Grugok Arena,
Oerbora, Daggerfall
7:00 a.m 19thBanem 1092.
Uruk-thai, an ancient orcish tradition passed down through countless generations to reduce the all too real danger of an orc extinction by their own hands. The first Uruk-thai started when two warring orc clans realized they had lost over seventy percent of their population. To prevent the losses from getting any worse, the Uruk and Uthai chiefs agreed to host a duel to the death, to which the winner would go all the spoils.
History is not sure of the final champion's identity. But some speculate that the eventual name of the tradition, Uruk-thai, suggests that the Uruk chief emerged victorious.
Regardless, the important point is that following this, whenever an orc wanted to usurp another, rather than a bloody battle that would diminish the orcish forces, an Uruk-thai would be issued. Every war chief was obliged to answer at least once a month.
Strangely enough, despite the lure of the throne, Grimlock's reign as War Chief had seen very few Uruk-thai challenges. No orc was stupid enough to throw their lives away at the feet of this absolute monster.
But this day was different! On this day, an orc had actually issued Grimlock an Uruk-thai challenge! Renark Ragelock had dared to challenge the War Chief's throne! Had Renark dug his own grave, or would there be an upset after all these years? The surrounding orcs nervously watched as the Grimlock rose to his feet, ax in hand.
At a corner of the arena, Silver Spear's members sat among a company of curious wisbens and traders. Their guildmaster, Brilith Loneheart's beautiful green eyes sparkled as she observed the battle, eager to see who the eventual winner.
Grimlock, who at full height, stood a whole head above Renark, glared at the smaller orc as he hoisted his battle-ax. "This is your last chance, Ragelock. Are you certain you want to do this?"
"Cut the bullshit, Grimlock," spat Renark as he tightened his grip around the axes. "I won't falter so easily."
"That is unfortunate." Grimlock's eyes narrowed. "We are about to lose an outstanding orc."
Renark's gaze burned hot as he roared, "Yes, we are!" and then charged at the waiting Grimlock. Once he was in range, Renark's right hand crashed down. Grimlock was game to the strike, however, and blocked with his ax's handle. In response, Renark roared and swung with his left at the larger orc's ribs. Grimlock, however, easily angled his ax's handle down and parried the blow. But the larger orc was not done. With both Renark's hands in odd positions, it opened up his midriff to a harsh strike from Grimlock's leg.
Renark coughed in shock as he was sent sliding back, but he immediately collected himself and crossed his axes over his head.
BANG!
Just in time, it proved, as Grimlock's ax crashed into the crossed blade. The massive blow forced Ragelock to his knees, muscles strained as he struggled to prevent the ax blade from cutting into his face.
"Why did you challenge me, Ragelock?" Grimlock questioned, unbridled rage in his eyes as he pushed down. "Are you working for the wisben now!?"
Renark gritted his teeth, incensed by the accusation. "I don't work for anyone!" he roared as he pushed against the blade with all his strength. Unfortunately for him, Grimlock relaxed his force right before Ragelock pushed up, resulting in the smaller orc almost jumping into the air as he misjudged the required strength.
BAM!
Grimlock smashed his foot into Renark's exposed midriff, sending the orc tumbling across the ground. Grimlock charged at the orc for a quick follow-up. Before Renark could right himself, Grimlock swung down his ax with a heavy vengeance.
Renark's instincts blared heavy warnings as he sensed the incoming danger. Crack! The orc immediately stabbed his ax into the earth, pulling him to a hard stop.
BAM! Grimlock's ax crashed into the earth a few inches in front of Renark – so close, in fact, that the orc's back slammed against the blade, causing a sizeable gash in his back.
Ignoring the pain in his back, Renark took advantage of Grimlock's shock to retaliate with a crunching kick at the orc's ankle. The strike destabilized Grimlock, causing him to almost topple over. But Grimlock held onto his ax, regaining his balance at the last moment. However, that split-second was enough for Renark to launch another devastating kick at Grimlock's ribs.
The blow sent the War Chief careening across the arena to the sounds of loud cheering. But he quickly stabilized himself by stabbing his ax's handle into the ground. Grimlock looked up at Renark, who stood up from the ground, twin axes in hand and endless determination in his eyes. "Heh, I suppose you are not as useless as I thought," Grimlock praised as he pulled himself to full height and tightly gripped his ax. With a small grin, he called, "Come to your death."
