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Chapter 5 - Formation of the Legion

24th Day of Xenar

128 I.E.

Xellik stood at the front of a long procession atop the steps to the Temple of War. Soldiers were in their full livery and stood with halberds or banners in hand. They watched as the courtyard gates opened to allow a line of minotaur soldiers into the temple grounds.

"You came at a good time," Xellik said to Greenix. "That crone of yours must be a skilled seer if she could send you here only days before our summit."

Greenix snorted a response. "Opalla has lived long enough to have seen Yasuragi when it was known as Splitpaw. She's kept herself alive through her magic, and has had plenty of time to perfect the art of divination. It's no coincidence that I arrived when I did."

"I should very much like to meet her," Xellik said, "so that I may see what my glorious empire will look like before we begin."

"She already knows your fate, Xellik," the gnoll replied. "The shadow she spoke of shall not be lifted from Muriaj. It will be yours, in time."

Xellik smiled as he turned to look into the courtyard as the first of his allies filed into the Temple's grounds. The orcish soldiers that lined the pathway up to the steps saluted as the Blackhorn's military commander and emissary entered the yard. The minotaur tromped up to the steps as a procession of their own soldiers marched behind them while playing drums and horns.

At the front were two minotaur leading the group. One wore crimson robes, and had a ceremonial, jewelled dagger that she slipped into a black sash. She looked young compared to her companion, with ivory fur and short, sharp looking horns. She exchanged a few words with the minotaur she walked alongside, her voice inaudible over the war drums.

The minotaur next to her had faded black fur, implying he had lived generations, but he moved with the ease of youth. His left horn was missing and the only thing that remained was a black stub capped with gold. He wore a full set of plate armour, painted red and black. Xellik wondered how it was that he could wear his armor while supporting the weight of his great axe in such heat. The leather wrapped weapon looked large and intimidating even from a distance.

"He reeks of death," Greenix whispered so only Xellik could hear.

"Good. I need experienced soldiers," he replied.

The gnoll shook his head. "You misunderstand. He is walking death. A ghoul. Look at the eyes."

Xellik locked eyes with the minotaur, and felt a chill run up his spine. He had white eyes with no pupils. They had a glossy, glass-like sheen to them that Xellik had seen countless times before in the bodies of his enemies. This minotaur was one of the walking dead. While the orc knew that the Blackhorn minotaur practiced necromancy, he had no idea that they used it on their own dead.

The music reached a crescendo as the two leaders of the Blackhorn reached the top of the stairs. Their soldiers fanned out into two lines and saluted as the blaring of horns and banging of drums came to a close.

The dead one spoke first, his voice like gurgling blood boiling away in a pot. "I am General Rothorn, supreme commander of the Blackhorn's military."

"And I am Thesu Blackhorn, emissary of our tribe and daughter of Chieftain Blackhorn," the female said.

"Welcome to Zugrul, Emissary Blackhorn and General Rothorn," Xellik said. "I am Xellik Fleshgorger, Warlord of the orcish kingdom." He saluted the minotaur by pounding a fist to his chest.

Rothorn returned the salute and said, "It is good to see that a warrior has finally taken control of the kingdom. The previous leader was too content to sit on her throne. I much prefer someone who is willing to take action."

"You two are the final members of the summit to arrive. Our mutual allies, the ogres, are already present, and will be representing the giantish races."

Rothorn turned to regard Greenix. "Who's this scrawny mongrel?"

"This is Greenix Sabertooth of the Darkpaw gnolls," Xellik said. Greenix bowed his head as he was introduced. "He has come to represent his people and offer their aid to our cause."

"I see. So the dogs will be joining us, will they?" Rothorn asked. He leaned forward until he was staring into Greenix's eyes and snorted. The gnoll reeled away from the ghoul's breath and tried to maintain his composure. "Tell me something, mutt. Are you scared of me?"

Greenix could only stammer in response. "N-no --"

"Noticeably? I'll say. You're shaking more than a newborn calf in winter." Rothorn straightened himself. "Where did you find this snivelling wretch, Warlord?"

Thesu said something in the minotaur language to Rothorn. It was short and harsh sounding, so Xellik could only assume it was some kind of reprimand or remark on the General's behaviour.

