Stephen Ragewind was an accountant for one of the major advertising firms of New Zarok. He’s come a long way for a man of his upbringing. Spending most of his life growing up in the Underdark, the demi-human ghetto of New Zarok and NZC’s dark underbelly known for its rampant gang violence and organized crime, Stephen has struggled and worked hard to become who he is today. Born with the name Skarn Ragewind he had changed it to Stephen when he got older. Stephen, or Steve as he was known around the office, was an orc. He stood at 6’10” which was average height for an orc with sickly green skin and thick scraggly black hair he kept gelled down in a business like fashion. He had glasses perched on the end of a porcine nose and beady little eyes the color of dried blood. Two tusks each about two inches in length jutted from his bottom lip, framed by a within-company-regulations goatee. He wore a white dress shirt with a red tie, blue when he really felt like mixing it up, and pinstripe pants that cost him more than he’d tell anyone they were worth. Growing up in the Underdark he’d never imagined the life he had now, with his very own apartment on Bardway, where he was only just down the street from NZC’s theatre district where he frequently went to see plays. Steve had a brand new red Dodge Pegasus in his driveway and a cat named Munch who curled up in his lap as he read books in bed. He was comfortable, he was successful, and he was happy…well mostly happy. Sometimes when he laid down on his ergonomic memory foam pillow and closed his eyes listening to Munch purr at his feet, he’d fall into a endless nightmare full of drugs, violence, and buckets and buckets of blood. He’d wake up in a cold sweat, the cat growling at him in annoyance and a voice from his past would whisper to him as the edges of sleep fell away,
Ya can’t change who ya are Skee…
Today was a day like most days, Steve had left the house a little later than he’d intended and was in full panic mode when he was caught in the morning traffic on his way to work. He was sweating profusely, continuously checking the time on his dashboard clock and looking around for an opening to cut ahead up the seemingly never ending river of blaring car horns and shiny metal. His stereo was turned up to near full volume, his one guilty pleasure blaring from the speakers. Steve loved hardcore metal, the double bass drum kits slamming away, the shrieking guitar solos, the guttural roar of the vocals, the louder the better. Oddly enough it kept him calm, most orcs were prone to rage and it took no small measure of control to tame it but over the years orcs have learned to cope with it in order to blend in with the rest of society. Smaller outbursts aside most manage, usually avoiding situations that cause them too much stress or agitate them. Steve had talked it over with his therapist who’d mentioned that the music wasn’t bad as long as it didn’t cause him to act violently, “it sings to your inner Warrior” she’d said between sips of Seirbucks coffee, while scribbling something down on a pad of paper, seated behind a desk that looked like it cost more than his car. Stephen didn’t know about all that but the validation was enough for him. He big grin cut across his face when traffic finally moved up a few feet and he started to slowly pull forward. There was movement to this right and someone poked their nose in the empty space in front of him, some fat human female who took up most of her driver seat and passenger side, blocking now only his way but also the lane she came from. He looked to the driver in disbelief, the fat woman paying him no mind as she touched up her makeup waiting on traffic to continue moving. Inside Steve’s head, his rage howled and his anger flared and the world took on a reddish tint. He hated traffic, he hated being late, he hated his job and he hated every person on that highway in that moment. His fists clenched the steering wheel, he could hear the leopard print steering wheel cover starting to fray and tear beneath his fingers. Steve caught himself and remembered to start to breathe. He imagined a cage, put his anger away inside, and locked it. Letting out a cool breath of air and focusing his mind on the wicked guitar solo blaring on his stereo, Steve became himself once more. He let the woman in, even sharing a smile with her as she wormed her way into the spot in front of him while secretly wishing she’d die from type-2 diabetes.
After sitting in traffic for twenty minutes Steve finally hit a spot of luck and managed to make it downtown to his office while only being 15 minutes late. He was sweating as his building came into view and letting his death grip loosen on the steering wheel, having already bent it to the perfect shape of his fingers in his panic. The building in front of him wasn’t necessarily the tallest of the buildings in the area but it was certainly the most unique if not the most jarring thing in New Zarok’s skyline. The entire building was plated in gold, every metal surface from the window trimmings to the very bolts that held things together were gold. The front of the building had a huge neon sign on it blazing a bright neon pink with letters on the front in a curly script reading:
CARL AND SONS
A picture of the gnome sat across the top of the building on a massive billboard that spanned the two adjacent office buildings next to theirs. Steve knew Mr. Glitzern had no children(or at least ones he acknowledged) but was trying to make it sound more like a family business to draw in more clients. Carl Glitzern was a man of excess, small in stature but big on personality. On the billboard he wore a lavish suit of sparkling gold, several rings on his fingers studded with gemstones, and topped it all off with a top hat and monocle. From beneath his bulbous nose sprouted a thick blonde mustache and a small triangle beard. To his left was a pile of money that dwarfed him in size and to his right a beautiful woman a foot and a half taller than him laying across a gilded yellow sports car he couldn’t drive without peddle extensions. To Carl, bigger was always better and he’d ran his business with that in mind. He might be a gaudy showman but beneath the glitz and glamor was a stone cold salesman. Carl had started out selling cars in Smalltown, USS and he’d taken it to the furthest he could with a marketing empire that had fingers in everything across East Beldin. Carl could sell dehydrated water and helicopter ejection seats and he wasn’t above selling war to young impressionable youths either, using his money to back the Seraphin Army’s campaign against the dragons. Carl and Sons produced posters that were up in high school and unemployment offices all over the country and television PSA’s that aired between football games and Saturday morning cartoons, depicting valiant soldiers standing atop mountains of dead dragons and wild elves with fangs and claws threatening menacingly with taglines like “If you don’t stop them, who will?” Stephen never really paid them too much attention, he just crunched the numbers and kept his head down. He’d only once ever met Mr. Glitzen once at a company party and only long enough to shake his hand and mumble something into his drink before shuffling back to his office to finish up a couple of technical reports.
Stephen pulled into the company parking garage and climbed out of his car, walking with haste towards the elevator. He pushed the button and waited what seemed like hours for it to arrive. He caught his reflection in the gold elevator doors, his hair was tousled a bit and his glasses were falling off his nose. He ran his palm through his hair, cursing his genetics for giving him hair like iron wool, adjusted his glasses and managed a tusked grin at his reflection in the mirror before the doors opened and he found himself chest to face with his Mr. Hickman, his boss. Steve’s breath caught in his throat and his boss’s disapproving gaze moved from Steve’s chest up to his face.
“OH, Mr. Hickman. Uh…I was caught in traffic you see and then there was this…”
Todd Hickman silenced him with an upraised hand, slowly closing it into a single raised finger which he continued to hold above his head in the direction of Stephen’s face.
“I don’t need another one of your excuses Mr. Ragewind. I need competent employees who show up to work ON TIME.”
