A shaman learned many wisdoms from the land itself. The way water floated down from the mountain's womb. They learned how life was clinging to it and how fast it could end when nothing remained. Ash was a sign of the dead. A distant echo born from the last of all battles fought in the afterlife. What turned to the black of ash was bereft of life, though it did not always mean doom. The Darklings carried the grey of ash on their skin, and the greed of fire in their eyes. Yet they were very much alive. Born by the dragon's fire, yet living by the clans' distant songs. The Bladeland orcs sang to the tides, to the never ending waves that came and went to their shores and the drowning hunting grounds they took.

  The Bladespire nomads sang to the ancestors themselves. Their melody echoed the battles that had been, and sang to guide them home to the ashen dunes. To finally fight the last of all battles accompanied by their endless song.

  And finally the Frostsong, those that had made the melody their clan's name, sang to the deep and the mountains. To the land and the winds. Their song echoed through valley and mountain, right down into the depths of the earth and the height of the skies. They were proud folk, even among proud people like the orcs. Other clans sometimes mocked them for their grandeur. Favoured by the dragon they had been. While other clans had to find caves or carve them themselves, the Frostsong had been granted a home by the Dragon as it hollowed out the mountain all those generations ago.

  The boiling sea, north of their valley had been blessed by its fire and like the mountain carried its heat to this day. Yet they also knew better than anyone that every single stone could be the birth of an avalanche. In a world were everything was connected, even the tiniest pebble carried a strength like the mountain.

  A shaman knew all of this. It was their duty to know, and their quest to learn from their knowledge. So they could carry wisdom to those that carried an axe. Few ever took the path and fewer were accepted by the old masters. It needed a spark, some thought of it as a gift, but the elders knew it was sorrow that could truly open your eyes. Those few that not just walked but felt the earth below their feet, that not just froze but felt the touch of wind and snow.

  It was not snow Mara dreamed of this day, but once again fire. The dragon was on the move again, and its goal was the mountain. Still her sight remained on Karn’Arak. She felt anguish in the fires of the north. When her dream showed her Bruna he was laying down. Beaten and broken. This was just a dream. She told herself. No snake would ever beat the beast. No matter the poison. She needed to trust him and carry on with her own quest.

  Master Cra’Gal had taught her well. As well as he could in the short years they had. But he was gone, and even his wisdom couldn’t change his own son. He was a harsh man, but Mara had learned from him what she could, and he did his best to treat her well.

  When she was but a girl and had to watch for little Kara, it was him who took her as an apprentice. Who made sure that the hunters were taking care of them, but also that they did their shores. The mountain didn’t carry itself, and neither did the valley. Even clouds were riding the winds, and stars clinging to the sky.

  It was the first wisdom a young shaman had to learn. Like the sky, the stars, the clouds and the deep, everything and everyone was connected. Was part of what made the construct stick together, no matter how harsh the winds would blow.

  It was the harsh winds that needed to be calmed by a shamans song, and a warrior off his duty to be struck with their wisdom.

  Mara watched the distant burning savannah while the sun slowly creeped over the mountains. She sighed. When a father couldn’t strike wisdom into his son, how could she strike wisdom into warriors that had been enemies before. The greenskins were ready to fight again. It had been foolish of Ur’Back to let them sleep and part of her doubted he didn’t know.

  Now that they had an ounce of rest, they wouldn’t bear the chains much longer. There would be bloodshed. And everyone, rider, greenskin, and ogre, knew that so very well.

  She expected for the blood to be drawn right at dawn when they were dragged and chained back into line. And she would be right. There were grunts of anger and spits of fury. A day's march behind them, the horizon still burned. The Dragonfire was greedy and who knew when it would ever stop. Rivers were drowned with the endless ashes of grass and trees, yet time would heal it once again. Like the tides of the west, life ebbed and flowed. A shaman shouldn’t think it, yet still she thought it was a shame to be alive in an age of the low tide.

