Dom

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Dom was one of the four children of Krug, she was considered the most powerful of shamans after Krug. Dom's name is scoffed at by many, due to the 'Dom Clan' being notable dark shamans. Lutaumans (Lutauman) have the ability to converse with her, and request blessings. Her blessings enhance shamanistic capabilities.


The Tale of Dom

Written by: Urara


The birthing hut stank of sweat and blood on the night of Dom’s birth. Low, heavy clouds crawled across the murky desert sky. Coyotes yipped on the cliff side and prowled the perimeter of the camp, drawn by the smell of blood and the pained cries of the orc woman. No wind blew that night. Heat settled over the desert like a choking gas. The orcs of the village sat outside their tents, gripping spears in case the coyotes decided to venture closer. No one could sleep. Even if they could, though, they wouldn’t. No one wanted to miss the birth of Krug’s next child.

Earlier this morning while picking cactus blossoms, Grahla’s water broke. She staggered back to camp with a basket half full of cactus flowers, sweating and clutching her swollen belly. The camp midwife took hold of her immediately, pulling her into the birthing tent. For nearly twenty hours now, she’d been in labor. The orcs in the camp could barely work for the noise. Grahla already had three grown sons – babies popped out of her like peas from a pod. She never squealed during birth. Squealing was for human women who couldn’t swallow their pain. Even so, this child made Grahla moan in agony. For twenty long hours, it refused to come out. Now, deep in the night, she was still groaning. The camp counted the minutes until the baby was born.

Finally, the squeals from the tent faded. All around the camp, orcs perked up their ears, each one holding his or her breath. The camp’s grandmother, a tall orcish woman with black braided hair, emerged from the birthing tent. A small green bundle rested in the crook of her arm. Slowly, orcs rose to their feet, creeping closer to the midwife and the orc child resting in her arms. The grandmother, her dark eyes stern, looked into the faces of the gathered orcs. “Bruddahs an’ sistahs…” She boomed, holding the baby aloft, “Dis night, Grahla, mate o’ Krug, has given birf t’ a girl!”

The gathered orcs exchanged glances, then began to cheer. The roar of their voices rang out over the still desert, silencing even the coyotes. Grinning, the midwife nodded to the gathered assembly. “By Krug’s word, her name shall be Dom an’ she shall bring much honor an’ glory t’ our race!” The grandmother announced, “Krug be praised dis muun! All o’ ya, get some rest! Tomorrow, we celebrate dis birf!” All around, orcs clapped their hands. Soon enough, though, the crowd dispersed. Orcs vanished back inside their tents, grateful for the silence. The quiet hush of sleep descended over the village. Cradling the baby in her arm, the grandmother ducked back inside the birthing tent.

Inside, Grahla lay sprawled on the wool cot. Dark stains colored the blankets. Grahla’s chest heaved. Drops of sweat glittered on her forehead. Eyelids flickering, the orcish woman peered up at the grandmother. “Da baby…” Grahla gasped, trying to sit up. Gently, the grandmother pushed her back down, “Did she come out righ’? Is she healthy?”

“Born strong an’ healthy, like her bruddahs.” The grandmother reassured her, mopping the sweat off Grahla’s forehead. Strands of dark red hair stuck to the back of Grahla’s neck. Carefully, the grandmother lowered the baby for Grahla to see. The mother cracked a smile.

“She looks like me.” Grahla gasped, reaching out to take the baby. The baby let out a gurgling cry as Grahla took hold of it, green eyelids fluttering. Grahla chuckled, “My eyes…an’ Krug’s nose.” Softly, Grahla brushed the baby’s cheek. Downy reddish hair covered the infant’s head. Taking a wet cloth from the grandmother, she wiped the child’s face. The baby was a soft green color, like budding spring leaves. Tiny tusks, barely pinpricks, poked from her lower lip. Snot bubbled from her little pig nose. Grahla grinned, holding the baby close to her breast.

“She be a fine child.” The grandmother confirmed, taking the cloth from Grahla and wringing it in a nearby bucket, “Krug will be pleased.”

“Heh. Dis one got a stubborn streak. Her bruddahs all popped out easily, but dis one…” Grahla let out a wheezy chuckle, stroking the baby’s tiny face, “Ya put me through a lotta pain, lil’ girl.”

“Stubborn is good. It’ll make her into a strong warriah.” The grandmother answered, “Should I call her papa t’ come see ‘er?”

Grahla shook her head. “He can see ‘er tomorrow. I tink we bof need some rest.” Grahla grinned down at the baby, “Isn’t dat righ’, Dom?” Gurgling, the baby nestled into her mother’s chest. Smiling serenely, the mother rested back against her cot. The grandmother nodded. Just as she rose to leave, however, three tall orc men burst through the tent flap, nearly knocking the grandmother over in their haste to get to the cot. They crowded around Grahla, staring wide eyed at the baby in her arms. With her free hand, Grahla waved them away, “Back off, ya big oafs! Back off!”

Quickly, the three orc men retreated. Teeth bared, Grahla snarled at them. Glancing at his two brothers, Gorkil stepped forward. “Us heard de baby fin’ly popped out, Mama.” He answered. Grahla sighed, shifting herself to the edge of the bed.

“Word travels fast, eh?” Grahla beckoned Gorkil a little closer. The orc took a few steps toward her, craning his neck to see the child. Rax and Lur peered over their brother’s shoulder. Grinning, Gorkil knelt at his mother’s side.