Renark, in turn, roared in rage and then once again charged at Grimlock. Having learned from his past mistake, he avoided starting with a wide swing. Instead, he utilized short, tight, and quick strikes, aiming for speed and precision over power.
Renark's rapid assault placed immense pressure on Grimlock, but he calmly parried each strike while patiently awaiting an opportunity. Renark, seeing his assault was not working, swung even faster and more erratically, alternating between torso, feet, and head strikes near seamlessly.
Unfortunately, no matter how hard Renark tried, Grimlock appeared to have an answer to every test he posed. Eventually, after several minutes of the continued assault, Renark seemed to tire as his swings' speed gradually reduced.
Grimlock's eyes shone as the opportunity he sought suddenly presented itself before him. The orc roared as he brandished his ax and pushed against Renark's blades. The fatigued Renark could not resist being pushed back a couple of steps. Grimlock pounced at the opportunity, launching a deadly strike from the ground in an arc to the sky.
Renark recognized the danger and instantly jumped back, barely raising his axes in time to block the strike. Despite the block, the force proved too much for the airborne orc. It sent him flying several feet away. Luckily, Renark retained the presence of mind to plant his feet firmly into the ground, preventing himself from being dragged further.
Renark roared as soon as he stopped and once again rushed toward Grimlock, without fear or hesitation. Grimlock, for his part, charged at Renark, no longer content with letting the younger orc control the initiative. However, Grimlock had only covered a few meters when he instantly sensed immediate danger. To which he replied by instinctively covering his head with his ax.
Clang!
Grimlock stared in shock at the short ax temporarily hovering in front of him after ricocheting off his own ax. 'Renark!' Grimlock quickly looked ahead but was shocked to find no trace of the challenger orc. 'Where!?'
Grimlock's thought instantly cut off when every single hair on his body suddenly stood on end. This had only happened a handful of times in Grimlock's life. It was a portend of certain death! Luckily, the War Chief's instincts were truly extraordinary. He suddenly took a step back and then smashed his ax toward the earth.
This proved to be the right choice as Grimlock spotted Renark sliding across the earth, his second ax already curving upward toward his abdomen. Fortunately, after seeing Grimlock's ax, the younger orc was forced to redirect his strike to intercept.
Both orc's eyes met, challenge and murder exploding between them as their axes struck each other with a massive BANG! The clash proved too heavy for both blades, and they exploded, sending shrapnel flying in all directions.
Renark shut his eyes as shrapnel tore into his skin and eyelids, drawing blood. Grimlock, however, instinctively shielded his eyes with ki. The larger orc ignored the pain as shrapnel stabbed into his body and instead grabbed a handful from the air. With a deft flick of his fingers, he pushed the shrapnel between his knuckles and then punched down hard.
BAM!
Grimlock's blow nearly dislocated Renark's jaw, sending the challenger crashing headfirst into the dirt. Grimlock followed up with a savage kick to the downed orc's jaw that sent him flying upward.
Grimlock charged the airborne Renark and unleashed a series of bloody, devastating punches in quick succession. Gritting his teeth, he roared and punched hard, sending Renark once again crashing to the ground. Only this time, he stomped the orc's head into the ground for good measure.
"Pathetic," Grimlock cursed as he spat at the ground and then said as he walked over to the resting place of the ax Renark had thrown. "Not only did you betray your kind, but you lack the conviction and will to follow through till the end." Grimlock picked up the ax and then commented as he examined the blade, "You are not half the orc Durst is, and you will never be. If it were him, I would have hesitated to agree to this duel." He walked over to Renark's side, angry eyes glaring at the fallen orc as he declared, "There is no way he lost to the likes of you. Once I am done with you, I will seek out those wisben and deal with them too."
Grimlock raised the ax high above his head and then roared as he swung down with all his might, "Die!"
BAM!
"What!?" Grimlock shouted in shock as a hand reached out and grabbed his arm, preventing it from landing the killing blow. The War Chief stared in disbelief as Renark's grip tightened around his wrist, the upstart's grip exhibiting an impossible amount of strength as it slowly crushed the wrist bone.
