Velicion held back a regretful breath of air as she slowly sunk her hands deeper into the ice-cold waters of the hastily dug scrying pool. As words of sorcerous power began to flow from her lips, hushed whispers began to reach her ears as the men around her spoke amongst one another. Some spoke about the elven woman's magic while most appeared to be more concerned with the far more pressing matters. Namely, the fact that there were now two gaping holes in the walls of the encampment.

These gaps could prove fatal if they weren't dealt with in a quick and effective manner.

"Looks like I do owe you that beer, Alexei.” Came a voice off to her left. “Who knew that these beasts would be so smart and try to outdo us with something like tunnels."

Velicion couldn't quite catch what Alexei had said about his compatriots' apparent loss of a wager as Ruined Home’s true leader called out for silence.

"Quiet down," Captain Boris's voice boomed out across the tightly packed confines of the tent as the man raised his hands into the air to help silence the remaining few stragglers who felt they needed to say something to one another. "Gentlemen, we've got work to do and it’s best if we get to it right away. Vladok, gather up some men and get them to build a defensive wall of pikes to help the men already there."

The officer replied with enthusiasm and rushed off to do as ordered, the man's shouts for men to assemble could be heard over the surprisingly loud chuckles that shortly followed the human lieutenants' departure. As Velicion moved the spell towards one of the destroyed sections of Ruined Home's wooden palisades, she silently wondered what the human's had found so funny, but the sorceress didn't care enough to find out on her own accord.

For now, her attention was focused squarely on the men arrayed before one of the two gaps in the encampment's lightly fortified walls.

Within the brightly lit, crystal clear waters stood were four rows of spear-wielding men who stood in a half-circle to prevent any of the besieging forces from slipping past their lines. In front of them were large, oblong shields to help with beating back any would-be attackers. Behind the spearmen stood two rows of archers who appeared to be more relaxed than their melee counterparts, but remained alert nonetheless.

As for any signs of an attempt to assault the freshly opened gaps, there appeared to be none. Velicion zoomed in and out of the spell as she moved back and forth between the two openings as a confused expression grew on her face. No matter how carefully she looked, there were no signs of any attempts to even approach the walls.

Just as the seemingly bizarre choice of inaction from their enemy peaked at it's highest point, Captain Boris knelt beside the elven woman and pointed towards a large crater beyond where the moat once was. "Looks like they didn't know what they were doing." The man said as the tips of his fingers touched the water. The grizzled veteran pulled his hand back, and curiously rubbed his fingers together. He wanted to know what it was like to touch magically altered water and frowned as he learned that it was no different from the very water he drank from every day. "Poor bastards were either drowned, suffocated or were crushed when the tunnel collapsed on their heads."

Velicion looked towards the human as a gentle smile appeared on her face. "Captain Boris, I didn't take you as the kind who felt sorrow for the likes of inhuman beasts."

Captain Boris shook his head as he looked to the elven woman. "Rest assured; I don't feel the slightest bit of sympathy for those monsters out there. I'm just stating on how they would have died, nothing more to it than that."

The sorceress grunted in reply to the man's words as she returned her focus to the images that lay before them. Velicion returned the spell to the first section of wall she had combed through previously and with a lightning-quick flick of her hand forced the images to meld together in an eye-straining blur.

Colors and shapes mixed into a singular chaotic mess as the spell launched itself forward, never slowing down until the sorceress reached out with her left hand and tightly clenched her fist.

In an instant, the spell had stopped and slowly refocused itself.

"Neat trick." Captain Boris said as he stood back up while crossing his arms across his chest.

"Why, thank you." Velicion said with a smile as her eye's remained locked on the images in front of her.

There was nothing all that impressive with what the sorceress saw before her. To Velicion, it seemed like an ordinary orc encampment. A mishmash of poorly constructed buildings had been hastily thrown together while hordes of grey-skinned goblins weaved in and out of the spell's vision as the hurried busybodies went about their business.

