Heirs of Hatred

Chapter 2: Family

The darkling without a name took time with his journey through the lands of ash and fire. He was already weakened from the chase and the fight and It would have been unwise to lose all the strength of your legs so close to the burning mountains.

Now that the battle was over his body allowed him to feel more of the harsh land once more. The burning heat that came with every ashen breeze to his darkened face, the scent of sulphur hidden in the thick smoke and the cutting of tiny corns of obsidian that came with the rising hot wind torching his skin.

It was done. The scroll was his and soon would be his name. He dared to smile and grunted at the thought for his name was more than but his own legacy. It was a weight on his shoulders that he had to earn again, that he had to prove and carry until those after him would do the same. If she would ever take his name.

His father was once a man proud of his conquests, a rider of the sky to battles in the south. A proud defender against the Arch Druid and his minions. Some warriors in his clan still whispered his name and told the grand stories. Ara'gash, the mountain on wings. It was said the clans of the south told their children of the evil mountainous shadow from the sky that carried the name Ara'gash. Tales to make sure the children would not leave the tents at night. To fill them with fear for the shadows from the sky, fear for fire that would rain down if they wouldn't listen and axes that would break their own if they wouldn't do their chores.

The darkling without a name, was always proud that the weight of his fathers name now was resting on him. But even greater was the pain when he lost his own. Even more reason why he would not be beaten by the land now that the battles were behind him. If anything his long walk through the ashen plains was his last test to regain his pride. No matter the burning pain of overused muscles or the lack of sleep the last days carried. Because to sleep in these lands was deadly. The lounges would fill with smoke and ash, so most orcs who had closed their eyes here, never woke up again. Sleep going into death, a peaceful end in a burning land. An end he was not allowed to have.

He looked up as a ball of molten earth crossed the sky. His burning eyes were sharp to pierce through the smoke and make sure no drop would fall in his direction. "The dragon must feel his victory is close" he thought as the fire passed through the black smoke. Once it had passed he continued with a more fierce and faster step, knowing that soon he would reach the upward path. It was as treacherous as the rest of their lands, for in the ever growing darkness of the smoke most did not realise that they were walking uphill until the mountain would suddenly become steeper and the obsidian of it sharper.

Each of his steps was filled with pain, but followed with a grin just as he was taught. "It will betray your senses." He remembered "When your muscles burn, your grin will be the snow." his father had taught him "In time your day will feel wrong without it. Now take my axe and try to swing again".

If his father had known what kind of pain his son would endure in the weeks to come, he would have chosen his words differently. But only fools and children lived without mistakes and even if the darkling would never allow that thought to fully happen, his fathers mistakes would cast a grand shadow over the clans. Even more so in the weeks to come.

As much as Great Khan Ara'Gash's life was a tale of grandior and legend, his end was not. He lost his beast in a great attack against the Arch Druid's tower deep in the white wastes of the south. His fight was as grand as his life and legend said that he fell an entire clan that day, but the hordes of the south were unending and so, he was captured.

A shiver ran down the darkling's spine as he remembered his father's last return. That legend of their clan was no proud warrior of axe and muscle any longer, but had been turned into a mindless werebeast. The hair on his muscles had grown to fur, his teeth had become even sharper than those of an orc and his axe was now swung wildly in the name of the Arch Druid and not with purpose and for the dragon any longer. Maybe it was a warning that the Arch Druid had sent this greatest of all warriors back to his own clan to wreak havoc, maybe there was still a slither of his own mind left and he simply wanted to go home, but it did not matter either way. Not for the darkling, so he told himself, and certainly not for the clan. For it was a great battle that day, that had changed the life of many and for some even to the better. But their fate did not change that he hated the final fate this grand warrior that was his father had to endure. His suffering was ended by him, after both day and night of battle through the snow filled pines of the Frost Song Valley. But many protected their clan that day and those that did not only did so because they were not alarmed. For the valley was big, maybe even bigger than the ashen plains, but it was hard to tell. No one would ever count their steps through either and the time to travel through the land would differ from orc to orc and in case of the valley from season to season.