Takarn walked back to his troop’s camp. His men, after the battle had decided to build a small encampment around Takarn’s shelter.

He was tired, it had been a long day. After returning successful from his raid he was taken to Khans Hill and honoured by the Khans, he was rewarded with 500 marks of Belador, the state currency of the orcs.

He entered into his camp, the men had cut down several trees to build a small perimeter around their camp.

He found Mivnev waiting in the centre, leaning against one of his men’s shelters.

“Are the preparations done?” He asked, having given her several tasks before being whisked away to Khans Hill.

“Yes my Bogdan, all is ready.” She said excitedly.

“Good, let us go then.” He said gesturing her to take him to their destination.

They walked quickly through the cold night air through the winding silent path ways that was the Haskaroth River at night.

Hey walked right to the banks of the river before stopping at a building which was still lit.

The building they had entered into was pungent with the smell of steel, fire and smoke and was lit by several dim wall torches.

And there, at the end of the room, slumped over an ancient anvil was an old, grey skinned wrinkled old orc and from him came the rhythmic sound of pounding metal.

“Old orc.” Takarn said roughly in greeting.

“Yes?” The orc grumbled as he turned a face heavy with frown lines and slick with both sweat and grime in their direction.

“Did you receive our order?” Said Takarn, he hid hidden a wagon full of iron ore and ingots before entering the encampment with orders for his men to retrieve it later in the day and bring it here, to the last Orcish blacksmith.

Blacksmithing as a trade had died in the plains with the old kingdom as with no new shipments of metal to be had it had faded into irrelevance.

This orc was a remanent of that time, as orcs could live anywhere up to 300 summers in age, although almost none lived that long thanks to the combative nature of their personalities.

Takarn personally was 34 summers old and in his prime.

“Yes I did but I still don’t understand I’m supposed to full fill it without metal?” He said in exasperation.

“Let us take care of that.” Takarn said while gesturing toward several of the orcs he had hidden outside earlier.

They walked up, carrying crates and set them down on the ground in front of the old smith, they laid down ten crates in total before leaving.

“How is this meant to help me?” The man said looking warily at the crates.

Mivnev looked toward him expectantly and he nodded allowing her to go into a tirade.

“Behold common orc, the wealth of Bogdan Takarn!” She said with a flourish while opening one of the many crates.

The man just stared at them dumbstruck, he looked down to the crates, and then back to Takarn and then back toward the crates.

“H-how did you get this?” He said finally and with much anticipation.

“We stumbled across it while on a stroll, now will you full fill the order or not?” Takarn said expectantly, he had already wasted too much time here, he had to leave before someone noticed.

“Ugh, let me check.” The man said flipping through several sheets of paper.

“You wanted me to craft 50 suits of plate armour, 50 spears and 50 long-knives correct.”

“That is correct, can you do it?”

“Of course I can do it.” Said the man while practically salivating at the thought of having so much metal to work on.

“Good, I will come back in three more days, I want it ready by then.” And with that Takarn left the old man alone as he practically launched himself onto the pile of iron.

And as the early winter morning sun rose on the camp and the first snows began to fall, fifty armoured boots walked away from the banks, ready, waiting for the summer, waiting for the war.