On the Subject of Subjectivity (Devilspawn Update)

Another update on Devilspawn! In this post, I talk about the subject of writing from a morally grey perspective to emphasize the importance of morality.

Hello, all, and welcome to another update on the progress of Devilspawn! I am roughly three-quarters or so done with my most recent draft of the first book of Devilspawn, A Demon in the Night, and hope to be done with said draft soon so I can move into a round of Beta Reading. That said, if you would like to act as a beta reader, go ahead and visit our Facebook page to leave a like, comment, or share.

At present, I am at a roadblock and am awaiting feedback from my Alpha Readers for the next scene I intend on writing. This is because the scene addresses several real-world issues and I would like for it to be written in a concise and respectable manner.

That said, I am very happy with the progress I have made and am proud of the draft thus far. I will, of course, need to go back and make some edits, but I don’t think I should need to make any major reworks to the story anymore (at least for ADitN)- I’ve felt the need to make many such reworks between the first draft and now.

One thing I’ve noticed as I’ve been writing this draft is a shift in the way that I approach certain themes. Before, I approached them from a perspective of objective morality – the book is written from a third-person omniscient perspective, and any time a character did something morally dubious, it was evident within the narrators tone (that said, it was previously written from more of a shifting third-person limited).

With this draft, my writing reflects a much more subjectively moral approach. If the group of characters that any given passage focuses on believes that what they are doing is in the right, the narration takes on that tone. With any given argument or disagreement within the story, it is presented that both parties could potentially be in the right. I do this in real life, even in arguments where I have stakes, especially if I feel one side is underrepresented. I blame my losing of Trial by Trolley on that. But I digress.

This moral subjectivity includes portions of the story where someone is most definitely in the wrong, such as in the case of a character who is verbally abusive. When things are described from his perspective, it’s made out to be, at least on the surface, that his actions are justified by his motives. However, from the perspective of the abused and several of her friends, he is made out to be the villain that he is. This is seen for (most of) the other villains in the story, as well – they clearly think they are in the right and dutifully defend their perspective.

And this brings up several questions: Is this how it should be done? What are the implications of presenting moral quandaries in this way? What are the consequences? Is this a way to make the book welcoming to all readers? Will it make the book alienating to all readers? Is there a happy middle ground, or are the extremes the only solution?

All these are questions I have considered, and here are the answers I have come up with, based both on what I have observed of other people, and what I have gathered from reading/watching other writer’s blogs/vlogs.

Implications and Consequences

The most obvious implication that this approach presents is that morality is subjective. It is subjective and measured by whoever is committing the action, and whoever the action is being committed upon. Subjective morality is a dangerous game: if morality is subjective, then no one can definitively say what is and isn’t moral.

So, if the book is written from a morally subjective approach, it could easily lead to others taking that same perspective. Assuming they take everything at face value and don’t bring their own biases into it. Which is impossible.

Let’s assume, for a moment, that everyone who reads the book will take their own biases and perspectives on morality into account when they read the book (and they will). Then, in the case where they are reading something that affirms their beliefs, they will agree with it, and like the writing more because it supports their beliefs. In the case where they are reading something that goes against their beliefs, they will disagree with it and perhaps consider a new perspective. This will, ideally, challenge their own thinking, and help to improve their critical thinking skills.

Now, consider a book which only affirms the authors perspective on morality. The book, whether it does so explicitly or implicitly, will tell the reader what to think on whatever is happening. Rather than thinking critically about everything that happens in the story and coming to their own conclusions, the reader is led by the hand to understand morality from the writer’s perspective. This would be fine and dandy if the writer’s morality was perfect. But no human’s morality is.

So, we must find a different approach. Consider a book which affirms the characters’ perspective on morality, even if told from the perspective of a voiceless narrator. The book will tell the reader that everything the target character is doing is good. This will make the reader question what is good. They will read something not good happening, say to themselves, ‘this isn’t good,’ and then (hopefully) begin to consider the moral imperatives of all things happening. To consider all sides of any given argument.

By this approach, the writer is not leading the reader to a specific moral perspective, but instead leading the reader to a vast library of moral perspectives, where the reader can more easily reconsider their views.

As well, writing from a morally subjective approach highlights objective morality. If a reader can look at something that is happening and recognize that what is happening is wrong, even when all possible arguments are made for it being right, then how can it be that the thing could ever be right?

In contrast, writing from a morally objective perspective, where the writer’s morality does not line up with the objective, does the exact opposite.

Even the Bible (more specifically the Old Testament) is written from a subjectively moral perspective, which highlights the fact that morality is objective. Nearly every act described in the books of Kings and Chronicles is written in an unbiased, here are the facts, format. This leaves the reader to interpret what is right and what is wrong. Even more so, this takes the focus off of the writers biases and places it on the consequences of the events that take place. Polygamy, incest, and rape, all written from a morally grey perspective, lead to dire consequences that lead to the downfall of Israel. We read through it and know that it is wrong, and those who do not see the consequences of those actions.

Welcoming vs Alienating

This, I think, is a question that has plagued me. Finding the line to draw, finding where Devilspawn reaches a point of being too alienating to my target audience for me to include various plots in the narrative. What I have decided on is this: I want people to be uncomfortable.

Devilspawn is written with a wide range of target audience in mind. It is made to make people question their own beliefs and their own actions. It is, ultimately, written from a Christian perspective, but it is made to make Christians uncomfortable, to call the religion itself out on the ways it has failed. It is also written to be enjoyed by those apart from the faith. I have attempted, in almost every scene where Christianity is brought up, to write it in a non-intrusive and digestible way. In a way that everywhere it’s brought up carries with it an important element that relates to the situations each character is going through and that has some plot relevance. Devilspawn is written to make people question their own reality and consider things from another perspective. One of the villains is a judgemental Christian; one of the heroes is a gay Satanist. As previously stated, everything in Devilspawn is subjective, but it all points to one objective Truth.

So, though Devilspawn is certainly alienating, I hope and pray that those it would alienate (i.e. everyone) would read it with an open mind and with the motive of gaining a fresh perspective on reality.

Conclusion: Is This How it Should be Done?

The straight answer is, ‘probably not’. The more complicated answer is that writing the book in this way will likely turn away many readers who are not expecting a book written in this way. As I’m writing this, the possibility of writing a sort of ‘letter from the author’ before the book begins comes to mind. One which explains that which I’ve written above. That the book is intended to make people feel uncomfortable, and make them question their own perspective. Because questions and doubts are the only ways we move forward. Questioning the understood best way to do something is how we find better ways of doing things.

And that is why I’m writing Devilspawn in this way.

If what you just read happened to pique your interest, subscribe to my blog, either through WordPress or by way of using the email entry field on the right. Also, hop on over to our Facebook page and give us a like, leave us a comment, or share with your friends. Thanks for reading, and Happy Making!

Devilspawn and Divus Update

In lieu of releasing a chapter of Isle of the Dreamer (coming next week), I’ve decided to post an update on other projects I’m working on.

Unfortunately, there is no chapter of Isle of the Dreamer for this week, due to various things going on. I have, however, made progress on other projects in the past two weeks. Significant headway has been made on the most recent draft of Devilspawn, and actual work has been done on the video game I am working on, Project Divus (NP). More details below.

A Demon in the Night, Book I of Devilspawn

Unfortunately, Devilspawn sat dormant for several weeks while I got distracted by the wonderful prospect of doing nothing and lazing around all day. On the bright side, I have broken free from that temptation and made significant headway to the tune of and additional 30 pages.

As I write this, I come to the realization that I have given little to no updates about the writing of Devilspawn. Ever. Better late than never, I guess.

The first draft was 321 pages and the five people who read through it adored it. That, alongside actually finishing a draft for once, was a great confidence boost.

However, much to the dismay of the woman who is now my wife, I was unhappy with that draft. This was for two primary reasons (that are actually just one reason in disguise): (1) the draft had a lot of ‘downtime’ – periods where nothing would happen, involving multi-month gaps in time – which resulted in (2) a lot of plot threads being introduced in the final stretch of the book as they were being tied up. So, I decided to write out the second draft much differently – namely, by filling in the gaps, which padded out the book quite a bit.

The problem is that this made the book very long. It didn’t drag on, mind you, but it became quite long in the process, with many plot threads introduced toward the beginning of the book that wouldn’t be resolved until toward the end. Based on the length of the second draft, that probably wouldn’t have been for another 200-300 pages, which would be less than ideal. Thus, splitting the novel into two books.

Now, I could, of course, just write the whole thing out to its full length of 600-some-odd pages and then find a nice breaking point. The problem is that, with the way it was being written, that wouldn’t work very well.

Devilspawn is a character-focused narrative rather than a plot-focused narrative. There are several major plot points toward the middle of the book that would work as a nice finale for Volume I before transitioning into Volume II. The issue with that would be that its right smack in the middle of multiple character arcs. This would make the book feel incomplete.

Thus, my decision to simply start the next draft with that in mind: restructuring certain character arcs to be resolved before that point and pushing off other character arcs to be introduced after that point. Obviously, some character arcs will still span across both books, but the plan is to make Volume I feel more complete in itself, which is more pleasing in the eyes of readers and traditional publishers, should I end up needing to go that route.

Project Divus (NP)

Project Divus has seen many roadblocks in its production, not the least of which is my own laziness. The other was trying to work with a rather lethargic and disagreeable partner.

The starting area, with the main character swinging a sword

So, there’s been a shake-up in the production team, and I am now proud to announce that I will be working on Divus with my wife, Olivia, who will be working on the majority of the graphics for the game as well as helping me with level design. The two of us together have made what I would call significant progress on the game in the past two days. The starting area of the game is mostly completed, the Player Character (PC) can walk, can’t walk through walls, and can swing a sword. I say ‘can swing a sword’ and not ‘can attack things’ on account of I am currently having issues with making the code recognize certain colliders in the engine.

Other than that minor issue that I’m sure I’ll resolve soon, production is coming along quickly, especially compared to the last 8 months, where nothing was done except the creation of placeholder graphics (pictured above) that were very obviously based on those of the Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening.

Moving Forward

As previously mentioned, there is not chapter for Isle of the Dreamer this week. Rest assured, you lovely people who actually read it and keep asking me or my wife for more, another chapter is coming next week (hopefully). What I’ve been trying to do lately is release chapters on the second and fourth Fridays of each month with short stories being released on the Fridays between (thus, Sunny and Raphael).