“Ug dere, lil’ sistah.” Gorkil said, reaching down to brush the baby’s face, “Her name be…Dom, yah?”

“Yah.”

Rax sneered. “She small.”

Grahla glared nastily at her son. “All orcs be lil’ when dey jus’ born. Orcs don’t pop out full grown, ya big dumhead.”

“Bah. I bet I was biggah dan dat when I was born.” Rax huffed, “Guess dere be a runt in e’ery littah.”

“Shaddup, she a child o’ Krug, same as us!” Lur snapped at his brother, “No child o’ Krug gonna be a runt.” Grahla smiled at Lur. That much was fact. Krug towered over all his people – the biggest orc in both height and muscle. Her three sons inherited their father’s height. The tops of her sons’ heads brushed the ceiling of the birthing tent. Thick, heavy muscles rippled on their arms and torsos. Dom was a female, yes, but that did not mean she would be a runt. If anything, she would grow just as tall and wide as her older brothers.

“Come look, Lur. Dis be yer sistah.” Grahla beckoned Lur closer. The redheaded son glanced down at his mother, then took a few steps toward her. His expression softened as he looked at the child. Lur, Rax, and Gorkil had dozens of half brothers and half sisters, but this was their first full blooded sibling. Lur knelt down next to his mother. Grinning nervously, Gorkil opened his hands.

“Can I?” He asked. Gently, Grahla passed him the infant. Gorkil held his sister delicately, as if handling something very fragile. He cradled her for a moment before passing her back, “I nevah held a baby before…”

“Well…you an’ yer bruddahs are almost old enough t’ be takin’ mates, so ya bettah get used t’ holdin’ babies.” Grahla answered, “Yer sistah be small now, bu’ she gonna grow big. Til she’s strong enough t’ fight fer herself, I expect ya t’ watch out fer her.”

“Righ’!” Gorkil answered forcefully. The baby let out a startled gurgle. Gorkil drew back, lowering his voice, “She be me sistah an’ she has me protection.”

“Mine too.” Lur added.

“I ain’t gonna waste me time babysittin’ a runt. If she’s a true daughtah o’ Krug, she can fend fer herself.” Rax snorted. Grahla snarled at him.

“Krug’s blood runs in ‘er veins, same as yers, bu’ dis am not ‘bout blood.” Grahla barked at her son, “If she dies, it’ll be on yer head. We be orcs an’ orcs watch out fer dere bruddahs an’ sistahs.”

Rax sighed, “Fine.”

Grahla smiled, “Give ‘er time. She’ll grow into a strong warriah. She be Krug’s own kin.”




“There us go.” Grahla lifted the coyote pelt and draped it over Dom’s head. Dom, five years old, peeked out from under the heavy pelt, grinning up at her mother. Tying the paws around her neck, Dom spun in a circle, the pelt flying out like a cape. Grahla grinned, “Now ya look like a true huntress!” Dom beamed, trilling with laughter. Quickly, the young orc girl snatched up her bow and arrow and struck a heroic pose, pulling the bow string back as if to shoot. Grahla clapped her hands.

“Can I go show papa?” Dom asking, eagerly plucking at her bowstring. At only five years old, she nearly reached her mother’s chest in height. Her bright red eyes glowed like embers in her head, fierce and cheerful. Short strands of burgundy hair poked from beneath her pelt, “Can I?”

“Sure, us can go show papa. He’ll be proud.” Grahla smiled down at her daughter, ushering the eager child out of the tent. One week ago, while learning to hunt with her mother, Dom shot and killed her first coyote. The coyotes were a constant pest to the camp. The mangy mutts dug into the supply tents and killed chickens. Sometimes they even attacked orcs. Grahla head many stories of coyotes kidnapping and eating orc toddlers. That was why, as soon as Dom was strong enough to hold a bow, Grahla started teaching her how to hunt. A young orc girl like Dom was a prime target for a hungry coyote. When Dom shot and killed her first coyote, Grahla couldn’t have been prouder. Her first real kill – a kill she now wore over her head like a hood.

Outside, the sun blazed directly overhead. Dom dashed around in wide circles, sporting her coyote hood proudly in spite of the heat. Orcs paused to look at her, grinning and shaking their heads. As soon as Grahla stepped outside, Dom sprinted back to her side. Clutching her mother’s arm, she pulled her toward the large tent at the back of the camp. “Ya think Papa will take me wif ‘im next time ‘e hunts?” Dom asked excitedly as they headed toward Krug’s tent. Grahla laughed.

“I think yer still a lil’ too small fer dat, Dom.” Grahla answered. As they drew closer to the tent, the sound of moaning met their ears. Grahla dug her heels into the sand. Dom paused, frowning up at her mother. Slowly, motioning for Dom to stay put, Grahla approached the tent. Hovering outside the tent flap, she listened. Inside, she could hear the grunts of a male orc mixing with the soft growls of a female. Turning on her heel, she grabbed Dom’s wrist and pulled her away from the tent. Dom let out a loud squeal.

“Mamaaaa!” Dom cried, fighting against her mother’s grip, “I wanna see Papa!”

“Papa...” Grahla paused, “I mean, Krug be busy righ’ now, Dom. Us show ‘im yer new pelt latah.”

“Latah? I wanna show ‘im noooow!” Dom stamped her feet in dirt, kicking up small dust clouds.

“He be wif one o’ his mates, Dom.” Grahla explained.

Dom paused in her kicking, frowning deeply at her mother. “Bu’…everyone in de camp says YER his mate.”

