Grodak
Grodak woke with a start that quickly caused him to clutch his wounds in pain. It had been a week since Grall had wounded him. A week of Grodak sliding in and out of consciousness . A week since... Grall's death.
Grodak grimaced as the memories returned. His eyes scanned the room unseeing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't focus his eyes on anything. Bits and pieces slowly came into focus as Grodak forced himself to calm down.
His armor that lay on the floor was just thrown without care. His weapons leaned against the wall as if they were more important. For a moment, Grodak mused at how many weapons he had. He was a blacksmith and had crafted most of them, save for three.
These three he had managed to come by with the help of others, Grall being the one who helped with two of them. Milindar's sword, the Firnist was one. The second was the spear of DarkWater, a kingdom that resembles Whitewater, which had appeared from the aether. The spear had no real name and Grodak had taken to calling it Harstinor, after Talengar's mighty sword.
Then, sitting in front of the rest of the weapons, rested his new weapon. The green sword with a thousand minds. The sword he had used to slay Grall.
Grodak had no memories of what happened afterwards and had hoped he had only sent him back to the Shadow World, a dimension that is meant to house the souls of the fallen orc warriors. Grodak thought back to when he had first awoke in this bed, calling out for Grall. Grall never showed and all his screams did was bring Xierma and others running.
Xierma, his wife, married in secret for fear of how the council would use it. As Grodak's mind wondered to Xierma he heard a quiet sob and looked down to find her asleep at the foot of his bed.
Grodak sighed, he had wished she was in his arms right now, but it would take another couple of days for his wounds to become bearable enough to stand. The healers had done all they could to ease his pain, some even said he wouldn't make it through the first night. They had done all they could and that left Grodak with one choice to be healed, magic. Magic had caused the wound to linger, where normally he would've healed in a matter of hours. Magic seemed to possibly be the only thing that would heal the wound.
Grodak felt sleep coming to take him and lifted his arm to the side. He had once been able to pull Grall from wherever he was through the Shadow World, but he now found his hand empty. Grall wasn't in the Shadow World, nor was he on Xeno-Movia. Grall was finally dead and Grodak found himself wanting his little brother back.
Drillohiem
Drillohiem stood on the outskirts of Whitewater, his boots caked in snow. It had been a week in the material realm since his father, Grall, had passed away, but for Drillohiem, it had been a year.
The night Grall had been killed by Grodak, now refered to as the Night of Green Amber, a green light shined in the spirit realm, bright and magnificent, or so he had been told. Drillohiem had not been given the chance to see the light. This was not due to any outside interventions or the fact the light did not show itself to him. It was because Drillohiem was the source of the light.
None of the elder elves, not even the bohemians, a race that had mastered the inner workings of the aether, could tell him how it had happened. The best any could come up with was that Grall, as he took his last breath, made a mental connection with Drillohiem. This theory came about after Drillohiem realized, he had all of Grall's memories, even those Grall didn't know he had.
He knew, the moment he gained Grall's memories, he needed to leave the spirit realm and take his rightful place in the material realm. This involved a long year of traveling through the upper layers of the spirit realm to find a portal that lead to the material realm. During this travel, he had lost his weapon, his elven armor was destroyed, and he was forced to wear the clothing of men.
Drillohiem grunted in annoyance as the fabric scraped against his skin irritably. As he pulled on the fabric to move it around, he couldn't help but think freezing to death in this snow wasn't nearly as bad as these clothes.
Drillohiem pushed on anyways, ignoring the discomfort that the clothes caused. He was close to Whitewater and he needed to let his presence be known to his uncle, Grodak. He did not want anything to happen while he was on the material plane that could ruin his plans.
Drillohiem came to the gates of Whitewater, closed to all - save the snow. He was stopped by an orc guard who brandished a spear, held firmly in his left hand, and a short sword that rested on his hip.
"Who are you whom wishes to step foot in the kingdom of Whitewater?" The orc, whom Drillohiem recognized as a soldier of Grodak's army. His name eluded Drillohiem but he knew this orc hated his father.
"I am Drillohiem," Drillohiem had purposely omitted his heritage for fear of not being allowed to enter, "I seek an audience with Grodak, king of Whitewater."
The orc gave Drillohiem a scrutinizing look. "If it's food, employment, or housing you seek, we will not be able to provide. King Grodak is no longer looking for adventurers to line his military."
