Orc Lord

In the center of the southern Black Mountain forest, there was a clearing wide enough for a village, but no village was built there. The trees surrounding this clearing were thick and warped compared to the smooth tall pines found elsewhere in the region. Cluttered in their branches were large black birds and even larger blood red birds. They were relatively weak Magic Beasts called Bloodwing birds (although the females didn't have any bright markings).

Because of the presence of Bloodwings here, there weren't many insects or small mammals making noise. Only the sound of mellow chirps occasionally broke the stiff air.

Though there were no buildings in this clearing, there was a structure. Concentric rings of dark stones--easily a seventy feet in diameter at the widest--formed stairs that lead down to a low platform. Stone arches encircled that lowest spot, and a five foot tall obelisk with a rounded top was perched in the center. Extending out from the obelisk were indented etchings in the stone, forming something like a spell pattern; however, the design was so bizarre that it was hard to imagine it would function.

Several wooden stools had been brought down to the platform. Twelve figures had been seated this way, and they were tall enough to have no trouble seeing whoever was on the other side of the obelisk.

One of the twelve figures, a Fomor with a particularly large and strong body and a scar that cost him one of his eyes, tapped his hoof on the ground. He gave a hard look at a much older and weaker Fomor and pushed a heavy breath through his nose.

“So essentially, you're saying that the generosity Baythes showed us this year was not a gift but a warning and an opportunity to prepare ourselves.”

“That is certainly one way to see it,” Demon Priest Rhathol nodded his shaggy head.

A female Small Baphomet, with her black-furred legs crossed, held one furless hand palm up. "Five of my fellow chosen unknowingly went to face that beast, and you're telling me they were all killed?" She shook her glossy black head. "I understand that Orcs wouldn't leave any bodies for us to recover, but do you have any actual proof, Rhathol?"

"And where would you suggest they vanished to?" A male Small Baphomet sitting on the stool beside hers chimed in. "I know it's hard to believe that a single pig could take on five of Baythes' chosen, but can you think of anything else to explain this situation? Please don't be so unreasonable, Azza."

Azza unfolded her legs and placed both hooves squarely on the ground. At the same time, she crossed her arms. "Of course I know that, but asking someone to just suddenly accept that an Orc Lord appeared out of nowhere is too much! Don't be so hard on me for saying what everyone else is thinking."

"You also shouldn't be so hard on Neff, Azza" a young Fomor man called out. "You got your point across already. So, Rhathol, do you have anything that could convince us that what we're dealing with is an Orc Lord?"

The old man stroked his beard. "To be perfectly honest, I don't. But our enemy is clearly strong. I believe that in order to achieve victory, we should plan as though we were facing an Orc Lord."

"Well said," the large Fomor, Bazarath, nodded. "If nobody disagrees, I would like to move on to discussing tactics."

Bazarath ran his eyes over each of the others in turn. When none showed any opposition, he stroked the massive battle axe that was leaned up against his stool. It was made of some Magic Beast’s bones and reinforced with bands of rough metal. Though Bazarath was a better warrior than he was a priest, he had guided his village to practice primitive blacksmithing. Bone and metal weapons were much stronger than the bone and stone weapons that other Fomors used, so his village had been able to prosper.

“Of course, I am prepared to lead my soldiers from the front. If there is time, I will make an exception and freely reinforce the weapons of your best fighters.”

A lay person might wonder why earth magic casters couldn't just make weapons themselves, and the reason is simple. The metals that can be made with low level earth magic are brittle and weak compared to the bones of a Magic Beast; however, they're still stronger than any stone that can be conjured with the same level of magic.

Also, the skill of the magic casters with and the blacksmiths in Bazarath’s village were about equal, but there were far fewer magic casters available. As a result, they were basically just used to produce lumps of metal, and the smiths would take care of the rest.

“Ah, finally. Bazarath, I was starting to think you were going to hold out on me forever.” The young Fomor who had stopped the feud between the two Small Baphomets broke out into a grin.

The young Fomor was named Fehan, and leaned up against his stool was a sturdy spear. It looked to be made from some kind of petrified plant, but that plant had been a Magic Beast, so its remains were quite sturdy.

Fehan and Bazarath were rumored to be similar in skill with their respective weapons, but they weren't able to get along well. They simply had different philosophies on the joys of battle and the meaning of strength. Their relationship had been rocky ever since they first met. At that time, Fehan had sought Bazarath out as a potential teacher. Each more or less decided that the other was trash that day.

“What? Your current weapon isn't good enough, Fehan? Aren't there other talented warriors whose weapons are far more lacking? I don't know if there will be time to get to yours.”

“But it seems to me that the most talented fighters should be tended to first. If I have to do it your way, I can just pass this spear off to someone else and jump to the top of the list, right? If you're determined not to make a weapon for me, then just say it directly.”