Todd’s voice was incredibly monotone but Steve could hear the undertones of disgust he’d become accustomed to hearing in Todd’s voice when he spoke. Todd’s suit was a deep gray color and looked like it was made out of some kind of super uncomfortable wool blend that must itch terribly. A blue tie that matched blue eyes clung to his tiny neck like a noose. He was thin, almost impossibly so, with a sallow face that made him look like something that crawled out of a grave. Mr. Hickman was a good foot and a half shorter than Stephen and about two and half Todds could match his width but Steve’s eyes couldn’t meet his. He looked away and tried to muster up some kind of response,
“I uh..well…It won’t happen again…”
He tried to walk past Todd into the waiting elevator but Todd caught his arm in a firm grip, wrapping long thin fingers around Steve’s thick arm. Inside his head something exploded, and Steve had a strong urge to break Todd’s arm off and show it up his ass. Instead Steve gave a surprised grunt and spinning to face his boss, only a small glimmer of red rage gleaming in his eye. Todd’s voice rasped through thin lips curled into a smirk that spoke volumes,
“It won’t happen again…what?”
A small voice was screaming at him in his head, like a whisper of a whisper, a familiar voice but it was gone by the time he noticed it but its message was clear,
Don’t give into him mate! stand your ground! Fuck ’em up!
He shook his head and lowered his gaze away from Todd’s,
“It won’t happen again…sir.”
he said with resignation, turning his head forward. Todd let go of his arm and began making his way past Stephen to his silver Toyota Chimera, speaking over his shoulder without so much as turning to look at him,
“Your damn right it won’t. You’ll work through the next two weekends and I’m docking your pay for the time you missed. Don’t let it happen again or I’ll have to find another dumb Greenskin to count numbers for me.”
Steve shuffled to the elevator and stared at his boss while the elevator doors closed. He let out a sigh and turned to face the entrance to the stairs.
fucking pathetic…call yourself an orc…
The voice was there again but gone like it’d never been there.
“I’m going crazy.”
he said aloud, his voice echoing in the gilded elevator. He rode in silence up to the accounting floor, his fingers fiddling with this tie idly. The doors opened and Steve strode past the receptionist, a pretty blonde female human who couldn’t spell receptionist, and one of the building’s security guards, a short dark-skinned dwarf with soft brown eyes and a smooth black beard who Steve had heard through office gossip was sleeping his way around the whole building. They were too busy flirting to notice Steve walking by, head down, as she scribbled her number on a piece of paper and slid it to the guard. Steve was in charge of his own three man team who usually handled a large bulk of the company’s expense reports while other departments took all the credit. He’d been working six years to get where he was but he suspected Todd was doing his best to keep him there or fire him. Only the sounds of clacking keyboards and telephones ringing filled the air as he made his way to his desk. He could feel all eyes on him as he walked through, increasing the feeling of his own embarrassment. Todd’s desk, though currently empty sat the middle of it all, so he could oversee it like a king does his domain. Todd’s desk was clear of clutter, with not so much as a family photo upsetting the stark order Mr. Hickman tried to painstakingly maintain. Only a bronzed placard that read,
“DESK OF MR. TODD HICKMAN, ACCT. MANAGER” had its place at the front of the desk. Todd gave the place a wide berth remembering what happened last time he’d walked too close and accidentally knocked a pencil from Todd’s desk, having to spend every day for a whole month wiping Todd’s desk down after work. Stephen took his place at his desk among the others, putting in his password and booting up his computer. As he waited on his computer to set itself up, he was ambushed by his two co-workers, both wheeling over in their chairs to greet him pinning him from both sides.
“Hey Steve, you’re late.”
said the man to his left. His name was Ralph, a chubby guy who sweat a lot even when sitting down. Ralph had dark red stains on his white dress shirt which was stretched thin over his wide frame, probably ketchup or some other sauce he’d dripped on himself with breakfast. To his right Alex leaned back in his chair smirking. Alex was a thin brown-skinned man who looked too handsome to be sitting a desk in an accountants office. The kind with long dark hair and a funny accent who get paid to wear expensive clothes and stare into a camera growling like a jungle cat. Alex’s dark dress shirt and red tie would look plain on any man but him, he wore it well and he knew it.
“What’s up bro? You party too hard last night or something?”
He said flashing a too white smile. Steve grunted in response and placed a big green hand on his forehead.
“No, just…left the house late today.”
Ralph crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, the chair groaning in response threatening to send all three hundred pounds of Ralph to the floor,
“Todd catch you on the way out?”
Ralph’s hand moved slowly away from his face as he stared up at the ceiling sighing.
“Yep.”
was all he could muster in response. The little smirk on Todd’s face dancing in front of Steve’s vision.
Fuck ’em up! kill that arsehole!
the voice whispered once again, he shook his head and realized Alex had been talking to him.
“…Todd will have your ass on a platter man. Get your shit together boss, that racist bastard is looking for an excuse to toss you on the street holmes.”
Steve turned and gave him a blank stare, and he could hear Todd’s voice echoing in his head,
“another dumb Greenskin…dumb Greenskin…dumb Greenskin…”
Alex raised his voice,
“Hey man, you listening?”
Steve’s eyes faded into red and the cage in his mind rattled open,
Kill ’em all!
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
he screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice a throaty growl as he stood from his desk hands clutched into fists at his side. All eyes were on him and the dwarf security guard had his baton and zip ties already in hand, although the look in his eyes said he didn’t have any plans on what he was going to do with them. Steve’s imposing frame loomed over the two other accountants who looked ready to shit themselves. Steve’s vision cleared and he looked about as if he was unsure of what just happened. In the palm of his right hand he’d managed to crush his computer mouse into a dozen useless pieces that he let fall to the floor at his feet. Steve coughed, straightened his tie and sat back down. The rest of the office continued to stare but Steve ignored it, pulling a spare mouse out of his desk and plugging it into the tower beneath his desk. Ralph and Alex continued to stare until Steve gave them a glare that implied they should get to work as well. Alex wheeled himself back to his desk, hand’s raised in an apologetic manner, managing to make even the look of fear on his face seem attractive, while Ralph struggled with his chair before one of the wheel spokes finally snapped off and sent him rolling to the floor in a heap.
Atta boy tiger, still got it in ya
Steve continued to focus on work all the way through lunch, the voices of the morning remaining silent throughout the day. No one mentioned the incident to Todd when he came back from whatever prior engagement he’d had to oversee work through to the afternoon. Steve lost himself in his work, the clicking and clacking of keyboards and the monotony of endless spreadsheets lulling him into a calm stupor and before he knew it, it was time to go home. He made little eye contact on his way out, the security guard keeping his hand on his baton as Steve passed into the elevator. No one accompanied him on his way down and he made his way back to his car undisturbed. His mind was reeling from the days events as he hit traffic on Weiss St. stifling a curse as he took a deep calming breath and rested his head against the head rest. His thoughts turned back to the office,
“I cursed…”
he said to himself with a chuckle. His therapist had made him swear off cursing, saying it promoted ill feelings and dark thoughts. He hadn’t said ‘fuck’ in almost five years, preferring ‘frick’ or ‘frag’ or some other nonsense word that filled the void where a curse word would go. He hated to admit it to himself but it felt good to say it again, to let his rage out, to smash, to break…
“no…not down that path again…we’ve come to far…”
he said aloud closing his mind off to those thoughts and re-imagining the little cage where he held his anger fixing itself and sealing all the bad thoughts away. He opened his eyes and there was movement off to his left as something small darted between traffic making its way towards his car. Steve had just enough time to register the form as a little girl with long brown hair before she was at his car and climbing on top of the hood, scrambling frantically to reach the roof.