That was not the end of it, though.
Renark's eyes shot open, and Grimlock temporarily forgot his pain as he stared at the orc's corneas, which had turned blood-red. Few drops of blood even dripped out of Renark's eyes like a stream of bloody tears.
Hundreds of old, wizened orcs around the arena shot to their feet, eyes wide in shock as they stared at the blood-soaked eyes and Renark's heavily veined arm. "It can't be?" someone whispered.
"It's been extinct for centuries?"
"Is it really?"
Grimlock, who happened to be the closest and could feel Renark's strength for himself, had no choice but to admit. "Impossible! He's a Berserker! A Berserker Orc!" Upon realizing what he was up against, Grimlock did not dare take any more chances. He relinquished the ax and quickly wrested his arm from Renark's grip before jumping back to create distance.
The War Chief grimaced as he cradled his crushed wrist, cursing his bad luck and carelessness. However, as he watched the semi-unconscious Renark rise to his feet, teeth bared in a dog-like growl, he knew that this was not the time to moan about his predicament.
Grimlock had to do something and do it fast!
Unfortunately, Renark Ragelock had no intentions of giving Grimlock time to regroup.
BOOM!
Like a bolt from a cannon, Renark bombed toward Grimlock with a single push. The berserker roared bloody murder as he unleashed a punch packed with the fury of a tormented devil.
Grimlock's grunted as he raised his left hand and caught the punch. Unfortunately, a mean right hook left hook followed, striking the War Chief's jaw. Grimlock spat out a tooth as his head was sent flying but retaliated with a knee to Renark's gut.
Renark doubled over due to the blow, and Grimlock seized the opportunity to grab the younger orc's head. With an angry roar, Grimlock rammed Renark's head into his knee multiple times, intent on bashing the orc's head in if needed.
BAM!
Renark, however, had other plans. After the seventh strike, the orc gathered his wits and placed his palms beneath his head, blocking the blow. He then roared as he burst forward, destabilizing Grimlock and sending them both crashing to the ground.
Renark recovered first and quickly mounted the fallen Grimlock. His eyes, as he glared at his fallen enemy, held only hate and murder, no inkling of the intelligent orc left. Renark pinned Grimlock to the ground, pinning the war chief's arms to the ground with his knees. With a manic roar, he proceeded to unleash a flurry of blows at the chief's head and chest with no regard for the blood that splattered back onto him.
Things seemed dire for Grimlock. But just when it seemed like the winner had been decided, the old orc's legs shot upward, and in an unbelievable show of flexibility, wrapped around Renark's neck from behind. Grimlock grunted and then pushed backward.
Renark roared in rage but was forced to follow the momentum of Grimlock's leg or risk having his neck snapped. The momentum forced Renark to roll away from Grimlock, giving the War Chief a chance to rise to his feet, battered and bloodied, but still very much in the fight.
"A berserker," Grimlock murmured with a grimace as he wiped the blood from his forehead. "If nothing else, it was worth it to see this sight for myself." The orc grabbed his cracked right wrist with his left hand, and with a pained grimace, forcefully set his bones back in place. He flexed his right hand afterward, testing out the pain. Although there were still quite a few fractures in there, at the very least, the hand was still useable.
Grimlock raised his hands, gaze set as he stared at the berserker across from him. "Come."
Almost like he had been awaiting those words, Renark charged at Grimlock one final time.
BOOM!
CRASH!
What followed was a truly glorious battle, the likes of which were only seen once in a few years. Both orcs threw caution to the wind as they traded blow for blow. It was a fierce battle between Grimlock's skills and Renark's wild tenacity and instinct. The earth trembled with each step these titans took as they engaged in a bloody dance around the arena, painting each piece of the land with their blood.
At some point, the orcs stopped cheering as they watched this desperate battle unfold before their eyes. Their hearts stirred every time Grimlock deflected a punch and retaliated with a crushing strike. Their blood boiled each time Renark burst through Grimlock's blocks and clawed or even bit into the chief's flesh.
