The Heroes of Travance disbursed, returning to their provinces or enacting plans for the war effort. The moon had begun sinking lower in the sky and the embers of the Dragon’s Claw Fireplaces were dying out. The Count stood over the war table glaring down at it. His icy gaze looked through it as his mind was focusing on recent events. Last moon it was discovered that Gaaldron is intent on trading their homeland to Duke Balliol in return for Travance. Thankfully, the Heroes of Travance destroyed whatever portal was being constructed, causing severe issues for their enemy and allowing their allies a moment of respite. This moon it was discovered that New Gaaldron had a hand in this conflict from the very beginning, as they began marching massive legions into Travance’s Southern territory with malicious intent. Due to various circumstances, Travance’s armies could not stand against the overwhelming threat that loomed upon their very doorstep; they were in desperate need of aid. It was with a humbling demeanor that the Heroes of Travance reached out to nearby allies. They stretched out their hands to allies born from Travance’s history, and it was with great valor that these armies rose to meet this threat. The greatest of them all, however, was recruited from the very enemy they had fought with such vehemence: the Goblinoids themselves. The count smiled. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps redemption could still somehow exist for the Goblinoids within this rebellion, within the possibility of civil war.

*     *    *     *     *

One after another, General Jagga’wra Goretusk twisted the mechanical attachments on and off the device secured to the stump that had once been his hand.  He became more pleased with every prosthetic he had examined, and even had trouble deciding which he would favor. Despite having his hand lopped off, his tusks torn from their sockets, and experiencing other unmentionable atrocities, his spirits were running high. He had much to be thankful for; he could have been struck dead, having languished within the gulag’s depths, but he was instead free thanks to the humans. He could have been alone, abandoned by his soldiers, but instead his legion stayed loyal to him and eagerly awaited his new call to arms. He could have died without ever truly meeting his younger brother, Jurgur’mosh, yet the very same Orc had somehow defied fate and found the opportunity to do just that without even knowing the truth.  The two Orcs shared the same father, yet circumstances led them apart when Jurgur’mosh was but a newborn cub; fate had forced them to live very different lives, but it also brought them together so flippantly once more. 

One day, Jagga’wra would share with Jugur’mosh who their father was, but for now he would be content to bask in his good fortune. Jagga’wra looked to the horizon and far off into the distance where a lone mountain peak rose far above the rest. The humans had called it “Honors Peak” and he found the name fitting; his strong sense of honor had brought him to that moment—to fight, not just for the humans, but for the soul and freedom of every Orc in Arawyn.

Jurgurmosh and Jaggawra