On occasion, there were a few minor brawls and scraps that broke out over one thing or another, but oftentimes the creatures ignored such events and continued on with their miserable lives. It was only when these fights threatened to explode into something more did an orc or two move in and beat both sides bloody. A few of the goblins were left unconscious and trampled beneath the boots of their brethren as the seemingly uncaring crowd went about their business.

"Such barbarity." Captain Boris said under his breath as he continued to watch the images before him.

Velicion nodded her head as she silently agreed with the man's words. Not because of how the orc's conducted themselves out in public, as she believed to be the reasoning for the human's distaste, but the lack of finesse and disorderly conduct in how the creatures solved their issues. When an elf of the great kingdom of Dar'Nari needed to find a solution to a problem, they would turn towards the shadow and resolve the ordeal in a manner that was quiet and away from any prying eye's.

To the sorceress, that was how a civilized society dealt with its problems, but the lithe elf understood that not all races saw it as such.

For a long while, there was a quiet pause between the two individuals. The sorceress would continue to move the spell in one direction or another while the human would stand quietly at her side as his attention remained locked in whatever plan was slowly beginning to formulate in the back of his mind. On the rare occasion, the man would point out some detail or another that the sorceress had overlooked or saw as insignificant, but the two would eventually return to silence as time continued to trudge forward.

It was only when the sorceress returned to the ruined section of the encampment's walls did the man speak up.

"I don't suppose you would be able to help us in locating any more of these tunnels, would you?" Captain Boris asked as he scratched longingly at the side of his face.

Velicion looked down and off to the side as she thought of what next to say.

While she was aware of a few capable individuals who would be able to do as the human had asked, the sorceress was incapable of bringing their knowledge to any use. Velicion knew of a few words of power that would be needed to concoct a spell, but the correct tone of her chants, as well as the precise sorcerous phrases, were out of her reach.

"While I am aware of a few select spells that could be of some use to us in our time of need." The sorceress chose her words carefully as she was hesitant to admit such a fact. "It would be foolish of me to say that I would know the correct incantations to produce their desired effects. At least without blowing us up in the process, or catching the forest on fire and us along with it."

Captain Boris let out a wordless grunt as he listened to the woman speak. Throughout most of the sorceress's explanation, the man had kept a stone-faced expression on his person.

It was something that the elven woman disliked about the man, not because of the way he acted but because she wasn't so used in having to deal with someone who remained so expressionlessly serious for most of their time together.

"But you do have some idea as to what it would take in creating this spell?" Captain Boris asked as he turned to look back at the men around them. The man pointed towards an older gentleman and snapped his fingers before beckoning the officer to come forward.

The two men whispered with one another as the sorceress spoke next. "An idea, yes, but I must warn you that these sorts of things are not where my expertise lies in. As I've said before, I mainly deal with enchantments and magical machinations on a much grander scale than this. While I may be able to come up with something, what I need the most is time."

"How much time do you think you would need?" The human commander asked of the elven woman as he waved away the officer at his side.

Velicion shrugged her shoulders as she answered almost immediately. "If I rush it, then it would only be a matter of days. If I do things right, then it could take weeks before I come up with something of use."

Captain Boris let out another grunt before he continued to speak. "I take it that rushing things won't get us what we want. If anything at all."

The sorceress offered up a simple nod of her head as a means of giving the man an answer.

"Very well," The man said as he turned to face his remaining officers. "Listen up!"

What little conversation there was between the various men soon quieted down as everyone turned to look at their commanding officer.

"As of right now," Captain Boris began as he raised his hands into the air. "If you aren't assigned to any specific tasks than consider yourself as having been volunteered for what I want out of all of you."

The man went on to explain what it was that he needed his men to do. Working in shifts, groups of workers would set out and begin to clear out the front portion of the encampment. This task would require the assembled workers to remove anything of value that stood at a reasonable distance from the front gate and push everything past the mess tent. Once that was done, then various teams would be created to help move the plan forward. In doing so, the men would begin to dig trenches, pitfalls and other numerous earthworks that would work in tandem with one another to slow down the enemy advance after they had finally breached the walls in earnest.

