For several nights, the fires of the War Shaman's dwelling had remained dark.
Those who sought Vor’Thul found no audience.
Those who questioned the Shamans received no answer.
Then, before the rising of the sun, the horns blasted throughout Burz’Kal.
Not the horns of war.
Not the warning of an enemy.
Three long blasts rolled across the settlement, summoning the Orcs before their War Shaman.
Vor’Thul stood before them as he had countless times before. The same ancient Orc who had led them through blood and fire. The same scarred flesh. The same staff clutched within his hand.
But something was different...
The marks upon his flesh, once alive with the blood magic of Gruumsh, had grown faint.
When he spoke, his voice remained strong.
"Long ago, Gruumsh gave Vor’Thul blood."
His hand closed around the head of his staff.
"Not Orc blood. Not blood taken from enemy."
He struck the earth once, the ground quivered beneath.
"His blood."
The old Shaman looked across those gathered before him.
"Vor’Thul was old even then. Should have gone to da dirt long ago. But Gruumsh had use for these bones. Had use for these hands. Had use for this voice."
He pulled aside the hide covering his chest.
The old markings remained, but whatever power had once burned beneath them was little more than a dull ember.
"Da Blood grows quieter now."
There was no fear in his voice.
"At first, Vor’Thul thought Gruumsh tested him. So Vor’Thul prayed. Bled. Fought. Waited."
He paused a moment.
"Still it fades."
His eyes narrowed.
"Now Vor’Thul understands."
He looked toward the distant horizon.
"Gruumsh did not give Vor’Thul forever."
"He gave Vor’Thul time."
The old Orc let the hide fall across his chest again.
"Maybe dis one's time is finished."
A murmur passed through those gathered.
Vor’Thul snarled, slammed the staff into the earth again and bellowed with the same roar of a young Orc.
"SILENCE."
The gathering immediately stilled.
"Do not mourn Orc who still stands."
"Mercadia thinks Burz’Kal is alone."
His lip curled into a snarl.
"Humans see walls. See mine. See Orcs gathered here. Think this is all of us."
Vor’Thul shook his head.
"They forget."
"Burz’Kal is not Orc."
"Burz’Kal is one clan of Orc."
His gaze moved toward the lands beyond Burz’Kal.
"Der are others."
"Clans who never seen these walls. Orcs who do not know Mercadia. Orcs who still hunt beneath other skies and spill blood upon other earth."
"Vor’Thul remembers them."
Another strike of his staff.
"And they will remember us."
The old Shaman turned his single eye back toward those gathered.
"Gruumsh calls Vor’Thul away. Vor’Thul does not know where path ends. Maybe Gruumsh fills these veins again."
A crooked grin crossed his ancient face.
"Maybe Gruumsh finally takes what belongs to him."
"But Vor’Thul will not walk path alone."
"Vor’Thul will go to clans."
"Speak to Chieftains. Speak to Shamans. Speak to warriors who hunger for battle."
His grin widened.
"Tell them Mercadia has forgotten what Orc is."
"Tell them Burz’Kal has blood to spill."
"Those who hear Gruumsh will come."
"One Orc."
"Ten."
"A hundred."
"Does not matter."
"Every Orc Vor’Thul sends to Burz’Kal makes tribe stronger."
He pointed his staff toward the gathered Orcs.
"But Burz’Kal does not wait for them."
"And Burz’Kal does not wait for Vor’Thul."
"One Orc should never carry Burz’Kal upon his back."
"That makes weak tribe."
"Vor’Thul allowed it too long."
"Gru'Rok allowed it too long."
He pointed his staff toward those who had commanded beneath him.
"Thupars already lead Orcs. Thupars already carry burden. Thupars already answer when blood spills."
"Now they answer together."
"The Council of Thupars will speak where War Shaman once spoke."
"They will argue."
"They will threaten."
"They will probably try to kill each other."
For the first time in a long time, Vor’Thul laughed.
"Bubhosh."
Then the laughter disappeared.
"But when enemy stands before Burz’Kal, there will be no warriors. No shamans. No hunters."
His fist struck his chest.
"Only Orc."
Vor’Thul looked upon Burz’Kal for a long moment.
Perhaps for the last time.
Then he spoke the words every Orc knew.
"First Gruumsh."
His fist struck his chest again.
"Then Hont-Ob."
A third strike.
"Then Orc."
Vor’Thul turned away.
He carried no banner.
He named no successor.
By the time the sun rose above Burz’Kal, the War Shaman was gone.
In the days that followed, Orcs began watching the roads.
Not for Vor’Thul..
But for those he might send back.