“Since the dawn of time itself, when the first tribes began roaming the deserts of Durth, our history has been one clad in the glory of War. No more will we fight for others. Today, we fight to reclaim OUR War.”

Address before The Fall of Okoro - Duruk Warbringer.

It had been twenty years since the orcish tribes had begun their rebellion. War-slaves of Jaka for nearly a century, what they lacked in talented officers they made up for with the savage rage and might of every single warrior.

Eight years, since Duruk had left my company to join the rebellion, and the orcs had suffered no more for the lack of talented leaders.

Duruk looked a bit older for the wear when I greeted him in his war tent. He was approaching forty summers, I knew, but it must have been the shamanic spells the orcs had begun to reclaim as their heritage that were keeping him young and looking only ‘slightly older for wear’. The Gods only knew the depth of the fervor with which the Tribes worshipped their war-hero. Their Warbringer. Despite the advantages of my own bloodline, I could not stop a pang of jealousy at the sight.

Dressed in a simple black garb and iron silver hair slicked back in a ponytail, Duruk still rose to greet me when I entered the tent. His tusks, yellow with age, jutted out of his mouth and sported only a simple band of obsidian that displayed his rank as Warbringer.

“Jak’tur. It has been a long time.” he said.

“A great many years, Duruk.” I said, grasping his arm in the soldier’s salute.

“Sit.” He said, gesturing to the rugs.

Before we could exchange more pleasantries, Duruk began speaking again, though I hid my distaste. I had forgotten how much the brute disdained basic etiquette.

“Four years since I last fought alongside you and the Desert Drakes. In remembrance of our camaraderie, I have hesitated to push the last offense on the Capital. Despite my title of Warbringer, I have no taste for senseless slaughter.” He paused, yellow eyes meeting mine.

“Okoro will soon fall against us, and with it, the last stronghold of the Empire. I offer you this last chance to surrender and prevent the unnecessary deaths of thousands.”

I gazed around the tent. Tapestries depicting the many battles he’d fought since we’d parted paths adorned the walls. Duruk escaping slavery. Duruk sparing Torok, the chieftain of the Tribe of Grey Wolves whom he had defeated in single combat. Duruk raising the banner of the Twelve Tribes in the sand swamps of Skursh, the first blow the orcs had landed on the Empire. Duruk making an alliance with the jackal men, children of The God of Death and Carrion.

The last one had truly begun turning the tide against the Empire, and its strongholds had begun falling one by one to the terror of citizens and nobles alike.

“I hear that you’re a Warlord now. The greatest amongst the Chieftains in times of war. I might not be a Warlord, but I have led men to victories and their deaths for longer than a cycle of the Red Moon. You should know that there are few things that Lords and Chieftains, be they men or orcs, will not do to keep their power.”

I took a deep breath and called upon the djinn’s blood flowing in my veins. It had been weakening with age, but the amulet gifted me by the Emperor himself pulsed as a red-orange light began to shine under my skin. I pushed more fire than I ever had dared muster before into my hands and arms and lunged for Duruk’s throat. His guards had taken all of my blades, but I was never truly unarmed, not with the magic of djinns at my beck and call.

Not even the thick grey hide of the orcs could protect them from djinn-fire, and the fire in my palms immediately began burning away the skin of Duruk’s throat.

Duruk never flinched, didn’t even move to stop me as he continued to stare into my eyes.

My smile faltered. How did-

“How far you have fallen, Jak’tur, to play at games of shadows and assassins. I had hoped it would not be so, and that we might once again ride together into battle.”

To my growing dread, I saw his flesh was knitting itself back under my burning hands, the thick chords of muscle twisting like constrictors. Duruk’s own hands closed around my neck as two guards burst into the tent. Duruk barked out a guttural command, stopping them in their tracks.

Yellow eyes glistening, Duruk Warbringer looked into mine. .

“If only you’d known the things I have seen and done in these last four years, perhaps you would have chosen the correct side in this war, Jak’tur. Now you die.”

Seemingly unaware of the scorching heat that licked at my own face, he tightened his grips. I felt my bones creak under his monstrous strength.

Terrified, I flailed around in Duruk’s unyielding grip. I could not fail now, the Emperor, he-

There was a loud crack, and I thought no longer.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Duruk watched the life drain out of Jak’tur’s eyes with less sadness than he had expected. He had come too far in his battle and war to feel remorse for the deaths he caused, even those of his friends.

Morrow’s blessing had allowed him to grow in strength and vitality with every foe he slew. And though Jak’tur was far from the most powerful of djinn-born, Duruk felt his essence flowing into his body and strengthen him. It wasn’t much, compared to some of the other creatures he had defeated in the desert, but he would need every last bit of it for the coming battle.

“May you rest in the afterlife, old friend. I doubt that I will be seeing you.” He said, and gestured for the guards to carry the body away.

“Tell the council we convene in an hour.” He added, and the guards nodded.

It would take time for the Chieftains of the Tribes and Alphas of the Great Pack to gather, and so Duruk left the tent to wander the encampment.

Duruk walked amongst his soldiers who were gathered around the campfire, boiling their rations. He stopped to talk to squadron and platoon leaders and take in their complaints. It was more to calm his mind than actually solve problems. It had been years since the rebellion began, and the army worked together seamlessly like a finely greased machine.

“That was stupid, Warbringer. You endanger our entire campaign with your soft sentimentalities.” A silky voice caught him unaware, something that rarely happened to him nowadays.

Duruk sighed. There was exactly one soul in this encampment who would address him in such away, and could sneak up on him.

“I was in no danger, Niles. And even now, I am stronger than I was yesterday. A fair trade, in my eyes and Morrow.”

“Djinn-born are danger incarnate, you fool. If he had been just a little younger-”

“If I cower from a single Djinn-born, how do you propose we face the Emperor? We would be lucky if I did not fall on my face and start whimpering. Other djinn-born are but a candle compared to the raging flame of Child of the Sun himself.”

Niles, the Alpha of Alphas, he who had built the largest Pack since the days of the First Pack, cackled his strange laugh.

“You are mad, Warbringer. Which is why I am here fighting with you instead of still cowering and skulking around in the mountain ranges of Skoth. Duruk the Warbringer! Let us sing praises of your great deeds. Of your bulging muscles and ivory tusks! Of the way madness burns in your eyes in the midst of battle!”

‘Who-ever had thought it would be a good idea to teach the jackal men the Common Tongue should be flayed alive and hung’, thought Duruk, and not for the first time.

“Silence, you hideous excuse of a jackal. Or I will make the army march to the final battle singing once more the song of how Duruk defeated Niles, who thought himself cleverer than the Warbringer himself.” Duruk said, feigning seriousness.

Niles shook his head, chuckling.

“Let us be on our way, then. The council awaits you.” He said.

Duruk looked to the distance at the tall sand-stone walls of Okoro, the jewel of the desert and royal capital of the Jaka Empire. Tomorrow, they would fall.

“It is War that awaits us, Niles. War for freedom at last.”

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