"No food?" Drillohiem asked before he could stop himself. "Don't you have an ice box for the food?"
The orc scrutinizing look drilled into Drillohiem. "How do you know of such a thing?"
"Everyone knows of it." A familiar voice piped up causing Drillohiem to turn around. Standing before him was none other then Adrian, a human Grall had bonded with and considered to be closer than his own brother.
"I haven't even been in Whitewater as of late, yet I know of it." Adrian walked past the guard, a multi-colored dragon walked beside him. "Also," Adrian continued, "Grodak is in no shape to issue orders."
"Sir Adrian," the orc seemed to groan inwardly, "it was the council who-"
"Them again?" Adrian appeared to be displeased with this news. "I'll deal with them, as for the halfling," Adrian turned to look Drillohiem in the eyes, "I'll take responsibility for him."
The orc grunted and looked ready to say more but held his tongue. Drillohiem got a sense of just how despised Adrian was and how important it was for them to not piss him off.
"After you." Adrian made a gesture towards the gate. Drillohiem bowed his head in appreciation, then stepped through.
The streets had been cleared of snow, save for patches that had been too densely packed to scrape up, and each home had wood burning, evident by the smoke coming out of the chimneys. The streets weren't busy, save for those who rushed through the cold to their destination. The streets seemed quiet, even quieter then when the rain that had trapped the residents in fell relentlessly.
"Now that we are away from that guard," Adrian spoke up behind Drillohiem, his voice smooth and snake like, "why don't you tell me what your business with Grodak is."
Drillohiem started to turn to face Adrian but paused when he felt a steel tip pierce his skin. "I didn't say turn around." Adrian hissed, his voice taking on a more snake like feature.
Drillohiem sighed for a moment and pondered what to say before deciding the truth was better. "I am Drillohiem, son of Grall." Drillohiem spoke low enough for only Adrian to hear and yet he felt as though he was screaming it for all to hear. "I came here to introduce myself to my uncle so that I may live in the plane of existence."
Adrian listened to Drillohiem, taking in every word before finally motioning for Drillohiem to turn around. Drillohiem slowly turned and for the first time, Adrian could see many of Gralls features in him.
"Yeah," Adrian said as he put his dagger away, "I can see the resemblance. Paint you green, make your jaw jut out, and cut your hair and you would be the spitting image of Grall."
Drillohiem stood silent for a moment, he was also taking in Adrian's features. His white skin and hair did not match his red eyes. The light blue coat he wore framed his pale skin and only enhanced his otherworldly good looks.
No matter how hard Drillohiem tried, he could not stop staring at the blood red eyes that only seemed to pop out from the white skin. Drillohiem found him self thinking about Tyril, a human who had visited the elves in the spirit realm on numerous occasions. He was the only human, dead or alive, that had the privilege to become one of the elven elders, a rite only a select few who showed true love for the elven race had been shown.
"You aren't going to attack me?" Drillohiem asked after a moment, it felt odd that he was allowed to live even though so many hated his father.
"Sins of the father don't apply to those I talk to." Adrian began to walk pass Drillohiem, dipping his voice even lower. "I advise you not to mention your heritage to anyone else, though."
Drillohiem nodded his head, he understood what he meant, it had been the driving fear that kept him from mentioning it prior. Adrian gave Drillohiem a sad smile before continuing to walk, Drillohiem following close behind.
As they approached the castle, Drillohiem caught his breath. The once magnificent waterfall that fell to the east of the castle was frozen solid, along with the river that attached to it.
"What happened to the Great White River?" Drillohiem asked, his voice sounding choked.
"You know of it?" Adrian gave Drillohiem a quizzical glance to which he nodded. "When Grall went mad and before...." Adrian paused and appeared to be collecting himself. "Before Grodak killed him, Grall had killed all but one of the demon lords. This caused their powers to play havok on the world of Xeno-Movia."
Drillohiem was shocked, how could killing those things bring about such disasters and why is it only ice and snow?
"Imp told us that the powers sought out the one place that holds the last demon lord." Adrian said, answering Drillohiems question without him speaking it. "That would be the ninth layer. The layer of frost and snow. The layer of the damned."
Grodak
Grodak stared at his reflection in the mirror. He hadn't changed a bit since becoming a casarn, yet those who were present on the battlefield insisted his skin had changed colors. Red with black stripes they said, but Grodak didn't see any black stripes and the only red on his skin came from the wound in his gut.
