The Great War Begins

The Tyrant Saga: Chapter 1
Written By: Taylor Howe         
Co-Written By: 'Crowskin'

Just inside the Veil Of Aegis, at the base of the Stormheld Mountains, thousands of Orc warriors flooded the outskirts of the Mortal Realm. It was here they were ordered to rest for the night. For the next day, behind their great Orc King Omgoth, they were to raise steel against steel in battle with Eloria for his honour.

Omgoth was well known throughout the Ravage Realm as a vicious and ruthless King. An Orc ruler sworn to avenge his fallen ancestors during the battle of the Supreme Sunder. 

However, Omgoth was not just known by this moniker in his native Realm, but in the Mortal Realm as well. No one dared to even mutter his name throughout the small villages of the Mortal Realm without inciting fear. He was the greatest known threat to the Elorian Crown, and their centuries long stranglehold of power over the surrounding Realms and their Kingdoms. A threat not to be taken lightly.

In the passing years there have been flickering rumours in the halls of the Mortal Kingdoms, of Omgoth's potential to up rise, which was always met with a scoff of hubris on the part of the Heroes. The Stronghold of The Mortal Flame inside the high walls of the Kingdom of Eloria have not been breached for over four centuries. In the eyes of the Heroes within those walls, any Orc, even an Orc  War King, would not have the strength or will to overcome a fortification of that magnitude.  

However, amongst his own Legion of Orcs their confidence would tell a different tale. King Omgoth's powerful reputation is what has unified the savages from all around the Ravage Realm, for a solitary goal; the fall of the Great Human Kingdom of Eloria. This was his promise of revenge for centuries of oppression and the disregard of the collective Orc kind.    

Behind their malicious King, the Orcs who have gathered for the chance at glory, were licking their lips with the thought of Human Blood and absolute carnage. The Orcs now had the opportunity for their Realm to become the superior Realm.

As a result, the Orcs battle camp was alive with the sounds of this anticipation. Grunts, war songs and raucous banter filled the evening air, as they were readying their weapons and armour by the flicker of crackling bonfires.

The inevitable slaughtering of the Humans that would come the next day, grew tantalizingly closer, Omgoth shifted his attention to another monumental moment of his reign.

It was inside of his grand war tent,  clad in all the embellishments, that the Orc King deserved, that the greatest achievements to his name, were taking their first gasps of air.

See, Omgoth had everything a King of the Ravage Realm could have ever wanted. A menacing army, a terrifying reputation, and a brute strength that was only showcased by his iron fist-like rule. However there was one thing every great King throughout history sought. A lineage. An offspring that could carry on the legacy he was forever building upon. An heir, to the soon to be, all powerful Orc Kingdom of TarDaxia.

And it was on this very night, on the eve before his greatest battle as King, Omgoth welcomed not one, but two heirs to his War Throne.

Emerging from his tent, bare chested and muscles glistening, he let out a loud, and reverberating roar which echoed across the large encampment into the surrounding mountains. A bellow so deep, that it snuffed out every other noise in the valley, demanding full and immediate attention from the amassed army. This was not a roar of anger, or of an infamous battle cry. This was a powerful roar that has never come so prominent to the Orc King before. This was a roar of pride.

Donned in the menacing banners that once streamed in glory above the War Tent - coloured in bright green, but aged as if dipped in ancient blood; now held his most prized accomplishments. In each of his powerful hands he hoisted up, freshly squirming twin heirs to the thousands of eyes gazing from his horde.

The King was not a superstitious leader, however he felt in his heart and soul that there was no coincidence, that his heirs to his throne were  born on the eve of such a definitive battle. Born strong, healthy and prosperous, the twins would almost seem to be a clear and omnipotent omen. They seemed small in his large grasp, yet they symbolized so many possibilities. Male and Female, Brother and Sister, Royalty and Warrior. These heirs meant the menacing Orc Kingdom of TarDaxia would have leaders for the next generation.

Sharn and Azizul, bonded by blood and destined for greatness.

Witnessing the infants and hearing Omgoth's prideful roar, the horde began pounding a steady heartbeat of weapons upon shields, and fists against chests. Loud and monotonous, like that of the very earth beating it's heart drum for them. Each vibration seemed to echo deep and carry vast into the mountains of Stormheld. Occasionally the Orc horde would add in a loud guttural holler as each joined in the momentous display of celebration for their imposing leader.

The King beamed with a malicious grin as he soaked in each and every moment of this glory. His voice added another roar of pride for the children that carried his blood in their veins. It was in this moment of honour and celebration that the TarDaxain Horde vowed their allegiance and their loyalty to the lineage of their War King. In each hand, rested a squirming new life.

