Grall
Grall looked out from his window, the early darkness still thick enough to swallow the edges of the tribe's camp. A strange sense of calm settled over him as he watched the young man below enter and exit the house next to his—Grodak's house. How stupid are these young spies? he mused, stepping away from the window with a silent laugh. Don't they realize we always keep the chieftain's house under surveillance?
Dawn was still an hour away. Grall's spies had their orders: do not act unless the intruders posed a direct threat to Grodak. And yet, Grall knew exactly what the little rats were doing. They weren't scouting. They were mapping escape routes and hiding spots. Preparing their strike. Anyone else in this tribe would've seized the spies the moment they crossed the threshold of the chieftain's home—and under normal circumstances, Grall would've done the same.
But these were not normal circumstances.
If he took one, the rest would scatter, regroup, and return with a more difficult strategy. To crush their plan completely, he had to lull them into thinking they were unseen. Untouched. Safe.
He left the window but kept his otherworldly sight fixed on Grodak's home regardless. It still felt strange—this new eyesight the elders had forced upon him, the eyes of shadow that saw everything yet ached with every truth revealed.
After several minutes, a soft knock tapped against his door.
"Come in," Grall called, already knowing who stood beyond it.
The door creaked open and the scent of cold earth drifted into the room. A Tabaxi with short white fur stepped forward, his unnatural stillness more unnerving than his monstrous appearance. He was no ordinary Tabaxi. Vampirism had twisted him—sharpened him—until even hardened warriors flinched beneath his gaze. But Grall did not. This creature owed him a life debt, and in all the tribes, few debts were taken more seriously.
"What have you to report, Fluffles?" Grall asked.
The Tabaxi bowed, purring faintly, pleased with himself. "We have determined, my lord, that these men will strike tonight. Just as the sun rises over the horizon."
"How many?"
Fluffles' whiskers twitched with amusement. "Do I truly need to tell you?"
"Humor me," Grall said, smiling back. Their games were among the few pleasures left to him.
"Around ten," Fluffles replied, his tail flicking like an impatient blade.
"Good. Take three of our best and be ready to move when they do."
Fluffles blinked, surprised. "Me, my lord? What will you be doing?"
Grall's smile widened into something wry. "Visiting my brother. I believe it's time he heard our findings."
---
Waking the Chieftain
Grall knocked on Grodak's door, fully aware his brother would be asleep. The door swung open moments later, revealing a half-naked, bleary-eyed Grodak who looked more annoyed than surprised. Orc women would have fainted at the sight; Grall merely raised a brow.
"What do you want, Grall?" Grodak grumbled. "The sun hasn't even woken yet."
"Well, brother," Grall replied brightly, "I thought this would be the perfect time to discuss scout movements."
Grodak groaned, turned around, and walked away, letting Grall step inside. When he returned, he was dressed and carrying an absurd armful of documents—reports he clearly intended to throw at Grall.
Grall sighed heavily at the sight. Grodak was still struggling to make sense of bureaucracy, and though Grall didn't mind helping, he knew his brother had to learn eventually. But telling him that would only make him drag his feet harder.
They spent nearly an hour sorting through the mess. Only once the last sheet was stacked aside did Grodak finally get to the real point.
"The scouts say the enemy will attack tomorrow," he said, pointing at a map. "They're coming from the east. I plan to intercept them here—Death Crevice."
"A fair plan," Grall replied, sipping tea as he consciously ignored the faint movement behind Grodak—the spy creeping through the shadows. They believed the spy master to be blind, and Grall let them hold that belief. "But my spies report something similar—from the east—but also that enemy forces have infiltrated our ranks. And," he added, "they intend to strike neighboring tribes before us to weaken the alliance."
Grodak stared at the map, silently wishing the answer would change if he looked long enough. "Are your spies sure?"
"Yes. Fluffles told me personally."
Grodak nodded. If there was one spy in Grall's network he trusted, it was the vampiric Tabaxi.
A soft shift of shadow drew Grall's attention. He lifted his hand, and Fluffles—along with three orcs—materialized behind him.
"Finished?" Grall asked.
"Yes, my lord," Fluffles purred.
"How many left?"
"Only one."
Before Grall could continue, an orc dropped from the rafters, dagger in hand. He lunged at Grodak.
Grodak caught the blade with ease, slammed the attacker to the floor, and twisted until bone snapped.
"Next time," Grodak growled, "tell me when my life is under attack."
"If I had told you," Grall said dryly, "you would've killed the ones you could reach and allowed the rest to escape. They'd regroup and return with more men."
Grodak scowled. "And you know this how?"
"Because," Grall said, motioning for Fluffles to drag the attacker away, "while we talked, my men captured the infiltrator responsible. There was no traitor—just an unfortunate blacksmith who was murdered and impersonated."
Grodak rubbed his face. "Was anything you said true?"
"Of course," Grall replied, sounding genuinely offended.
---
Marching to War
Grall left, motioning for Fluffles to follow.
"Alert the men," he ordered. "At sunrise, we march west."
Fluffles vanished into shadow without a word.