As Grodak admired his features, even he had to admit he had become handsome after his transformation, a knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts. Grodak turned as the door opened revealing an older orc, Kensural, standing in the doorway. Grodak groaned inwardly, unable to look the orc in the face.
Before Grodak and Grall fought, Imperitis, a pyroniam/dasari genius, had managed to move all the civilians to a pocket dimension. The problem was, when they entered Kensural was a boy, around the age of four. Imp had explained to Grodak that even though they may be safe from what was happening in the material realm, he could not guarantee time would flow the same in the pocket dimensions.
This caused a lot of confusion when the citizens left. Most had thought the world had ended and they were stuck in the dimension forever. A lot of deaths occurred during the first few years. Mostly due to the lack of food, but also because of a lack of leadership.
The dasari and pyroniams all thought to take control. The orcs, elves, humans, and beastfolk already had a council with representatives of each race. This being said, they refused the dasari and pyroniams rule, calling it tyranny.
A war broke out shortly afterwards and hundreds died before the dasari and pyroniams were calmed. Many of the dasari and pyroniams that had survived were made slaves, and those that weren't were killed on the spot. These slaves were not released from their binds until Imp, with the help of Jaxale, Adrian, and Xierma, had forced the council to free them.
Grodak bit back the bile that had threatened to dislodge itself, out of everything he had imagined to happen in that small tear, he had not thought a war and slavery would be involved. Grodak slowly stood up, clutching his wound as he did so.
"What is it?" Grodak spoke sternly and with command. He did not hide his distaste for the company of those who wished to enslave others.
"My lord," Kensural bowed politely, showing obvious disdain for having to bow to a weak leader, "Sir Adrian has requested for your presence in the audience chambers."
"He did, did he?" Grodak reached for his weapon, feeling naked without it, but was stopped by Kensural.
"I do not think you will be needing a weapon, my lord."
Grodak growled and took the older orcs hand off of his wrist. "I do not need a weapon," Grodak tightened his hold on Kensurals wrist, almost breaking it, "but if I wish to carry a weapon on my person, then I will do so."
"Yes, my lord." Kensural winced in pain, he had heard tales of the great Grodak and his strengths, but he had not believed this was the same orc. Before him stood an orc who was barely alive. A toddler could finish what his brother had started, or so he thought.
Grodak released Kensural and buckled one of his swords to his waist. His eyes glanced to the green sword that had aided him in his battle with Grall. For a moment, his hands started to drift to the sword, almost instinctively. He stopped just as his fingers grazed the hilt, the minds that had been quiet during his fight, now attacked his.
Grodak pulled his hand back out of fear and allowed it to fall to his side. He hadn't been able to hold the sword for more then a few seconds since Gralls death. It had seemed that the sword did not wish to be held by him.
Grodak turned from the sword and headed out. When Grodak entered the audience chambers, he found Adrian standing beside a half elf. The half elf had olive brown skin, pointy ears, long brown hair, green eyes, and wore the clothes of a farmer.
The only feature that eluded to him being only a halfling was his jaw line. It jutted out at the bottom like an orcs and his canines were longer than a normal elf. Grodak mused about this for a moment before sitting on his throne.
Drillohiem
Adrian lead Drillohiem to an open area in the castle. It was oddly empty, no decor, no lamps, only a few torches lit the area. Drillohiem tensed, half expecting to be ambushed by the castle guards, before forcing himself to relax. Adrian wasn't the type to use cowardly methods like that and Drillohiem, through Gralls memories, knew that.
As they approached the center of the room, Drillohiem noticed a throne sitting on the far end. It wasn't a very decorative throne, it was made out of wood with intricate carvings. Whoever made this, probably Grodak, Drillohiem thought to himself, did not design this for comfort. The crafter instead opted for a cheap and meaningful design.
Adrian took notice of where Drillohiem stared and motioned for a servant that was passing through to come. After a few words, the servant took off only to return shortly after with others. They quickly busied theirselves lighting torches on the wall and mopping up the snow that had been dragged in under Drillohiem's and Adrian's boots.
As the servants finished and made their way out the side doors, a door behind the throne opened to reveal a relatively handsome orc. His hair was brown and held in a ponytail, his skin green, his eyes blue, his ears were somewhere between round and pointed, and unlike other orcs, his jawline looked to be that of a humans. Drillohiem couldn't help but think that the orc that stood before him was a prime candidate for a model. As Drillohiem thought this, his eyes fell to the blood that stained Grodak's pants.