“He has many mates…includin’ me.” Grahla answered. Giving Dom’s arm a sharp tug, Grahla dragged her through the dust, “Dun ask questions.” Dom did not resist this time, following her mother willingly back toward their tent.

“Bu’ why?” Dom asked, crimson eyes narrowed, “Why Papa need more’n one?”

“Yer too young t’ undahstand.” Just as Grahla finished, the door to Krug’s tent opened. Grahla paused. A disheveled female orc with long black hair emerged from Krug’s tent. Her hair, though tangled from mating, gleamed like obsidian in the afternoon light. Purple and black bruises patterned her smooth thighs and torso. Her ample chest heaved with exertion and her dark eyes flashed like coins. Her body was soft and curvy, showing only the barest hints of muscle. Grahla locked eyes with her. A slow, wicked smirk crossed the female’s face. Slowly, like a jungle cat on the hunt, she approached Grahla.

“Throm’ka, Grahla.” The female said in low, velvety voice. Grahla made no expression.

“Throm’ka, Shira.” Grahla replied, nodding to the other female. Shira let out a bitter chuckle, tossing her hair as she sauntered past. Grahla’s face twisted with disgust.

“Dat be Papa’s mate?” Dom whispered, peering after Shira.

Grahla clenched her teeth. “Yah…dat be Krug’s new mate.” Eyes narrowed, Grahla glanced over her shoulder. The men in the camp all paused to watch as she passed, entranced by the gentle undulation of her hips, “Her name be Shira. Dun look at her, Dom.”

Dom stared up at her mother. “Why?”

“She be a weak woman. Dun look at her.” Grahla growled, “Nevah hunts, nevah works…Real orcs should have some damn muscle.”

“Why Papa mate wif her, den?” Dom whispered.

“Yer papa be a great man, bu’ he still be a man. An’ sometimes men think wif dere peckers instead o’ dere heads.” Grahla shot a poisonous glanced over her shoulder, slipping her arm protectively around Dom. Gently, she pushed the young orc back toward their tent, “Yer too young t’ undahstand now.”




“D’ya see any you like, Dom?” Grahla asked. Dom, eighteen, adjusted her coyote pelt. Below, in the arena, orc men lined up to wrestle. Bristling from head to toe with muscle, they sweat luminously in the heat. In the middle of the ring, two orc men slammed heads like angry bucks in heat. They pushed against each other, arms locked around each others’ shoulders. Squinting down at the sunken arena, Dom stuck out her tongue. Grahla laughed, clapping her daughter on the shoulder, “Well, dere still be plenty o’ time t’ pick a mate.”

“I get t’ fight too, righ’, Mama?” Dom asked, looking toward her mother.

“’Course ya do, girl. We hafta show these dumheads jus’ how strong Krug’s daughtah is.” Grahla replied, shaking her daughter’s shoulder. Dom grinned, pumping her fists in the air. Although she still wore the pelt of the coyote she’d killed at five, everything about her was different now. Orcs grew rapidly. She stood just as tall as Grahla, if not a few inches taller. Long, stringy red hair slipped out from beneath her hood, brushing her strong, broad shoulders. Everything about her body singled her out as a warrior. Small breasts and narrow hips marked her as an athlete, not a breeder. Her arm muscles rippled with every movement. A trio of pale yellow scars marred her face, the remains of a coyote attack some years ago. Prominent tusks poked from her bottom lip, one slightly longer than the other. Dom shifted quickly from foot to foot, throwing quick punches at an imaginary opponent. The worn coyote pelt, ragged from years of wear, flopped against her back.

“Who’m I fightin’? Who?” Dom asked excitedly, beaming. Her whole face lit up at the prospect of fighting. She glanced down at the men gathered in the arena, eyes jumping from face to face, “It bettah be someone really strong!”

Grahla looked away from the arena. Next to the arena, sitting on his great throne, was Krug. Her eyes lingered only momentarily on her mate. At his side in a smaller chair sat Shira. A sour taste rose in Grahla’s mouth at the sight of her. Shira lounged luxuriantly in her chair, only pretending to watch the fighting. Her long black hair spilled down her shoulders in soft, dark waves. At her feet, however, sat another young orc. Vanni was just six years younger than Dom. At only twelve, though, he rivaled most of the adult men in size. Shira bragged on him constantly. ‘Krug took Vanni on a hunt th’ uddah day.’ ‘Vanni’s even biggah dan Rax was at his age. He’ll be de biggest orc in camp at dis rate. Besides Krug, o’ course.’ A quiet child, Vanni rarely spoke for himself. He relied on his mother to regale the camp with tales of his escapades. Grahla bit down hard on her bottom lip. She tasted blood.

Grahla grabbed Dom by the shoulders and twisted her around, pointing her toward the throne where Shira and Vanni sat beside Krug. “Dere’s yer opponent, girl. Yer half-bruddah, Vanni.”

“Vanni?” Dom echoed, “Is he strong?”

“Where ya been, Dom? Shira won’t shaddup ‘bout ‘im.” Grahla answered. Dom blinked slowly, “She’s been sayin’ he’s even strongah dan Rax an’ Gorkil. I ain’t gonna stand fer dat kind o’ talk.”

“Shouldn’t Rax or Gorkil klomp wif ‘im, den?” Dom asked.

Grahla shook her head. “Rax an’ Gorkil are too old now. Shira would complain if dey beat Vanni. She’d say it was an unfair klomp.” Grahla shook Dom’s shoulders again, “Bu’ you…Yer only six years oldah dan Vanni. Six years ain’t much at all.”