It was then, as the sun set on the horizon, a strong beam of light had pierced through the mountain pass, marking the entrance of the Grand War Tent.  This happened as if ironically summoned by the setting sun, the Orc Queen Decimaya, mother of these glorious gifts to the Ravage Realm, had parted the boar skin pelts and emerged.

She stood powerfully dressed with a brilliant blackened cape that hung at her shoulders, flowing freely from her ornate shoulder pauldrons which shone in the piercing light. Her form, the epitaph of visceral strength carved in scarred flesh. Each curve and muscle toned with a fine edge as if her body were forged from hardened steel. Even the labours of childbirth seemed to unhinder her. As it had done nothing to weaken the fight in her eyes and the blaze in her chest. Indeed it had only seemed to give her brilliant green skin, a distinct glow that beamed with unforeseen possibilities.

At that moment, the Orc Royalty stood unified together for the first time and the Orc army bowed in supplication to their regal sovereigns before them. 

However, Decimaya would remain as strongly defiant as ever. Her eyes burned with intensity as she watched the others with slow and methodical observation. 

King Omgoth's putrid face was flushed with pride as he turned to his beautiful, yet malicious Queen and spoke, "Thank you dearest wife! These will be my heirs to the throne. My boy Azizul, will surely be a great King like his father one day!"

But before those who bowed in awed respect could even utter a word of agreement or a cry of horror - Decimaya whom disagreed with his proclamation, would thrust her powerful fist forward, deep into his chest cavity. She ripped through his bare green flesh like a sack of grain and shattered the strong bones of his rib-cage as they splintered into fragmented pieces. It was a sickening noise of crunching and gushing, in a horrific scene of heresy.

If the pounding rhythm of the Orcs showing their respect had mimicked the joyful heartbeat of the King's pride - then this sudden drop into hushed shock also mimicked his death, for Decimaya ripped free his warm pulsing heart while his body still stood. 

Still beating, she brought his heart to her hungered lips as it streamed in his life's liquids, and took one triumphant bite. Her eyes then lit up with even more invigorating power, as she fed upon his fleshly muscled heart.

As his eyes rolled back lifeless, those quick and deadly hands of the Tyrant Queen reached out, snatching her newborn children from his doomed arms. The late King  Omgoth's body fell with a final thud at her feet, weighted with a thousand eyes of his shocked Orc Horde.

The War King was dead.

Oueen Decimaya, the now solitary sovereign, stood clutching her two children as her arms and face were still coated in the blood of their father. She spit to the ground the remnants of the War King's still quivering heart for the entire army to see. None could tear their eyes from such a sight, and their attention dared not pull away from her. For in this singular moment everyone would hear her speak.

She called out to them, a clear and unmistakable command.

"YOU SERVE ME NOW!"

A long shockingly silent moment lingered upon her words. The horrific uneasy feeling reverberated with the gravity of the situation. Each member of the Orc Horde paused starring in wide-eyed awe at the Tyrant Queen, who slaughtered their King in full view of them, daring not even to glance to the still body which lay in at her feet. The mother of the twins who christened herself in his blood was too imposing to ignore. She was a blood soaked monolith painted in royal crimson. 

It was then, the silence was broken as Visceria, the one known as the Vicious Vixen emerged from the crowd, rising both in form and voice. She hoisted her famously large Steel Feasting Claw into the air as she shouted out,

"Long live the Queen!"

The defining moment passed, Visceria raised her tone of voice again with a growl, as she continued flailing her wickedly large, Steel Feasting Claw high into the sky.

Screaming again,

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!"

It was just like that, a cascade of roars filled with fear and loyalty, sounded throughout the valley. Mimicking the Vicious Vixen, weapons of all kinds were raised to the air, as they joined in the rally of the same powerful chorus. Over and over, until the words became so ingrained in each of their minds that they would never be forgotten.

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!"

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!"

And like that, the Horde's loyalty was decided.

Decimaya then, as powerful as thunder and as clear as ice, roared over the army once more.

"Gather the War-Boars, ready the catapults, and sharpen your steel!"

"WE ATTACK ELORIA TONIGHT!"

With this loud definitive statement, she turned, her cape flailing in the air as she cradled her two infants and returned to what was now her War Tent. Going forward the Queen's word would be law an no one would dare challenge her authority.

For bloodshed had already started, and now the Tyrant Queen desired more. Only the next time they smelled the acrid stench of blood, it would be Human. 

The Queen now fortified with determination, and entitled by her new position as the head of the largest amassed Orc Horde in over four centuries, looked upon her children with pride.

She spoke clear and confident to them, "Tonight my young Warlords...marks a new beginning"