Read Time: 2mins

Drive ‘em out, let it burn. The words of Gorax cut through his memory as he drove Bitter’s whirling blade deep into another waiting tree. The bark splintered instantly, releasing a delightful squeal as the fierce contraption coughed clouds of thick toxic smoke; its teeth tearing through the tree’s ancient surface. The Overseer laughed, marvelling at the glorious destruction his boys had caused.

“Sacred land,” Tuskrage spat out the words. They were nothing but trees, trees that had fallen like anything else that stood in the umbron’s path; like the foolish lizards with their explosives and mechanical war machines. Tuskrage uncurled a sharp broken sneer; he had enjoyed the explosives; so much in fact, after ripping his way through the lizards puny fortress he’d amassed quite a collection of his own.

“How long?” He yelled over the sound of the rabble.

“By dark,” A squat, one eyed umbron replied, clambering from a mud filled tunnel.

“Faster!” Tuskrage bellowed, grabbing the umbron in his huge fist and hurling him back into the pit.

Keep ‘em in check, show ‘em who’s boss…That’s why he now found himself in this forest. Tuskrage had risen quickly through the ranks to the mantle of Overseer, he was bigger, stronger and smarter than those around him; but his ambitions didn’t stop there. He would do everything in his power to be named Deathlord; however there could be only one and Gorax held that honour, for now.

What had been meant as a punishment for reaching beyond his position, he would treat as a challenge.
He would level Ashwood Forest and in its place erect the mightiest outpost the umbron had ever seen.

A tribute in the name of General Carnage; and an unmatched fortress for the decimation of the Citadel; then when all was done he would become Deathlord, by fist and blade if necessary.

“Tear it down boys, tear it all down!”

Read Time: 3mins

Beads of sweat gathered on the huntress’ neck as she crept silently through the woodland. A year on the hunt and the humidity of the forest was still as intolerable as the day she first arrived.

Tuktu cut an imposing figure, gone were the traditional furs of her people, replaced with garments more functional for the tight and winding forests of Ashwood. Her once porcelain skin now toughened by the countless battles she had fought. This hunt more than any other had been a gruelling one; the sun had risen fifteen times since they last felt the comforts of the oakthorn village they had come to call home, but today their dedication would pay off. This trail was fresh.

Raising a fisted hand towards the sky the rest of her pack instantly halted their slow, vigilant progression. Tuktu knew she could trust these women with her life. They were amongst the most skilled hunters of the Frostrunner Tribe, each having proven her worth a dozen times over.

With her hand still raised, the other skimmed the dirt at her feet; her fingers running through the coarse, dry soil. Shutting her eyes she was instantly at one with the earth. Magic flowed all around her, surging through the ground and deep into the forest revealing her prey.

If her separation from the tribe had taught Tuktu anything it was to spend less time gazing at the stars, hoping for guidance that would not come; she was a warrior and her future was her own. She recalled her years as an Oracle, one of Nuitok’s chosen few. In that time her faith had been unyielding, but that felt like a lifetime ago, before the hunt, before one night had changed her life forever. Dropping her fisted hand, she rubbed tears from her burning eyes; it wouldn’t be long till they were upon her enemy.

Her father’s murder would be avenged.

Go back to the story list