“Awrigh’ den! I’ll challenge ‘im!” Dom announced, pounding her palm with her fist. Straightening her coyote pelt, Dom marched around the arena toward the throne where Vanni sat with his mother. At Dom’s approach, Vanni looked up, face expressionless. Shira tensed in her chair, back going rigid. Dom pointed down at Vanni, “Vanni, stop sittin’ dere an’ klomp wif me! What’re ya, some kinda lazybones?” Dom announced, her voice bright with energy. Vanni said nothing, blinking at her sleepily. Slowly, brushing himself off, Vanni rose to his feet. He stood a good head taller than Dom.

“Awrigh’.” Vanni replied simply, cracking his thick neck. Shira scrambled to her feet.

“Vanni’s too young t’ klomp wif Dom.” She insisted, a sudden fervor in her usually bright eyes, “She’s too old fer ‘im.”

“Ya kiddin’? Lookit ‘im!” Dom replied, gesturing to Vanni, “An’ he already agreed, so no turnin’ back! Unless ya chiggun!”

“Ain’t chiggun.” Vanni answered. His voice was as deadpan as his expression. Grahla stood a foot or so behind Dom. Surreptitiously, she glanced up at Krug. The orc father had barely moved during the challenge. Even so, Grahla could see him watching the small altercation out of the corner of his eye. Vanni stared, sleepy eyed, down into the arena. Two orcs struggled in the ring. A dark green soldier ground his opponent’s face in the dirt, “We fight aftah dis.”

“Goddit!” Dom agreed, nodding vigorously. Turning on her heel, she swiveled toward the arena, watching the fight with a sudden, intense interest. Grahla chuckled quietly. The fight ended quickly enough. The pinned orc couldn’t struggle free of his opponent, finally passing out from blood loss. The goblins dragged the unconscious orc from the arena. Cheers greeted the victor as he emerged, bruised but otherwise unhurt.

Grahla stepped to the edge of the arena. “Clear out, de next klomp is Dom’s!” She called. The orcs in the arena grumbled, but moved as ordered. Grinning brilliantly, Dom leapt into the arena. She landed on the sand with a loud THUD. Stones jumped with the force of her impact. Vanni followed, jumping in at the other side. He stretched, flexing his arms and legs. Dom hopped from foot to foot, eyeing her opponent with red-eyed intensity.

Shira rose from her chair, dashing to the edge of the ring. “If yer daughtah kills Vanni, I’ll…!” Shira whispered harshly to Grahla, “I’ll gut ya, I swear…!”

“Shaddup. If Vanni’s half as strong as ya say, he’ll be fine.” Grahla spat, shoving Shira out of the way. Shira stumbled back. Wrapping her arms around herself, she gazed worriedly down into the ring. Grahla raised her arm. “KLOMP’RS REDDY?”

“Yah!” Dom yelled back, throwing her fist in the air. On the other side of the ring, Vanni simply nodded.

“ON ASH, DEN!” Grahla shouted, “GAKH…DUB…ASH! FIGHT FER KRUG!”

Dom charged Vanni like a bull. Slamming her head into the younger orc’s gut, she seized hold of his torso. Vanni let out a gasp of pain, but soon retaliated. Grabbing hold of Dom’s coyote pelt, he yanked her off of him. Dom scrabbled at the tie around her neck, finally managing to untie the paws. Free of the pelt, she skittered back. Casting her pelt aside, Vanni began to circle her. Dom rubbed her hands together, locking eyes with Vanni. Moving in slow circles, the two prowled around the ring.

Vanni lunged forward, catching Dom’s midsection. Dom fell like a lightning struck tree, hitting the sand hard. Pinning her with his legs, Vanni struck her hard in the face. Dom threw up her arms, using one to cover her face while the other clawed at Vanni’s eyes. Snatching hold of his shoulder, she flung herself against him. Vanni tumbled backward, landing flat on his back. Dashing to her feet, Dom pounced on him. Blood ran from her nose. Kicking and punching, she struck over and over again.

Shira let out a terrified squeal. “Tell ‘er t’ stop! That’s not fair! Kicking’s not fair!” Shira cried, grabbing Grahla’s arm. With a solid smack across the face, Grahla sent her sprawling.

“War ain’t fair!” Grahla spat.

In the ring, Vanni managed to get back to his face. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth. Turning, he spat three teeth into the sand. Grinning, Dom wiped the blood from her nose. “Feelin’ a lil’ lightheaded?” She taunted brightly. Vanni said nothing. He didn’t even pause to wipe the blood away. His forehead swelled, bleeding slightly where her toenails cut him. Letting out a deep roar, Vanni sprinted at Dom. Dom barely had time to dodge. Catching her lower leg, Vanni jerked her off her feet. Dom let out a screech of frustration, flailing and kicking as Vanni dragged her across the dirt. The edge of the arena was marked with heavy, white chunks of sandstone. Still holding Dom’s legs, Vanni seized one of the stones. Grahla and Shira gaped as Vanni shoved Dom down and beat her face with the rock. Blow after blow after blow, striking Dom's head and neck. Blood spurted from Dom’s face, coloring the rock red. She rolled from side to side, trying to avoid the blows, but Vanni held her still. All around, spectators cheered.