The unfortunate reality is that life gets in the way of these sorts of things, especially when you haven’t actually released anything that can make you money (or don’t have a following at all) and have to depend on a day (read: 3 o’clock in the morning) job that leaves you feeling like time doesn’t exist for some reason and nothing matters.

That said, my goal is to release another chapter this upcoming Friday and another chapter the Friday after that, then return to the normal schedule. My hope is to keep releasing chapters and short stories alongside weekly status updates on the various projects I’m working on. If that doesn’t happen, see previous paragraph.

If either of the projects above happened to pique your interest, subscribe to my blog, either through WordPress or by way of using the email entry field on the right. Also, hop on over to our Facebook page and give us a like, leave us a comment, or share with your friends. Thanks for reading, and Happy Making!

Isle of the Dreamer, Chapter 13: The Bone in the Dark

Soren and the others reach the last leg of their journey as they prepare to pass through the most dangerous region of the island – Dormu’s Hollow.

The next three days of their journey were rather uneventful as they crossed the vast plains that were the Amaranch Fields, save for the night that Maya decided to see if the bracelet Soren found in the structure in the thicket would prevent the wearer from being burned. It did not.

At the dawn of the fourth day since they left the thicket – the seventh day of their journey, though it had been extended by one more day than initially projected – as they were packing up their camp, Soren noticed a raven, perched on a lone tree nearby. He finished tying up his bedroll before cautiously approaching it.

The last time he remembered seeing a raven on the island was when he’d just defeated Naga. When he emerged from the ancient temple and it was perched on a tree. Before that, he saw one when he woke up on the shore after his first attempt to escape the island. He peered at it curiously before whispering, “Why do I keep seeing you?”

The raven cocked its head.

“I’ve seen plenty of talking animals on this island, who are you?”

Somehow, Soren felt he could see the raven smiling. Something in its eyes. Its blue, crystalline eyes. How he hadn’t noticed its eyes before, he didn’t know – perhaps it was a different bird. But he had seen eyes like it before. In idols of the gods back in Ingaard, as well as the other cities of Shelez.

He opened his mouth to speak once more, but the bird took off. Soren sighed before returning to the others as they finished breaking camp.

Tomorrow, they would be in Zapad. Tomorrow, Soren would see Tyrell again. But first, they needed to travel through Dormu’s Hollow. The reason so many people took the two-week journey, as opposed to one. Dormu’s Hollow was a system of valleys and caves that cut across the north side of the island, known for killing many travelers. At the time when Arakim wrote his atlas, he was the only known explorer – though there were rumors of another – to pass through the hollow and survive.

Leondrea and Soren, however, were convinced they could make it through the hollow, especially with the help of Skullcrusher – and even more so now that they had Karkog with them.

After a couple hours of travel, they reached the entrance to the hollow. A cave, surrounded by poles that displayed the heads of men and orks alike.

“It’s not too late to turn back, you know,” Maya said as she lightly rubbed her bandaged arm. It took a lot of willpower not to simply scratch it outright. Despite the bracelet offering seemingly no benefit, she continued to wear it nonetheless.

“We’re going,” the Madam affirmed. “We’ve come this far, we’re not turning back now.” She let out a sigh, “We don’t really have the supplies to do so, even if we wanted to.”

“We could always ask the orks for supplies.”

Leondrea shook her head.

***

The darkness in the cave that led into the hollow was thick. It was as though they were traversing their way through a black fog, the light of a torch unable to reach as far as it normally would. Strange sounds echoed from the darkness as they crept through the cavern: a faint clicking noise, an occasional squeak, and the scraping of various materials against stone.

Arakim wrote of the things that lurked in the hollow. Vermin of extraordinary size – rodents, arachnids, and frogs the size of wolves, or larger. Long, segmented creatures with many legs that reached the height of men. And creatures that Arakim called celvir: tall, lanky creatures with teeth the size of a man’s fingers, and hollow, black eyes. It was the celvir who put their victims heads on poles. Soren had heard tales of similar creatures – felreiss – that lived up in Kapfas. They would eat the raw flesh off their victims and could reattach severed limbs – even if those limbs originally belonged to something else. Their only weakness was sunlight, which burned their skin from their bones.

But the most foreboding creature was the hollow’s namesake. Arakim wrote little about it. Nothing of its appearance or behaviors. Only the sound it made. Even the celvir seemed to fear its feral call. Arakim described it as a mixture between the crying of a babe and the sound of a man drowning in his own blood.

After what felt like miles, they finally emerged from the cave into one of the deep valleys that made up the hollow. The sky above was covered in thick clouds that loomed just at the top of the sheer rock walls that lined it. It was near midday, but felt as though it was twilight.

At the very least, they could now see more than ten feet away from them. But that perhaps only made things worse as they watched the giant tarantulas and scorpions creeping along the wall. Giant rats spat at them, their saliva sounding as though it was sizzling on the ground. Likely the only thing that kept the creatures away was the foreboding dire wolf that walked alongside the group. Soren saw none of the hundred-legged creatures Arakim wrote about, or the celvir, or Dormu itself -as far as he could tell.

Statues lined the sides of the pass, their figures carved with intricate detail. Like soldiers, standing at attention. They almost appeared to be people, turned to stone by some magical force. At once point, Soren thought he saw a statue turn its head to look at them out of the corner of his eye. When he investigated the statue, he saw its head facing forward, just as all the rest.

Just a trick of the light.

“I’ve heard of creatures which can turn men to stone,” Leondrea commented, breaking the solemn silence they’d walked in for the past few hours.

“I wouldn’t believe such legends,” Soren replied with a hoarse whisper.

“And why is that?”

Soren shrugged as he scanned their surroundings. Something felt off. It was too quiet, and the various creatures around them were slowly creeping away. “I’ve never seen something with magic that powerful. To be able to change the material something is made of.”

“And why is that so hard to believe? We just watched a god die no more than a fortnight ago.”

Soren took in a sharp breath and listened for a moment. There was no sounds. No quiet clicking, no squeaking, nothing. “If whatever that was truly died, it was no god.”

Leondrea opened her mouth to speak again, but Soren cut her off.

“Quiet!”

The group stood, listening for a moment. There was no cry, so it couldn’t have been Dormu.

A light slapping noise echoed through the pass.

The group shuffled over to the wall and crouched low – Skullcrusher couldn’t do much to hide. Just as they finished hiding, a creature, at least double Soren’s height, rounded the corner up ahead. One leg matched its body – a long, spindly leg with far too many joints that ended in a point – the other appeared to have once belonged to a frog. That was what had been making the slapping noise. It would have been taller if not for the frog leg. One of its long arms reached down to the ground, ending in a clawed hand, where each of its four fingers circled around its odd wrist. Its other arm appeared to have once been the tail of a particularly large rat. Its perfectly round head held a gaping mouth, filled with sharp teeth, and its eye sockets appeared completely empty. Its gaze seemed to lock on Skullcrusher and its lips curled outward, taking two rows of teeth with it. Another row sat behind them in a twisted smile. The celvir were certainly much more twisted than the tales Soren had heard of the felreiss.

Leondrea tried to jump out of their hiding place. Soren held her back and placed his other hand on Maya’s head.

“Wait for it to get close.” He nodded at Karkog, who nodded back.

As the celvir crept closer, Soren began climbing the wall next to them. It was certainly much easier than it would have been without his sandals. He kept behind a fold in the wall until he was satisfied he was too high for the celvir to notice him.

Skullcrusher whimpered slightly as the creature grew closer.

Soren kicked off the cliff face and flipped through the air to land on the opposite wall. He scrambled to hide behind a fold in the wall, sending several small rocks tumbling down.

The celvir was distracted for only a moment before its attention returned to Skullcrusher. Soren had never seen such a patient hunter, walking so slowly. Perhaps it wanted to strike fear into its prey. Maybe it simply couldn’t run properly.

Soren slowly lowered himself down the rock face until he felt he could jump down safely once it got close enough. He looked to Karkog to ensure he was watching. Then he focused on the celvir. It grew closer. And closer.

Soren nodded to Karkog before jumping from the cliff face.

Karkog grunted hoarsely and sprang into action.

In his descent, Soren swung Delmore’s sword in a wide arc. Trying to sever its head would be impractical, but cutting into it would likely do some damage. He missed, instead hitting the rat tail arm, which fell off with ease.

Karkog targeted the long and spindly leg. His axe swung, and collided with the thing’s leg. They heard a crunch as the leg shattered, sending splinters flying through the air. Its skin was like bone.

The Madam barked an order and Skullcrusher sprang into action. He leapt at the celvir, pinning it the ground. But not before it could cry for help.

As it collided with the ground the creature let out a sharp screech. Skullcrusher ripped its head off, flinging it across the stone ground. Yet it moved still.

Their ears ringing, Karkog and Soren continued hacking at the creature until it could move no more. Celvir’s vital organs were highly decentralized. The only way to kill one would be to destroy its entire body completely.

“We will need to move quickly,” Soren said as he rushed to gather its parts together, “More may be on the way soon.”

As they laid the last of its parts on top of its torso, a second screech sounded from elsewhere in the hollow.

Soren rifled through his backpack, fishing out a fireball and setting it on the pile. “Be ready to run.” As he lit the fuse, he started running, the rest along with him.

An explosion rang out behind them as they ran as fast as they could, turning this way and that, having no time to stop and look at the map Arakim provided. There was no way to know if they were heading toward the exit, only that the screeching of the other celvir was getting quieter.

They were getting further from danger, and that was all that mattered.

As the screeching stopped, their running slowed. Eventually, they stopped, each of them slumping over to catch their breath. Only Karkog remained alert.

They rested for a minute before Karkog interrupted.

“Danger.”

Soren looked up to see what Karkog was looking at. The celvir had found them.

Raphael

An orphan wanders through the woods to find a new home. This is a chapter from my upcoming novel, Devilspawn.

Caleb was given specific directions. He was told to follow the signs. To follow the road to Abba’s house. There, he would always be provided for. There, he would never want.

He was told he shouldn’t make the journey alone. Everyone else was too afraid. Too afraid of what lurked in the woods. Of leaving behind the only place they ever knew. So, he traveled alone, from the village of orphans he’d grown up in.

He followed all the signs, followed Michael’s directions perfectly. Until he reached a fork where there was no sign – at least none that he could see.