The humans, elves, and dwarf would wait behind the safety of their defensive line and deplete the enemy's forces until it became time to enter the final, brutal melee of the siege.

"That's quite the extensive defensive live you've gone and made for yourself." Velicion clapped her hands once together to offer up her support for the commander's lofty goal. "But I have to wonder just how far we would be able to get before the inevitable happens. Orcs are everything, but the patient sort. Whoever is in charge of that messy blob of muscle out there will eventually grow tired of waiting after so many setbacks."

Captain Boris let out a low hum as he took the elven woman's words in stride. It didn't take long for the man to cross his arms across his chest and turn to look at the sorceress. "If we gather up every abled body this camp has to offer and work around the clock, then it's possible we might be able to get everything done with some time to spare."

Velicion offered the man a knowing smile as she let out a deceitful chuckle. "Every abled body?"

Captain Boris raised an eyebrow at her words but kept quiet as he nodded his head.

"Perfect." The woman said as her thoughts turned towards the lazy teenager that was 'Lady' Iskra.

The cadenced stomping of boots and clattering of loosely worn gear had proven to be quite the solemn lullaby to Dasher's weary ears. The exhausted warlords' head bobbed up and down as the musicians of his ragtag army began to sound off in earnest while the bannermen raised the black and red banners of his forces as high into the air as they could physically lift them. The standards, created out of the flayed skin and bones of their fallen enemies, fluttered happily in the breeze as the giddy forces of the Tall Lady's Chosen marched in unison.

Morale was said to be at an astronomical point for the goblins under his command, and an astounded Dasher, the Tall Lady's Chosen as he was called, could see as to why that would be the case.

A whirlwind of battles had been fought, and a tide of victory had managed to drown every one of them in the blood of their enemies. With each resounding success, their numbers had grown. The army was now at the point where many had questioned as to how large they were. There was no real way for the goblins of the roaming army to find out their exact headcount, as education was an absolute rarity in the volcanic region.

Attempts had been made, and their efforts had failed. For now, talk of the finer points of managing an army was best left unsaid and undone. They had battles to wage and blood to spill.

However, even when the band of former enemies and the freed drudges of their old tribes were at a zenith, that didn't stop them from talking amongst one another.

There were talks that the army was lost — led by the clouded mind of a crazed, delusional goblin who had hit his head one too many times. At first, such things had been left to the shadows of the encamped army. Whispered amongst the guards as they waited for night to turn into day, but when days had gone by, and the army had seen no adversaries for nearly two weeks, it was here that the whispers turned into talks full of resentment.

There had been rumors that Dasher had grown cowardly during this time. That their estranged savior was leading them on a wild goose chase with no clear goal in mind. At first, One-Eye and the rest of Dasher's trusted advisors had managed to calm these rumors and put things to rest, but everything came to a grinding halt when his loyal officers had eventually confronted the warlord.

They had asked about his plans, where they were going, what they were doing, and when they were next going to fight. Dasher had watched as they were left unsatisfied with what he had said next.

"We're on a journey," He had claimed, in a vain hope that was enough. "To where and when I can't say, but give me some more time, and I will happily lead us to our next battle. Our next victory."

The officers had left displeased with their leader that night and had only spoken to him on the occasions where it was necessary. For the days that followed their seemingly mindless march since then, the army's leadership had kept to themselves in silence.

For the countless agonizing nights that followed, Dasher had struggled to find a solution to this newfound error in his leadership. For days on end, he would pace around the encamped army, speaking with those rare few that would let him. They had spoken of their desire to kill, to seek out the rivals of their now-defunct tribes, to slaughter their enemies and let the blood of the fallen drown the world. For each of these conversations, a somber Dasher had thanked them for their time and moved on in search of the next individual who would speak with him.

The insatiable hunger for blood amongst his brethren wasn't new to him. Orcs and goblins were two races that had been bred for war by the very gods that had created them. Wars were the only thing the gods of his people cared for, as death and destruction were what made them smile upon the world. Smiles that were said to give birth to untold legions of orcs and goblins that would unleash further bouts of chaos and death amongst the mortal realm.

