[The Z]

Lightning lashed into the orcs, but they held strong, retaliating with flaming bundles that burnt all that they touched. This time though, the projectiles were not simply directed at where the druids were roaming about. They were flung in every direction along with torches and magical fire arrows to fully take advantage of the soldiers’ inability to aim. The land was dying, slowly succumbing to the life-leeching fires of Erudish’s maurading army.

Great Firs creaked and tumbled to the ground, their bases charred and weak – no longer able to support such immense weight. Their stumps became pillars of flame, torching druid and orc alike in a masterful slaughter. Grass wilted and burned, creating vast walls of fire that separated parts of the two warring parties. None of the wildlife that had come to the druids’ aid in the previous skirmish was able to penetrate the inferno that now enveloped the grove. Though some made an admirable effort to protect their home, there were so few that successfully navigated through the scathing blaze that they were stragglers, easily picked off by the exceptionally skilled Black Orc Archers, who had laced their arrows with not only flames, but the hatred bred from generations of torment.

Erudish did not know who had brought the Black Orcs to his clan, much less, who had created them in the first place. They were essentially genetically altered orcs, mutated by powerful sorcery and spawned in magical pools. Everything that Faerun feared in an orc was magnified tenfold in the Black Orcs – they were tougher, stronger, more preserving, even crueler, and most frightening of all, they possessed a vastly superior intellect to their common cousins. Only an extremely deadly and fearsome mage would have had the will, let alone the courage, to summon such a volatile and effective army. They also represented something else, something much more personal to the warlord. His father had been one of them.

Erudish’s Mother had told him that she’d been traveling to Trademeet via the Windspear Hills with a party of adventurers when they stumbled across the layer of the now deceased red dragon, Firkraag. Up until those fateful moments, she did not even know Black Orcs existed, but it was evident that the dragon had been experimenting with the possibility of replacing his current orc guards with their much more deadly form with little success. The process was apparently too painstaking and time-consuming for him, especially with the recent fanfare over the coming Bhaalspawn Wars. Consequently, he bred a couple and then became occupied by other matters.

His mother made the mistake of dawdling a little behind the group far enough so that contact could be severed completely quite quickly. The Black Orcs took advantage of this and snatched her away. By the time the other adventurers noticed her absence, found her, and rescued her, it had been too late – she was carrying the seed that would become Erudish. Immediately thereafter, his mother returned to Athkatla, but admiring life and having immense love for children, she could not accept magical treatment that might have possibly rid her of the unwanted baby.

The thought of his loving and kind-hearted mother being taken in by one of those gruesome war-machines was strangely revolting. Erudish understood that it was a part of the culture that he now revered and accepted as the norm, but at the same time, he could not shake the prodding instinct that reproached him for letting such horrific deeds occur to other unfortunate women. Something deep inside that had been buried in the depths of his scarred core and locked away with chains of suffering cried out that such an act, no matter the instigator or the victim, was fundamentally wrong. Where was the righteousness in it? The sheer vileness inherent in it was absurd!

The half-orc slammed the side of his head with his palm, leaving a stinging bruise. Morality of Man of all things! He abhorred moments when the human blood inside of him swelled and momentarily flooded his mind with such irrational thoughts. Of course Orcish culture accepted such things. It was second nature. They were born violent and violence governed them – naturally they wanted to victimize the other races for persecution and oppression. It was proper that these women understood the gut-wrenching pangs of fear and horror that Erudish had overcome in his childhood. The Orcish Pantheon demanded chaos and pain to be wreaked upon the other races. After all, his mother’s sense of goodness resulted in her downfall.

As the half-orc tried desperately to refocus himself on the ensuing battle, the human instincts gradually receded like the tide and slowly crept from his thoughts. But as usual, they refused to be broken and beaten away. The waves crashing upon the shore always return, never to completely leave the land, never to cease its breaking of the sand.