Skirmish (Fangdarr): Home

Skirmish (Fangdarr): Home

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 stood in the forest, eyeing the crude walls of the orc village. His village, he realized, had his mother never fled. That was where he belonged, as his father had. Taking in the sight for the first time, Fangdarr couldn’t help but feel an inviting sense of longing. Truth be told, there was nothing special about it—the walls consisted of thick logs, impaled into the earth as if by no design. But it screamed ‘Orc’, raw and chaotic. 

Taking another step forward, Fangdarr found a smile on his face. This was what he had been searching for, he believed. A home to call his own, others like him, and his father’s legacy. He could hardly believe how it all had turned out. Meeting Raz’ja and building the alliance had proven truly beneficial for the lone orc. The troll chieftain had taught him all he knew of orcs and their customs—details even his mother or Tormag refused to provide, for one reason or another. 

Namely, the Ortuk Malid. Fangdarr’s path required he become chieftain of the vicious beasts of the Zharnik clan, as his father, Brutigarr, had been. And the Ortuk Malid, a challenge for the right to lead, was the way in.

At first, he had been surprised that Raz’ja did not accompany him, to show Fangdarr’s strength with thousands of trolls standing behind him. But he knew this was a task he needed to accomplish alone. ‘Ya must proove this to yaself, Fangdarr,’ the troll had said to him. ‘But dont’cha worry, friend. Once ya are chieftain, the work begins.’ 

Fangdarr didn’t know exactly what Raz’ja had meant, but, if one thing was certain, it was that the trolls would not miss any opportunity to weaken the goodly races of Crein. Furthermore, he trusted the troll would keep his word. All that remained was to become chieftain of the Zharnik clan.

Looking up, Fangdarr saw the gates—if they could even be called such—of the village and a pair of orcs leaning lazily against the wall, spears in each hand. He felt trepidation sink in as he approached, expecting them to charge him with reckless abandon. Yet, they each offered naught but a glance and a lackluster grunt of acknowledgement as he passed through. 

Elated, his face twisted to a smile. Father, I’m home.