"Adrian." The orc, whom Drillohiem suddenly realized must be his uncle, said as he sat on his throne. "What is it you need from me?"
"Orc bro," Drillohiem bit his lip to keep from laughing, "I met this halfling on my way in and I thought you could use him to better your military."
Grodak looked Drillohiem in the eyes, a sense of gravity falling onto the young halfling. "Why is it you wish to join my military?"
Adrian started to speak up but Grodak held out his hand, stopping the human from saying whatever he was about to say. Grodak stared at Drillohiem as if he could stare into his very soul.
"I came here to..." Drillohiem paused for a moment, what had he come here to do? Introduce himself to his father's murderer so that he too may suffer the same fate? Drillohiem shook his head. This was Grodak, his uncle, and he wouldn't kill him without probable cause.
Drillohiem's eyes once more fell to the growing stain, it had changed from a small spot on the side of his pants and grew to a large pool that continued to grow. Even if he wishes to kill me, Drillohiem thought bitterly, I could just escape. A wound like that wouldn't allow him to give chase and I am bound to be stronger than anyone else here.
Mustering his courage, Drillohiem continued, his body tensed in preparation to run. "I came to tell you," Drillohiem's voice sounded out, proud and defiant, "I am Drillohiem, son of Grall and Leah."
Grodak eyed Drillohiem with disdain and hatred. Drillohiem appeared to be in his mid-twenties and, even with the four years that went by while they were in hell, there was no way Grall could have a child as old as him.
"Oh?" Grodak's words sounded more like a hammer barring down on a piece of metal, striking hard to pull out the true form of the object. "How is that possible?"
Drillohiem opened his mouth to speak but Grodak cut him off. "You do realize, Grall is my younger brother? How can he have a child that is in adulthood when I, myself, am only thirty-six."
Drillohiem once more tried to explain but yet again was cut short by Grodak. "If you came here for some inheritance then you are sadly mistaken." Grodak stood up from his throne, a small puddle of blood splattered to the floor. "He left nothing for his kin, even less so for those who falsely claim to be. So I ask again. Why are you here?"
Drillohiem waited for a moment, not sure if he was now allowed to speak. Then he launched into his tale, how he had been abandoned by Grall and how he came to be raised in the spirit realm.
"I beg your pardon, my lord," Drillohiem looked around, hoping to find an exit that he could make a quick escape if his answer did not satisfy the great orc, "but I speak the truth. As for inheritance, I know where to find it, yet I do not wish to."
As Drillohiem spoke, Grodak slowly sat back down, his face looking sickly. "When I was born, my mother passed away. She gave her life to give me mine. My father, Grall, could not bear to look upon me, blaming me for her death."
Drillohiem had heard this story many times spoken to him from the elders, and yet this was the first time he himself spoke of the situation that led to him being raised in the spirit realm. To Drillohiem's surprise, his voice held no emotions, almost as if he spoke of someone else's childhood.
"He abandoned me at a nearby orphanage where my mother, Leah, found me. She begged the elven elders to allow me to grow in the spirit realm so that I may not suffer at the hands of the mortals." Drillohiem paused to take in a deep breath and found himself shaken. His voice carried no emotions and yet his body was trembling with them.
"The elders agreed, for what reason is unknown to me. I spent two hundred years in the spirit realm, enough time to mature to how you see me now. This may not translate well in the material plane, seeing as only eight years since my birth have passed, but I assure you. I am Grall's son, the rightful heir to Talengar's curse."
Grodak had sat, listening to Drillohiem's story, his face showing no emotions. He stared at Drillohiem for a long moment after he finished before speaking. "Talengar's curse?" Grodaks voice was low, barely audible to Drillohiem. "What curse may that be?"
"The Shadow World." Drillohiem answered, his voice strong.
"Sadly," Grodak said as he stood once more, "the 'curse' you speak of, died with your father."
Drillohiem nodded his head, he hadn't wanted the ability to command the Shadow World, that was never his intention. "I know. He told me before I came here."
Grodak stiffened, his eyes now burned hot as he stared at Drillohiem. "He told you? When was that?"
Drillohiem swallowed his saliva, sweat beaded his forehead, and fear gripped his mind. "The day you killed him with the green sword."