Finally, Dom stopped moving. Slowly, dropping his weapon, Vanni rose. Blood dripped from his hands. Grahla dropped down into the arena, landing hard, and rushed to Dom’s side. The orc girl lay unconscious, her faint breath rasping through her broken teeth. One tusk dangled from her lip, broken. Her cheek and eyelid were torn. Blood spilled from her nose in twin streams. A wound glowed, red and raw, on her green forehead. Pulling Dom onto her back, Grahla carried her battered child from the ring. All around, orc cheered and shouted Vanni’s name. Grahla’s face burned with shame.




“Hold still.” Grahla muttered, wringing the cloth out and patting it to Dom’s bloody cheek. Dom sat on the edge of the cot. Hot droplets of blood oozed down her face, spilling into her eyes and mouth. Dom coughed, wiping fruitlessly at the blood. Her mother slapped her hand away. “I said, hold still.” Gently, Grahla mopped off Dom’s face. When she was finished, the white wool cloth had turned red with gore. Dropping the cloth in a nearby bucket, Grahla stared at her daughter. A deep gash throbbed on Dom’s forehead. Her lips swelled like split plums. One tusk stood broken, oozing blood from its soft, crimson core. Dom’s right eye fluttered, shredded by the stone Vanni used to pummel her. Picking up a roll of bandage, Grahla began wrapping Dom’s wounds. “Hurt?” She asked.

“Vanni cheats…” Dom spluttered weakly, spraying her mother with bloody spittle. Grahla tied the bandage on Dom’s head. Crimson bloomed under the white cloth.

“Hush. Dun be bittah ‘bout yer loss.” Grahla scolded gently, washing her hands in the bucket and cutting a fresh length of bandage. Dom let out a pitiful moan.

“Vanni cheats!” Dom insisted, her words whistling through her broken teeth, “We was klomp’n wif fists, not wif rocks!” Grahla put a finger to her daughter’s mouth.

“I said, hush.” Grahla repeated. Dom fell silent, crossed her arms. Grahla taped bandages on over the cuts on her daughter’s cheek, “It hurts, don’t it? Dis’ll teach ya nevah t’ lose anuddah ‘rena match.”

“I didn’t lose!” Dom shrieked, slamming her fist down on the cot, “Vanni cheats! He’s da losah!”

Grahla smacked Dom hard across the face. Dom let out a squeal of pain, cupping her cheek in her hands. Grimacing, Grahla brushed off her palms. “Krug, at least give me a daughtah dat loses wif grace. Ya should be proud fer yer half bruddah. He’s a strong one.” Grahla bit the inside of her cheek. She recalled the look on Shira’s face as she heard the orcs shouting Vanni’s name. Elation. Grahla could hear her boasting already. ‘My son am de strongest. My son can beat Grahla’s sons any muun!’ Krug had many mates, more mates than Grahla could count. None of the other females challenged Grahla for dominance, though. Grahla was Krug’s favored mate. Her sons were the strongest, the fiercest, the biggest. Rax, Lur, and Gorkil brought much glory to Krug’s name. The fact that Shira even DARED to suggest otherwise…

“Mama?” Dom wheezed. Grahla let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Dom peered at her mother.

Grahla growled through her teeth. “Ya shoulda won. Yer strongah dan Vanni is. Yer smallah dan he is, bu’ I know yer strongah.” Grahla whispered, clenching and unclenching her fists. She set the bandages aside and paced nervously back and forth across the tent floor. Dom tracked her mother with her eyes, “Shira’ll start braggin’ ‘bout dis. I won’t stand fer dat kinda blah.”

“Mama…” Dom got up off the cot, stumbling to her mother’s side. Just as she reached Grahla, the tent flap brushed open. Smiling, Gorkil ducked inside. Dom paused and grinned at her older brother. Grahla did not.

“Throm’ka, Mama. Throm’ka, Dom.” Gorkil began, nodding respectfully to his mother. Reaching over, he affectionately ruffled his little sister’s hair. Dom squeaked, brushing her hair back, “How ya feelin’, Dom?”

“Hosh.” Dom answered, still grinning in spite of her broken mouth. Grahla sighed deeply.

“I saw ya klomp’n wif Vanni in de ‘rena. Was a hosh klomp.” Gorkil said, leaning in to peer at his sister’s broken face, “He smashed ya up purdy nubhosh, din’t ‘e?”

“Only cuz he cheats!” Dom shouted. Gorkil laughed.

“Well, on de hosh side, yer gonna have lotsa new scars. Nuffin’ finah dan a woman wif lotsa scars.” Gorkil chuckled. Grin fading, he turned toward his mother, “Mama, I got some nubhosh news.”

Grahla looked up. “What?”

“De bandits in de desert been gettin’ bold lately. Some o’ de orcs been sayin’ dey see dem ‘round de bordahs o’ Krug’s lands.” Gorkil reported. Grahla tilted her head toward her son, folding her arms. Taking a breath, Gorkil continued, “I also heard word dat some orcs from camp been in contact wif de bandits.”

Grahla frowned. “Dat so? We got traytahs in our midst?” Grahla scratched her chin, “Have ya told yer papa?”

Gorkil shook his head. “I wanted t’ tell ya first, Mama. Ya know de village better’n any orc. If any orcs been sneakin’ ‘round at night, ya would be th’ asht t’ know.”

Grahla frowned, shaking her head, “I haven’t heard o’ anyone sneakin’ out. Dis be news t’ me.”