Within these two, the orcs could feel traces of their old blood. The bloody skill of the Orcish Berserkers millennia ago. The force that was so terrifying, the entire world once banded to wipe them out. A tribe so brutal that the continent was forced to make a peace treaty with the orcs as long as they agreed to have Ferulic remove their Berserker trait.
Ferulic succeeded. He did indeed remove all traces of the berserker's curse from the orcs. Unfortunately, or rather, fortunately, Mother Nature was tenacious. Centuries came and went, and through a series of lucky coincidences, the berserker trait was once again made manifest.
Even worse, upon watching this glorious fight, several orcs began to feel their hearts racing, pumping hot blood coursing through their veins. They could feel a new force growing within their souls. What it was, no one knew yet, but it could definitely prove to be a continent-altering event!
However, none of this had anything to do with the combatants in the arena.
Renark and Grimlock continuously bashed away at each other, tearing flesh and breaking bones. Unfortunately, as time passed, only one of the two seemed to be affected by the ailments.
Grimlock slowed as the injuries piled, but as per the Berserker nature, Renark only grew stronger with each new injury. The signs were beginning to show, too, as Renark began to slowly overpower the older orc, progressively landing more punches and dealing increased damage as time passed.
However, Renark's overconfidence proved to be his undoing. Just when it seemed he had the victory in the bag, Grimlock suddenly sprung with renewed vigor, kneeing the younger orc in the abdomen.
Renark staggered backward, clutching his stomach as he grimaced in pain. The orc's briefly shut eyes prevented him from seeing Grimlock pick up the dropped ax as he charged.
With a triumphant roar, Grimlock raised the ax over his head, prepared to swing down and behead the opposition in one sweep.
Bam!
However, to everyone's shock, whether as a result of fatigue or carelessness, Grimlock suddenly tripped, causing him to miss his strike by a large margin. It also rendered him completely helpless as a recovered Renark suddenly rushed behind and then wrapped his arms around Grimlock's neck.
Before Grimlock could free himself, Renark, who had regained clarity, whispered with tears in his eyes, "Grimlock, Thank you for everything you taught me. You can leave the tribe to me." Tightening his grip, Renark regretfully added, "Also, this Uruk-thai is your win..."
CRACK!
The snap, which should have been no more than a small whisper in the loud arena, somehow exploded in the ears of every orc, instantly inducing a deathly silence. The orcs swallowed hard, watching in disbelief as Grimlock's lifeless body slid out of Renark's hands and then hit the floor with a soft but loud thud.
Renark huffed and stumbled, nearly crashing to the floor from accumulated fatigue. Luckily, his warrior's pride proved stronger, and he managed to hold himself up at the last moment. The orc trembled, gaze dimming as a group of shaman stepped out of the arena and walked towards him.
Seven shamans from different tribes surrounded Renark and Grimlock's bodies, cold gazes examining the corpse. The oldest and most respected amongst them stepped forward and then crouched in front of Grimlock's body. He murmured a quick chant and then spread his hands over Grimlock.
Renark and the orcs watched, gazes hot as green mist arose from Renark's body, eventually taking the form of a massive 9 feet tall orc. Every orc in the stadium recognized this ki-image. It was the accumulated souls of the war chiefs, passed on from each war chief to the next.
This image was the reason why the position of Orcish War Chiefs rarely changed hands. Each War Chief was, by design, made stronger than the previous. Hence, the distance between war chiefs and regular orcs only increased with each generation. Often, it wasn't until a War Chief was in his twilight years or an anomaly like Renark was born that the position would change hands.
Many orcs were thus understandably invigorated by the sight of this image. Still, unfortunately, it would not be theirs to have. Meanwhile, Brilith Loneheart's eyes narrowed, a greedy glint in her eyes as she stared at the image. However, she managed to rein in her desire, whispering to herself as she wrung her hands over her laps, "Not yet."
Seemingly oblivious to the attention the ki-image had garnered, the shamans' chants intensified. Invigorated by their incantations, the ki-image began swelling as it erratically swayed in place.
Within the shamans' enclosure, Renark's eyes narrowed as he stared at Grimlock's rapidly deteriorating corpse. The corpse's muscles shrunk like something was sucking all the air out of it. The culprit, however, was quite evident. Renark looked at plumes of green smoke that rose from Grimlock's body and were then absorbed by the ki-image.