  It didn’t even take until the sun was casting above the eastern mountains when the first punch was thrown. An unlucky rider bereft of a helmet got headbutted by a Greenskins of Bruna’s size. It was far away and at the backend of the line. Yet it was the pebble that launched the avalanche. Fury was such a fuel for greedy flames and the greenskins heart hungered for freedom, if not battle itself.

  They couldn’t quite move as they were already placed in the line of chains again, yet from the backside of it more and more battle erupted. Punches were thrown and roars echoed through the savannah. Once at their own group Rika and Kazzok barked and grunted at the riders that were meant to watch them. They were friends, but they wouldn’t let chains contain them. Rika looked at Mara and saw her face of regret. It was her arm on her shoulder and her smile that fueled even the shaman. The pack wouldn’t bear the chains.

  Thickskin gave a headbut, and Rika went and bit a guard's neck. Blood was running from her mouth as she roared at him and he at her.

  Mara’s saw the blood flowing between her pack and her people. It made her heart sank, but what else did she promise than to fight after rest?

  Branak was the next to launch himself at a rider while Kazzok stomped and punched at those next them. Before Mara Third-Fist stood still. Like the rest of the Ogres he just watched. Yet his eyes were not as empty as theirs, but determined. He gazed around for a way and finally grabbed Mara’s arm. He looked down at her. “Never try to quench their fury.” He whispered while battle erupted more and more around them. “Guide it.”

  The guards around them were beaten yet quickly Wyverns flew in. Other places in the line were not as lucky and had to learn why the riders were the north’s axe.

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  Once the wyverns landed their throats started to glow and they were ready to breathe fire at them while their riders had their axes ready.

  Suddenly Ur’Backs horn echoed over the Savannah as he flew above. “The Khan wants them alive!! The Khan wants them alive!” He shouted and for but a second looked down at Mara. She looked back at him. Whatever hunt he was on, he had set a trap.

  Unhappy, the Riders lashed their reins and made their two wyverns breathe fire into the air instead of onto them. Further down it was too late and greenskins were burned by their flames.

  Before them a rider jumped down, tried to pin Kazzok down but was met with Rika and Branak at his neck. Thickskin fought the other as he kicked and punched. He fell down when a Rider toppled him. Their wyverns were eager for battle and stomped in as well. It was all but a useless attempt. Bloodshed born of hatred that was cast in ages long forgotten. All while the true enemy of their people, both greenskin and darkling, was making his move for ascension.

  Third-Fist shoved Mara to the side and simply took the rider of Thick-Skin to throw him back at his mount. After he crashed into his wyvern the beast would not be contained any longer and moved in to snap at Third-Fist. The warlord simply grabbed the wyvern’s snout on both ends and tried to tear it apart as he roared.

  Below, Mara leaned down and brought a hand onto the chains. One of those between her and Third-Fist the other between her and Thick-Skin. She whispered and tried to concentrate as the ancient words were carried through the winds and around the distant fire. Hot blood was running down at her after Third-Fist had torn the Wyvern’s head in two. The taste of iron was washing over her mouth and thickened her hair. Still she breathed and her mind went over the battle and onto the mountains. Over the north and to the fires of distant Karn’Arak.

  Slowly the chains started to glow. Far from hot enough to be melted but enough to weaken. “A stone!” She shouted at those around her. She didn’t even realise who it was, but one of her pack hammered a stone on the chains between her and Thickskin while Third-Fist just took the chains and pulled them apart.

  She was free, at least from the line. She still couldn’t run, but she could help. She used her arm to wash the blood from her eyes and looked around.

  “Traitor!” She heard a rider call her.

  When she took the blame for the mines she thought herself different, but now there was no denying it. She was a traitor and some of her people would die because she aided the enemy.

  She knew the riders face but not his name. With a step closer to him she shouted. “He will make no difference of his sacrifices!”

  The rider just grinded his teeth while his wyvern was ready to launch itself at her.