Gorkil nodded, massaging his chin in thought. He was silent for a while, stroking his stubble and staring at the swept dirt floor. “Den maybe dis be more serious dan I figger’d. How could orcs be sneakin’ out when we got a night guard all ‘round de camp?” Forcing up a smile, he looked at his mother, “Well, if ya could keep yer peepers peeled, I’d be grateful.”

“Ya should tell Krug. Bandits encroachin’ on orc land be nubhosh sign.”

“I know dat.” Gorkil turned toward his sister, “Heal up quickly, lil’ sistah. I wanna see ya in de ‘rena ‘gain soon!”

“Yah!” Dom cheered. With a salute, Gorkil turned and vanished from the tent. Silence followed. For several second, Grahla said nothing, simply staring at the flap where Gorkil exited. Biting her bottom lip, she glanced toward Dom. Dom met her mother’s eyes, blinking curiously. Blood oozed down her cheekbone.

“Dom,” Grahla began. Dom perked up, listening intently, “I got an idea.”

“Idea?” Dom echoed.

“Yah. I need ya t’ keep a look out. If orcs be sneakin’ out at night, den, de night watch ain’t catchin’ ‘em. Dey gone lazy. Or dey dun see de problem. But yer a sharp one. Sharpah dan dey is, at least. Can I count on yer eyes, girl?”

Dom pointed to her shredded eyelid. “Migh’ be a lil’ hard, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“Hosh girl.” Grahla grunted, “If ya catch whoever’s sneakin’ ‘round blah’n t’ dis bandit group, it’ll make up fer yer loss in de ‘rena.”

“Righ’! I’m on it, den!”




A cool breeze rippled over the red plateau. Dom struck a spark over her pipe, but the wind quickly stifled the small flame. Sighing, Dom tossed the pipe over her shoulder. Even small expressions hurt her face. Mother had given her some herbs, saying that smoking them would ease the pain a little. Dom choked every time she inhaled the smoke – smoking was pastime for old orcs like her mother, something a youngling like Dom had no interest in. Even so, she was just desperate enough to try it. The wounds itched. The rough wool bandages scratched her skin, poking their corners into her sensitive scabs.

The orc camp glowed over the hillside, a warm blush of yellow against the chill blue night. Dom stooped to retrieve her pipe, keeping an eye on the camp. She could see the shadows of the night watchmen as they patrolled the borders of the camp. Between the coyotes, the bandits, and the other desert beasts, there was always some threat the watchmen had to look for. Dom stowed the pipe in her pocket, blinking sleepily. Six hours she’d waited. She’d wandered out here in the late afternoon, when the sun was just starting to sink. Mother told her to wait, to watch. Hunting was not simply about running down your prey, she said. It was about waiting quietly for the right moment.

One of the watchmen paused in his beat. Dom frowned, squinting at the distant camp. Two figures, a tall male orc and a shorter woman, emerged from a nearby tent. Lowering his spear, the night watchman approached them. Dom tensed, waiting. ‘Orcs be sneakin’ out at night,’ Mother told her, ‘Ya need t’ catch ‘em, follow ‘em.’ That was the idea – a way for Dom to compensate for her humiliating defeat in the arena. This was exactly what she was looking for.

The two figures exchanged words with the night guard. Gesturing with his spear, he stepped out of the way. Nodding, the female figure took her companion’s hand and led him out into the salt flat. Dom shrunk down, pressing her body against the soft earth. The figures drew closer, padding urgently across the silent salt flat. “Momo…” The male muttered. Dom bit down hard on her lower lip. Vanni! His voice was unmistakable. Though he had the body of a man, he had the soft, unscarred voice of a youth. Shira turned and hushed him.

“Be quiet.” She insisted, putting a finger to his lips. Suspiciously, she peered around. Satisfied that no one was following them, she turned back to Vanni, “Dis be secret, awrigh’?”

“Bu’ why?”

“Yer too young t’ undahstand now.”

“Awrigh’…” Vanni didn’t argue. Dom watched them, eyes wide. She’d never heard Vanni question his mother before. Nodding, Shira squeezed her son’s arm and pulled him forward. Vanni stumbled after her, digging his heels into the ground like a stubborn donkey. Cautiously, keeping her body low to the ground, Dom skittered after them.

They walked for several miles, not talking. Occasionally, Shira would glance over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. Dom kept quiet and still, only moving when neither orc was looking. A few sparse boulders pockmarked the flat. Whenever Shira paused, Dom would throw herself behind a boulder and hold her breath. Shira never noticed.

A soft glow appeared on the horizon. Seeing the light, Shira sped up. As they approached, the source of the light grew clearer – a bonfire. All around the bonfire, elves and humans in ratty clothes erected tent poles. A camp! Seeing Shira, a few of the elves shouted. Dom could not quite make out their words. They spoke in dialects she had never heard before, their language musical and lilting. A tall redheaded elf emerged from the largest tent, body gleaming in fine chainmail. He wore his hair long like a girl’s. Crimson strands drifted gently in the wind. Seeing Shira, he rushed to her side. Quickly, keeping to the shadows, Dom hurried to the edge of the camp.

“Were you followed?” The redheaded elf asked, placing a hand on Shira’s shoulder. Shira gazed up at him, her face unusually solemn.

“Nub, nub followed.” She answered, voice barely a whisper.

“Are you sure?”

“Nub followed. On me honah.” Shira replied. The elf man nodded.

“Come with me, then.” Taking Shira by the hand, he led her back toward the large tent. Dom followed, creeping secretly along the edge of the camp. Crouching in the shadows, Dom put her ear to the wall of the large tent. Through the fabric, she could just make out the silhouettes of Shira and her son. Sighing, the elf man sat down, knitting his fingers into his long hair, “I can’t stand this much longer, Shira.” He began. Letting go of Vanni, Shira sat down beside the elf, draping her arm around his shoulder.