It was dark, the faint glow of the stars unable to peak through the forest’s canopy. Up to this point, every sign – with the exception of the first few – had pointed down a road that was clearly far less traveled, with the difference becoming less discernible with each fork. Here, both roads looked equally traveled – as if only a single set of feet had traveled each one several times over. Caleb could discern no other difference.

Caleb wasn’t sure how, but he knew he was close. He’d reach Abba’s house soon. So, he kept going, even if he couldn’t see where. He trusted that Abba would guide him.

Soon, he was set upon by one of the Fallen; its red, glowing eyes jumping out from behind a thick tree. Its bladed tail sliced through Caleb’s back, and he cried out as he fell to the ground. It threw a bag over his head and bound his hands and legs before carrying him off the path. He didn’t know how far.

“Abba, save me,” Caleb whimpered.

He was alone now – his kidnapper, Nivael, having just slipped into the next room.

Caleb could hear him talking to someone, although he didn’t know who. The Satan – who works to lead Abba’s children astray? Another of the Fallen, like Nivael? Another orphan, like Caleb?

He didn’t know and at this point it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he continued to call out Abba’s name. That’s what Michael told him. “Call on Abba’s name, and He will send help.”

So, he repeated again, “Abba, I’m sorry. I took a wrong turn. Please, save me. I know You’re far away, but, please, hear my cry. Save me, Abba.”

Caleb heard a chuckle from the door. Nivael.

“You really think He cares about you? You think that with all the children He’s adopted – millions upon millions – he really cares about you?”

Nivael chuckled before calling into the other room. “Hey, this kid thinks he matters!”

He turned back to Caleb.

“You’re just some random kid who forgot the directions laid out for you. I did better than you did. At least when I went the wrong way, it was my choice.”

Caleb stopped his pleading for just a moment. He looked at Nivael as tears streamed down his face. “You think you’re better than me, just because you chose this? Because you chose to reject Abba’s love?”

Nivael let out a scornful laugh, his eyes darting to the side before focusing back on Caleb. “I didn’t reject Abba’s love. I accepted freedom. I listened to the words of the Satan, and, you know what, he made a lot more sense than Abba. To be able to wander through the woods as I please. To not be locked up inside Abba’s house, only to leave so that I can go ‘guide’ and ‘protect’ other orphans. No. I don’t want that.”

Caleb squinted at Nivael and sniffled. “Are you left wanting?”

Nivael scowled.

Caleb shook his head. “Abba, save me,” he whispered again.

“What was that?”

“Abba, save me,” Caleb repeated, louder this time. He began repeating it over and over again, slowly increasing in volume.

Nivael shook his head.

Eventually, Caleb’s words turned into screaming.

His screams repeated for many hours, until his throat became scratchy and his voice weak. But, no matter how much it hurt him, he had to keep crying out. He needed help. He needed Abba.

Just as he could scream no longer, the door leading outside swung open. The room flooded with light as a new figure entered. A servant of Abba, given the power of shining light, even in the darkest of places. The figure pointed at Nivael, who froze in place. “You shall not have this one.”

Caleb tried to call his name, but he could only manage to mouth it. “Zedekiah.”

Nivael broke from his trance and sneered at Zedekiah. “You think you can save him? You think you can defy the will of the Satan? He was the highest of Abba’s servants! You are feeble and weak compared to him!”

Nivael lunged at Zedekiah. His mane looked like a blaze of fire as he reached out his claws at the figure of light.

Zedekiah reached out His hand.

Nivael flew across the room. His bones shattered as he slammed into the wall and slumped to the floor.

Caleb could hear someone stumbling in the next room. A door swung open and he heard heavy footfalls running from the building. The sound slowly faded.

Zedekiah approached Nivael’s corpse. He strained to draw breath. “Yes. I can save him. And I do defy the Satan. I regret that you chose this name for yourself. I give you one last chance. Choose Abba.”

With all the strength he could muster, Nivael spat in Zedekiah’s face.

Zedekiah placed His hand on Nivael’s forehead, and he drew his last breath. “Goodbye, child.”

As Zedekiah turned to face him, Caleb shuffled around on the floor.

“Abba sent me,” Zedekiah said, bending down to untie Caleb’s bindings. “He was eagerly awaiting your cries for help, and He heard them. It is by your faith – your unwillingness to give up – that you are saved. Abba’s house cannot be reached without that”

Caleb sat up as he rubbed his wrists with his hands.

Zedekiah smiled at him – at least, Caleb thought He did. It was difficult to see His face. “You shall have the name that should have been Nivael’s.”

Zedekiah placed His hand on Caleb’s forehead.

Caleb felt a burning sensation. But it was comforting.

When Zedekiah moved His hand, Caleb’s new name was written there. He didn’t need to see it to know what it was. He knew it in his heart.

“What does it mean?”

Zedekiah stood up, taking Caleb into his arms before walking out the door. “God heals.”

Sunny

A dedicated guardian protects a child from the creatures of the night.

For all intents and purposes, Sunny was alone in the night. His charge was asleep, and there was a certain eerie stillness. The silence echoed in Sunny’s ears as he sat staring off into the black, waiting for whatever dangers awaited him. His charge stirred – a little girl. She held tight to Sunny as she snuggled closer, nuzzling Sunny’s face. No matter what dangers Sunny faced only one thing mattered – protecting his charge.

Not a single sound met Sunny’s ears, save for the occasional cough from another room. But the coughs came from nothing dangerous. No, if something dangerous were to show itself this night, it would give no warning. It would simply appear, whether it was under his charge’s bed, through the windows that led out into the night, or behind the door in the corner.

Darkness lurked in every hidden place, peaking out as it hid from the light. It lived in the hidden places to torment Sunny’s charge as it became new every night and brought new horrors with it.

Many would have been afraid as they waited, restless and alone in the silent dark. But Sunny was not afraid. He was never afraid. Everything that sought to hurt his charge, he destroyed. Everything that entered the room that shouldn’t, he defeated. No future night would ever be any different.

The door on the far wall opened; light rushed into the room, making the darkness flee. A face peaked through the crack between the door and the wall. It smiled at Sunny and his charge, then receded, taking the light with it as the door clicked shut.

Sunny waited for hours that night in silence and solitude. Waiting for something to come after his charge.

From the dark of the corner door crept a shadow, moving like a faint wisp as it appeared in the room. Its eyes glowed red in the dark, staring at Sunny’s charge. It stood tall, its dark figure towering so high that it had to hunch over to fit in the room. Its horns reached high above its head, and a tail whipped around behind it. It clopped its hooved feet on the ground as its gaze met Sunny, carefully pulling himself from the arms of his charge so as to not awaken her.

The dark figure recoiled as its eyes locked with Sunny’s – black beads that glistened from the lamp outside the bedroom window. Sunny stood tall on his charge’s bed and waddled toward the dark figure.

The figure let out a chuckle. “What is this that stands in my way? A puny thing, with no beating heart of courage nor breath of life to sustain it? With no mind for wisdom, nor muscle for strength? No soul in which to fear?”

Sunny stared into the figure’s fiendish eyes. “You will not harm this girl.”

The figure had no mouth, but it frowned nonetheless. “And how do you expect to keep that promise?”

Sunny stood, motionless. He didn’t say a word. He just stared into the figure’s eyes, and refused to look away.

The figure stared back. He’d have moved forward had Sunny not been there.
But Sunny was there.

The figure stood up as tall as it could with such a low ceiling. “I will have that girl.”

Sunny stared back.

“I will take her.”

Sunny didn’t move.

“She will be mine.”

Sunny stayed silent.

The figure squinted at Sunny as it stayed standing at a distance. It couldn’t reason that such a diminutive thing could pose it any danger. But it wanted to be sure.

“Who are you, oh tiny guardian?”

“My name is Sunny.”

The figure crossed its arms. “Well, that is a peculiar name.”

“What is yours?”

The figure raised an eyebrow. It’d never been asked such a question before. “Well, I suppose I can be called Darkness.”

“Darkness,” Sunny repeated. “I’d say that’s a more peculiar name than Sunny, wouldn’t you agree?”

Darkness recoiled. “Well, I would say so, too, were it not for the fact I had to make up the name on the spot. Where did Sunny come from?”

“It is the name given to me by my charge – the girl.”

Darkness looked to the girl. “So, you did not name yourself?”

“No.”

“Well,” Darkness began, “what sort of creature are you that you should be subject to the name that others give you rather than your own?”

“I am no creature, sir,” Sunny replied. “I am but a guardian. This girl is my life. Should she be harmed, I am nothing. What creature are you that you should harm a girl?”

Darkness was silent for several moments. “A creature which must feed. That must feed on fear, on nightmares, on a human’s natural inclination to hate that which they do not know in worry that it may bring them harm. What would they fear if there was nothing to harm them? Thus, I must, in order that I may feed myself.”

“So, you would harm her to save yourself?” Sunny asked.

“Yes,” Darkness answered.

Sunny would have smiled if he had a mouth. “Well, I protect her to save myself, I suppose.”

“So,” Darkness said, “it seems that one of must die.”

“You could leave,” Sunny replied.

Darkness let out a faint whistle – perhaps its own form of a laugh. “I’m afraid you must die, little Sunny.”

“You are afraid, aren’t you?” Sunny would’ve smiled if he could – not because he enjoyed Darkness’s fear, but the irony of it.

Darkness lurched forward with excellent speed, lunging over Sunny’s head. Or so it thought.

Just before its claws sunk into the girl’s skin, it felt a pain in its abdomen.

It looked down.

Sunny had claws of his own.

White strands like lightning surged forth from the little guardian’s hands and crept through Darkness’ veins.

It felt itself burning from the inside out.

It launched across the room with incredible speed, slamming into the wall. As it pulled itself up off the ground, Sunny jumped from the bed.

It tried to run around him. It tried to trick Sunny by ducking back and running the other way. It tried leaping through the air to pass over his head. But, no matter what it tried, it couldn’t escape.

Sunny reached out like lightning once more, grabbing Darkness once again and throwing it against the ceiling.

It came down with a crash and Sunny’s charge stirred.

Without standing, Darkness launched itself from the ground and toward the bed, only for Sunny to grab its foot, swinging it high over his head before slamming it back into the floor.

Darkness rolled around in a daze as Sunny waddled over to its stunned figure.

“You were right to fear me.”

Sunny placed his hand on Darkness’s forehead, and the light began to seep through its veins once more.

It burned.

It ached.

Darkness opened its mouth to scream, but there was no sound.

