The scary behind the truth
The moon hung low above the jagged cliffs, bathing the clearing in a pale silver glow.
The forest around them whispered with distant nocturnal life—rustling leaves, faint cries, the pulse of nature.
Voltaro, Raven, and Selena sat around the fire built near the entrance of the orc settlement.
The flames danced gently, illuminating the stoic faces of the orc warriors standing guard.
In front of Voltaro sat Krogar—the orc leader, a towering figure with scars cutting deep across his green skin. His single braided tusk marked him as an honored warrior among his kind, while the heavy iron beads woven into his hair clinked softly each time he moved.
Krogar’s eyes—burning amber like smoldering embers—were fixed on the fire. His huge hands rested on his knees, but the tension within them was unmistakable. This was a night he had not chosen to relive, yet a truth he could no longer keep hidden.
Voltaro studied him in silence. He had faced warlords, kings, assassins, and the shadows of kingdoms. But the weight behind Krogar’s gaze carried something deeper—a wound carved not in flesh but in memory. A wound that had shaped this entire tribe.
At last, Krogar exhaled deeply.
“Voltaro of Ashenveli,” he rumbled, voice thick and heavy. “You wished to know why the orc tribes have vanished from this side of the continent… why only my people survive.”
Voltaro nodded. “If this affects the peace of the land, I need to hear it. I need to understand your enemy.”
Krogar lifted his head, and for the first time, the fire revealed the raw, old grief in his expression.
“Then listen well.”
“Long ago,” Krogar began, “before even your kingdom Eldreath grew greedy and blind, the orc clans prospered. We were not beasts, not savages—though many called us such. We lived in the great plains stretching beyond the Malden Ridge, in lands kissed by golden grass and eternal winds. We hunted, we forged, we protected our borders. And among all tribes, the Ironfang Clan—my clan—stood strongest.”
He traced a scar on his chest, a large claw mark shaped like a crescent moon.
“That was the mark of our rite of passage. Every young warrior earned it after protecting the clan from a beast of the wild.”
Selena listened closely, her eyes soft with sympathy. Raven kept silent, knowing the importance of the moment.
Krogar continued.
“Back then, we had allies. Kingdoms that respected strength and honor. Among them… Kaelmoor.”
The name hung in the air, heavy as stone.
Voltaro narrowed his eyes. “Kaelmoor… the Beast and Demihuman Kingdom.”
“Yes.” Krogar nodded. “A kingdom ruled by King Toran Kealmoor—the man many call ‘The Beast King.’ A ruler celebrated for his strength, wisdom, and fairness… or so the stories say.”
Voltaro sensed something darker behind Krogar’s tone.
“Toran Kealmoor,” Krogar said, “was once our closest ally. He promised my father—the previous chieftain—a pact of protection. An alliance of strength between beasts, orcs, and demi-humans.”
His fists tightened.
“But everything changed the year I turned twenty.”
Krogar looked into the fire, gaze distant.
“It began with a single envoy from Kaelmoor. They brought us a treaty scroll sealed with the royal emblem. My father welcomed them warmly. We feasted. We trusted them.”
His jaw clenched.
“We were fools.”
Voltaro leaned forward slightly. “What happened?”
Krogar’s voice lowered, deep and raw.
“The envoy poisoned our feast.”
Selena gasped softly.
Krogar nodded, bitterness dripping from every word.
“My father—the strongest warrior of the plains—collapsed first. Then our shamans, our elders, our children… the poison spread fast. The envoy revealed the truth—Kaelmoor needed our land. They needed our warriors subdued. King Toran Kealmoor had ordered the orc tribes to submit or perish.”
“Why would he do that?” Raven asked sharply.
Krogar turned to him, eyes smoldering.
“Because not all kings seek peace, Raven. Some seek power. Kaelmoor’s borders were expanding. They wanted control of the plains. And orcs—strong, proud, and unconquered—were an obstacle.”
Voltaro’s expression hardened. “Toran Kealmoor is known as a protector of beastkin. His kingdom welcomes demihumans. Why attack you?”
Krogar gave a humorless laugh.
“Because orcs are not seen as ‘civilized.’ Not to him. To him, we were resources—war machines he could control, or eliminate.”
Voltaro’s fist twitched at his side.
The fire crackled.
Krogar went on.
“My father died within minutes. Half of the clan collapsed. But I… I survived. Barely.”
He pointed to the burn-like scar circling his throat.
“The poison tried to choke me. But my mother, a warrior fierce as flame, dragged me away. She carried me through the collapsing tents while Kaelmoor’s soldiers—yes, soldiers—stormed our village.”