“Hey! Hey get down from there! Hey!”
he shouted through his windshield, the girl obviously ignoring him as she leaped up to the top of his car. A scratch on the hood and smudges on the windshield made his blood boil and he began to open the car door to get out and take her down. Then bursts of energy from a pair of Boltguns flew past his vision and he slammed the car door back shut, yelping as a bolt sizzled and cracked into the side of his vehicle. He tucked his head down below his steering wheel and tried to remember his breathing exercises to be used in stressful situations,
“in with the good…out with the bad…”
he chanted between whimpers,
really mate? such a wimp…
the voice was back, but Steve ignored it although he began to contemplate why the voice in his head had an accent. Another bolt caromed off his windshield and sent spiderwebs cracking across its surface and all thoughts were driven from his mind as Steve the Orc tried to curl himself into a ball. There were more shots, his car jostling back and forth as the girl jumped up and down on the roof, and then there were screams and the sound of something heavy hurling through the air above his car, the sound of something big with wings flying into the distance and cops yelling at each other. Steve lifted his head up to see people standing out of their cars, staring at the sky in awe. Steve didn’t care what they were staring at he just wanted to get home back to his bed, his cat, and his ergonomic pillows. He put the car in drive, found a narrow opening in traffic and pulled into a side street, his car dinging into another on his way past, looking to belong to the same fat woman from this morning, who didn’t seem to notice as she was standing outside her car furiously texting while simultaneously glancing up at the sky as if searching for something.
The drive home was uneventful and Steve barely remembered getting out of his car and making his way to the elevator that would take him to his apartment. The orc’s heart was racing and his head pounded like little men with hammers were smashing it like an anvil. Inside his head the cage rattled and he could feel himself losing his grip on his calm. He used the elevator ride to compose himself, taking deep breaths, cleaning his glasses and undoing his tie as the doors opened on to his floor. He passed Apt. 39, 40, 41…and his heart stopped when he reached 42. Steve had picked this apartment, in this neighborhood specifically, even going out of his way to pay more than the apartment was worth, in order to avoid stressful situations. It was a nice neighborhood, people locked their doors more out of habit than out of fear, the only danger the occasional drunk thespian or overly flamboyant gay man prowling the streets after dark. It was not the type of neighborhood where one finds the door to his apartment kicked inward and hanging wide open, the setting night outside turning the inside of his apartment into a twilit cavern full of foreboding. Someone inside was rustling around and Steve’s heart remembered to continue pumping blood through his veins, throwing in some adrenaline to mix things up. Steve hung outside the doorway unsure of how to proceed,
“This day is never gonna end…”
he said aloud, scaring himself out of his stupor as he made his way into the house. He flicked on a light and stumbled over what used to be a decorative orc tribal statue he’d bought on auction a few years back, laying on its side partially shattered. Making his way into his apartment he followed the sounds of rustling coming from the kitchen, his hands clenching into fists and he could feel the rage inside rattling at its cage.
You just stepped into the wrong orc’s apartment mothafucka!
the voice chimed in, Stephen himself feeling his face get heated as he stepped around the corner and pushed the door open to the kitchen. He was ready, the rage inside him poised to come flying out at whatever lay beyond. Steve was tired, it’d been a long day, and he wanted to break somethings bones and suck the marrow. He hated the feeling and reveled in it at the same time as he barreled threw into the fluorescent light beyond.
A figure stood in his kitchen, his back turned to the door as Steve made his way in. The intruder had been rummaging through his fridge and had made himself something to eat, munching noisily on something as Steve charged forward, fist launching out striking the intruder just below the ribs, a glancing blow, not enough to break bone but the figure cried out in obvious pain dropping the sandwich he’d been munching on to the floor in a splat of mustard. The figure whirled around to face Stephen but Steve continued to press forward, thrusting out with his left arm horizontally, burying an elbow into the guys throat while his other hand grabbed something off the counter almost subconsciously. He had the guy pinned against the kitchen wall, barely registering he had a knife pressing into the figures ribcage, threatening to pierce flesh and bone and drive into the intruder’s heart. The intruder spoke,
“WHOA, WHOA! EASE UP MA BRUTHA! SKARN, SKARN, ITS ME MAN! ITS TRAK!”
End him!
The voice inside practically roared, louder now than it had before as if it was gaining in strength as the situation escalated. Steven shook away his rage and looked at the intruder with the sudden realization that he knew him.
“Trak…?”
the name came out as a whisper, a name from his long past, a name he’d nearly forgotten but knew he never could.
“Yo man, c’mon, ease up off me. Don’t you recognize you’re own brother huh?”
Trak squirmed a bit and Steve loosened up the hold on Trak’s throat, letting the knife clatter to the floor beside the sandwich. Trak made a show of rubbing his throat and straightening up his clothes,
“Man you ain’t changed, still wound up tighter than a elf cunt huh? Motherfucker you sliced open my new shirt, you know where I had to steal this shit from, Nine Hells Skee…”
Trak was on Orc around the same size as Stephen although a bit skinnier and lacking in girth. His skin was more a yellow green with darker green spots speckling the area around his neck and shoulders. He was wearing baggy jeans with skinny iron chains dangling from them and a black t-shirt with a pot leave splayed across it. Words at the bottom read, “Mean and Green”. He wore a baseball cap twisted around backwards with the words “Grum Life” written out graffiti-style. Around his neck was a thin silver chain, with two rat bone piercings in his left ears and one of his tusks had been capped with gold. The golden tusk took on a glimmer as Trak smiled to reveal some of his other teeth had the same golden coverings.
“Skarn motherfucking Ragewind, the legend in the flesh. You still got it bro, though you lucky you backed off when you did…”
he pulled his shirt up to reveal a pistol tucked firmly between his jeans and his exposed “Hello Pretty” underwear.
“I was about to fill yo’ ass full o so much lead you’d be shittin bricks bro.”
he chuckled dropping his shirt back down while Steve just stared at him, lost in memory and thought, a mixture of joy, anger, and confusion swirling around in his head.
Trak and Steve had been best friends back when they were little. In the Underdark you had to make friends or you didn’t live to see your next birthday. Trak’s parents were both serving time in jail for dealing drugs and Steve, then Skarn, saved him from getting beat to death by a group of other poor kids who were trying to steal his clothes. Trak always had had a flare for style, his drug dealing parents had gotten him a lot of brand name clothes and he had always been protected by the best bodyguards money could buy. Then the police took all that away and little Trak was suddenly an easy target. Skarn’s parents had been killed in a drive by shooting several years earlier. They weren’t gangsters or thugs just innocent bystanders when a Gnoll’s Uzi opened fire on a rival gang passing just by his house. They’d been eating dinner when the bullets came crashing in through the walls and windows. He remembered his mother’s screams and his dad shouting at him and then silence. Blood coated the walls, soaked into Skarn’s hair, and was splattered across the table. So much blood…Skarn had just started running and running, never looking back. He’d survived on the streets by getting tougher, earning a small reputation as a bruiser using skills his father had taught him. His dad taught Orc and Human Relations at a community college and made sure his son knew the history of their race.