"The Darkpaw sent Greenix here to seek me out. Though he appears weak, we have sworn a blood oath that his people will join us."

"I hope to dispel the negative image you have of my people, General." Greenix was still looking at his foot paws as he spoke.

"You think I have a problem with the Darkpaw?" Rothorn laughed. "Don't think so highly of yourself. You're far from being on the same level as the rest of your tribe. All I see standing before me is a cowering pup, with not an ounce of magic in his blood. I have no issue with the Darkpaw who shared their necromancy with us and, in turn, granted me eternal life." He leaned forward and exhaled in Greenix's face. "I only have problems with pups like you who have yet to spill the blood of an enemy. Your manner of addressing me says much about you, mongrel."

Greenix said nothing more and took a step back into the shadows of the temple that loomed behind him.

Thesu cleared her throat. "Shall we move inside? This does not feel like a suitable place for our discussions."

Xellik nodded and moved aside. He gestured to the door with a sweep of his arms and said, "Of course. Come right inside."

The orc lead Greenix, Thesu, and Rothorn into the temple, leaving the minotaur soldiers out in the courtyard. The bright sunlight from outside was blotted out and replaced by the dim flicker of torches. The minotaur looked around as they filed past a set of orcs guarding the door. They spoke in hushed whispers in their native tongue.

Xellik snapped a finger once they were clear of the great, iron-wrought gate. Up above, gears could be heard clanking and grinding together as the door was shut behind them, bathing the temple in darkness.

"You're using torches and manually operated doors. You've certainly chosen a primitive life style," Thesu said. "Where's your magic? Where are your alchemical lamps? The rest of your city uses them."

"I don't want to taint this holy ground with the stink of the arcane or with chemical compounds." Xellik shrugged. "I'm a traditionalist, I suppose."

The temple was completely empty, save for the door guards. Their footsteps echoed throughout the halls. Xellik led them along a red carpet that went straight up a dais at the end of the room. On top of the dais was a stone alter covered in dried blood. Though the windows were open, no insects buzzed around the foul smelling sight, as if some force kept them at bay.

"Live sacrifices?" Thesu asked, and Xellik nodded. "I thought that was outlawed in your society."

"Under Foa's rule, perhaps." Xellik wanted to spit on the floor, but reminded himself of where he was. "She was a misguided old fool that was unfit to lead the orcs. I have chosen to revitalize our once proud kingdom by going back to the Old Ways."

"And the old ways involve sacrifices?" Thesu asked. "Are they Korcyn?"

Xellik chuckled at her question. The sound rumbled up from his chest. "Those filthy slaves don't deserve such an honour. No, only truly devout followers of Sytarel deserve to be sacrificed, so that their life energy may serve Her for an eternity."

Rothorn let out a huff. "And here I thought your kind had been getting too soft for my liking."

Xellik signalled the party to stop before he stepped up to the altar. Behind it was a table with a statue of a six armed orc woman armed with enough steel to make even the most seasoned veteran jealous. It was an image of Sytarel Herself.

The orc looked at the statue for a moment, staring into the flawless topazes that had been used for the eyes. "My people have grown soft over the years, that much is true. Weak, even. Our sorcerers have but a fraction of the power they once wielded, and our clerics lack the healing gifts they once had. The Goddess Herself has deemed them unfit for Her gifts. Things are different now. As long as we stay on our current path, Sytarel is willing to give Her followers the full use of their powers once again."

"And what of the rest of your people?" Thesu asked. She seemed to be deep in thought as she examined the blood on the altar, as if trying to determine where it had come from and how long it had been there.

Xellik smiled a wide, yellow-toothed grin. "All able-bodied orcs are drafted into the military. Only the most skilled craftsmen and labourers remain to oversee the Korcyn slaves. Not a single ounce of it shall be wasted on labour. Leave it to the filthy boars. Every drop of orcish sweat goes into oiling the cogs of our soon to be glorious war machine!

"The orcs were once a warrior race ruled by the martial law established by our great Warlord, Grashal." Xellik fell silent and said a short prayer to the Goddess before continuing. "We ruled over Muriaj and feared no one. We clung to the Old Ways and were prosperous."