Dasher had even felt the insatiable hunger for conflict boil up inside of very being as they went from one battle to the next. His blood-drenched smile was a common sight after each victory.

Eventually, the need to spill blood had forced his army to find and create an enemy that would give them a proper fight. None other than the very army whose banner they now marched under.

At first, these fights were small brawls and only occurred at the dead of night. Dasher had chastised his advisors for their lack of discipline and ordered them to quell the unrest growing amongst the ranks. They had obliged him, but the warlord knew that time was something he didn't have much left of. Even the smallest of rebellions against his rule would spell doom to everything that he had put the effort in creating.

He needed to find a new enemy. One that would give pause to the rebellious thoughts growing amongst the very people he had saved.

It was on the morning of the twelfth day on their endless march that an answer had greeted the groggy warlord. Everywhere he looked, he recognized as being close to where he had once lived before being rescued by the Tall Lady and her elven Spell Chucka.

The distant, snow-peaked mountains loomed in the clouded horizon while the dry and rocky golden plains stretched out into the oblivion. Dasher recognized the area as being the domain of his former people, the Bonechewer tribe. His old home was led by an orc of ill-repute that had long resorted to cannibalism as a means to satiate his ever-growing hunger. Thok'rul the Starving was an orc of ghastly proportions. His flesh shined brightly with the blood and fatty grease of those he had consumed. His pustule and wart covered skin folded over itself many times over, and the rotund warlord struggled to keep himself standing under his immense weight.

Somehow, the terrifying master of the once cowardly goblin had managed to hold on to his power. His enemies were surprisingly rare, and those he had trusted to keep order amongst his countless sacrificial meals were kept on the brink of starvation. Dasher had always wondered how the orc had done what he had done, but the goblin never bothered to seek out the answers to his questions.

Only when the time had come time for the goblin to be sacrificed into the communal pot that Dasher had found his courage rising to the top and surprising even the most unemotional of his tribesmen. During that night, the newly risen warlord had made a fool of his former master and escaped into the night. The rest was history.

Upon realizing as to where they were, Dasher had gathered his advisors and spoke to them in renewed vigor. "The lot of you are right to be angry with me," He began as the excited warlord stumbled over his words. "But the time has come for us to fight a new enemy. An enemy that I'm all too familiar with."

His advisors looked to one another with looks of disbelief in their eyes as they waited for him to continue in his explanation.

"This enemy," Dasher continued as he looked between each of his lieutenants. "Is none other than my former clan, the Bonechewer tribe." The warlord paused to see if the name would cause a reaction amongst those around him, but when none came, he continued. "There's not much to say about them except for the fact that they are led by an orc who goes by the name of Thok'rul the Starving. He is someone who takes great pride in his weight and cannibalistic desires to eat the flesh off of the very bones of his own people. It is him that we are to set out and take the next step in the prophecy given to me by the Tall Lady. She has claimed that in order for me to return to her, I must bring with me the head of a gluttonous pig. At first, I didn't know what to make of what she had said, and for this entire time that we had spent wandering without purpose, I can only offer up my apologies."

It was here that One-Eye spoke up. "Warmaster," The one-eyed goblin said as he crossed his heavily scarred arms together. Dasher turned to the trusted advisor and smiled as he watched the man spit at the ground. "Just get on with it. We don't have all day to sit here and shine the dirt at our feet."

Laughter filled the air as Dasher obliged his subordinate's wish and gave them what they wanted to hear. "We've got a days march ahead of us if we want to hurry up and give ourselves a proper fight. Get the others in marching order and tell them to steel themselves for what happens next. Thok'rul is not the sort of orc who takes those who ruin his meals lightly. We've got a hell of a fight ahead of us."

Toothy grins flashed before the smiling warlord as each of his revitalized officers slammed a closed fist against their chests.

"Great One! Great One!" Came the shrill and nerve-wracked voice of Gor'uk, the bone-thin lieutenant of Thok'rul the Starving. The pitiful orc nearly tripped over himself as he burst into his master's foul-smelling abode and flung himself onto his hands and knees. The sniveling creature looked up at his belching ruler with a look of great remorse as his stomach rumbled in hunger.