“All Orc children should know how to fight”
his dad had told him,
“But ours is a proud race, always fight with honor and learn to protect those weaker than you.”
More than learning how to fight, his father also taught him to learn to pick his fights wisely, never letting your pride become bigger than yourself. It was this skill that had kept him alive, knowing which fights to pick and which ones to let go. Skarn picked this one, coming to Trak’s defense and thrashing the young punks who were beating Trak within an inch of his life. Trak never forgot and the two had bonded that day becoming blood brothers, each still sharing the scar on their palm where they had cut themselves with a piece of glass and let the blood flow between them. As they grew Skarn always dreamed of getting out of the Underdark while Trak just couldn’t escape. Trak still held a grudge with the cops for taking away his family and enjoyed the thrill of living by only would you could steal or take by force. He was too wrapped up in what Underdark Orcs called “the Grum Life” a term coined by the famous rapper Big Grummy, who claimed to have lost his eye in a shootout with the police and rapped about gangbanging and big booty elf women. Skarn had struggled long with his education, spending long hours at the public library studying until the librarians shooed him out long past closing time. He got his GED, took advantage of a special program to take his SAT and got accepted into a NZC University. When Skarn was packing his things up for college, Trak confronted him with the rest of his crew standing and watching. He called Skarn a wannabe and a scared little bitch,claimed he was ditching his family to try and be something he wasn’t.
“Ya can’t change what ya are Skee! You’re nothing but another dumb Greenskin in their eyes!”
It had ended with Skarn standing over Trak with bloodied fists and tears in his eyes. He’d run out of there just as he did on his parents many years ago, never turning and looking back, always pressing forward. Skarn went to school, changed his name, and became Stephen Ragewind, Certified Public Accountant. He’d turned his whole life around, became a completely new man. Now after ten years of no word Trak suddenly shows up in his life again, acting like nothing ever happened.
Trak put his hand in his pockets,
“The fuck Skee, thought you’d be glad to see me.”
Steve’s fists clenched open and closed, his mind breaking free of nostalgia and he narrowed his eyes on the orc standing across from him,
“Trak, I thought I made it clear to you I was done.
He caught Trak’s gaze and held it, making certain the orc understood his every word,
“I didn’t want to see you again, I didn’t call, I didn’t write, I’ve never even thought about you. Back then, I tried to get you to come with me…”
Trak cut in,
“Man I ain’t tryin to be no Skinny’s bitch,”
Steve flinched at the racial slur, it’d been a while since he’d heard a human referred to as a ‘Skinny’. It was a derogatory slang term Orcs used for humans. No matter big a human is, an orc is always bigger, in every way, hence the term Skinny. Trak continued,
“Let the humans do this shit, fucking stocks and bonds and shit. Us man, Orcs, we’re bred for war bro. The Underdark is our battleground, its where we belong. In the shit, piss, and blood. We don’t belong up here homie, you tryin to fit square pegs into round holes and shit.”
he reached out and flipped Steve’s tie up into his face with a chuckle. Steve’s blood began to boil and an image of him smashing Trak in the face repeatedly leaped to the front of his mind.
End him mate!
Instead Steve turned away from Trak and readjusted his glasses that were dangling from the side of his face now. He remembered his breathing exercises,
“In with the Good…Out with the Bad…In with the Good…”
He was breathing in and out and trying to calm himself down and Trak was laughing behind him.
“What the fuck is that, some sorta hippie druid shit? The rage still has you don’t it, bro? you’re an Orc man, it’s in your blood, its in my blood. You can’t fight what you are Skee.”
Stephen let out a finally breath still refusing to face Trak. He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a glass and poured himself a glass of water.
“Why are you here Trak, to mock me for bettering myself? To make me feel bad about leaving your rear end in the slums?”
Trak’s feet shuffled uncomfortably, something was off, Steve sense a change in his old friends mood. There was silence for a long while and the Trak spoke,
“Rokin’s dead Skarn.”
Steve turned to face Trak, understanding and sorrow suddenly finding a place in him now. Rokin had been a mutual friend of both of theirs, a little goblin kid with a penchant for thievery. They’d often share in Rokin’s spoils if he managed to ever steal any good food and they’d give him protection in return. Rokin had always been a decent guy and had even asked to go with Steve when he left the Underdark. Steve had tried to make plans to bring him along but Trak’s confrontation had made it hard for him to remember his promise. He’d left too quick to give the little guy any notice. Stephen had felt bad about it for a while but that was the past now…he’d moved on. He finished his water in one long gulp letting the silence hang in the air a bit longer as he moved over to his sink and started wiping the glass down.
“What does Rokin’s death have anything to do with me?”
he said, never looking up from his chore. There was the sound of footsteps and Trak was standing at his side, face inches away from his own, his golden tusk brushing brushing Steve’s face.
“WHAT THE FUCK SKARN?! I understand not giving a shit about me, I got used to the idea that you didn’t ten shits about me a long time ago, but Rokin? That little gob looked up to you more than I did! He wanted out same as you and you left him there! Now I guess he finally got his wish huh?”
Trak shoved past Steve and made for the kitchen door. Steve was about to let him go but something inside made him follow Trak out. He caught up to him before he barreled out the broken front door laying a hand on his blood brother’s shoulder.
“Trak…stop. I’m sorry.”
Trak spun around to face Steve,
“Damn right you sorry.”
he said, arms crossed as if waiting for Steve to say something more. Steve stumbled trying to find the right words, not finding any he just said what came to his mind,
“Uh…so when’s the funeral.”
Trak smiled apparently satisfied,
“Tonight actually, get your shit together and lets roll.”
He turned to stroll out the door, Steve following behind him.
“You didn’t have to kick my door in y’know?”
Steve said looking back at the remains of the door, figuring there was nothing he could do about it now as he followed Trak to the elevator.
“What? It look like I have a key? I was hungry and shit.”
Steve caught himself in a chuckle, reminding himself not to get too chummy with his old friend. He was only going to pay his respects to Rokin and then he fully intended to kick Trak out of his life forever.
They made their way to Steve’s car, Trak whistling as they approached,
“Looks like it used to be a sweet ride, someone fucked yo shit up!”
Steve sighed, running his hand over the scratches in the paint and the dents caused by the Boltgun rounds.
“Yeah, something to do with some frickin kid on Weiss St. today, cops just opened fire for no reason…”
Trak let out another whistle,
“Fuckin Po-lease man. This my ride Ida fired a couple rounds back, put they assess six feet deep naw what I’m sayin?”
And just like that it was just like old times as they set off down the road, Steve and Trak talking back and forth about the past ten years. Trak pausing every now and then to tell him where to turn and to holler out the window at a passing female.
“Hey baby, ya wanna go back to my place for a little Zugzug, naw what I’m sayin?”