“It be awrigh’. Vanni’s gettin’ strongah e’ry muun. Soon, he’ll…”

“Not soon enough!” The elf barked, shoving her away. Shira shrank back timidly, “Krug is a tyrant. He needs to die. Now.”

“Vanni nub strong enough t’ challenge Krug yet.” Shira replied. The elf let out an exasperated sigh, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Then we must make new plans. My people cannot continue living like this, Shira.” The elf man rose, pacing frantically back and forth across the floor. Dom could hear his chainmail jingling as he walked, “I have an entire camp full of skilled huntsmen and warriors. We should not have to resort to banditry simply to survive.”

“Murdoch…” Shira murmured, rising to her feet. She crossed the floor, placing her hands on the elf’s shoulders. Dom covered her mouth to keep from gasping. Murdoch. She knew the name. Murdoch was a name spoken only in hushed whispers. A former high ranking elvish official, he fell on hard times after the curse of Iblees. Collecting other angry, down on their luck pinkskins, he formed a notorious bandit camp. He prowled the edge of Malinor with his company of bandits, killing and robbing whomever he could. They said his hair used to be as fair and pale as Malin’s, but grew redder with every orc and elf he slaughtered. Thus, he was called ‘Murdoch the Bloody’. Dom chewed hard on her bottom lip, listening. Both Shira and the elf were silent. Finally, the elf let out a sigh. He turned toward Shira.

“You will have to kill Krug.” He said.

Shira stumbled back. “Me?” She whispered.

“Yes, you. You’re his mate, are you not?” The elf—Murdoch—asked, “He wouldn’t suspect you. It would be easy. Kill him while you mate. He’ll be defenseless.”

“Bu’ dat’s…” Shira muttered, “I wouldn’t…I couldn’t give Krug such a dishonorable death…”

“My men are dying and you speak of honor? We have suffered long enough at the hands of Krug’s men. He does not deserve an honorable death.”

“I can’t…”

Murdoch gripped Shira’s shoulders. “You have no choice.” He said sternly. Then, stroking her face, he leaned in a little closer, “Think of it this way, Shira, my dear…Once he’s dead, we’ll have free reign over the desert. We can be together.” Silently, Shira nodded. Murdoch smoothed back her hair, “I know you love me, Shira dear.”

“Yub…”

No one spoke. Shira wrapped her arms around the elf, squeezing him tightly. Slowly, Dom rose to her feet. Careful not to make a sound, she turned and ran. Her mother would hear about this.




Dom arrived back at camp just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. She stood outside her mother’s tent, doubled over and dripping with sweat. “Mama!” Dom called hoarsely, lifting her head. She gripped the tent flap for support, “Mama!” Dom heard a stirring inside the tent. Her mother, eyes still foggy from sleep, appeared at the door flap. Dom struggled to smile, but her injuries and exhaustion made it difficult. Grahla caught hold of her daughter, leading the panting she-orc into the tent. Dom collapsed on her mother’s caught, limbs sprawled. Grahla said nothing. Rubbing her eyes, Grahla went to the nearby wash basin and splashed some liquid on her face. Turning, she looked at Dom.

“Ya sure rushed ‘ome in a hurry.” Grahla murmured. Dom sat up quickly.

“Mama! Mama! I know who been talkin’ t’ de bandits!” Dom blabbered quickly, half incoherent from fatigue, “It’s Shira! Shira an’ Vanni!”

Grahla raised an eyebrow. “Yer kiddin’. Shira an’ Vanni?”

“It’s true! Dey been sneakin’ t’ de bandit camp!” Dom replied, gesturing wildly with her hands, “I followed ‘em. An’ yer nevah gonna guess who’s leadin’ de bandits!”

“Who?”

“Murdoch de Bloody!” Dom blurted. Grahla frowned at her daughter.

Crossing the tent floor, Grahla sat down next to her child. “Tell me everythin’ ya heard.” Dom did. She talked about tracked Shira across the salt flat and about the strange redheaded elf they’d met at the bandit camp. She told her mother about Shira’s plan and how the elf man, Murdoch, commanded her to kill Krug. Grahla listened silently, expression stern, as her child told her. Finally, at the end of Dom’s tale, she rose to her feet, “Dis Murdoch elf be an idiot if he tinks a weak woman like Shira can kill Krug.”

“Ya aren’t worried?” Dom asked.

“Skah nub.” Grahla replied, “Krug be too strong. Even if she catches ‘im off guard, she could nevah kill ‘im. An’ Shira be equally tuupid if she tink she can pull dis off.”

“Yer jus’ gonna let ‘er do it?” Dom spluttered.

“Why nub? She’ll expose herself as an idiot an’ a traytah.” Grahla cracked her knuckles, “If she lucky, Krug’ll make ‘er death quick.”

Dom slumped back on the cot, frowning deeply. “So me did all dat fer nuffin’?”

Grahla crossed over to the tent flap. She peered through the small slit in the fabric. “Nub nuffin’, girl. Come.” She beckoned to Dom. Dom rose, joining her mother to peer through the tent flap. Shira and Vanni walked casually through the center of the camp, eyes straight ahead, speaking to no one. As they passed Grahla’s tent, Grahla pushed the tent flap open, “Mornin’, Shira.”