Thok'rul, the rightful master of the Bonechewer tribe, let out a displeased growl as the obese and rotund bellied orc reached out with a disease-riddled hand and plunged it into the boiling water of the nearby rusted black iron pot. Rotten flesh and puss oozing warts sizzled and popped beneath the searing hot water as the tribe's singular lord continued to stare down at the tongue lapping creature that dared to be born as an orc.

Thok'rul never flinched as the filth, and grease-covered warlord pulled out a well-cooked goblin leg. The ever ravenous warlord had lost the sensation of pain throughout most of his body many years ago. All thanks to the many layers of fat that now covered his body.

A low rumble escaped from deep within the rotund orc's many folds of flesh that made up his bloated stomach as the master of the Bonechewer's took a deep bite out of the freshly cooked piece of meat. "Spit it out." Thok'rul said with a lustful moan. The cannibalistic warlord chewed slowly, taking extra care to savor every once of well-boiled meat that graced his tongue. The orc smacked his greasy lips together as he glared at his underfed minion as he waited for his response.

Gor'uk's stomach rumbled in pain at the sight of his well-fed master happily gorging himself on the remains of one of his many unfortunate tribesmen. The orc let out a wheezing cough to cover the sound of his obvious hunger, a sound that was viewed by his harsh master as a show of great disrespect towards his rule. The unfortunate messenger could only look to the ground in cowardice as he struggled to speak.

"Gor'uk! Speak your words." The rotund warlord bellowed, annoyed by the fact that he had to repeat his commands for a second time.

Gor'uk could only shake his to clear away the thoughts of what little scraps of food he would imagine himself eating this night; it had been so long since he last had a decent bite to eat. "The guards are reporting that unknown scouts have been spotted off in the horizon. They claim that they bear a banner that is unique to the many tribes that lay claim to our rightful holy land." Gor'uk paused as his stomach growled for a second time. With very little strength left in him, he could only flinch in terror as his imagination ran wild as to what would happen next.

The pitiful orc pulled back in fright as something snapped and landed next to his head. "Be gracious that I'm more curious than hungry," His master's words returned him to reality as Gor'uk opened his eyes to see a string of stubby toes just mere centimeters from his nose. The orc, who was nothing more than skin and bones, happily garbled up his master's gracious gift: dirt and all. "Now speak up and continue."

Thok'rul could only snarl as he watched the orc before him grovel his thanks as he noisily chewed on the scant amount of scraps that had been provided to him.

"The guards claim that this mysterious band have set up camp just over the horizon and are happily eating their fill for the night." Gor'uk finished his tale as tears rolled down the side of his face, happily savoring what might very well be the last meal he could ever have.

Gor'uk's imagination ran wild as he waited for his master's next course of action. The orc was well aware of the cruel fates that awaited those that had the misfortunate audacity to bring the wicked master of the Bonechewer tribe grave news or ill-timed reports. He could only hold back his breath as he next waited on his punishment.

"Gor'uk," Thok'rul said as a smile crept onto his plump face. Rotten teeth and bits of hastily chewed flesh greeted the underfed fearful minion's nervous stare. "Go and fetch me Terror. The poor thing must be begging to be let out of his pit."

A look of horror flashed across Gor'uk's face at his master's mention of his trusted mount. Terror, as it had quickly became known as throughout the tribe, was an overfed and terrifying giant hog that had been kept by Thok'rul for many years. The two had been interlinked with one another when the warlord and hog were found together, brutally gorging themselves upon the rotted corpses of the animal's mother. Ever since then, the pair had terrorized and ransacked the local area until the rotund warlord's ascension as the rightful master of the Bonechewer tribe.

Slowly, the boney orc rose to his feet and bowed for as long as he was physically able to. It was only when Thok'rul next spoke did the terrified orc move to do as he was ordered. "Finally," A jovial Thok'rul the Starving said as he watched the pitiful creature depart. "More flesh for me to eat."