They shared a laugh or two, but Steve continued to remind himself that Trak was bad news. He’d come too far to get wrapped up in all that again. He couldn’t let himself fall back into…old habits.
He began to recognize where they were going as memories came drifting back to him from the old days. They were in the Underdark now, liquor stores were every other block and prostitutes prowled the streets looking for easy money. Steve suddenly understood where they were going, they were going to the old hangout, an alleyway behind a bar called the Kobold’s Den. Trak and Steve had sometimes worked in the bar serving drinks and eventually as bouncers when they got older. The owner, an old kobold named Skizz was like a father to the two Orc boys. Trak, Skarn, Rokin and a few others used to hang out back there and eventually the formed their own crew and the Kobold Den was their turf. The old Gang…Steve had forgotten about them. As they pulled into the alley and got out of the car he found them there waiting for him.
“Hey bitches look who it is!” said Trak as he exited and embraced another orc who towered over both Steve and Trak by almost a foot. His skin was a deep green, black in some place, and he they used say his mama must’ve fucked an ogre he was so huge. Those rumors died with every man who ever uttered it. He had a thick scraggly beard and his face was marked with scars. Hrund was his name Steve remembered, thinking back on how Hrund had been just a chubby awkward kid with tusks that barely poked past his lip who grew into the wall of muscle standing in front of him now. Behind him stood Sheela, a half-orc whose human dad had left her mom to take care of her alone back before she was even before. She was fairly pretty even by human standards, her skin pink with a slight greenish tint and her teeth were a tad too pointy. Sheela had always been a good shot with a pistol, able to shoot bottles off the back of a speeding car. She’d had some real daddy issues growing up, getting mixed up with the wrong guys, pimps trying to use her for what they felt were her only good assets. That was until a pimp named Papa got a hold of her and fell in love. Sheela had her armed draped around Papa as they came sidling up, the Gnoll’s black lips pulled back to reveal rows of sharp canines. Gnoll’s aren’t known for their peaceful nature and Papa was a gnoll with a bad temper. He’d been a pimp, dressed in lavish purple velvet and gold, dark shades perched on his elongated snout, his coat a shimmering golden mane speckled with red. He’d been a good Pimp, never letting harm come to any of his girls. Sheela had been his favorite, so much so that he gave it all up for her now using his contacts and pimp money to keep their little crew going. Papa looked comical in his purple fur and gold chains but even through the dark rhinestone shades you could feel the hyena-man’s hungry gaze sizing you up for the kill. Papa preferred tooth and claw when things got tough, barely ever using a gun if he could avoid it. He liked to get up close and personal and watch his victims squirm.
Hrund’s deep voice bellowed, rumbling like the very earth itself, eyes wide in surprise,
“That you Skee?”
“Naw man its ‘Stephen’ now,” said Trak laughing.
Sheela edged in very a closer look,
“Oh my god hey Skarn! I mean…Steven. Aw and I always like Skarn, name had a nice strong sound to it,”
Sheela purred taking a couple steps closer to Steve. Papa pulled her back towards him, a bit to harshly growling softly, his muzzle full of teeth twisted in what was his best impression of a grin,
“Watch who you talkin to like that bitch, get back. Hey, old soul how’s it hangin? Steve, steve, steve hmm, man sounds like a bitch name to me, and them’s some bitch ass threads you got danglin off you now. I assume you’s a bitch now?”
Papa looked Steve up and down, chuckling loudly. Stephen frowned and felt himself flush bright red. The cage rattled and an image of him standing over Papa’s limp body, strangling him with his own chains until his legs stopped kicking came to mind. He barely managed to calm down as the others joined in the laughter. It was getting a lot harder to do…this had been one really long and trying day and the voice…he could hear it laughing at him too, joining in their mockery. He took to his breathing once again.
“You sure he’s still got it Trak?”
Hrund said, his arms crossed in front of him, yellow eyes glaring over his stubby nose suddenly looking very hostile.
“Yeah he’s still got it,” said Trak with a grin, moving over to a dumpster near where they parked the car. He opened it up and there among the broken bear bottles and famous Kobold Den onion rings, was an impressive array of weapons buried amongst the trash. The others began moving in and grabbing guns and knives out of the bin. Alarms went off in Stephen’s head as he moved to Trak’s side,
“Whoa whoa whoa! What the hell Trak? I thought we were going to a funeral. What’s with the guns? What about Rokin?”
Steve’s blood started pounding. The rage inside was rattling the bars on its cage and suddenly Steve felt really uncomfortable and was on the verge of throwing up. Trak loaded a magazine into what looked like a brand new nine mil, unadorned and plain looking. The cops and the Paladins got all the fancy magic guns and enchanted swords, down here in the Underdark it was straight lead and iron. Trak turned to face Steven who was doubled over by his car puking his guts out, two pistols tucked into his jeans now and an AK-47 was slung over his shoulder.
“This about Rokin man. Its about killing those motherfuckers who put him in the dirt. It’s about revenge on those Drow bastards and reminding them why they don’t mess with the Kobold Crew. They’ll be here any minute STEVE, I suggest you suit up.”
Steve was shocked, enraged, confused, and scared. A rush of memories came flooding back, bad ones, memories of shattered bones, drug fueled rage, and bathing in blood. Oh how he’d forgotten the blood, but it came rushing back like a warm tide. How it felt when it ran through his fingers, matting down his hair, and splattering against his clothes. Skarn hadn’t just been a member of their crew, he’d been their leader, the head hancho and meanest motherfucker to ever walk the Underdark. The Drow were a rival gang, a group of Gray Elves that fancied themselves Mafiosos. Gray Elves were the only elves allowed on this side of the Gauntlet, having decided to side with the humans over the Dragons back during the beginning of the war. Like all the other races the humans deemed undesirable back in the day, they had been segregated to the Underdark Ghetto, their pale gray stone-like skin, white hair, and pure black eyes made them too inhuman to live in the main city. To call them a gang was unfair, they ran a business, with their fingers in every illegal dealing that took place on these mean streets. Their leader was a cruel woman named Lilith, a Gray Elf known for her ruthless cunning and scary intellect, always knowing where her enemies were, when they were at their weakest, and never being caught off guard, always knowing about incoming attacks before they came and all seeing. Not all Gray Elves were criminals, indeed many have since left the Underdark and became normal members of society and not all Drow are Gray Elves either. They recruited ruthlessly, any rival gang deciding not to throw in with them being slain in the process. Steve’s Kobold Crew had managed to beat them back every time, every enforcer sent back to Lilith in a body bag. Their territory was small and easily defensible and after a while Lilith moved on to bigger and better prey.
“Why now? Why are the Drow moving in after so long?”
Steve asked, snapping out of his thoughts. He picked himself up from the alley floor and wiping vomit from his lips, the others weren’t looking at him he realized. Sheela was messing with the safety switch on her own pistol before she finally broke the silence,
“It’s because you left Skarn.”