  Yet she continued. “He will take all of us, Darkling or Greenskin and I will not watch him turn us to the same as the sorceress’ pawns!”

  Third-Fist stood ready next to her. His hands as bloodied as her hair and face.

  The rider didn’t listen and Mara sighed as he started to battle with Third-Fist. But there was no time to linger. Quickly she turned and laid her hands on the chains between the rest of her pack.

  While she freed them, Ur’Back watched them from a mesa nearby. His thoughts were hidden and his eyes remained cold. He was never meant to be watcher. Never meant to lead. There had been more than enough orcs to tell him and only few of them were meant with the violence such dishonour was meant to cause.

  Yet he would be the one to make a choice. He knew Mara was right, he had known from the day she was exiled. Bruna might have been loyal to the Khan once, but even he faltered now.

  Dark sorcery, sacrifices and the very future of their clan, if not their kind. Even if he was no leader, he would make a choice and at least once act with honour.

  He brought the horn to his mouth and blew it. Its sound echoed over the Savannah and even the most furious fights stopped for a second.

  Mara was gazing up at him while the chains of the pack were broken.

  “We will return!” He roared down. It was hard to speak and even harder for his words to sound true. “I’ll take the traitor and we return for the mountain!”

  “What?!” A rider shouted back.

  “Why?!” Another echoed.

  They were right to ask, it seemed stupid. It seemed wrong, yet he saw that most of the other riders knew. They were the ones that were questioning their Khans action by now and all of them demanded answers. “I won’t see you fools cast away your honour by slaughtering prisoners!”

  Third-Fist grunted deeply to those words, while the riders still questioned their watcher.

  “And I know most of you won’t either. We will see what the Khan has to say. Those of you who deem answers will follow!” Grunts and roars were the answers, yet most stayed silent. Ur’Back continued. “Those who don’t those who still trust him with all their heart, I invite you to slaughter them, I dare you to fight and bring them down!”

  Some grinned, others remained cold.

  “And you greenskins!” Thickskin’s eye squinted as the watcher continued. “I dare you to follow us! See the mountain with your own eyes and take vengeance if you can! We will be ready, and I will face you at strength and with weapons, not in chains and weakened!”

  Some of the greenskins now grinned with pride for they had beaten some of the riders. Yet most prisoners knew it was a loosing battle.

  Ur’back and his Wyvern, a wild young beast of both green and red scales, dashed down the mesa. The earth rumbled when they landed and he stared down at Mara. He said nothing, but waited.

  She glanced back at him while Rika was already going between her and the Watcher.

  Mara took a hand on her shoulder and shook her head. When they caught each other's eyes she nodded. First to Rika then to Kazzok behind her. Her gaze went over to the other side and to Thickskin. “Follow us.” She whispered. “It seems so distant now, but if our clans can stand together to beat the Khan and the dragon…” she struggled for more words and closed her eyes a moment before she continued. “What could ever beat us if north and south stood as one?”

  Thickskin remained cold and her gaze went over to Third-Fist. He simply nodded and finally she walked over to Ur’back. Once there he reached down to aid her up his Wyvern.

  Rika snarled when he pulled Mara up with force, yet some of the riders grinned and nodded.

  “We ride!” He roared and blew his horn again.

  After glances of fury were exchanged with the prisoners one last time the riders started to fly. Some with cold ease, others with fury in their eyes, bereft of blood and battle.

  Mara whispered back at Ur’Back. “Why?”

  “You are a traitor.” He answered plainly. “There is nothing I could say to leave you there..” Quickly the prisoners became but green dots behind them. “And if the Khan wants you dead he should do so in front of your brother..”

  It was hard to find the truth behind his words and harder to find reason in the chaos. Yet she nodded. Before them the sun went up and she looked back down on the greenskins they left chained behind.

  They gazed after them. Most of them protected their eyes from the sun. Only Thickskin remained motionless as his eyes followed them to the east.

  They would follow. He thought. Times were changing. And they would follow.