It had silenced the screams of so many before – children with no guardians – as it crept into their mind while they laid awake. As it taught them to fear the dark, to fear those around them, to fear the world.

It had taught so many to fear before, yet it had never learned fear itself.

Through the window, Darkness learned fear.

The sky was orange as the sun sat just below the horizon.

It had waited too long. It had taken too much time talking to the little guardian that now held it in place. It should have left the moment it saw Sunny. It tried to retreat, back to the door in the corner of the room. But it couldn’t.

Sunny held it in place.

“You would cause my death?” it asked, its voice trembling as it became filled evermore with the fear it sought to wreak upon others.

“I would. If it saves my charge.” Sunny looked down at Darkness. He would have felt pity if he’d seen its face in any other circumstance. Instead, he felt triumph. “Would you like to say anything more before you die?”

Darkness stared at the horizon as its death came closer and closer. “Please, spare me.”

Sunny cocked his head. “If I were not here and my charge asked you for the same mercy, would you offer it? Or would you ignore her and take her mind, regardless of what she wanted?”

Darkness began to weep, its tears like crystal in the orange glow of a new dawn. “I can change, I swear it. Please, spare me.”

Sunny gave it the same emotionless stare he gave everything. “No.”

As Sunny spoke the word, the sun peaked over the horizon.

Darkness let out a terrible screech, though it didn’t bother Sunny and certainly didn’t wake his charge – in fact, it seemed to make her smile.

Light leapt through the window and slammed into the wall. Darkness recoiled at the rays shining above it. They climbed down to touch its form, Darkness turning into a shadow with every inch they traveled. Its figure slowly disappeared as it writhed in pain and tried ever harder to find an escape. But there was none.

Sunny was once again alone. He stood, staring at where Darkness had been. He felt no pity for it, no remorse. Neither did he feel joy or happiness at its death. It was only a means to the end of protecting his charge.

He climbed into the bed and looked at the horizon to watch the sun crawl ever further into view. He liked watching the sunrise.

Then the girl stirred.

Sunny walked back over to where she lay, carefully crawling into her arms so as to not wake her. He nuzzled up to her face and gave her one last hug. He never knew which hug would be his last. He never knew when she would stop needing him. But for now she did.

As her eyes opened, he felt his thoughts leave him. He regretted that he could never speak to her. That’s the one thing he did regret. For as long as she was awake, he was nothing more than a teddy bear.

Isle of the Dreamer, Chapter 11: The Hatred in the Heart

Soren remembers his first time encountering orks face-to-face.

Soren scanned the orks that surrounded him and his friends.

Winning such a fight would involve beating insurmountable odds. Not that he hadn’t done such a thing before, this time, however, the odds were even more against them.

After recovering from the shake of finding a Shadow in their midst, the orks turned to the group and began closing them in. Their exits were sealed – there was no way out.

Soren tightened his grip on the sword in his hand. A sword that burned orks would certainly be helpful in this situation.

Leondrea and Maya’s hands rested on their own weapons as they moved, attempting to inconspicuously surround Aryia – the only one in their group who didn’t know how to fight.

As they prepared for the worst, Karkog knelt down before the ork lord.

He said something that Soren couldn’t quite understand, but he understood enough – Karkog was offering himself up for execution.

As the ork lord began to reply, Leondrea interrupted him.

Karkog glared back at her, growling in his native language.

Leondrea shouted back before looking to the ork lord and saying something else in a respectful tone.

The ork lord looked to Karkog, then to Leondrea. He certainly wasn’t happy. He took in a deep breath, let out a sigh, then waved his hand. Soren assumed his next words meant, “So be it.”

Leondrea stepped forward and dragged Karkog to his feet. As she pulled him back to the rest of the group, the ork lord returned to his throne.

“The prisoners will be kept safe?” Leondrea asked in Shelezar.

The ork lord leaned his head to the side. “I am a man of my word.”

“We may well return this way once our journey is over – we will take them with us then.”

The ork lord nodded. “Very well. The hour grows late, perhaps you would like some lodging?”

Leondrea looked to her compatriots before replying – Soren nodded; he wasn’t aware how the others responded. “That would be nice.”

“I will have a private barracks prepared – for now, accompany me to my meal hall.”

The ork stood from his throne and made his way out of the room. The group followed him down several corridors before coming to a large room with two long tables. He invited them to sit next to him as they ate and he asked them what they knew of the island so far – while the rest of his orks were born here, he was of only a handful that became stranded on the island long ago. The only ones that remained who had arrived when he did either died in battle or went their own way.

Soren recounted his excursion into the temple near Ortus and the information he’d gained from speaking with Arakim.

After eating, they went to the private barracks, where beds had been prepared and laid down to sleep.

As Soren laid awake, he thought back to when he’d fought the orks invading the small village near Ingaard – one of the stories he’d told Aryia when he’d first arrived on the island.

He stood near the back of the ranks during that battle – it was his first time ever seeing an ork in person.

Ishmere and Delmore stood on the front lines, alongside Tyrell and Lairus the Red. It was in that battle Lairus got the scar that stretched his entire torso.

In fact, all those on the front lines sustained injuries that should have proven fatal – and many of the knights and militiamen died, their guts spilled out on the ground, or drowning in pools of their own blood.

Despite nearly half the militia falling that battle, only one of those in the Imya’s crew fell – a young lad who was told to stay in the back with Soren. Soren hadn’t known orkish tactics then, but he at least knew his way around a sword. The young lad – Targin was his name – barely knew how to fight. But he was determined that by sheer force of will he’d survive and that he’d prove himself one of the best combatants in the group. Unfortunately, he was wrong.

He’d charged to the front lines as soon as the battle broke out. He left the formation that the crew – along with the knights and militia – had decided on before the battle. He was not the first to die – but he was the most brutally killed.

When the crew held his funeral, they had to put his parts in a box – incapable of laying his body to rest on the pyre.

For several years after that, Soren assumed orks to be nothing but mindless savages, seeking only to kill. That was the only time the crew had taken on a full horde, but many times after that, they would take on small detachments, each one just as brutal as the last. It wasn’t until quite recently that he discovered orks were just as smart as humans. It wasn’t until recently that he’d discovered they could be just as civilized and merciful as humans and simply chose not to.

Previous to learning that fact, his view on them was a dismissive one, believing that it was simply in their nature. Just as a man does not hate an crocodile for seeking out food, he did not hate orks for pillaging human settlements. He would defend against them, sure, and relish in their death. But he didn’t hate them.

Then, his crew met with a more civilized horde. One that had done away with many of the savage ways of the orks he’d met in the past. A horde that had done away with the traditions and moral code given to the orks by the giants in ages long past.

That was when he learned better. That the orks were not to be merely dismissed as mindless beings following an unbreakable nature. That the orks, which held to the idea that they needed to kill without mercy and even kill their own should they become injured, were to be hated. A hate which burned Soren to his core.

A hate that extended to the orks which Skullcrusher ripped apart in the cave.

A hate that had originally extended to the orks in the castle.

A hate that painfully subsided with each act of kindness and mercy the orks of the castle extended to him. That extended to so many more than just orks. That his own religion told him to be rid of. That would be more difficult to let go of than anything.

New chapters release every second and fourth Friday of the month. If you like what you’re reading, drop a like or a share, and you can subscribe using the module in the right sidebar or read previous chapters at xaviermakes.com/iotd.

Isle of the Dreamer, Chapter 10: The Snake in the Grass

Soren and the party resolve to kill Alonzo in order to free his subjects. But Alonzo is not what he seems.

“You’re going to take the word of an ork over the word of a human?” Maya protested, “A horrible human, sure, but a human!”

Leondrea squinted at the young-looking girl, “We have three choices here: do nothing and let these people die; try to take on the orks and probably fail, getting ourselves and the people killed; or kill Alonzo, bring the orks his head, and save all these people. Which do you think is best?”

“Why wouldn’t the orks be able to just kill Alonzo themselves? And why wouldn’t we be able to take on the orks? We massacred a cave full of them!”

“Those were runts; the ogre that led them kept them weak, likely only to fuel his own perceived superiority,” Soren replied, eyeing Karkog suspiciously. “Even this one here is far stronger than any of those.”

“And Skullcrusher was the only reason we made it out of there alive,” Leondrea added. “He’d barely be able to fit through the halls of an orkish castle. They’d probably come up from behind, he wouldn’t be able to turn around, and then we’d all, along with these prisoners, be dead.”

“Alonzo is no king, milady,” one of the prisoners said, staring at Maya with one eye, while the other pointed to the floor. He was a frail old man, who’d been leaning against the bars of the cell, his scraggly hair reaching down to the floor from his seated position. “He is an usurper, an outlaw, and a sorcerer of the greatest of evils. He contends with devils and gains his power not by his own merit or grit, but by selling his own followers to the whims of monsters and demons. Orks may seem monsters to you or I; but, alongside him, they are just as you or I.”

Maya’s eyebrows drooped as her lips down-turned. She looked to Leondrea and Soren with worry in her eyes before she gained an all-new conviction. “All the more reason to leave it alone!”

“It does not matter how far you run, girl,” the prisoner continued. “The man who claims to be Alonzo will not stop until all of the world is under his rule. The man who claims to be Alonzo will one day find you, and you will meet the same fate as us. He makes no distinction between friend and foe, for he has neither. He has only himself and only for himself does he care.”

Maya bit the inside of her cheek. “Fine.”

“That’s settled, then,” Leondrea said with a pained smile on her face. She turned to Karkog. “Can you stand?”

“Barely,” he grunted as he pushed himself off the ground. He’d have fallen right back over again had Soren not caught him.

They hid the dead guard in the secret passage before closing up the entrance and making their way back to Aryia.

On the way, Soren noticed a grotesque thing moving in the grass – a fleshy tube, covered in hair, eye-like spots, and finger-like protrusions. Assuming it was just another odd creature of the island – though he hadn’t seen anything quite so strange – he decided to ignore it.

Skullcrusher growled as the trio returned with the ork, while Aryia stared in wonder and confusion. She’d never seen an ork up close before. They looked far more human than she’d often heard described, and she’d never heard of one interacting positively with humans. Now her friends were helping an injured one.

Leondrea took the orks hand in hers and held it in the air so that her mutt would stop growling. “Change of plans,” she said, “we’re not going to take the castle back because it already was taken back. Instead, we’re going to kill Alonzo so that the subjects he left for dead may live.”