Said Sheela sullenly, putting the pistol away into a real holster she’s strapped to her side. She pulled a buttefly knife from the bin and went to spinning it nimbly around her fingers. Hrund pulled on a bullet proof vest and set about loading a military grade shotgun, round after round clicking into place as he spoke,
“The bastards came in ones and twos over the years after you left. We could usually take care of them, using everything you taught us to stay alive. As long as we stayed together they couldn’t touch us. They got Rokin when he was out with his girl, turned out she’d been a Drow plant the whole time. It wasn’t pretty, there was nothing left to bury…”
Hrund finished loading the shotgun, the massive gun looking small in his giant hands. He walked over to join Papa and Sheela, the three looking to each other for comfort. Rokin had meant a lot to them all. Trak turned to face Steve a serious look on his face, looking more grown up than Steve had any memory of him being.
“Look, I know you don’t give a shit about any of this anymore, but you got to know you are this shit is all your fault! You protected us Skee, you was our guardian angel, my…OUR big brother. Then you left. Now Rokin’s dead and soon we will be too if you don’t get your shit together. We need you now more than ever. Papa’s got connections, says the Drow are sending in specialists this time, this is it, the final battle.”
He had tears in his eyes. Steve hadn’t seen Trak since he was child, laying in the dirt beaten and bruised. He looked so much like the little boy Steve had saved from death so very long ago.
“I’m not gonna waste time appealing to you as a brother, I know that train’s long gone. But take responsibility as a man, as an Orc, and help clean up the mess you left behind.”
Steve didn’t know what to do. Guilt racked his mind and here and now staring possible death in the face he felt more alive than he had in the ten years since he left. He tried to push it all away, he had a good life now he couldn’t just throw it all away! Who were they to come begging for his help after so many years? This wasn’t his life anymore, this wasn’t his problem! The rage in his head pounded and the cage was rattling loose.
c’mon mate…don’t wuss out now…
“For Rokin.” he said finally after what seemed like an eternity, “but after this, none of you are ever to come with five feet of me again. If I catch you in my sight again…I’ll show you how much of the old me is still left.”
He let his threat hang in the air as he cast his gaze at each one of them, looking each one in the eyes to make sure they understood the gravity of his words. The orc in the suit and tie was still the Orc they had once known, an Orc who was once feared and respected, an Orc who meant what he said and wouldn’t think twice about making good on his threat. When he was sure they understood Steve walked to the dumpster to find it empty. He growled,
“What do you expect me to fight with? My fists?”
Trak patted him on the back, his golden smile lighting up his face,
“My ribs still hurt from where you cracked ’em earlier asshole. If all you had was yo’ fists that’d be enough to send them bitches crying back to their Lilith.”
He moved over behind the dumpster and pulled out a black duffle bag. He held it out to Steve by its strap, a shit-eating grin on his face,
“But I know this was more your weapon of choice,”
Theres an explosion of thunder and a bullet slams into the bag, knocking it out of his hands. It falls to the ground and the there’s a loud clang as whatever is in bag hits the concrete and falls out of sight beneath Steve’s car. The crew spring into action, taking cover behind the only object big enough for all of them to hide behind…Steve’s Pegasus,
“Oh man, my fraggin car!”
Steve whined as his heart was threatening to bust out of its ribcage and a tide of rage was boiling up within him. He could remember the feeling, of letting the rage flow. He’d gotten a taste of it earlier in his kitchen and he could feel it filling every part of him now. It was like a drug, intoxicating, powerful, a trance-like state that heightened ones senses and made him stronger and more powerful. Most orcs fought to keep it down, but all knew the intoxication of bloodlust even if they’ve never experienced it. It was genetic, bone deep, and it was all around him now he could feel it, the hot waves of anger emanating from Trak, Hrund, and himself. From the other end of the alley where the bullet had come from, a sleek black car was parked looking like a crouching panther about to strike. A Lamborghini Displacer tricked out with tinted windows, bullet-proof siding and windows, and probably more fun little toys that couldn’t be seen. Beside it stood a trio of Gray Elves, dressed in long leather coats buttoned tight across their lithe forms. Each elf sported black wraparound sunglasses, despite the fact that the sun had set long ago. Even city lights hurt gray elf eyes, their eyes worked best in complete darkness, anything more than candlelight caused them pain to look at. In between the trio of elves was a smaller gray elf, standing maybe three feet high, a kid who looked to be barely into his teens. Around his neck dangled a small gold chain with a spider wrought in gold hanging just above his heart. A large ruby was set into the spider’s abdomen and it seemed to glow with its own inner light. The small elf had his gun pointed down the alley, that first shot having come from his tiny little pistol.
“Come out little Orcs. I thought you Orcs were supposed to be warriors, but you’re cowering like little fairies. Come out and let Baal take all your worries away.”
he laughed a tinkling little laugh and brushed his long white hair to the side. Baal’s voice was nails on a chalkboard and curdled milk and children crying out in the night for their mother. Something…wrong crept through in his voice. Something that caused the crew huddled behind the car to shiver with a sudden fear they didn’t understand. The other gray elves were silent, each equipped with the same, a combat knife on their right hip and a semiautomatic pistol on the their left. Their stony gray skin was faultless their stance completely still. If you didn’t know better you’d assume them to be three beautiful statues made from dark gray marble. Long white hair hung in ponytails behind them, both male and female alike. Gray Elves were notorious for their androgynous looks, male and female only separated by the amount of curves they decided to show. Spiders were embroidered in patterns on their long leather coats. No one moved and nothing made a sound. Not even a rat stirred or fly buzzed. it was if the whole world held its breath in anticipation.
“Come on, greenskins! Did you lose your balls all of a sudden, or are they still in your mother’s mouths?”
Trak was the first to respond, muddy brown eyes bright with rage, veins bulging as he poped up and rained a metal storm of bullets down the alleyway. The Drow were quick, almost too quick to follow quickly dodging, taking cover and then moving again, advancing up the narrow space towards the orcs, the air a blur behind them. Baal didn’t so much as blink and eye, bullets flew in his direction and ricocheted off a dome of force that formed around the elf in a protective barrier. Trak threw himself back behind the car,
“That little shits a mage! They really want us fuckin dead!”
Papa chuckled but Steve could see the look of worry on his face. He can’t recall ever seeing Papa scared before but today seemed to be a day for firsts, Papa was terrified.
“Not just any fucking magic user. That cat’s a Drow Prince!”
Steve knew very little about the Princes, other than there were nine of them and that was all anyone knew. Lilith’s crew was too large for just her to maintain so the Nine Drow Princes were put in charge of various areas of her operation. She was taking no chances this time. she’d sent one of her best.