Hours later, their camps stretched across the plains—fires crackling, warriors sharpening blades or resting. Grall's spies kept watch both on the Harsha tribe and the wilderness around them.
As Grall observed a lookout, Grodak approached carrying two heavy sacks.
"What are you staring at, little brother?" he asked.
"Ensuring our lookout is doing his job."
"Your spies have that handled. Relax."
Grall snorted. "I trust my spies. I don't trust fate."
Grodak chuckled. "If you don't relax before battle, you'll lose sleep."
Grall laughed quietly. "Brother… I don't sleep."
Grodak blinked. "You mean you have trouble sleeping?"
"No. I mean I cannot sleep. At all. Not unless I'm in the Shadow World."
Grodak's expression went still, stunned.
"That's… that's why you do so much," he murmured.
"You will understand in time," Grall said, turning back to the lookout giving a signal. "My spies are returning."
Grodak opened his mouth to ask more, but Grall cut him off. "Later. After the battle."
---
Edict of the Chiefs
The Harsha tribe stopped a hundred yards away. Their chieftain, Harn—a mountain of silver-haired muscle—rode forward.
"Grodak!" he roared. "If you are half the chief they claim, come face me in an edict!"
The crowd murmured. An edict—chief against chief, bare fists only. Winner absorbs the loser's tribe. Refusal meant surrender.
Grodak removed his armor piece by piece, letting it fall to the dirt.
"I accept," he said.
The two clasped forearms in respect, then descended into a brutal flurry of fists. Blow for blow, blood for blood. It seemed for a moment that Harn had the upper hand—
—until Grodak drove the chief's face into his knee with a sickening crack.
Silence fell. Harn collapsed. Grodak remained standing.
Later, as Harn's body lay respectfully on his shield, Grall received a whisper from one of his scouts. A dangerous whisper.
"Has anyone else heard this?" Grall asked.
"No, my lord."
Grall grabbed him by the tunic, pulling him close. "Do you know why I wear these bandages?"
The orc shook his head, trembling.
Grall pulled the cloth down, revealing black, empty orbs—endless, abyssal. The orc nearly screamed.
"The elders keep my eyes," Grall whispered, "so I see through lies."
"W-we told Ambrest!" the scout squeaked.
Grall bit the inside of his cheek to hide his fury. Ambrest—the one orc always trying to undermine Grodak.
He raised his hand. Fluffles appeared.
"Take him out," Grall said.
"As you wish, my lord."
Fluffles vanished.
---
Talengar's Gifts
Celebration erupted across camp—drums, laughter, mead. Grall pushed through the crowd and placed a hand on Grodak's shoulder.
"Come."
"Where?" Grodak groaned. "The mead's good and I've earned it."
Grall leaned in close. "Talengar's gifts have been found."
Grodak choked and spit out his drink. "What?"
Grall smiled faintly. Every orc knew the legends. Talengar's gifts—holy relics said to awaken only for the champion chosen to unite the tribes.
"Are you certain?" Grodak asked.
"Either my scout lies," Grall said, "or the legends breathe."
Grodak exhaled sharply. "Then we look into it. Tonight."
His eyes gleamed—not with greed, but with something deeper. Something dangerous. Something hopeful.
And Grall knew their path had just changed.
Grodak stood and immediately stumbled. Grall darted forward and caught him, keeping him upright.
"Careful, brother," Grall murmured, steadying his weight. "You just took a beating that would've killed any normal orc."
Grodak barked out a laugh. "I ain't no ordinary orc," he boomed, lifting his voice for all nearby to hear and feigning drunkenness. "I am Grodak!"
A chorus of approving roars swept through the camp.
"Help me to the location," Grodak whispered sharply. "And make sure it looks like you're dragging your drunk brother."
Grall gave a subtle nod and guided him away, weaving through tents until they reached Talengar's gift.
They stopped at a stone door. A freshly fallen orc lay before it—Ambrest. Fluffles crouched close by, uneasy.
"So," Grodak said, a heavy sadness in his voice, "Ambrest was also after Talengar's gift."
Grall studied the door. Runes glimmered faintly, visible only to him.
"Wouldn't have mattered anyway," he whispered. "The door says, 'Only the one who is known as Grodak may open these doors.'"
Grodak glanced from Ambrest's body to the stone. He squinted, puzzled—unable to see the runes at all.
He stepped forward regardless and placed his hand upon the cold stone. Immediately the runes blazed to life, and the entire door shone with new brilliance.
"Grodak," a voice echoed, as a glowing figure formed within the light. "My chosen champion. I congratulate you on your victory and the unity of the tribes."
"Who are you?" Grodak breathed, staring as though the figure held the answers to every question he'd never asked.
"I am Talengar," the figure replied with a warm smile. "Though I am no longer alive, the runes on this door allow us to speak across time."
"Unbelievable," Grodak whispered. "How is such magic possible?"
Talengar chuckled. "Old elven magic—long lost. If you wish to learn more, you can ask the queen when you arrive."
"Arrive?" Grodak repeated.
"Yes," Talengar said softly. "You must travel to the fallen elven kingdom and retrieve my God Orb. Do so, and you will gain access to my treasure."
