One day, the Orcs will break free from their shackles.
Across the boundless plain, the Orcs had fought tooth and nail in the name of "hope," an idea that spread like wildfire across the bloodied earth. This tainted hope was their poison—a sweet toxin lulling them towards death, yet the Orcs embraced it, convinced it was their fate.
had not forgotten the truth. Even while serving beneath the Abyss's command, an untamed ferocity surged through his veins. Beneath the mask, ambition roiled inside. For , only two things mattered: freedom and revenge. And no one could stand in his way.
So, he waits, patiently anticipating his moment to strike—to cut down his enemies in one fell swoop, then drink their blood.
The Shattering
Amidst the chaos of the Stormeye Wasteland, was born. In those days, the Orcs held but one belief: 'Only the strongest tribe can reclaim the honor of the Orcs, and carry out their revenge.' For this hollow promise, the Orcs surged forward one after the other, spilling rivers of blood.
had believed, too. His combination of raw talent and brutality drove him through the ranks, as he brought dangerous beasts, rival tribes, and all opposition to heel. With the support of his people, became the favored successor to the throne.
Yet there were also those desired no such outcome. A carefully planted rumor was spread among the Orcs: 'Only he who returns with the head of the Basalt Wyrm can rule as Chieftain.' Every creature in the Stormeye Wasteland knew the Basalt Wyrm's might. It was the fiercest beast of the land, and those who dare challenge it are destined for the grave. Yet , still young and bold, remained undaunted and set out, his spirits high with 'hope.'
Alas, this battle was not his alone. Along the way, encountered another warrior of equal renown. The two had crossed paths before, but now both vied for the throne. When their gazes collided, the air crackled. Then, suddenly, a distant roar caused them both to shudder. They glanced back at one another, this time in understanding: Slay the Basalt Wyrm, then settle the score.
This brief truce, however, would bring them no advantage. It was a trap laid by to eliminate 'undesirable elements' in the Stormeye Wasteland—a plot designed to destroy them. The Basalt Wyrm had been amplified with magic, and its overwhelming power thwarted their pride. 's weapon was left shattered, and the other warrior had been gravely wounded. Then, just as prepared to face the enemy empty-handed, his companion extended his bloodied weapon.
The Orc warrior looked at , his eyes glowing with resolve. He refused to die a meaningless death, defying all attempts by others to control him: he was determined to pass on the Orcs' true conviction. 'Sever my head and draw strength from my blood.'
It was just as stated in the ancient legends—Grow stronger through the blood of kin.
The orc warrior looked at , gesturing for him to draw the blade. When met his gaze this time, all tension had vanished. Between them now was mutual respect and sincerity. In the name of survival, swung his blade and severed the warrior's head. As blood poured, primal vitality surged through , while Orcish tribal markings etched themselves onto his skin.
The ancient bloodline cried out after long silence, and the power of the Orcs slowly awakened inside.
saw them—Orcs of old charging together across the wastelands, bounding beneath open skies. Blood connected them, and trust gave them strength. When their life-force connected, Orcs struck fear into enemy hearts—to fight one was to fight a hundred.
Yet, their past had become nothing more than a legend. Consumed by greed and glory, and clinging in vain to Bloodright, the Orcs gradually fractured. Talent and strength now bred jealousy and conflict. Once like-minded brothers turned against each other and betrayed their own kind. Slowly, the Orcs became exiled, exploited, and as those ancient bloodlines fell silent, nearly extinct—until today.
But the battle was not yet won.
The Basalt Wyrm lunged with its gaping maw, fierce and savage. stared it down, gripping his weapon tight. The weight of the world was on his shoulders.
And the nature of Orcs could never allow him to submit! After fierce struggle, found the Basalt Wyrm's weakness. With swift precision, he struck down the crazed beast. The creature that terrified the land was now just another beast in the eyes of the awakened . He stripped the Basalt Wyrm's bones and forged them into a massive axe—its blade slicing through air with a sound like a beast's roar, causing his foes to tremble.
With his newfound strength, purged the tainted hope, setting it ablaze. However, the shadow looming over the Orcs was not yet lifted, as knew the Orcs' plight could not be resolved overnight. He could only offer feigned loyalty to of the Abyss, joining her ranks to unite the orc tribes through different means.
He worked tirelessly to prevent the Orcs from wasting away in mutual destruction, secretly rallying allies, rekindling ties, and biding their strength.
He firmly believed the Orcs would return to the Stormeye Wasteland, breathe in the air of freedom, and revel in unified combat once more. They were born there, thrived there, and no scheme could outmaneuver the will of the Orcs.
Enemies once called the Orcs 'beasts,' out of fear and loathing. But were they wrong?
Only beasts can see through the masks people don, and crush their conspirators to dust. After all, for 'beasts,' survival itself is their truest conviction.