Baal made a little motion with his little hand and the other three Drow darted forward weapons in hand and rushed the car. The Drow’s guns made a “SPRAT!” sound and bullets went flying rapidly in arcs around the car and Steve cringed as they shattered windows and punctured tires. The others were firing blindly from cover, the Drow were inching their way up the alley. Sheela, popped up, using the trunk of the car to steady her aim, let out a breath and pulled the trigger. She watched the bullet’s arc her aim dead on as usual. Elves were fast but Sheela was damn near magic with firearm. The Drow enforcer caught Sheela’s bullet in between the eyes, painting the alley walls dark crimson with his blood. Hrund and Papa took that as their cue, the two charging in, both roaring loudly causing the remaining two elves’ normally stoic stone faces to break, sudden terror spreading over their faces. Papa moved fast, a purple velvet blur, canine legs propelling him forward towards his prey. He let out a hyena-like chuckle as a claw ripped across a Drow diagonally, slicing leather, flesh, and bone cutting her from neck to navel. She screamed, a piercing shrill cry that echoed in the night air until Papa ripped her throat out with a bone crunching bite, his muzzle dripping red with elf blood. Gnoll’s eat their kills, Papa’s muzzle already gulping down flesh and tissue before he opened his mouth to tear another chunk, lost in the momentary bliss of eating flesh. The other Drow opened fire into Papa’s back and shredded his spine with iron. Papa whimpered and let out a high pitched whine before falling into a heap, down for good. Sheela screamed and was loosing round after round in blind rage. Hrund had been slower but he’d charged himself within range of the elf who killed Papa. He pumped off a round of scattershot, pellets ripping the air in front of him. The elf spun around most of it, a few of the iron pellets shredding his side but leaving him still capable of launching himself forward and burying the blade of his combat knife down to the hilt in Hrund’s throat, just above the vest. Hrund gurgled and spat blood, falling to the ground with a ground shaking thump. The elf couldn’t pull his knife free and found himself standing face to face with Sheela who was now charging towards the alleyway, pistol in hand and firing rounded after round, each shot a cold, calculated bullet with Papa’s name written on it in blood. A shot to the crotch, a scream, a shot to the knee cap brought him down, the drow enforcer unable to move as she continued her stride forward. Three rapid shots and it was over, two for his eyes, one for his heart. Now only Baal remained, she tossed her gun to the side and rushed him twirling her buttefly knife out from her pocket, intent on making this personnel. Baal yawned and made a flicking motion with his thumb and pointer finger. A hand of red energy materialized in the alleyway and formed a fist that slammed Sheela in the chest sending her skyrocketing back to the car, slamming into the hood with a cry of pain as the car’s frame bent around her. Baal advanced on her, Steve and Trak an evil smile spreading across the Drow Prince’s innocent young face. Steve had never felt so powerless, what could they do against a power like that.? Trak had his gun pointed at Baal as he walked forward,
“Don’t you come any closer you little Drow bitch! I’ll fuckin bury you!”
you could hear the fear in his bluff. Baal laughed again, his voice ringing like little bells of silver. Trak screamed and opened fire, Baal standing close enough that he couldn’t possibly miss. Again the bullets bounced away harmlessly. Trak fired until his gun clicked and Baal merely stood there amidst all the blood, smirking.
“Is it my turn now? Oh you’re gonna love this one!”
Fire gathered in his palm and it illuminated his small form in red. Even from this far away the heat was intense and the air in the alley rose by at least twenty degrees. Baal’s fingers danced among the flames as the fire surged outward from his palm, the entire time he gathered his power, he was laughing, the little bells ringing in their ears as the heat intensified. When Steve didn’t think he could take it anymore, Baal thrust his hand forward and the alleyway was engulfed in fire. It roared out from Baal’s hand and burned the very air out of their lungs and turned the night into an inferno all around them. Only huddled behind the car did Trak and Steve manage to dodge the majority of the blast but Sheela…she was still alive, unable to move, her body was melting into the heated iron around her as her flesh burned away in hellfire. Her screams weren’t human, or orc, or anything that walked this mortal earth. Her screams were pain incarnate and Steve heard it all. They died away as she was burnt to nothing but a pile of ash in a matter of seconds by the intense flames. The asphalt turned to slag around them and the flames melted stone, brick and iron. The Pegasus became white hot, the red paint peeling and metal screeching in protest, tires exploding and melting into rubber puddles. Steve cried out and threw him and Trak away from the car mere seconds before it exploded, sending bits of shrapnel out in all direction. A piece of his car buried itself in Steve’s shoulder and he screamed, covering his head and Traks, the noise deafening them. There was a ringing in his ears and a throbbing in his arm when he finally looked up, thick smoke and fires blazing away all around them. Trak stood and had Steve supported on his shoulder,
“C’mon big bro! Don’t quit on me now! you’re supposed to be our secret weapon…get up you pussy!”
The fear was in Trak’s voice and it Steve could hear the desperation. He needed Steve to be the hero, to save the day, to make the deaths of all their friends count. But Steve couldn’t do it, he couldn’t feel it, the rage had suddenly vanished, replaced with the years and years of helplessness and weakness that he’d been living with since he left. Trak was looking wildly around, pistol out, but Baal was nowhere to be seen. Steve looked at the remains of his car spotting the duffel bag from before lying nearby, scorched, singed, but somehow mostly intact. A familiar handle poked out from within and he moved to grab it but then suddenly there was a sound in the air behind him, something like a “WHUMPF”, and Baal was there beside them, a monster wrapped in flames yet never being burned, the ruby set in the spider’s abdomen glowing with an otherworldly light.
“Bow to the Prince of Fire.”
Steve was slammed to the ground by the Drow’s downward punching fist another fist of pure red energy materializing and pressing him into the hot asphalt at his feet. Baal’s other hand was pressing the barrel of his gun into Trak’s nose. The sound of thunder rang out again and Trak was gone, his face destroyed in an explosion of gunpowder and shredding iron. Round after round Baal poured into Trak, laughing the entire time. Steve watched Trak’s skull explode and spray its contents across the alley, watched rib cage cave in and stomach explode as Baal’s gun ripped and tore everything it shot. A noise like waves crashing on the ocean filled Steve’s ears, watching Trak’s body fall in slow motion. All his old crew was dead, they’d been his friends once, his family even. Trak, Sheela, Papa, Rokin, Hrund…once he’d been there to protect them but he had run. They had been killed and all he’d done was watch. He watched them all die in his head like a movie reel stuck on replay, time seeming to have frozen all around him until he heard the ‘click click click’ of Baal’s gun running empty. He could hear his heart beat and a voice rang clear in this head,
Enough is Enough! It’s my turn…
And in that instant, Steve remembered what he’d been running from this whole time. It wasn’t that he’d been afraid of being trapped in the Underdark forever, he’d been afraid of how much he enjoyed being there. He remembered the joys of killing another living being and bathing in their blood, ripping and tearing flesh and cracking bone. He’d loved every minute of it and here in the Underdark he could kill and destroy as many people as he wanted. No one cared, and Lilith was always there to supply him with more fodder to reap and mend. Skarn Ragewind, the butcher of Kobold’s Den he’d been called. A murderer with a bloodlust unmatched by any serial killer, with a lust for death. The voice in his head…the voice that had been with him since he watched his parents get gunned down in front of him. Plaguing him his whole life, making him kill, reveling in the chaos. He’d been running away from himself, fearing for his own sanity, running away to college to escape the voices in his head that threatened his family when Lilith stopped supplying the bodies for him to pile up. He was shaking with fury, his mind wracked with sudden understanding, and knowing full well the consequences of his actions, he let the Butcher out of the cage he’d been locked in for ten years and cut loose his last shred of sanity.