Aryia’s confusion transitioned into concern. “What?”

Soren cleared his throat as he released Karkog to recline against the tree. “The orks owned the castle first – Alonzo took it from then, they took it back. They gave Alonzo a deal – he dies and his subjects go free.” He shrugged as he walked over to the circle the other three were now standing in. “So, Leondrea has decided we’re going to kill Alonzo. And Maya and I agreed.”

Aryia raised her brows and let out a huff before shrugging. “Okay.”

***

The group waited a couple hours for Karkog’s ankles to finish healing before making their way back in the direction of Alonzo’s farmhouse.

When they arrived, Alonzo was nowhere to be seen. His plants were completely wilted – they’d been completely healthy and nearly ready to harvest when they’d been there only a few hours prior.

As they searched, they found very little. Scattered supplies here and there throughout the garden. Finally, they decided to enter the house. The front door was locked, but a solid kick from Karkog sent it flying into the room. On the floor was a body – or perhaps what would more aptly be called a skin suit.

It looked like Alonzo, but was limp – as if without bones – and the skin was like that of a whale. When Soren flipped the body over, they saw that the eyes had rolled back into its head, and blood had trickled from the mouth, pooling on the floor.

Karkog growled before cursing in his native tongue. “Is snake he.”

Soren let out a sigh. “So he’s not dead?”

“No. Not dead he.”

“How do you know he turned into a snake?”

“Seen sorcery me. How escaped before he.”

“Do any of your old clansmen know of this sorcery?” Leondrea asked.

“Yes.”

Soren huffed as he stood. “Great, so we can’t just take the body and say he’s dead.”

“Well, we just need to find a snake, then,” Maya offered. “Problem solved.”

“Not easy. Specific snake.”

Leondrea asked a question in Karkog’s native tongue and he replied in kind. He spoke for quite some time, explaining something in great detail.

Leondrea clicked her tongue before letting out a sigh. “So, we’re not actually looking for a snake. It’s more like a tube of flesh. On the bright side, he can’t take a human form unless he finds a body big enough to twist into the form he desires.”

“Anything else we ought to know?” Soren asked before shock spread across his face. “You said a tube of flesh?”

Leondrea furrowed her brow and craned her head. “Yes… with fur, and eyes, and little tentacles.”

Soren tightened his grip on the sword around his belt before bending down to take the silver sword from Alonzo’s belt. “I saw him at the castle, we need to go. Now!”

***

Despite his massive size, Skullcrusher struggled to run all the way to the castle with the five of them on his back. Nevertheless, he still managed to make it, although very winded when they reached the gate.

Leondrea quickly jumped off, shouting to the orkish archers that sat upon the gate. They quickly lowered their bows and the gate opened. The five of them were rushed to the throne room, where they met the lord of the ork clan – along with the guard they’d killed in the dungeon.

The un-dead guard wore a sinister smile as he turned back toward the group.

Soren couldn’t understand what he said, but he understood his pointing well enough – the ork was accusing them of something.

Karkog immediately protested, barking several orkish curses that Soren recognized before speaking more calmly.

The orkish lord looked thoughtfully between the two before his eyes fell on the silver sword fastened to Soren’s side.

“Tell me, human: where did you get that sword?”

Soren looked down at it, unfastening it before holding it out in front of him – as would have been courteous in his old life. “We got it off the body of the man we knew as Alonzo. Or, rather, the body he’d made for himself.”

“I see.” The ork lord rubbed the grey hairs on his chin as he looked back and forth between Soren and the dead guard. “And where do you suppose this Alonzo is now?”

Soren looked to the guard. “Standing right in front of you, my lord.” He nodded at the guard, who feigned shock at such a wild accusation.

“Preposterous, this!” The guard shrieked. “Not Alonzo, I! Him! Alonzo him! Karkog!”

Karkog replied in his native tongue and the ork lord rubbed his chin again. He waved to Soren. “Bring the blade.”

Soren knelt down before the ork, keeping his head down and holding the blade in front of him.

“Arise and unsheathe the blade.”

Soren complied.

“Press it to the arm skin of this one,” the ork lord commanded, pointing to the guard who should have been dead.

Soren once again complied. Nothing happened.

“And now this one.” He pointed to Karkog.

Karkog seemed to be bracing himself as the blade drew near. When it touched his skin, he cried out in pain and steam arose from it. As Soren took the blade away, a burn mark had been left on Karkog’s skin.

Soren turned back to the lord, eyes wide in horror. The dead guard was already being set upon by multiple in the room.

The orkish lord was shouting something as he stood from his throne.

Soren backed up to the rest of his group and asked Leondrea what was going on.

“From what I gather, the sword is magical and burns the blood of giants. Because the body that Alonzo took on is no longer orkish, it didn’t burn him, proving he wasn’t who he said he was.”

Soren put the sword back on his hip as the ork lord drew his own – a blade that looked more decorative than practical, and that fit Alonzo’s description of the ceremonial blade they were originally sent to retrieve perfectly.

“Hashlakos,” Karkog muttered under his breath.

“God-killer,” Leondrea translated.

Alonzo looked to Soren pleadingly.

“Please, my child,” he begged. “You prayed to me when you first came to this island. You’ve prayed to me with every meal you’ve eaten. You know me. You saw my garden and what came of it when I abandoned it. If I die, this whole island will wither away. The whole world, every green thing will wither and die. I am the Cultivator, Soren. Save-“

Alonzo let out a shriek as the ork lord’s blade plunged through his chest. It sounded as nails on a chalkboard.

The room grew dark as the shrieking continued. Alonzo began to writhe as he fell from the blade, continuing to shriek. The stench of death filled the room as the orks that had been holding him backed away.

His skin began to bubble and burst, spewing pus that singed the stone floor. The body eventually exploded with a burst of light, and only a shadow remained hovering in the air in its place.

An ominous voice echoed through the room. “I see now you seek the end of this world. No new seed shall spring forth, nor new flower bloom. As seasons pass, plants will die, and no more shall take their place. This is the fate that you have wrought. In time, all things will die, and the only one who can reverse this curse is the one more powerful than I. But, unfortunately for you, he slumbers. And he will slumber until the end of time.

“But now, it is my time. For now I shall depart from this realm of hatred and selfishness. This realm that does not recognize the power of those above. This realm that seeks only worldly gains and does not favor the gods who maintain it.

“Farewell, oh rotten ones. For you have doomed all.”

With that, the shadow faded and light shone back into the room, leaving Soren and his party – including Karkog, the traitorous ork – surrounded by an ork clan.

New chapters release every second and fourth Friday of the month. If you like what you’re reading, drop a like or a share, and you can subscribe using the module in the right sidebar or read previous chapters at xaviermakes.com/iotd.

Isle of the Dreamer, Chapter 9: The Castle in the Prairie

Soren and the others begin their seven-day journey to Zapad, soon interrupted by an encounter with a peculiar noble who has recently lost his castle.

The expeditionary crew, which consisted of Soren, Maya, the Madam, Aryia, and Skullcrusher met at the Madam’s Manor. They mapped out the fastest route possible while avoiding known ork territories using Arakim’s atlas. It would take them around Perdinitium, rather than through it, and take them instead along the shore. Until they reached the prairie called Ukulu, then they would travel along the river there until they reached the base of the mountain. At that point, they would cross the stone bridge that could be found there and travel through a small thicket, before coming to Amaranch Fields, then pass through Dormu’s Hollow, and, finally, reach Zapad. A nearly seven-day journey in all, nearly half the length of the usual route. Once they had agreed upon the route and secured the necessary provisions, they departed.

For most of the day, they walked, stopping only twice. The first to eat lunch, the second halfway between noon and sundown when they encountered an unexpected encampment.

As they passed beyond the edge of Perdinitium and over the hills which wrapped around Ukulu, they saw a hovel, or perhaps more adequately described as a manor – one unspoken of in Arakim’s Atlas. It was larger than many of the houses in Ortus, though certainly not as large as the Madam’s Manor, and was surrounded by a garden that stretched a good distance all around it.

In the garden was a man who wore a royal blue robe and a silver circlet.

Soren called out, and the man looked up from the plant he was watering and smiled. He looked not much older than the Madam appeared, and it seemed that he was very well-groomed until recently. He had hints of black stubble that matched his black hair, which was mildly frizzed, and he had small smears of dirt on his face – far less than Soren or Maya had.

As they approached, he set down the watering can he held and waved, placing one hand on the sword that hung from his waist. The silver plating on the hilt particularly caught Soren’s eye – and likely Maya’s, though for different reasons.

“Hail, friends!” the man in the blue robe called. “What bringeth you through my demesne?”

The man spoke an archaic form of Shelezar, though still recent enough that Soren could understand him.

He looked to his companions before opening his mouth to reply to the man, only to be cut off by Leondrea, who responded in the same archaic dialect.

“Hail, man. We fare from the burg of Ortis to that of Zapad. We bid thy goodwill in passage through thy demesne if thy wouldst permit it.”

The man nodded. “I would permit thee passage, but I speak to the man which leadeth thee. What say, friend?”

Soren raised a brow as he glanced at Leondrea, whose head recoiled as her face twisted into a mixture of confusion and disgust.

He looked back to the man, attempting to speak the dialect, though failing quite horribly. “I wonder, man, what is thou name?”

The man furrowed his brow. “Zounds! I see now why the woman speaks for thee, for an ox whose tongue had been ripped out could speak better. Nevertheless, my name is Alonzo of Peldon. And I would permit you passage if ye would do this thing for me: you see, I am the lord of a castle that is nearly a mile to the north – but my servants which reside there turned against me, the scoundrels. They chased from my throne and force me now to live here in this small villa. My complaints are scant, for it is a good place to be, but, alas, there are some heirlooms which I would like to have back. If ye would retrieve these heirlooms for me, I would permit thee passage through my demesne.”

“We will-” Soren hesitated as he attempted to speak “-do that.”

Alonzo smiled once more and returned to watering his plant. “Very well. I shall see you upon your return.”

Leondrea clicked her tongue. “What heirlooms dost thy need us to retrieve?”

Alonzo looked up in surprise as he set the watering can back down. “Ah, yes, right.” Alonzo proceeded to list off a number of items, though Leondrea managed to negotiate down to three: a platter that had his family’s faces painted on it, a ceremonial sword, and his ceremonial crown, which he hadn’t worn since he was crowned lord of Ukulu.

With that, they set out in the direction of the castle.

