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 stepped out of the small stone dwelling to greet Tormag after finishing his wash. Seeing his adoptive father’s cheeks spread in a genuine smile brought the half-orc some comfort, though still he remained anxious to meet the council.

“So, to the council?” Bitrayuul asked.

Nodding in response, Tormag rose to his feet. “Ain’t far, son.” He could see the trepidation building on his son’s face. “Don’t worry, lad. Everythin’ will be alright.”

The dwarf’s reassurance did little to lessen Bitrayuul’s fears, but he fell in line behind Tormag anyway. Together, they made their way through the passage lined with dwarven hovels. It was the first time Bitrayuul had ever seen this part of Tarabar—or even homes in general. Everything was so different than the simple cave in the woods in which he was raised. For as far as his eye could see, nearly every object was made of shaped stone, iron, or steel. Even the dwellings to each of his sides seemed to be a stout edifice of fortification. Much like dwarves, he thought. 

The foreign environment only added to Bitrayuul’s twisting stomach, and the curious stares of dwarves that he passed didn’t help either. He was still an outsider here and always would be. Staring at Tormag’s back, Bitrayuul felt guilty for the devotion Tormag had for him. When he was younger, the dwarf had always spoken fondly of Tarabar, but now that they had returned, Bitrayuul realized that Tormag had given up everything he knew for him and his family.

Letting out a soft sigh, the half-orc wondered if he should even stay in Tarabar at all. Perhaps it was time to give Tormag his life back? But he knew the dwarf would never abandon him. And if Bitrayuul was cast out, Tormag would surely follow. Such knowledge was both a comfort and a curse to the half-orc. He felt like a helpless whelpling that others thought couldn’t survive without supervision. All while Fangdarr was out in the wilderness in solitude—hopefully still alive. 

Bitrayuul looked up after bumping into Tormag, not realizing the dwarf had stopped. He looked up curiously to see a large building lined with gold and gemstones that dampened the appeal of all other buildings surrounding it. “Is this the council building?”

“Aye, lad. This be the one.” Tormag smiled upon seeing the awestruck expression on his son’s face. 

“It’s magnificent,” the half-orc said softly. “How is such craftsmanship possible?” His eyes scanned every minor detail, from the thousands of runes etched into each pillar to the inlaid gemstones that sparkled from the light of three large braziers outside the walls. The building seemed much smaller than he would’ve thought, but it didn’t diminish its beauty in the least. After staring in wonder for a long while, Bitrayuul could feel Tormag tugging his arm.

“C’mon, lad. We’re needed inside.”

Bitrayuul followed his father, still gazing at the masterful details as they grew closer. Finally, they arrived at a large door made completely of steel. The half-orc twisted his face in confusion. “Tormag, why is the rest of the building covered in gold and baubles, but the door isn’t?”

“Bahah, ye don’t remember all I told ye? Gold be pretty, sure as stones, but it be weak. Steel is tough an’ resilient. Most every buildin’ in Tarabar has a steel door for protection—not that it’s ever been needed, mind ye.” Tormag raised his hand to the portal and bashed the side of his fist against it. Bop-bop-BANG. A moment later, the thick steel wall began sliding up from the bottom. As the door continued to open, a pair of steel boots could be seen on the other side, then legs, then the tip of a beard. Soon, Theiran was revealed in entirety, a welcome smile on his face despite the bandage around his head for the chunk of ear that had been bitten off. 

“Welcome, Tormag and Bitrayuul,” the senator began, his joy never fading. “It’s good to see ye.” 

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.

Home, Fangdarr thought again, padding through the gate with a grin on his face. His gaze flicked hungrily across the landscape, taking in the sight of the community. The crudely built abodes, the bustling orcs going about their day. Children, even. Fangdarr’s heart skipped a beat as he realized he had never really seen his own people before. A swelling sense of pride filled within him. 

It had never occurred to the orc just how many others of his kind there may be. Hundreds were outside their homes, brawling, lounging, or cooking large, succulent hunks of meat over the many fire pits within the village. As he watched his people, he noticed almost immediately that only the females seemed to be doing work. Every male just lazed around watching their mate work or playfully challenged other males to fights.

To Fangdarr, such an unfair division of labor seemed absurd and out of the ordinary. His mother had never told him of such practices. Instead, he and Bitrayuul—and even Tormag—had always aided Vrutnag with the work to be done. The prideful smile on the orc’s face faded, replaced with a scowl of disappointment. He let out a low growl as he watched one male down the path get up from the patch of grass in which he had rested just to scold and beat his mate. Fangdarr eyed all of the couple’s surrounding neighbors, hoping someone would step in. But his disappointment grew as not a single orc even batted an eye. 

Fangdarr sighed and began walking toward the center of the village again, no longer frozen in his tracks by the sights around him. Instead, he was reminded of his purpose to be there—to become chieftain. 

He knew he needed to tread carefully, however. Already he would be seen as an outsider. Upon taking his rightful title, Fangdarr knew that pushing instant reform would bring him nothing more than a knife in his skull while he slept. Stomping down the path, he passed the orc that had beaten and scolded the female. Holding back his urge to beat the orc to death, Fangdarr offered naught but a hateful glare as he walked past. 

As he made his way to the large tent in the center of the village that could only belong to the current chieftain, Fangdarr couldn’t get his mind off of the suffering. He had been raised differently, better. Females were nothing less than equals in his mind, and he hated knowing half of his clan was suffering in silence. And for how long? He could only assume such was their way, and always had been. Had his father truly seen no fault in such practice? Fangdarr found himself baring his teeth as new truths came to light.

Blinded by his frustration, Fangdarr nearly bumped into a large statue outside the chieftain’s tent. The startlement only made him angrier and he turned toward the tent, nostrils flared. As he turned, he realized that he had been followed by a few curious onlookers. It was clear they knew his marvelous weapon, but not the orc who now wielded it.

It was now or never. “I come to challenge chieftain!” Fangdarr howled at the top of his lungs, loud enough for every orc within a hundred paces to hear.