muscle and fur prone on the cavern floor did Wank relax
his grip.
A few seconds of stunned silence were followed by
hooting celebration as the surviving orcs hailed Wank a
hero and, more importantly, Worg’s Bane — a title given
only to the greatest of orc warriors. They smote him with
savage, congratulatory slaps to the back.
Moments later, however, Rahsik-ba entered and
growled, “Shut your dung-filled mouths!” The warriors of
course obeyed their chieftain.
When Rahsik-ba asked for an explanation, Wank
stood by silently as four orc warriors babbled furiously
about his deed.
“Enough!” he bellowed. “This is all nonsense.
Wank, if I see you around these pens again I’ll flay you
alive. You cost me four good warriors,” he chided,
surveying the carnage.
Wank left the cave, shamed and fuming. Only
later, when he had settled down and sat alone, brooding in
an empty cavern, did he realize what he had done in the
early confusion of the battle. He had gathered the shadow
around himself like it was his personal escort, hiding amid
the shroud as if he were a shadow himself, a fragment of
itinerant darkness.
This Talent, surely a greater one as orc Talents
went, was a powerful tool. Wank knew too well now that
to elevate himself in the tribal hierarchy, even accidentally,
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