackers in any way he could. Thinking quickly, rather than remaining in position, the dwarf rolled to the right desperately. With luck alone, only a single orc’s swing managed to clip him, glancing harmlessly off his shield as he tumbled. 

Cormac was back on his feet in an instant—blades leading the way. He plunged both of his shield’s blades into the nearest orc and charged forward using the creature’s body as a shield to block it’s neighboring ally’s follow-up swing. The ferocity of the second orc’s cleave caused it to cut through Cormac’s meat-shield, forcing him to disengage before he was overrun once more. 

Using the dead orc’s body to obscure the raider’s vision of him, the dwarf slid to his knees and plunged his weapons into the second orc’s feet. In a disadvantageous position, the three other orcs fell upon him without relent. Their insatiable bloodlust led the trio to attack him simultaneously instead of ensuring the kill by alternating their assault, allowing Cormac to lift a single shield above his head to deflect their approaching weapons. While protected, he took advantage of their carelessness and cut deep into each of their exposed thighs—always aiming for that same artery that he knew would incapacitate them. 

Eight. More than half. Cormac still refused to believe in victory. All that mattered was exacting a toll.

As the three raiders around him fell to the ground clutching their wounds, the last four rushed in before he could stand. They seemed to have been watching from their ally’s mistakes, as they no longer attacked in unison. The first attack came from Cormac’s left—met with a raised shield. The next from his right—again met with a shield. But the third came from above, aiming for his skull, and he had nothing left to block with.

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.

“He’s awake!” Tormag chirped with excitement as he wrapped his arms around Bitrayuul. “Oh, me boy, I thought ye lost.”

Bitrayuul instinctively returned the hug, though he knew not why it was received. “W-what happened?” As he attempted to sit up, he clutched his shoulder in pain. It felt as if he had taken a hammer to his collarbone and blood had stained over half of his gear. 

“Easy, lad. Easy.” Laying his son’s head gently against the stone, Tormag couldn’t contain his smile. “Ye took quite a beatin’, don’t ye doubt.”

The half-orc’s eyes widened. “Theiran! Is he safe?” He felt a hand press lightly on his chest to calm him and turned his head. In front of him sat a female dwarf, her face touched with tenderness as she smiled at him. Bitrayuul eyed her curiously. “Who are you?”

Offering a soft laugh, the cleric turned to Tormag. “Well, he’s alive. But he doesn’t seem to remember much.” Her voice was edged with the gruff dialect of dwarves but still managed to remain soft. 

“Aye, he’ll be fine,” the commander responded. He placed his hand on her shoulder and his tears began anew. “I can’t thank ye enough, cleric. Me boy owes ye his life.”

Bitrayuul, finally catching on, groaned as he forced himself to sit up slowly. “W-what is your name?”

The cleric smiled at him once more as she slid a finger along her brow to tuck back her dulled hair. “Don’t fret, love. Ye’ll be just fine with time.” With that, she stood and turned to Theiran and the remaining company of dwarves. “Theiran, he should be carried home to rest. Can ye lads handle him?” 

Still awestruck by what had happened—and knowing Bitrayuul deserved no less than their care—each dwarf nodded quickly before moving toward the prone half-orc. Theiran approached the cleric, his grateful expression speaking volumes. 

Before words fell from his mouth, the cleric raised a hand to silence him. “No words are needed, Senator. Bothain chose to spare him. He has earned his right to live.” Her cheeks remained raised with a smile as she spoke, leaving Theiran with nothing left to say. Without another word, the cleric began walking back down the tunnel the way they had come.

As he watched her depart, the old senator could see tell she was weary. The length of her strides had shortened and each step seemed to take a minor toll. Yet still she stood strong, walking with pride. Theiran knew she had spoken the truth—that Bothain had indeed been the one to spare Bitrayuul. However, it was she who bore the sacrifice, it seemed. A cost she must have known would have been paid in return for the half-orc’s life. He turned to Bitrayuul as his companions lifted him onto their shoulders, then to Tormag whose tears of joy proved just how loved the orcish warrior was. Thank ye for savin’ him, Bothain. Ye know he earned it.

Bitrayuul watched Theiran as he joined the company and offered a pained smile. “Glad to see you are safe, Senator.” 

“Aye, lad. Thanks to ye,” Theiran replied, taking the half-orc’s hand in his own. “Thanks to ye.”