Eventually, Grimlock's corpse disintegrated, turning to dust, as the ki-image absorbed the last of its essence. By this point, the ki-image had grown an extra foot taller and adopted a much more vicious expression, influenced by Grimlock's violent aura.
The shamans worshipped the ki-image with reverence in their eyes and then walked over to and surrounded Renark. The champion stood still as the head shaman approached him and then placed a hand on him. Buoyed by the head shaman, the rest of the shamans' chants intensified as they approached the critical point of the ceremony.
Renark glanced up, excitement in his eyes as he watched the ki-image descend towards him. The proud orc stood still, a satisfied smile on his face as the ki-image burst into smoke and then rushed towards him. The green smoke funneled into the orc from his nose, mouth, and skin. The rapid force caused Renark to choke and gasp for air as the smoke blocked his airways.
Renark grimaced, eyes watering as he grasped his throat, but no matter how hard he tried, he could no force the smoke out to breathe. Fortunately, or unfortunately, aside from the intense pain in his lungs and throat, there did not seem to be any other side-effects. The new aura was somehow keeping him alive as it awaited the rest of the smoke to funnel into the new War-Chief.
A couple of moments later, the last of the smoke finally cleared through Renark's airways. The orc collapsed to a knee, gagging and spurting as he struggled to catch his breath. In his entire life, Renark had never appreciated the simple act of breathing as much as he did at that moment.
Unfortunately, the ordeal was far from over. With the absorption completed, it was now time for the downloaded ki-ware to modify the orcs systems.
CRACK! CRACK! SNAP!
"AAAAH!" Renark let out an uncharacteristic roar, falling over as every bone in his body was systematically crushed and then remade by the violent aura. His heart, lungs, and other vital organs underwent reinforcement, becoming ten times tougher and stronger. Although the orc's muscles did not grow in size, they grew much denser. Presently, even the orc had no idea how strong he was.
However, the actual value of the War Chief's aura was not in its strength upgrade, but in the knowledge, it passed. Renark clutched his skull, pressing so hard against it that one would think he intended to crush his brain. But this only happened because of the vast quantity of information flying into his mind at once; memories, fighting techniques, battle strategies, and more. The accumulated knowledge of nine generations of war chiefs rudely burrowed their way into the depths of Renark's brain, the sudden increase in load causing the orc to double over in pain.
Luckily, this ordeal did not last too long. After a while, a sweat-drenched Renark rose from the ground. The orc heavily panted as he gazed at his arms while sorting through the many memories. Within those, he found out that Grimlock had indeed worked out that he had betrayed the tribe and had intended on eliminating both Renark and Silver Spear. Unfortunately, he did not get the chance to complete this mission. And now, Renark was the new War Chief.
Renark took a deep breath, settling his nerves as he compartmentalized and then pushed the memories to the back of his mind. He would get to them later. For now, he had a clan to address.
Renark let out his breath, the release drumming in the ears of everyone present. The War Chief placed his hand over his chest and then nodded at the shamans in a show of respect. He then stepped out of their circle and walked to the center of the arena.
When he reached the center, Renark slowly turned around in place, taking a second to drink in the worship, fear, pride, and awe present in the orcs' eyes. However, intriguingly, those gazes also contained intense hostility as each orc weighed their chances in an Uruk-thai battle. The new War Chief knew that the coming months would be fraught with challenges from orcs eager for the throne.
However, Renark's plans did not include watching over his shoulder every few weeks. As a result, he decided to squash any desires in this single moment. Raising his arms to the skies, Renark roared, "Brothers! Sisters! Your War Chief stands before you! What say you!?"
ROOOOOAAAAR!!!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Heaven-shaking, mountain-toppling roars blasted through the arena as the watching orcs cheered their new chiefs. The collective sound of thousands of orcs beating their hands against the chests resembled the thundering of a herd of rampaging wildebeests.