"But something happened, didn't it?" Greenix asked.

Xellik slipped around beside the table, and reached between a tiny space where the table nearly touched the wall. "My people grew overconfident." A stone stuck out about a quarter of an inch out of the wall. He pressed it in and he could hear grinding as gears began to work again. "The lesser races that inhabited the continent united under a single banner. Grashal dealt a fatal blow to the elven king during that battle. He was the one leading the Freedom Coalition. He failed to avoid falling to the same elf he killed, and succumbed to his wounds from the battle. Without his leadership, our tribes were scattered to the four winds. Eventually, we ended up here on Rhavik."

Xellik backed away as the floor beneath him began to shift. The table slid to the left and a loud thunk followed. The wall behind where the statue had been jerked abruptly and deep, light-filled cracks appeared. The stones began to split and shift to the left and right like a large gate, revealing a hallway lined on both sides with flickering torches. It was short and lead toward a wooden door at the end. Voices could be heard echoing down the hall, but from where Xellik stood they were indiscernible.

"A secret meeting room?" Thesu asked.

"Not everyone is thrilled that I've become the new Warlord," Xellik said, beckoning them to follow him. "I'd rather not have an assassin killing my visitors."

"That's... comforting."

"It might make things more interesting if there was an assassin in the shadows," Rothorn said as his hooves clopped on the cobblestone floor. "Thesu and I can handle ourselves just fine. I assume it's precautions for your mongrel friend here?" He gestured to Greenix with a thumb.

"He's not the only one I'm trying to protect," Xellik replied. His hand fell on the door and he opened it up.

Inside the room was a large round table. At the side opposite of the door was an ornate chair, more elegant than the others and decorated with red leather and blackened steel accents along the wood. Xellik immediately walked around the table and sat down.

"Have a seat and we'll get started." There were several unoccupied chairs around the table. Greenix stayed near the door, taking a spot several seats away from where the others decided to sit. Rothorn sat closest to Xellik, with Thesu on his opposite side. "Might I interest anyone in a goblet of wine? Or perhaps some ale and a leg of mutton?" Xellik asked.

The orc gestured to a servant that had appeared from a darkened spot in the corner of the room. The korcyn had a thick iron manacle around his neck with not a shred of clothing on save for a tattered and unwashed loincloth. Greenix's muzzle wrinkled in disgust as he inspected the creature, but he did not say anything.

"We did not come here to be... entertained, Warlord," Rothorn said with a snort.

Thesu declined his offer as well.

"Very well," Xellik said, bowing his head in deference to the minotaur. He shooed the servant out of the room with a wave of his hand, and once the korcyn was outside, Xellik began. "General Rothorn, Emissary Thesu, I'd like to introduce you to Stonefist, our Emissary representing the giants and ogres."

Xellik gestured to his left where an ogre was seated. He was hunched over the table in a chair custom tailored to fit his size. He wore a patched, tiger-hide garment that was sewn together from several pelts to fit his girth, and rested his disproportionally big hands in his lap.

Ogres were born of orc and giant crossbreeding, having been sired on Rhavik shortly after the orcs settled in Zugrul and befriended the giantish races to the north. Their skin was a lighter hue of red and they stood on average about four feet higher than their orcish counterparts. They didn't fit in well within Zugrul but the orcs made accommodations for them whenever they could and they treated the ogres like one of their own.

"We also have the leader of the trolls, Kaz'Gorn, who will be in charge of the second leg of our campaign." Xellik pointed to a large being sitting next to Stonefist.

"What is he?" Thesu asked, looking at Kaz intently. "I've never seen one of his kind before. A troll you said?"

The troll was green-skinned and putrid looking, as if he bathed in vomit. His skin was covered by a layer of tiny scales. He was as tall as the minotaur, and had a pair of horns sticking out of his head that curled up and around pointed ears. He had a second set of arms beneath the first two, and each had thick claws like a bear. He only wore a loincloth, but Xellik knew it wasn't because Kaz was immodest. The troll's scales were strong enough to protect him, but they made it uncomfortable to wear any clothing, especially in the jungle's heat.