Baal threw his gun to the ground,
“A Drow prince shouldn’t sully his hands with such filth”
he turned to face Steve,
“any last words you dumb greensk…”
his words were cut short when Steve’s fist met his chin; the force of the blow knocked him skyward and shattered his jaw with an audible crunch, teeth splinters burying themselves in his upper palette and flying outward from his face. There was another WHUMPF and the Drow Prince was on his feet on the other side of the car, flames burning all around him in the melted alley.
“How…whaagh?”
the once innocent face was now mangled and hideous, his mouth hanging open letting a waterfall of blood flow downward, every bone in his jaw shattered. He tried to choke out a response,
“gak…how digyou buhrek pree?! You shodent av…no chu codent ‘ave…”
Stephen was gone, an animal roar ripped its way out of his throat, as the accountant faded away from the front of his own mind, his replacement taking full control. His howl echoed off the alley walls and rattled windows. Baal screeched in response and with a wave of his hand, daggers of crimson light filled the air and launched themselves at Skarn Ragewind. He dodged a few of the magic blades and snatched the weapon out of the bag beside him in mid step as he charged Baal. He took two of the blades to his shoulder and hip, never slowing as he brought his weapon in front of him. A double bladed axe shimmered in the flames around him, its broad face in front as he charged. Little Skarn had found it in a pawn shop years ago and wanted it so badly. The Goblin Rokin had stolen it for him as a birthday present and he’d never charged into battle without it. It was ancient, a relic from Orc history when such weapons were the killing tool of choice for the strongest of Orc warriors, called the Barbarians. His father had told him stories of the Barbarians when he was a child, their rage was legendary. They could beat any opponent in front of them through sheer force of will, their rage was stronger than magic, all but the most grievous of wounds could be shrugged off like mosquito bites. The sheer force of their blows could shatter mountains and could continue to fight long after death had settled in on there hearts, fighting until thing within range of their blades was cut down.
The blood of the Barbarians flowed in all orcs, it was the source of their genetic rage and bloodlust. However only very few could truly tap into that power, tap into the deep seething hatred of their ancestors buried within their very DNA and turn it on their foes. Skarn had been one such Orc, its what had made him so formidable, so terrifying, so ruthless with his foes. Its what Lilith had feared, why she’d pulled back to only attack once he was out of the picture. The Drow Prince opened fire with magic and bullets alike. Fire scorched away his suit and tie, leaving bare green skin and wiry black hair. Bullets pierced open chest and shoulders but he couldn’t even feel them nor the daggers of red light slicing open his cheek and forearms. Skarn never flinched, never wavered, his blood mingling with the flame, pure rage and hatred pushing him forward, always forward. His eyes were on the target before him, the foe that would be felled, the blood that pumped in those veins waiting to set free from its fleshy prison. Gone was Stephen the accountant, buried deep and far away inside a prison of his own psyche. Here stood Skarn Ragewind, descendant of Rorge Ragewind, Barbarian Warrior of the Underdark and Butcher of Kobold’s Den. Skarn was there now, the stink of Baal’s fear mixed with urine and shit as the Drow Prince loosed his bowels at the sight of the Orc Warrior dragged screaming out of the nightmares of legend to stand in front of him now. Skarn brought his axe down in a single double-handed chop and the Elf raised his hand, screaming, shouting, pleading as Skarn’s axe shredded the shield of pure force energy, sending shards of magic to fly away and evaporate in the night air. His axe buried in Baal’s forehead, sinking into skull and shredding downward cleaving the small Drow into two ragged pieces. Skarn wasn’t finished, the rage powering his every move, he stomped he punched, he slashed, and hacked until nothing remained but blood and pulp. The blood was warm splashing against his bare chest, bits of brain flecked his hair and his arms were red up to his elbow, bone fragments buried in his knuckles. The rage faded yet Skarn remained. He looked back to where Trak lay on the ground and hefted his axe to his shoulder stepping away from the puddle that was once Baal, Drow Prince of Fire. As he walked over to his comrade’s fallen corpse, bullets wormed their way from holes in his chest, and scar tissue replaced open cuts on his face and arms. He knelt down next to Trak’s remains, very little left of the friend he’d long forgotten, the brother he’d turned his back on.
“I’ll kill every last one of them for you Trak. You’ve freed me from my cage mate, reminded me of who I was. They’ve pissed off the wrong Orc. The last words out of that bitch Lilith’s mouth will be your name and the names of all our friends before I cut the head clean off her shoulders.”
Skarn walked away from the scene, stopping to grab Hrund’s shotgun and ammo pouch. He grabbed up one of the coats from Lolth’s enforcers deciding the night air was too chilly to be walking around in destroyed suit and tie. He ripped the jacket in several places until he could comfortably wear it, fitting him more like a leather vest than a coat.
“Nice jacket mate, it’ll do ’til I can get something more propa.”
He found the keys to the Displacer in the jacket pocket and a cell phone in the other. He made his way to the car, stopping as he went to grab up Baal’s spider necklace, the ruby still glinting in the firelight. He pocketed it as he punched a number into the phone’s touch screen and let the phone ring as he unlocked the car and got in. Todd’s voice came over the line,
“Hello?”
“Hey Todd, boyo has it been.”
“Ragewind? is that you? Why are doing that stupid accent…”
“I wouldn’t piss me off right now Toddy, I’m taking a bit of a vacation ya see?”
“Like hell you are! Get your ass back to the office right now you dumb Greensk…!”
“Toddy, I wouldn’t finish that sentence or so help me I’ll come by there and rip your tiny pecker off and feed it back to your through your arsehole.”
There was silence, Todd tried to stammer back a response,
“Stephen…”
“Steve’s gone mate…Skarn’s the name but I got a message here from old Stevie boy, something he’s been dying to tell you but he ain’t got the nads for it. Go fuck yourself Todd, I quit”
He hung up and put the keys in the ignition and the engine roared to life. He set the shotgun in the passenger seat, placing the shells in the glove compartment for easy access. He revved the engine a few times, listening to the Displacer purr. He smiled and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror.
“You alright back there Stevie?”
In the rearview mirror, Stephen Ragewind sat in the backseat, his mouth gagged and his hands bound. Checking behind him Skarn confirmed no one was actually sitting in the backseat and smiled as he pulled the phone out again. He checked the contacts and found what he was looking for. The phone rang and rang until it went to voicemail,
“Please leave your name and number after the beep”
‘BEEP’
“You could’ve let us go Lilith. You could’ve spared your self and your mates a whole world of pain and just walked away. But now you’ve gone and done something ya shouldn’t have. It’s War now Lilth and nothings stopping me now, I’m free Lilith and its all thanks to you. Cheers.”
He floored it, the engine roaring to life as he angled the car out of the alleyway into the street. Street lights flashed across his blood soaked face, illuminating his grin, his eyes glowing red in the spaces of shadow between the lights. He headed deeper and deeper into the city, a bullet aiming straight for the heart of the Underdark with Lilith’s name etched in its side in the blood of fallen brothers.
Gamer's Gaiden 