Once they were a good distance away, Maya asked, “Why is it we’re helping this guy? We could just pass through.”

“Because it’s the honorable thing to do,” The Madam replied, “and we don’t know what he’s capable of, especially since Arakim didn’t mention anything about him or his ‘demesne’ on the atlas. He has to be at least 400 years old based on his speech, and he looks about a tenth of that.”

“Besides,” Soren added, “more friends in a place like this can never hurt.”

“Even if they think an ox can speak better than you?”

“An ox with its tongue cut out,” Aryia chuckled.

***

After a quarter hour of walking, the castle was in sight. The group hid behind a shrub as they watched from afar, Soren peering through a spyglass.

“Looks like its guarded by orks – I thought he said his servants forced him out.”

“He did,” Leondrea said, “maybe the orks forced them out. Or worse.”

“Maybe the orks were his servants,” Maya offered, “maybe we’re just walking into a trap that he set up.”

“Regardless,” Leondrea said, “we said that we would retrieve the heirlooms for him, so we will. Tell us about the castle.”

“It looks…” Soren hesitated for a moment, “It looks orkish in design. There’s a wall around the outside, and a keep in the middle. The walls are lined with stone spikes and thorned coil along the top. I’m beginning to doubt more and more that Alonzo is who he claimed. Looks there’s a drain hole in the bottom of the wall on the south side. If we sneak around, we might be able to get in through there without them noticing. We would just need to remove the grate somehow.”

“Do you know how hard it is to remove a grate?” Leondrea snapped.

Soren shrugged.

The Madam rolled her eyes. “Very.”

“We could just send Skullcrusher through the front gate,” Maya said.

Soren pursed his lips in approval and nodded. “Or we could have him pull the grate off.”

Maya smiled. “Or we could just abandon this fool to whatever and continue our journey.”

Soren and Leondrea both gave Maya a disapproving look.

“We’re doing this,” Leondrea declared.

After about another hour of discussing possible ways of getting in to the castle, the group finally landed on having Maya take a closer look.

She snuck through the tall grass up to the walls and began looking around before finding a trapdoor in a group of foliage near the wall.

She returned to the group and they – spread apart so as to avoid all of them getting caught if one of them should be and so that they were smaller objects in the orks’ vision – snuck back, leaving Aryia by the shrub as her combat prowess and various expertise related to robbery was limited. Skullcrusher, as well, stay behind to guard her.

The trapdoor was old and rotten, covered in fungus. The Madam recoiled in disgust, just barely muffling her own cry at the sight of it.

Maya, paying the disgustingness of the door no mind, reached down and opened it, revealing a wooden ladder, covered in much of the same rot, that led into a dark passage below.

Without hesitation, Maya made her way down the ladder.

The other two decided it would be best to make a quick rope ladder to make it down, on account of the ladder might collapse under their weight.

Taking the rope from his pack, Soren tied knots at regular points along it to act as rungs before lowering it down and tying it to the strongest shrub he could find nearby.

The two climbed down before Soren produced a lantern from his pack and used the lighter he’d gotten from Otto. It became quickly apparent that this passage was meant to be used as a means of escape by the residents of the castle should it come under siege. It was quite short – perhaps only a few meters long, before coming up to a wooden wall that seemed to be the back side of a shelf. A slight bit of torchlight peaked around it, prompting Soren to quickly put out his lantern before peering through the cracks.

The passage led into the dungeon of the central keep. Not too far from the shelf they hid behind was a cell, where many human prisoners sat on mats, sleeping with their backs to the walls. An ork sat on a chair, picking his nose and flicking boogers across the room, with a battleaxe leaned up against the wall next to him.

Through the other side, Soren could see a staircase that (probably) led up to the main floor, guarded by another ork leaned up against the wall that seemed to be sleeping on his feet.

Soren retreated momentarily and explained the situation to the others before they devised a plan.

They all prepared themselves behind the shelf before Soren shoved it out of the way. Maya leapt out of the left side, sliding across the ground before cutting the back of the seated orks ankles as Leondrea threw one of her daggers at the other.

The dagger sunk into its exposed neck and it let out a muffled cry as it ripped the blade out, preparing to throw it back, only to be interrupted by another dagger going through its eye. The ork guarding the stairs slumped to the ground as the seated ork slumped out of its chair, collapsing to the ground as it failed to stand.

It let out a cry, quickly stifled by Soren placing a sword to its throat. It drew in a quick breath before swallowing nervously.

“How many of you are there in this castle,” he demanded, “and why are you here?”

The ork gulped as its eyes flashed back and forth between the sword and Soren’s face. It spoke in broken Shelezar, demonstrating a familiarity with the vocabulary, but not the grammar. “Belong we. Not belong you.”

Soren looked at the other two with him before focusing back on the ork. “What about Alonzo?”

The ork snarled. “Steal Alonzo. Builted forefathers.”

“Alonzo stole the castle from you?” Leondrea interjected.

The ork wobbled his head.

Maya and Soren exchanged confused looks as they were unfamiliar with the gesture, but Leondrea offered, “That’s a yes.”

“So,” Soren continued, “Alonzo stole the castle from you, and you just stole it back?”

“Correct.”

“So what?” Maya asked.

Soren ignored her question. “What were your plans with your prisoners?”

The ork growled. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Alonzo.”

“What does he have to do?”

The ork smiled, baring its sharp teeth. “Die.”

Soren looked to Leondrea.

“Why do we care?” Maya snapped, quiet so that her voice didn’t carry up the stairs, but loud enough to grab the others’ attention. “It’s not like they’re human. You wouldn’t spare an elf like this, would you?”

“No,” Soren answered, “but orks were once human. Elves never were.”

“Who do we side with, then?” Leondrea asked, “The human who lied to us about why he was chased from his castle, or the violent marauders bred for murder?”

Soren hesitated for a moment. “That’s a good question.”

Soren stood for a moment before the ork interrupted his train of thought by gripping the blade against his neck.

“Please,” the ork said, “kill me you. Better than living with failure me.”

Maya let out a scoff. “Honestly, they’re just pitiful. It’d be better if they were all dead.”

“They were bred for war,” Leondrea said, “Back when the giants ruled the world, if they were injured they were useless. They would be thrown away and replaced by a new one.” Her eyes were visibly damp. “That sort of mistreatment just prevailed in their culture. They shouldn’t be subjects of pity, but compassion.”

She looked in the ork’s eyes, like pits of tar. “What is your name?”

The ork snarled. “Karkog.”

“Well, Karkog,” Leondrea said, “I happen to have a way that you can live another day, without failure.”

She reached into the bag attached to her hip and pulled out a small folded piece of paper, bound with a string. She untied it, revealing a mass of crushed leaves within. She knelt down as she took a small pinch of the leaves and held them in her hand. “Chorklenya once lived in Ortus, you know. Before she was chased out by those who wouldn’t tolerate elves in their midst.” She spat on the leaves in her hand and kneaded the spit and leaves together in her palm. “While she lived in Ortus, she taught me a few things – healing remedies, mostly. Things that would heal scrapes and bruises. Even broken bones. Things that would be helpful in battle.”

Soren raised a brow as Leondrea scooted across the floor, closer to the ork.

The leaf-saliva mixture was now a paste.

The ork released his hand from Soren’s sword as he eyed Leondrea suspiciously.

She took a scoop of the paste with her finger and reached for the ork’s ankle.

He flinched away before relaxing as she spread the paste where Maya had cut him.

Leondrea began speaking in orkish and Karkog responded in kind. At several points, she paused to relay information she learned to the others. Namely, that the prisoners would be spared if Alonzo died, but they would all be executed in his place if he didn’t. He knew this when he ran and abandoned his people.

Once she finished rubbing in the mixture, she placed her palm over the wound and began chanting in some unknown language. Halfway through the chant, she pulled a small flower from her belt pouch. As she chanted, the flower began to wilt, before catching fire – though it didn’t seem to burn her hand. When the flower was reduced to ashes, Leondrea finished chanting. She dropped the flower, which fell to the floor and scattered into nothing.

“You will still be unable to walk properly for some time,” she said to the ork in Shelezar, “but the tendon will heal. You will be able to walk again.”

The ork replied in his own native tongue.

Leondrea smiled softly as she looked to Soren, then back to the ork. “Not if you come with us. It is within ork tradition that you cannot execute the member of another clan is it not?”

The ork squinted at Leondrea, then at Soren, then at Maya. “Correct.”

Leondrea’s smile strengthened as she stood, holding her hand out to the ork. “Then you’re ours now.”

Soren gave Leondrea a mildly pensive look (Maya’s was not so mild), but shrugged to indicate his acceptance of the ork into their group.

“What now?” Soren asked.

“Now we bring the orks Alonzo’s head.”

New chapters release every second and fourth Friday of the month. If you like what you’re reading, drop a like or a share, and you can subscribe using the module in the right sidebar or read previous chapters at xaviermakes.com/iotd.

Isle of the Dreamer, Chapter 8: The Noble in the Serpent

Soren recalls his past before arguing with Rolph about Aryia’s request.

He was now the nameless noble. He didn’t sign the letter he’d written to his family, but used his own signet ring to seal the letter – the last thing he would ever do with it. His family would come to one of two possible conclusions: these really were his wishes and he was, for all intents and purposes, dead, or he was taken after being forced to write the letter and seal it. He hoped that it would, in fact, be the former that his family decided on.

He snuck away from the castle he’d lived in his whole life that night. It wasn’t necessarily a challenge, avoiding the guards – he’d spent much of the last few weeks studying their movements and rotations, and it was even easier given that they were carrying torches to light their way.

He made his way to the southwest tower that overlooked the bay. As he stared at the water below, he hesitated. Then, he shook his head. What’s done is done.

He leapt from the window and into the waters below, clutching the pouch of gold that hung from his belt. He swam to shore and made his way into the nearby mercantile district. He needed to find an inn to stay in, and quickly. Even if they didn’t assume he was taken, someone sneaking around the city after midnight would look awfully suspicious – and to do so without a torch was illegal.

He wandered through the streets, ducking out of sight whenever he heard voices, and eventually made his way to the Green Serpent, which displayed a green, hooded rattlesnake on the sign outside. When he walked through the door, he never expected that it would take him on a path that would end in that same tavern five years later.

He sulked into the tavern and made his way along the wall, watching to make sure no one saw him – or, at the very least, recognized him. Only one man appeared to be staring at the noble out of the corner of his eye, though the man looked away when his eyes met with the nameless noble’s.