"I am orcish, yet I am not," Kaz said. His voice had an eerie, dual-tone quality that made even Xellik shiver when he talked. He was still not used to the way the trolls spoke. "I am a fusion of orcish souls, in a single body improved through Sytarel's gifts and demonic magic."

Xellik's face twisted into a smile. "This is what the live sacrifices become. They are some of our most capable warriors, but there are very few of them. Kaz is the Legionnaire in charge of training our trolls. They are stronger, faster, and do not die from fatal injuries. They are Sytarel's vanguard." He leaned forward until his elbows were resting on the table and he laced his fingers together "Now, with introductions out of the way, shall we get down to business then? How are things on your end, Stonefist?"

"The giants and ogres are ready whenever you give the order, Warlord," the ogre replied. "Our ships are prepped and can be supplied within half a day. The new engines you installed will make things easier for us, as well."

"New engines?" Thesu asked.

Xellik nodded. "I ordered our sorcerers to equip all ships in our fleet with magic powered engines. They're faster than oarsman or sails, so we can travel the sea and the length of the Cana'mord in a fraction of the time it'll take normally. We have several engines ready to refit onto your ships, Emissary, so that we can deploy at any time."

"Impressive, Warlord," Thesu said. "I did not think the orcs had that many ships."

"We refitted most of the existing fleet and scuttled everything else to build our fleet over the last year. Most of our labourers have been working every day to bring the war machine up to speed," Xellik explained. "We need the speed and numbers to be able to take the dwarves by surprise and to compete with Rogust's larger navy."

"How soon are you expecting to mobilize?" Greenix asked, shirking away when Rothorn glared in his direction.

"Within a week," Xellik said. He snapped a finger and a furled up map appeared above his hand. He grabbed it and flicked it so that the parchment unrolled onto the table. "I will be leaving with Greenix in a day or two to begin our journey to Jha'zal while the rest of the fleet makes their final preparations to mobilize." Xellik traced his finger around the eastern shore of Rhavik and around the southern lip of the oval-shaped continent. He brought his finger to the Cana'mord, a large canal that separated Muriaj from Jha'zal, and tapped it twice. "Once the fleet is ready, they will deploy and meet my ship here."

"Is everyone going to be ready that quickly?" Greenix asked in disbelief.

Rothorn sat with his arms crossed. "The Blackhorn have already joined with the Warlord's army. We had done so long ago. There was never any argument from us about joining this war. We wish to crush the Snowhoof minotaur so we may secure the northern mountain ranges as our territory once our army has conquered Muriaj. We are here only to shore up the final details of our invasion." He looked to Xellik. "Speaking of, what are we calling ourselves, anyways?"

The orc closed his eyes and thought on it for a moment. He recalled what Greenix had told him about his crone's visions. "Muriaj will fall beneath the shadows of Sytarel's armies," Xellik said, trying to sound poetic. "We are the Shadow Legion."

"Fitting," Thesu said. "The Blackhorn are at your command, Warlord."

Xellik turned back to the map. He had to make a few changes to the original plan since Greenix had proposed the Darkpaw's offer. "After we rendezvous off the coast of Jha'zal, we'll be launching an assault on Yasuragi. The gnolls will lead the charge and my soldiers will follow."

"Why Yasuragi?" Kaz asked. "This isn't what we talked about. The original plan had us heading north from the Cana'mord into Olaraan territory."

"It's part of the deal with the gnolls. I promised to assist them in taken the island, and they pledged their tribe's warriors in service of Sytarel. They will be in charge of the invasion of the island," Xellik explained. "I expect Yasuragi to fall quickly. It's a small island, and we can leave a platoon of soldiers there to clear it out. We'll bombard the capital with the fleet before landing. The ursar won't stand a chance. They don't even have a military to speak of. We'll ransack the country for supplies and then head straight for Olaraa after that."

"I don't like changes," Kaz grumbled.

"You don't have to like it," Xellik informed him, trying his best to not sound annoyed with the troll. "I need you to remain here for the time being and finish training the rest of your kin. I'll be leaving a few sorcerers and a compliment of warriors behind to create new trolls to join you."