Selena’s voice trembled. “They attacked after poisoning you?”
“Yes.”
He stared into the flames.
“They came wearing the crest of Kaelmoor, led by General Dravok—Toran’s right hand. They slaughtered the wounded, took survivors as slaves, and burned our sacred grounds. My mother… she fought them alone, buying me time to escape.”
His voice cracked for the first time.
“She fell before my eyes.”
Voltaro bowed his head respectfully.
Krogar inhaled deeply, steadying the tremor in his voice.
“I ran. I hid in the ravines for three days. When I returned, everything was ash. My father's body was gone—taken. Our ancestral stones shattered. The Ironfang Clan, one of the oldest orc tribes… erased.”
Selena wiped a tear. Raven’s expression darkened.
Voltaro felt a heavy weight settle on his heart.
“And the other tribes?” Voltaro asked quietly.
Krogar turned to him slowly.
“They suffered the same fate.”
“In the following months,” he said, “Kaelmoor’s armies moved across the plains. Tribe after tribe fell. Some surrendered and were enslaved. Others resisted and were wiped out.”
Voltaro felt anger rising inside him.
“This is not the Kaelmoor described in books.”
“That’s because Kaelmoor hides its stains well,” Krogar growled. “They present themselves as a sanctuary for beastkin. A noble kingdom. But behind their banners of equality, they bury the truth. Orcs are forbidden entry into Kaelmoor. Our existence threatens their image.”
Voltaro nodded slowly.
“So your hatred is not born of war alone. It is born of betrayal.”
“Yes,” Krogar said simply. “Because we were betrayed by those who claimed to be friends.”
He looked around at the orc children peeking out from behind tents.
“Only a fraction of us survived. I gathered every orphan, every wounded warrior, every lost soul hiding in the hills. We formed this village. We hid from Kaelmoor’s scouts. And for years, we have lived in fear… waiting for the day they find us again.”
Voltaro folded his arms. “Why tell me this now? Why reveal Kaelmoor’s secret? What has changed?”
Krogar’s eyes glimmered with a strange combination of dread and determination.
“Because,” he said, “Kaelmoor is on the move again.”
Voltaro straightened.
“I’ve seen their scouts. They have returned to the plains. Their banners bear a new symbol—one I recognize. General Dravok is still alive, and he has not forgotten his mission.”
Voltaro exchanged a dark look with Raven.
“And what does he want?” Voltaro asked.
Krogar’s voice dropped.
“To finish what he started. He is hunting the last of the orcs… my people.”
The camp fell silent. The fire hissed as a log cracked. The weight of Krogar’s revelation pressed into Voltaro’s chest like a stone.
He understood now—this wasn’t just about a meeting between tribes. This was a cry for justice. A warning about a kingdom powerful enough to hide genocide under the guise of diplomacy.
Voltaro rose slowly.
“Krogar,” he said, voice firm, “your pain… your people’s suffering… it won’t disappear easily. But hear this.”
Krogar lifted his gaze.
“I, Voltaro of Ashenveli, do not tolerate injustice. We protect the oppressed. Your battle is no longer yours alone.”
Raven straightened proudly. Selena nodded fiercely.
Krogar stared at Voltaro, disbelief softening into a deep, grateful respect.
“You would stand with us,” the orc murmured, “against a kingdom like Kaelmoor?”
Voltaro’s voice was calm and unwavering.
“I stand against anyone who destroys innocent lives. And I will not allow your tribe to fall a second time.”
A slow, powerful breath escaped Krogar’s chest.
For the first time in years, hope flickered in his eyes.
“You have the heart of a true chief, Voltaro,” Krogar said. “Not just for humans… but for all races.”
Voltaro placed his hand over his chest.
“From this night forward,” he said, “the orcs of Ironfang are under my protection. If Kaelmoor comes, we face them together.”
Raven stepped forward and extended his spear.
“You have our blades.”
Selena summoned a small swirl of icy light.
“And my magic.”
Krogar rose to his full towering height and bowed deeply—a warrior’s bow, one given only to those worthy of leading warriors.
“Then hear me, Voltaro of Ashenveli,” Krogar said.
“You are now a friend of the Ironfang. Our axes, our strength, our loyalty… are yours.”
Voltaro returned the nod.
In the flickering firelight, a new alliance was forged—an alliance born not of convenience, but of truth and shared resolve.
And in the distant darkness, far beyond the forests and the ridge, the first shadow of Kaelmoor’s returning army crept quietly across the plains…
The storm was coming.
But Ashenveli—and the orcs—would not face it alone.
Too be continue...