Once he was seated, he waved down a barwench. As she came over, so did the man who’d eyed him coming in.

The barwench raised her eyebrows as she placed her hands on her hips. “What can I get you?”

“An ale and a room please,” the noble replied, studying the man walking over to him.

As the barwench walked away, the man sat down.

He was a mutt of a man, with blue eyes that betrayed northern heritage, and a wavy, brown hair indicative of Shelezar. His light skin led the noble to believe the man was likely Baril, rather than Kapfian. Not quite as bad as a Kap, but still not to be trusted.

“Lose your boat?” the Baril asked.

The noble raised a brow in confusion.

The Baril laughed as he nodded at the noble’s clothes. “Well, you’re dressed awful nice, so I’ve gotta believe you’re some sort of wealthy man, which means you probably own a boat if you’re here in Ingaard. But you’re drenched in water – which seems to indicate that you do not, in fact, have a boat. Thus, you must’ve lost it.”

From the way he spoke, the noble began to wonder if perhaps the man was, in fact, Gelthan. Or raised as one.

“Or maybe,” the Baril said, lowering his voice as he drew his face closer to the nameless noble’s, “you’re a new believer in the Unnamed God, and you’ve washed away your old life?”

The nameless noble raised a brow at this. He’d never heard of any ‘Unnamed God’.

“Sure,” he replied, forcing a bit of a smile as he gave the Baril a sidelong glance. He did just throw his old life away. Perhaps this was the start of a new one.

“Well, maybe you’d like to join our crew,” the Baril said, gesturing to the group he’d been sitting with. “We’re all believers, too.”

They numbered ten back then. By the time the nameless noble’s journey with them was over, they were five times that – and they were all dead.

“Sure,” the nameless noble repeated, once again forcing a smile, but this time giving the Baril a straight look. He knew he needed to come up with a new name: after all, he’d shed his old one. It seemed to him that suffering was what made a person good-natured. Those around him never suffered, and they were all terrible. Perhaps he should name himself after that. “My name is Soren, by the way.”

The Baril looked back to the noble and nodded, holding out his right hand. “Name’s Tyrell.”

Soren stared at his hand in confusion.

“No too much experience with the Mikri, I see,” Tyrell laughed. “Put your palm on mine, you’re pinky between mine and my ring, and grab.”

Soren awkwardly complied.

“Good enough,” Tyrell chuckled. “Let’s go introduce you to the rest of the crew. This’ll be the best decision you’ve ever made or ever will make. I swear my life on it.”

Those last words stood out to Soren, so he went with Tyrell, who quickly introduced him to the crew.

“… then, we have First Mate Delmore, and – last, but certainly most – we have Captain Ishmere.”

The old captain nodded. A thin scar stretched from the corner of his brow down to his chin, and the eye on the opposite side was completely white. “Welcome to the crew, Soren.”

The crew ate and drank a good couple hours before heading back to the boat, taking Soren with them. Before climbing onto the boat, Captain Ishmere stopped him, waving for the others to go ahead.

“Tell me, ‘Soren,’ what business does a noble like you have, prancing around in the economic district, lying about his name at this time of night?”

Soren gave Ishmere a sidelong glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ishmere gave an odd smirk that almost looked more like a snarl, revealing a golden tooth. “For one, you forgot to take off your signet ring – two, I’ve had dealings with your father – three, there’s a reason I’m captain of this ship. I told the universe it could shove fate where the sun don’t shine and took my life into my own hands. I set out to find my own way, and it won the gods – er, the God’s – favor.

“You’re in important man now, Soren. You’ve done the same as I did, and that puts a target on your back – for better or worse.”

The captain gave Soren a full smile this time as he patted him on the shoulder. “But, I’m sure you already take the gods into account, given that you’re a right proper Shelezar – keep that up and you’ll go far.”

The captain gave Soren’s shoulder a squeeze before climbing up onto the ship.

Soren stood for a moment, taking in what the captain said before climbing onto the ship himself.

***

“Absolutely not!” Rolph roared at Soren.

Soren recoiled as his face twisted. It wasn’t like he was trying to get Aryia to go with him, or even suggested the prospect. She did, all on her own. Personally, Soren would have advocated for her going if she really wanted to, on account of she was an adult and could make her own decisions. But he also didn’t want Rolph to be angry at him.

“Why do you not want her to come along? I’m sure the combination of myself and the madam are more than enough to keep her safe.”

Rolph’s anger seemed to only get worse as his eyes focused in on Soren. “The orks have been more violent, more daring, lately. Sure, you killed the ogre who was commanding them; but who was commanding him?”

“There was never anything in the legends about the ogres-“

“Ogres following any chain of command, I know,” Rolph finished, “But someone, or something, had to have been.”

“Why?”

“During my time in the forest, I overheard a lot of orks talking. Eventually, I caught onto their language well enough I could get a gist of what was going on. I would occasionally overhear some things about waking someone who was dreaming. I didn’t think anything of it at the time – and it’s not like I could have done anything about it if I did – but it’s become clear to me that what they were talking about is who you’re looking for. The Dreamer.”

“You think the Dreamer is commanding the orks?”

“Or whoever is commanding the orks wants to wake the Dreamer. And, if they do, it spells destruction for the rest of us.”

“Well,” Aryia interjected, “regardless of what the ork’s intentions are, or who’s commanding them, I still think I’m safest with Soren and Leondrea. They were the ones able to take down an ogre.”

Soren’s eyes darted away from Rolph’s for a moment. He neglected to mention it was the Naga who took down the ogre. But he wasn’t about to correct her now.

“Precisely. If she wants to come with us, I say you should let her. Besides, she’s an adult, she can make her own decisions.” Soren nodded to Aryia before looking back to Rolph.

Rolph took in a deep breath before letting out a very long sigh. “Fine. But if anything happens to her-“

“If anything happens to her, the rest of us will already be dead,” Soren interrupted. “I swear my life on it,” he echoed from the mouth of Tyrell so many years before.

New chapters release every Friday (except the last two, because life is a thing). If you like what you’re reading, drop a like or a share, and you can subscribe using the module in the right sidebar or read previous chapters at xaviermakes.com/iotd.

Isle of the Dreamer, Chapter 7: The Mutt in the Cave

Soren, Maya, and Leondrea pursue the orks who’ve taken Leondrea’s dog.

Leondrea stalked ahead along the trail of orkish footprints and a streak through the underbrush indicating something massive being dragged behind – her mutt.

They’d been on the trail for nearly an hour now and were growing close to the temple where Soren had encountered the Naga. The madam continued with the same amount of rage and fervor she had when they first began.

Based on the spacing of the tracks, the orks had been moving quickly – how they could accomplish such a feat while dragging a dog as big as a wagon was beyond any of the three currently seeking them out. Even more perplexing was how they managed to break the mutt’s chain in the first place, given that it was a chain designed to hold an anchor. And yet, they managed to cut through it without anyone noticing before they were already making their getaway. It should have taken hours – instead, it took them minutes. And, in those minutes, the dog didn’t make a sound.

The more they discussed the circumstances of the dog-napping, the more worried Leondrea became. The dog’s silence would indicate that it was somehow knocked unconscious – not an easy thing to do to a dire wolf – or worse. The fact that the chain broke so easily and the fact that they were running while dragging the dog indicated that they had use of either elven witchcraft or one of their number was far stronger than the average ork. Given that one ork generally counted for two men in terms of odds on the battlefield, this was a harrowing thought for the trio.

Nevertheless, they pressed on. Leondrea wanted her dog back. Soren wanted Leondrea’s help in finding his friend Tyrell, who was hopefully in the village of Zapad, clear on the other side of the island; a journey that would not only be treacherous, but would take several days. Maya- well, Maya maybe just had a death-wish; she always loved doing things just for the thrill of it.

They came up to the temple of the Naga. The statue had been crumbled – Leondrea noted that it looked not as if it had been smashed, but instead as if it had been squeezed to the point of shattering. Whatever was leading the orks seemed to only be getting more and more dangerous.

As Leondrea studied the surroundings in an effort to find out anything more about what was leading the orks, Soren attempted to find the small snake that had helped him when he’d been here before. He looked at the top of the stairs, where it had first greeted him, then down into the entrance chamber. Still nothing.

He took out the instrument he’d found there and played a few notes, but still no snake. He let out a sigh as he returned to the others.

“Still no sign of what’s with them,” Leondrea noted, “Whatever it is, it’s smart. It’s covering its footprints with… my mutt.”

“We’ll find the mutt,” Soren reassured her, “I’m sure of it.”

Leondrea let out a sigh before they continued on the trail.

It was wordless for almost half an hour before a rattle sounded from the undergrowth.

Leondrea stopped in her tracks and dropped her bow down her arm, while nocking an arrow in one fluid movement. She looked around before her eyes landed on a black and brown snake, nearly two people long, with its hood flared as it stared right at her. She pulled back on the bow string.

Soren ran forward and tackled her to the ground as the snake launched from the shrubs and into a tree, latching on to a humanoid figure.

An ork fell to the ground, the snake latched to its arm, with a thud and a deep growl. It managed to shake the snake off, but not before Soren could get to his feet and draw his sword. He held the point to the ork’s neck.

The ork dropped the mace it carried to the ground and held its hands in the air. It spoke in Giant, imitating the grunts, clicks, and growls that Arakim had spoken in when he and Soren first met.

Leondrea kept her eyes fixed on the snake, though she wasn’t sure where to point her arrow.

Soren nodded at the snake as he held out his free hand.

The snake nicked his palm with its fang and Soren winced as excruciating pain coursed through his veins. The venom was certainly more potent before. As his brain began to burn, he spoke to the ork.

“Say again?”

The ork gave him a crooked smile. “No need to get violent, now, is there?”

“You were waiting to ambush us.”

“Hm.” The ork let out a sigh as he looked to Leondrea. “Maybe I defected. Decided kidnappin’ puppies wasn’t the way I wanted to live my life.”

“What’s he saying?” Maya asked.

“Claims he defected.”

“Now, I never said that. I just said maybe.” The ork smiled as it looked to Maya, eyeing her up and down. “Maybe I was just looking for something so I could pass the time. Leader doesn’t like giving us play things – likes keeping them to himself.”

Soren grabbed the ork by the back of the head and shoved the blade right up to its throat. A faint trickle of blood began creating a small pool on the blade.