"Why are you leaving him behind?" Thesu asked. "He looks like he could clearly handle himself in a fight and could easily give dominate the Coalition's forces."

"I need the trolls for the second leg of our campaign, when we assault Kitair," Xellik replied. "The delay also gives Kaz and my sorcerers more time to bolster their numbers."

Xellik went about laying out his plans for the Muriaj invasion. Using his fingers and a few markers, he outlined the route that the Legion would take as the entered the heart of the continent. Olaraa's capital would be besieged and destroyed first, as the dwarves had the most powerful magics out of the entire Freedom Coalition. They would then mop up the rest of their country to secure a foothold and replenish supplies. Afterwards, they would meet back up for an assault on Sanctuary, the Coalition's major trade hub and the location the dwarves were expected to rout. Without Sanctuary, it would sever the ties between the remaining Coalition forces and lead to an easy victory for the Shadow Legion.

* * * * *

After the summit had finished, Xellik bid the emissaries farewell and sealed the hidden room once again. He headed upstairs to his quarters where Haij and Napir were watching his door. They were arguing about something, and their voices could be heard from halfway up the stairs that wound their way up the tower.

"You should never have let her in!" Napir said.

Haij jabbed him in the stomach. "How dare you speak to an Elder that way! Just because you're Xellik's friend, you think you can do whatever you please."

"Elder orc or not, that was not your decision to make!"

Xellik stomped up the stairs and stepped between the two of them. "That's enough, both of your!. Haij! Go get some fresh air. Now!"

Haij ignored what Xellik was saying and continued to yell at Napir. The orc rushed around Xellik and bumped his chest into the chubbier youth, pushing him back. "You just get special treatment. You act like because you grew up together that gives you some sort of authority. Well, you have none! No one would listen to a fat-ass like you!"

"Haij!" Xellik barked. He reached out and grabbed the orc by his collar. With a heave, he yanked Haij back and against the wall. The orc clattered to the ground into a heap. "I told you to take a walk!"

Still Haij refused to move. Fed up with him, Xellik waved a hand and opened a portal to the docks. With a firm boot to the chest, he knocked Haij through it and then sealed the rift.

"If you don't want to listen to me, then you can stay out," Xellik said, even though the portal was closed and he couldn't hear him. He looked back to Napir. "What happened?"

"It's Sorda! He let her into your room! That idiot."

Xellik's face burned a little, but not out of anger. It was out of embarrassment. He was grateful for his race's naturally red skin so that Napir wouldn't notice.

Xellik clapped Napir on the shoulder. "Why don't you get something to eat? I'll take care of my... guest."

"You're gonna get her back for all those times we got beat back in Rogust, right?" Napir asked, then grinned. "You're gonna beat her good aren't you?"

Xellik averted his eyes. "Something like that."

"Get her good for me." Napir began to whistle a tune as he headed downstairs to get some food.

Xellik opened the door and saw Sorda sitting on his bed, looking out the balcony window. She was muscular, yet lean, and wore a skin-tight leather tunic and leggings. When he closed the door she looked up at him. "I see our great leader has returned," she said jovially.

Xellik wasn't amused. "What did you want, Sorda? I told you not to come here."

"Is Sytarel's Chosen embarrassed to be seen fraternizing with an old enemy?" Sorda asked, clicking her tongue. "That simply won't do." She stood up and walked slowly over to him. "I thought after such a tense meeting you could use some... relaxation."

"It wasn't tense," Xellik corrected her, not giving in to her touch as she ran a hand over his chest.

"Well that's too bad. You look uneasy. Your muscles are stiff." Sorda looked him up and down. "Are you sure you don't need to relax?"

"I didn't say that." Xellik leaned down to kiss her, their tusks clicking together.

"It all went well then?"

"Better than expected. We're leaving in two days for Jha'zal, and the fleet will deploy next week."

Sorda tugged on his arms and lead him towards the bed. "So soon? Don't you think you're rushing?"

"This has been in the planning stages for a long time. I'm tired of waiting. It's time for action. We'll strike so swiftly the Coalition won't even know what hit them." Xellik eased himself onto the bed, with Sorda pinned beneath him. "But until then, I want to relax."