"Haha! Thank you, brothers!" Renark shouted, his voice somehow eclipsing that of the thousands of orcs. "Grimlock was a great War-Chief, but there could only be one winner. By Drazz's grace, that orc happened to be me!" Once again, the orcs cheered, and Renark waited for them to continue before continuing, "Unfortunately, although Grimlock was a strong war-chief, he was not the wisest leader." The crowd instantly quieted down, a heavy tension filling the air as the hostility in their eyes grew. Even though Grimlock was dead, he was still a former War-Chief. No orc could forgive a slight against a War-Chief, even if it were from another.
Sensing the tension, Renark raised his hands and said, "Listen. I understand how you all feel." Tapping his chest, he remarked, "No one respects Grimlock more than I do! He taught me everything I know, from my very first ax swing to leading a clan." Renark frowned, gaze turning downcast as he said, "He was wise and strong... but he was too cautious. Too passive." The orc grimaced in pain as he stated, "Think about it! We orcs once roamed all of Daggerfall. We argued and fought amongst ourselves, yes, but there were never cases of entire clans scrapping over food like there are now. What Changed!?"
"No answer?" Renark's gaze turned angry, challenging the stares of all the clan-chiefs standing in front of the crowds. "I'll tell you what changed! The damned dwarfs came into our land, and using their inventions and war machines, forced us all to the south!" Palming his chest, the War-Chief pointed out, "Everyone knows the north is much more fertile than the south. It has more crops, beasts, and the waters flow free and clean. That was our land! But we were exiled to the south, where clans are forced to fight over scraps." Pointing to the north, Renark exclaimed, "The dwarfs sit comfortably upon our lands, watching and laughing as the 'savage barbarians' kill each other just to survive."
"They mock us! Laugh at us!" Renark emphasized with a loud growl. "Murder us when we go hunting in the north! Claiming we trespassed." The War-Chief challenged his constituents with an angry roar, "Tell me, Brothers! Can we trespass on land that is ours!?"
"NO!" The thunderclap of a response shook the entire arena. Every orc in there knew the dangers of hunting in the north. It had been drilled into them from birth. 'Avoid the North if you want to live. It is dwarven territory.'
"Does it make sense that we fear a bunch of cave-dwelling cowards who hide behind machinery? Who do not dare face their opponent in open battle?"
"NO!"
"We are ORCS!" Renark roared, his voice drumming up something within the depths of the orc's hearts. "Orcs do not fear... Orcs do not ask permission. When we want something, we take it! Trespass my ass." He spat on the floor and cursed, "Schcucks the lot of them."
"We will not take this anymore!" Renark raised his arm to the sky, gaze burning hot as he declared, "Our laxness has galvanized the dwarfs' boldness! Not only did they massacre our people, but they spat on our goodwill by not only betraying, but murdering those we sent to maintain peace." Renark snorted, gaze cold as he shouted, "My first decree as War-Chief is this: The elimination of all dwarfs in Daggerfall! We will reclaim our lands. No longer will we cower in the shadows! We will take this war to the dwarfs!"
"ROOAAR!"
The arena once again exploded in thunderous roars as the orcs celebrated the new declaration. Orcs, by nature, were a battling race. An orc was only truly alive in the thin line between life and death. So, the declaration of war was like the sweetest nectar to the hungry orcs. Nothing in this world could compare to the high they got from battling.
Renark once again waited for the cheers to die down and then stated with a grave expression. "As much as I would like us to rush to the dwarfs right now, their war machines remain a real threat. I have no intentions of sending orcs to die meaningless deaths. To combat this, we will be working with the Silver Spear Guild,"
Renark pointed at a corner of the stadium, drawing every orc's attention to Brilith Loneheart and the rest of Silver Spear seated around her. "They will provide us with weapons and armor as well as aid us in clearing out the dwarfs."
The orcs hooted and cheered, much to the shock of the other wisben and merchants seated around Silver Spear. No one had ever seen the orcs cheer someone of another race. Notably, not a wisben, who in their eyes were weak and slimy-looking.
Brilith, meanwhile, exposed a bright smile as she received a prompt. She looked at GrizzlyDiamond and said, "You know what to do."
GrizzlyDiamond exposed a malicious grin as he glared at Renark. "Hehe. Of course." The warrior chuckled as he stood up and exited the arena, heading for a safe logout spot.
Brilith then turned her attention back to Renark, a sly smile spreading up the side of her lips as she declared, "Now, let the fun begin..."