“Now who’s arguing about pointless things?” Azza huffed. “You two can discuss this later. We were supposed to go over tactics here, tactics.” She paused and crossed her legs, folding her arms over her naked chest. “My village is mostly magic casters, but I'm prepared to bring every last one of them. About twenty of them aren't fit for battle, but they can still cast some support spells, or take care of domestic magic; so the fighters can preserve their Magic Power.”

Azza then glanced at Neff, goading him to show what he could bring to the table.

“Ah, my village is fairly new, so the skilled people are a little lacking. It’s pretty balanced between warriors and magic casters, but they're all fairly expendable. Sorry, but they would do best as support troops, carrying supplies and such. But I'll work hard with my magic and swords, and they're people who’ve loyally followed me all this time, so please don't fault them too greatly.”

Fehan smiled and stroked his spear. “I may be someone who fights on the front line myself, but my companions learned more scouting-type skills in order to support me where I was lacking. They've got pretty good heads on their shoulders, so feel free to make use of them.”

Other chiefs of the center villages gave an account of what they could provide for the war effort; be it troops, supplies, or something else.

Rhathol nodded with satisfaction when the turn came to him. “Sadly, the people of my village would only become more power for the enemy. Instead, we will focus our efforts on creating magic medicines for the soldiers at the front to use.” He paused briefly before changing the subject. “My village is the closest left to that strange structure the enemy put up, so shall we gather there?”

“Naturally. If we don't come, you will simply be the next to be crushed,” Bazarath chuckled. “Do you think you can hold out for five days?”

The old Fomor shrugged. “That depends more on the opponent than myself. Please come right over if you finish earlier than expected.”

A consensus seemed to have been reached, so a Fomor Demon Priest far older than Rhathol stood up from his stool. He had to lean heavily against his wooden staff just to stay upright.

“If our meeting is over, shall we call the young people forward?”

The other chiefs stood up and picked up their stools, retreating to the outer circle of the stone formation. A few Fomors carrying male Bloodwing Birds tied with netting passed them on their way down.

“It’s so strange to be doing this this late in the season,” Azza muttered. “And for the second time!”

“Well, I also hope Lord Baythes doesn't get upset with us for this,” Neff replied. “After all, most of the chosen he bestowed have already died. He must think we’re incompetent.”

“I wonder if there will even be any new chosen this year. Three young ones already joined me this summer. It would be even better if there were more.” Azza swished her long goat tail and smiled.

As much as Azza and Neff looked the same age, Small Baphomets simply didn’t show their age on their bodies. Azza was already almost thirty years old, with honed skills in magic and well-established ability. Meanwhile, Neff had only been alive for six years, and had only been a Small Baphomet for two. It couldn't be helped that most of the new chosen flocked to her village rather than his, but it still felt a little strange watching her anticipate it so obviously.

“Alright, let’s watch from here,” Azza placed her stool down and took a seat.

Many promising young Fomors had been gathered from the twelve villages to stand in the lower rings of the formation. In the center, beside the obelisk, was the old Priest from earlier and two others. One by one, they spoke spell-like prayers to the Sin Lord and slit the throats of the Bloodwing males over the top of the obelisk. They did it repeatedly until their blood filled the strange etchings on the floor. The floor wasn't truly even, and as the blood pooled in certain places, the chaotic carving transformed into a proper magic circle. When they finished, the obelisk was completely covered in thick, hot blood.

Neff held his breath; the Demonic Spirits inside of him were anticipating something great, and that feeling reached him as well.

As the three Fomor Priests continued chanting their prayers, the blood on the ground began to shine with black light, and the blood in the obelisk started to boil. Finally, the blood on the obelisk rose up into the air. It mimicked the shape of the obelisk-- but upside down--and floated directly above it. The sticky red liquid was soon replaced by an inky black hole, through which a chilly, buzzing wind could be felt.

“This part never lasts long enough,” Azza leaned forward and sighed.

It wasn't long before the disturbing wind was replaced by a trickle of floating skulls made up of black fog. They moved silently, without a presence, accelerating and decelerating strangely; searching for suitable souls to corrupt. Azza and Neff, as well as others with the Demonic attribute, were the only ones here who could see them.

This was already an impressive amount of these Terror Curses to appear. Over the summer, an amazing twelve had sprung forth out of nowhere. Three of them ran off somewhere though. But even as Azza was marveling at the generosity of her Lord, the portal seemed to bulge up. Tens of Terror Curses flooded out in a single breath, cluttering the sky above the formation. Azza couldn't help but jump to her feet.

It’s a swarm!

Clearly, Lord Baythes was trying to protect them from the Orc Lord; he still cared that his fallen children were out in this wilderness! And he trusted them to eradicate the threat with this power!

Perhaps this was even a chance for a few of them to redeem themselves and become devils once more.