“You’re wasting your time, you know,” the ork laughed. “My groups just getting further and further away. Picked up you smell a little while back, I did. Decided I might stay back and distract you.” The ork leaned forward, bringing its mouth close to Soren’s ear as its neck pressed harder against the blade and the trickle of blood began to accelerate. “And I just might have succeeded.”

The snake next to Soren let out a hiss. “Would you like to do the honors, or may I?”

Soren raised a brow. “Tell me, giant-blood, would you prefer I cut off your head…”

“Mm.” The ork smiled.

“… or this snake swallow you?”

The ork’s smile dropped.

Soren forced a toothless smile. “He’s all yours.”

He turned and walked away as the Naga unhooked its jaw and placed its mouth over the ork’s head. He did what he could to ignore the ork’s muffled cries as he directed Maya and Leondrea’s gaze further up the path.

He returned his sword to its sheath as they marched away from the horrific sight. “The ork was only here to distract us – they know we’re coming.”

***

At some point, the snake caught up to them, its body bulging from the dead ork now stuffed inside it. It evidently wasn’t too full, as it kept slithering along as if it hadn’t a morsel of food in its system.

Finally, the trail ended, at the mouth of a cave. From the foliage they were hiding in, the four could make out a detail of four orks out front, all doing something, where they stood in a circle and shook their hands. Perhaps a way to pass the time, maybe some form of orkish gambling. Regardless, they were distracted, so disposing of them wouldn’t be too difficult assuming they weren’t able to pick up their scents.

As Leondrea and Soren stood in the bushes, strategizing how they were going to attack, Maya wandered off without the other two noticing. She came back shortly, covered in mud.

Leondrea stared at her pensively for a few moments before nodding. “Of course, cover up the scent.”

Leondrea and Soren followed suit, and, soon enough, they were all covered in mud, save for the snake.

Maya then motioned for the group to huddle before explaining her plan. There was a ledge on the rock face just above the cave – it looked like it would be one she could get to easily and jump down from above to grab the far-most ork. Meanwhile, Soren would give a more head-on approach while Leondrea backed them up from afar. She wasn’t sure what to do with the snake.

Soren gave an alternative plan, which involved the snake going up on the ledge and falling down, attempting to swallow the far-most ork whole. Meanwhile, the three of them would sneak up, ready to take out the orks in the ensuing chaos.

Leondrea elected they go with a mixture of the two plans – the snake would still be on the ledge, but it would be a coordinated assault like in Maya’s.

Once they were all in position, they looked to the girl, who’d climbed a tree and was waiting to pounce on one of the orks. She counted down on her fingers and they all struck at the same time, taking down all four orks without a sound. Instead of swallow the ork, however, the snake elected to instead simply stab him in the chest with its fangs, killing him rather quickly, before letting his body slide free from its mouth.

They snuck inside the cave to see many orks sleeping on the stone floor – evidently, they decided to send their best sniffer as a decoy.

They crept through the cave, Maya disabling each of the orks they passed as best she could so that they wouldn’t run into any trouble later. They continued through until they reached a wide passage, from which a rumbling voice echoed. It spoke Giant, but Soren could still understand it, albeit not quite as well as if he’d been freshly bitten – apparently, the Naga venom was wearing off.

“To tame the wolf, you must break the wolf. But not its body, its will. You break its body, I’ll break yours. Anyone ready to accept the challenge?”

A few light grunts answered back before another voice yelled, “I accept the challenge, Leader!”

“Ah!” Leader answered back, “There’s a mighty fine Runt!”

A few scattered cries of either encouragement or annoyance (or both) replied.

Leader’s voice echoed through the passage in a hoarse whisper, “Now, you be good there, wolf, and there won’t be any trouble.” He spoke aloud once again, “You ready, Runt?”

“Yeah!” Runt replied.

Soren motioned for the others to follow him down the passage. It was dark for the most of the way, and they stopped just at the edge of light peaking in from another, larger, chamber. The mutt was chained in the middle while orks circled around. And then there it was. The giant, foreboding Leader stood tall, almost twice the height of the rest.

Soren had only heard legends – myths – of ogres. Giant, hulking beasts that were like a mutated version of an ork to be stronger, smarter, and more ruthless. Everyone knew the origins of the orks – humans magically infused with giant blood to make them stronger and tougher. But no one knew the origin of ogres. Some theories existed, the most popular of which was that ogres were the children of giants and orks. Other theories included the idea that ogres were made in the same way as orks, just better – and sterile. Still another was that ogres were giants that just simply hadn’t grown right – born without magic and ostracized from giant society. But the legends always had them in the presence of orks as ruthless leaders. Always, whenever an ogre was present in an ork army, the orks were more vicious, more bloodthirsty. More deadly. But there was always only ever one ogre in a clan of orks.

And this ork warband had one.

They watched as the ogre cut the ropes that bound the mutt, and cut the muzzle they’d placed around its mouth.

It leapt to its feet and gnashed at the orks, which all leapt out of the way. It looked at the passage the four of them were in, but only for a moment, before focusing on the smallest of the orks present. From the looks of it, the one they called ‘Runt’ was worthy of the name.

Runt stepped forward, pulling a chain from his waist and wrapping it around one hand. “There, there, little doggy,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice, “I’ll be nice if you are.”

The mutt bared its teeth and growled. It wasn’t the same as when it growled and barked at passing villagers. When it did that, there was some sense of holding back, like it wasn’t giving its all. This time it was different. Saliva splattered on the ground in front of it as its claws dug into the ground. It waited, patiently.

Runt dove forward as the mutt’s teeth snapped. The ork only barely managed to avoid the sharp teeth as he rolled across the ground to the mutt and attempted climbing on its back.

The mutt grabbed him by the leg and threw him to the ground. A crack sounded through the chamber. It put its jaw around Runt’s head and held it there. It was going to show mercy.

Then, Runt pulled a knife from his boot.

“No!” Leader cried as the mutt’s jaws clamped down.

Kkkkk. A nasty bone-shattering noise echoed before the mutt released Runt’s now deformed and bleeding head. The mutt turned and growled at the rest of the orks, who each backed away slowly.

Leader stood up straight as he sneered at the mutt. “You’re all useless.” He stepped forward, rope in hand, and grabbed the dog, tying it up once more before binding it to a thick column near the wall. “Go back to sleep!”

The four there to rescue the dog squeezed against the passage wall as the orks jogged past and back into the main chamber.

Leader stared down the dog, currently unable to move before looking to the passage. “You’re here to take the wolf back, aren’t you?” he asked in Shelezar. “I should have known Nostril wouldn’t be able to hold you back too long. He always prided himself on his nose. Too bad he was useless otherwise.”

The four stepped out from the passage into the light of the room.

“So, how do you want to do this? One-on-one combat to the death?”

The three humans looked at each other.

“We were thinking more along the lines of we all fight you at the same time,” Soren answered.

“Or you just give my mutt back and we leave peacefully,” Leondrea offered.

Leader let out a low growl. “A likely finale to this futile vendetta of yours,” he snarked.

Maya responded in kind, “Ooh, he knows big words; he must be big smart.”

Leader snarled.

“Give us the dog, and everyone walks out of here alive,” Soren said, “except Runt there, I guess.” He shuddered at the body on the floor. Dying always seemed more brutal when orks were around, even when they were on the receiving end.

Leader put his hand to his chin, as if considering the thought, before leaping forward. His hand only narrowly missed Leondrea, who was pulled out of the way by the snake’s tail.

Soren only barely managed to leap backwards to avoid Leader’s fist barreling toward his head.

Leondrea jumped to her feet and danced around the ogre with Soren, just barely dodging his blows. Between his rapid attacks, they didn’t have a single moment to strike.

While they occupied the ogre, Maya darted over to the dog, cutting its ropes. Based on the rate that was working, it would take several minutes.

Leader’s fist brushed across Soren’s sleeve as he threw himself out of the way. He was beginning to get better at predicting how they were going to avoid his attacks.

But, as he managed to snatch Leondrea up in his fist, the snake dropped from the ceiling and wrapped around Leader’s neck. Everyone in the room had been too busy to notice the snake creeping along the wall and seeming to defy gravity as it crept along the ceiling to wait just above the ogre.

Leader dropped Leondrea to grab at the snake now constricting its neck. It let out a silent scream as its eyes widened in horror before the snake took away his sight. He writhed before falling onto the floor as the snake tightened more and more around his neck. Soon enough, Leader stopped moving.

After a few more moments, the snake released its grip and slithered onto the floor.

Leondrea ran over to mutt to help Maya cut its bonds as Soren strolled over to where the ogre’s body lay. He put his hand up to its purple-tinted neck. It was dead.

A guttural scream sounded from the passage.

Soren looked over just in time to see an ork running back toward the main chamber.

As orks ran into the room, the mutt jumped up, ripping what remained of its bonds. It charged forward, tossing orks to and fro, the sound of snapping bone echoing again and again through the cavern. Ork ragdolls were used against their comrades as the mutt pressed its way to the main chamber. It wasn’t until they reached it that the humans could join in the fight, while the snake stayed back, with little to offer in terms of straight-forward battle.

As they found themselves cornered at the entrance to the main chamber, the mutt let out a howl. The orks stopped and stared in terror as Leondrea climbed up onto the wolf’s back.

“Let us leave in peace,” she declared, “or Skullcrusher will end every last one of you.”

The orks shouted back in Giant. Then, the Naga slithered forward. It hissed in their language and they began backing away, parting like water to let the group through. Leondrea motioned for Soren and Maya to climb on the wolf’s back before it strode out of the cave, the snake in tow.

“Finally named him, ma’am?” Maya asked as they rode.

“That I did.”

They rode back to the village, a several-hour-long journey. On the outskirts, the Naga got their attention before bowing to Soren, hissing, “Until we meet again,” and slithering in the direction of the temple.

They made their way into the village, where Leondrea and Maya returned Skullcrusher to his shed, and Soren went to eat with Aryia and Rolph. He told them of what had happened – though he inflated his role in the defeat of the ogre – before telling them he was going to Zapad.

“I’m hoping to find my friend Tyrell there – he’s the one other member of my crew that might’ve survived.”

“I hope you do, too,” Rolph said. Then, he turned to Aryia, whose face was a bit twisted in a thoughtful sort of look. “Something bothering you, dear.”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, her gaze shifting from her soup to Soren, “I’d like to go with you.”