The figure faded, leaving Grodak and Grall staring at the empty air, slack-jawed.
Not long after returning from the door, Grodak abruptly ended the festivities and ordered the camp to pack. His anger crackled in every gesture.
"Brother," Grall said gently, "don't take your anger out on the men."
Grodak spun, spit flying as he snapped, "Take my anger out? I am nowhere near taking my anger out on anyone!" He kicked a sack of rations, sending it tumbling high into the air.
Grall remained silent while his brother fumed.
"Do you know where we must go?" Grodak demanded once he'd calmed slightly.
"Yes," Grall said. Grodak turned sharply toward him. "I've been to the border of those woods once, but the trees wouldn't let me pass."
"The trees?" Grodak frowned.
"It's hard to explain," Grall answered, thinking back on the first weeks of his banishment. "It was as if they were alive."
"Alive, my foot," Grodak muttered, turning away. "If you don't know where the elven kingdom is, just say so. Don't make excuses for your incompetence."
Grall swallowed his anger. "Brother," he said evenly, "I do know where it is. If you don't want me to lead you, I can have one of the spies—"
"You will do no such thing," Grodak growled. "If I wanted someone else, I would have ordered it."
Grall turned on his heel and began to walk away.
He'd made it only a few steps before the Shadow World tugged at his spine—then Grodak's voice roared behind him:
"Don't you dare walk away when I'm talking!"
Darkness yanked him back. His face slammed into the fire. Flames bit into his skin. Grodak shouted above him, voice thick with fury.
"When I order you to do something, you do it!"
Grall struggled but could not break Grodak's grip. The smell of his own burning flesh filled his nose. Either Grodak would decide the punishment was enough, or the Shadow World would finally pull him fully inside.
At last, Grodak hurled him to the ground.
"If you ever back-talk me again—"
Grall laughed.
"You'll what?" he said, voice shaking with amusement. "Kill me? I cannot die, brother." He stood as his wounds knit back together, the Shadow World dragging part of him inward and restoring the rest. "If I could die so easily, I'd have done so a thousand times."
Grodak stared in horror. "You're immortal." Not a question.
"No," Grall said calmly. "I am cursed to suffer this life until the next chief. Until you die."
Grodak stepped back and collapsed, running shaking fingers through his hair.
"Grodak," Grall said, bitterness creeping in, "we may be brothers, but I have never accepted you as my chief, nor will I. You will always be my brother—but never my chief."
He turned away.
"Grall, stop," Grodak called, no anger left—only fear.
"No, brother," Grall said without slowing. "Even if you drag me into the Shadow World again and burn my face off, it won't change anything. I'll keep walking until you become the chieftain Talengar believes you can be… or until death finally takes us both."
GRODAK
Grodak sat in silence as his warriors packed. Shame churned inside him. He didn't know what darkness had provoked him to treat his brother so cruelly, but Grall was right. If he was to lead the unified tribes, he needed to act like a chief. A real chief put the needs of the tribes over his own rage.
He rose and headed toward the Harsha tribe. They deserved to know who had killed their chief.
The air grew heavy as he approached. He heard the wails of women and children. Their leader's body lay atop a prepared pyre, flames licking at his charred skin. Grodak waited at the entrance, not wishing to intrude.
When the flames died, he walked forward. The tribe stiffened at his approach, but he ignored their alarm. Kneeling beside the ashes, he placed a single green gem—the currency for defeated warriors to tell their tale in the next life—onto the gray dust.
He bowed his head and began the mourning prayer:
"Tonight we pray for the leader who never gets a break…
Oh gods above, from the moment he wakes to the moment he sleeps, he carries the weight of his people…"
He continued, voice heavy with memory, echoing the words sung over his own father's body.
An elderly orc woman knelt beside him, joining the song.
Grodak stayed through the night, helping with the burial rituals. When dawn broke, he stood before the tribe.
"I united the tribes to build a better home for us all," he said. Though he spoke softly, his voice carried. "We have been forced into the Scar for too long. There is no longer enough food or water for every orc. So we will leave, and go where there is."
Cheers broke out.
"I have found land—rich, alive—where every orc can thrive until the end of time. That is why I united us. Not to hoard it, but to share it."
More cheers rose.
As Grodak looked over the crowd, he saw a lone figure standing apart, bandage over his eyes, smiling faintly.
Grodak approached and set his hands on Grall's shoulders. "Brother… when did you get here?"
"The same time as you," Grall said, almost shyly. "You didn't think I'd let our tribes' chief wander off alone, did you?"
A small smile nearly tugged at Grodak's lips. "No… I suppose not."
He hesitated. "Grall, I—"
"Don't," Grall snapped. "Just don't ever do it again. If you do, not even the gods themselves will save you from me."
Grodak flinched. He knew that in raw strength he could overpower Grall—but against someone who could die, revive, and wield his own shadow, he would lose every time.
"So," Grall said, shifting the subject before tempers rose again, "how are we going to get everyone to Whitewater?"
Before Grodak could answer, a familiar voice shouted:
"I can help you with that!"