Meen-Tra hadn’t noticed the change in the other orcs. She had her own problems to deal with. But it was undeniable as she watched the gruntlings play. Their drawings were dark – scenes of battle and gore – and their laughter forced.

  “When the King returns, the shambler army will fall!” Shouted the smallest grunt.

  “You’ll be dead long before he comes!” Replied another, covered in rags and loose strips of material.

  “The King?” Meen-Tra said to herself. It was strange to hear grunts talking about a King. Those who remembered the war rarely spoke of it.

  “The King is all-powerful. His cannons are bigger than a titan; he will destroy you from across the world!”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she squatted, assuming a character, as she called out, “It is I, the old medicine woman…tell me, young Grunt – what of the King? And his cannon?”

  The smallest, in a bright red shirt and torn breeches, puffed up his chest, “The mists have fallen, and the King returns. His mighty cannon will obliterate the vatagand! But this bog tickler dares cast aspersions!”

  “What’s a spursion?” Squeaked, someone, hiding in the back – others shouted answers in turn.

  “For pushing a wyrmback's speed!”

  “No, it’s a kind of fruit!”

  Meen-Tra sighed, “But why a cannon? And from the outside…” She said dubiously.

  The grunt beared his baby fangs, “DJ Ren brings the King, a just and human king. They have special magic and weapons that defeated the gods!” He finished proudly.

  “I see…” Grunts and their imaginations.

  With a little help from DG, Meen-Tra sat atop the dirigible, watching as the canopy slid by. Warm sunlight tickled her skin, yet another sign of the changing times. She took in a deep breath of the sticky swamp air.

  “Where did the children get those ideas? The world message?” Meen-Tra pursed her lips.

  She was more convinced than ever of the need to approach Murkspire – information was sorely lacking; DG’s sensors were still new and unknown. All she could think of was the video of Ren losing an arm, and the mask of calm on his face, as deranged predators drooled all over themselves…their hunger reminded her of the vatagand’s aura.

  “Surely he wouldn’t ally with them.

  She shook her head, “Ren isn’t that stupid…”

  “He might be if he starts mixing Sandy’s Candys with Zug-zug again. Though he’s more likely to put on a show.”

  Meen-Tra turned to face Draven, “Are you sure we don’t leave DG behind?”

  Draven shook his head, “We stay together, and with DG's bond to Ren – I hold little sway over.” He shifted his gaze into the distance.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Do you resent him for that?” She asked.

  “I don’t. When we met – after you dumped him on my porch – I was in a bad way. I had little purpose until Ren came along, and as for DG…I’ll never forget the day my parents told me…I can’t help but feel like they knew I would meet him. His aura is – strong, and there is a quality to the aether in his presence…like it knows him…”

  Together, they watched as clickbats flitted up and over the side of the hull, before spiraling playfully in the air (displaying the black diamonds in the tufts of their belly fur) as they darted down the other side.

  They were a constant presence after Ren’s zeppelin's top performance, as DG had offered them a residence.

  “Tell me – I’m with you either way – why do we go to Murkspire…just for Ren?” Asked Draven.

  Meen-Tra touched her titan-mark, “No…not really. If I thought it would do any good.

  She sighed, “Ren will do what he wants, and I doubt these new humans know what's coming for them.”

  Draven snapped his rune-stick case shut. “Oh?”

  She nodded, “He may be aloof and carefree – but there is a hard edge to him, he throws himself into danger like, like –”

  “Like the great and might Garzha Trailfinder?” Finished Draven.

  She smiled, “Yes, like mother. Did you ever meet her?”

  “Before I met Ren – no, never. But her exploits are the stuff of legends amongst my people – despite her trying to steal away our best fighters to join the Wayfarers. Without her, the guild will surely collapse –it'ss not but myth and rumor as it is.”

  “She always blamed Eldrin – said Murkspire softened the people, the lack of danger and bonuses provided by the zone – it made life too easy. And now…

  She raised her chin, “Now, it's up to me to reclaim her legacy – and to become the orc she knew I could be.”

  Draven grinned as he lifted a sandaled foot, “I don’t know – you’re a pretty good cobbler – who else will make these for me, if not the daughter of the legendary – Oof.” He weezed as Meen-Tra delivered a swift chop to his stomach.

  “That's enough of that. Save it for Murkspire. This can’t be a battle of strength, or we’ll lose. This is our home, and it's time to press the advantage.”

  Razer had done so much drudging through the muck that he feared he would gain a new class and be cursed to a life among monsters. His body ached all over, and he thought himself lucky to be alive.

  His repeater needed repairs, and he would need to pay for healing – checking his [Captials,] he gritted his teeth.

  “Debt fracking debt, it’s all you’ll ever know Razer Gunnderson – you’ll never get your hands on a MaxTech.” He kicked at the ground; he was completely lost on top of everything else.

  He swatted at the air above his head, “Stupid pests.” Leveling his blaster, he closed one eye and pointed center mass. It was another of those furry winged pests – hardly worth the ammunition.

  He exhaled and squeezed. Click.

  “System, damn you, why didn’t I get the upgrade?–”

  “You're lucky that didn’t fire.”

  A voice from behind, a deep growl, and Razer turned to see an imposing figure in a leather duster, a match for him – if he had a working weapon… “W-what are you?”

  He tried to sound confident, but the figure casually flicked his wrist, and the deadly scythe he was holding vanished in a mote of light. A trickle of fear rose in the pit of his stomach as they reached for something in their dusters – a slim case.

  It blew a series of rings in the space between them, “I think you were right.” The man thing looked over his shoulder, and he realized…too late, a hand landed on his shoulder.

  “Easy gruntling, we only want to talk – this is our home after all.” A voice purred in his ear.

  Shivers ran down his spine, he resisted the urge to flinch, or was unable to move his legs – he wasn’t sure – he told himself it was the former.

  He asked, with as much confidence as he could muster, “I we…have come for levels and glory…are you monsters?” His voice cracked at the last.

  He almost dropped his gun as a green fist circled him from behind, and it offered a brown sack.

  “Put this over your head, and that’s not a request.”

  His repeater slipped from his hands, and the bog accepted it eagerly.