Chapter 001 Inheritance

Introduction

The Atrocity destroyed the Creator in the Center of Existence. He fled through the Veils to find his beloved but through the Eye of Eiden, he foresaw that she would have need of a world upon which to be reborn. And so it was that the Lord of Chaos came upon the world of Olympus. Using his treachery, that evil being tricked the young race there to commit the greatest sin of Lesser Beings, to pierce the veils toward planes that they are not permitted.

And so, their punishment was great. The Fire of Divinity cleansed the world of Olympus, purging it of all life. No plant, no animal, no living thing remained within the air, the sea, or the soil. Leaving behind a pure and holy world for the children of the Homeworld. Only those sinners who were not within the influence of the world remained, and they were twisted horribly. Their suffering was to hunger and never die. To feed upon one another, but to feel the suffering of those upon whom they feasted. 

Alone in their misery until they earned forgiveness for their transgressing.

When people, at last, came to Olympus, they were of one kind. They brought life with them back to the world of Olympus. There were no Gods. The people were Godless. In their Godless arrogance, the people became lost in the wonder of their ability to bring life to a world that was long dead. They became so lost, that the one people became many people. And blaming the people of the Homeworld they brought a cataclysm upon the world of Olympus to stop Homeworld from sending more people to Olympus. Alone and divided, the many species of people on Olympus, bred and changed, and became many nations.

The many peoples fought amongst each other, hating their differences. Seeing their self-loathing, new Gods came to spread words of peace among the many nations. They spread their love and their seed, giving the gift of their children to the peoples, a gift of great heroes. But the people did not treasure the gift. It was just more differences between them. Rejected and alone, the children of the Gods turned their wrath upon the peoples of Olympus, jealous of the love their parents showered the peoples with. They sought to take back the life from Olympus.

Only in their most awful need, when all the races of Olympus were threatened, did the people finally come together. Yet still, they could not live as one people. Even in the years of desperate battle, the many peoples forgot that they were really still one race. The Necromancer Children of the Gods destroyed their parents, and the people of Olympus were once again Godless.

Yet with their last gift to the people, the gift of the Mages, did the Gods finally find a way to protect the people from their spawn. The magic that had once reigned over the world of Olympus was largely forgotten, with nothing left of entire civilizations save a few scattered books.

- The Book of All, On the Coming of Necromancers

Month 1 Week 1

The Hive

The chill of the dead of winter was exacerbated by the darkness of the windy night. Clouds of fog rolled damp and murderous through the lower valleys and dips that led to the entrance of the Hive. The attacking Hive must have been confident they could overwhelm his with their numbers because the wind always blew up toward the tops of the mountain which housed the complex system of natural and carved caverns that was his peoples’ home.

It was a good thing too otherwise the combined musk of so many warriors gathered in one location would have been like a beacon lighting the way to their hiding places. Cold was cramping Kron’s massive muscles as he awaited the orders from his section leader to let him and his fellow warriors know that the forward sentries had seen the first wave of the attack.

Always it was like this within the Horde. Hive against Hive. Queen against queen. High Chief against High Chief. And within the individual Hives, there were always the inter-clan rivals; vying for rank, position, and authority. Males battled males for the right to breed females and succeed to a higher status by heading their own clan, or sub-clan.

Why did they fight for resources? Or mates? There were more than enough females to go around. But those were drones, workers, and they were to be bred by fellow drones and workers, those who farmed their farms, raised their meat, dug their mines, and made their weapons. A warrior could only gain status by breeding a high-ranking female. No high-ranking female would ever consider breeding with or bearing a clutch of eggs for a male who had not proved himself in battle. A strong mate made for strong children, and a strong future. A High Chief could only control a Hive if he could conquer its queen.

And so here they knelt, in the cold; icy rocks biting into the thick green leather of his skin, to defend their queen against the machinations of a rival hive. So many males would die today, defending a female who would never deign to touch one of them let alone bear his young. Kron wanted to laugh. One of those short sharp barks of angry frustrations.

Instead, he snorted. It was the only concession he would make to his discomfort and disgust at the ridiculous waste of life in which he was about to participate. He was too well-trained a warrior to do more than that. Of course, the veteran warriors and those who took the politics of the Hive far more seriously than Kron, would not do anything so undisciplined as to reveal an emotion that wasn’t pleasure or joy in the midst of battle from crushing his enemies’ skulls.

To his left Loft grinned in the darkness, his ivory white tusks making two pale streaks framing his large teeth in an otherwise shadowed face. Leaning close his friend whispered in Kron’s ear. “Just think of all the females who will notice you once you’ve got a few dozen kills to your name.”

It brought a chuffing to Kron’s breath, but not enough to be a laugh. There were several females who noticed him already. One in particular, not of high rank, but attractive and currently brooding a clutch of his eggs had noticed him a lot. She was his female. Though traditionally, females tended to mate with many males throughout their lives, Kerim had chosen Kron as her first husband, the first to fill her eggs.

That was why he was here tonight. Not for the glory. For her. For the young they would rear together. So that he could be there when the eggs were ready and hardened, to hatch. It would be weeks yet. They were still soft and leathery, the babes inside not yet whole. So fragile.

Of course, they had to be soft and flexible at first, otherwise, they would crack during the strenuous process of laying. Kerim had not been nearly as pleased with him during the laying process as she had been while he was filling those eggs for her. Then the wind picked up and not even pleasant thoughts of Kerim’s nest were enough to keep him distracted from the cold.

He hated this. The hours ticked away, and the night continued to grow viciously colder, that final desperate attempt to snuff the warm lives of those still foolish enough to be outside before the breaking of dawn changed their fate. His waiting group would be one of the first into battle.

They were waiting for enough of the enemy to come through a pass into this frigid valley so that his Hive’s warriors could effectively cut their forces in half trapping both halves and killing them easily. 

While the plan had practically made his section leader and best friend, Loft, salivate with glee at the prospect; Kron had felt no joy at the thought of seeing so many of his fellow Orcs die. The fact that he would soon participate in the slaughter made his stomach cold and greasy.

A signal came. Was it the signal or was it a cricket? If it was possible, the awaiting army hidden strategically around the killing arena grew even quieter than before. Though Kron couldn’t fathom how as the night had been painfully silent so far. Then again, the sound came, and he and his fellows knew for certain that their quarry had taken the bait and was entering the trap. For tense endless minutes, they waited in silence. Perhaps some were holding their breath? Then the attack order came.

There was no rushing to the fray with swords drawn and war cries bellowing from the attackers. Oh no. This was the most dishonorable of assaults. Their foes crept upon them as if they were animals, treating his Hive like prey. So, in turn, they would treat them in kind. Slowly, stealthily, the waiting orcs snuck down behind their attackers. And when those worthless interlopers were surrounded, then they attacked.

The invaders dropped quietly, in ones and twos. After the first dozen or so, someone raised the alarm, and the battle began in earnest. Shouts and screams rose to a powerful crescendo thundering in Kron’s ears along with his own ragged breathing and pounding blood as he swung his blade and bodies fell before him like grain before the scythes human farmers wielded…And then…