Shira halted in her tracks, whirling around as though she’d been caught stealing from the supply tent. “Oh. It be you, Grahla. Throm’ka.” Shira replied, nodding to Grahla, “We be back from our night hunt.”

“Dat so?” Grahla asked, voice casual and conversational, “Where’s yer catch?”

Shira and Vanni exchanged glances. Shira blushed. “Well…er…huntin’ ain’t been so hosh lately, gruk? De bandit camps been snatchin’ up all de hosh meat.”

“Dat’s a shame.” Grahla replied, “Vanni’s nevah gonna learn t’ hunt at dis rate.”

“He’ll be fine. He be a son o’ Krug.” Shira replied. Dom could see the dark circles under her eyes. Shira met Dom’s gaze. Quickly, Dom looked away, “Yer girl been gettin’ enough sleep, Grahla?”

Grahla blinked. She glanced down at Dom. Dom blinked. Her face felt sticky with sweat and lack of sleep. “Dom’s been goin’ on night hunts too.” Grahla lied after a few moments, “Doh her prey be different dan yers.”

Shira frowned deeply. Her normally soft face hardened when she frowned, “Well…de young ones be needin’ dere rest.” Shira glanced around the camp, “Krug awake?”

“Me tink so. He always wake up at de crack o’ dawn.”

“Hosh.” Shira muttered. Dismissing Vanni with a wave, she trod slowly toward Krug’s tent. Grahla stared coldly at her back. Dom peered over her mother’s shoulder, frowning.

“Can’t believe yer gonna let ‘er go!” Dom murmured, watching Shira vanish inside the tent.

“Krug will deal wif ‘er as he sees fit.” Grahla closed the tent flap, “As it stands, Dom, we have no proof besides our word. An’ while Krug trusts me, I dun fink my word be enough t’ condemn a woman t’ death. Let Shira prove ‘erself a traytah asht.”

“If ya blah so, Mama.”




Mother was right. One hour after Shira vanished into Krug’s tent, feminine cries filled the camp. Sleepy orcs, still just waking up, poked their heads out of their tents, eyes turning toward Krug’s tent. Krug’s mates would often cry out in ecstasy during mating, but these were not cries of pleasure. Krug emerged from his tent, naked from the waist up, gripping Shira by the shoulder. Shira was nude, a tiny carving knife gripped close to her bare breast. Blood oozed down the side of Krug’s neck, spilling from a deep gash in the side of his throat. Breathe wheezed in his lungs. He dragged Shira like a child’s doll, deaf to her pleas for mercy. Tears streamed down Shira’s plump cheeks. She struggled in his grip, but, even while wounded, Krug was still too strong for her. Rivulets of blood glistened on Krug’s muscles, pooling in the pockmarks left by his burn scars. He hauled the whimpering feorc to the center of camp, where he pushed her down in the dust. Shira hiccupped in fear, the knife spilling from her hands. Seeing the audience gathering, Shira curled into a fetal position, hands covering her breasts.

Dom watched from the doorway of her mother’s tent. Grahla sidled past her child, approaching Krug from behind. His eyes were fixed on Shira, though. He barely noticed the presence of his other mate. Shira said nothing, lying curled in the sand with her gaze locked on Krug. Her murder weapon, the bloodied knife, lay just inches away. Nothing needed to be said. The orcs looked down at the knife, then at the gash oozing on Krug’s neck. This was not simply a spat between mates. This was a murder attempt.

Vanni burst through the crowd, shoving older, bigger orcs out of the way. He rushed to his mother’s side, gathering her up in his arms. Shira clung to her first born, weeping into Vanni’s muscular shoulders. For a while, no one moved. No one spoke. The only sound was the whistle of the desert wind and Shira’s muffled sobbing. Finally, Krug spoke.

“Vanni. Move.” His voice was deadly quiet. At the sound of the Krug’s voice, every orc in the camp, Grahla included, took a step back. Vanni remained frozen. After a few more seconds, Krug spoke again. “Vanni. Move.”

“Nub!” Vanni barked hoarsely, squeezing his mother close to him, “Yer gonna hurt her!”

Dom gawked. She’d never heard Vanni talk like that. Quiet, obedient Vanni wasn’t the type to defy anyone, let alone his legendary father.

Growling, Krug stepped forward. He seized Vanni by the scruff of his neck, bodily throwing him out of the way. The crowd caught the young orc, restraining him by his arms. Vanni, whipped into a ferocious panic, howled and struggled against his captors. It took three orcs to hold him, but he did not escape. Shira tried to crawl away, but Krug stomped on her ankle, trapping her under the ball of his heel. “Please!” Shira begged, “I jus’…I was only…” She couldn’t form words. Her face flushed and twisted with fear.

“Ya tried t’ kill me.” Krug growled.

“Nub! Nub…I was jus’…” Shira whimpered, “I was only doin’ it fer…”

“She was doing it for me.”

Every orc in the camp, Vanni and Shira included, fell silent. All eyes turned toward the edge of the camp. No one had seen the bandits’ approach – they were too distracted by the drama unfolding in the center of camp. Dom’s heart pounded in her chest. There, at the edge of camp, accompanied by perhaps fifty armed men, was the redheaded elf – Murdoch the Bloody. He shone in fine diamond armor, twin pairs of blue blades hanging at his side. His men glistened in iron. Krug momentarily forgot the feorc at his feet. Shira struggled free of Krug’s grip and crawled frantically toward Murdoch. She gripped his leg, staring up at him with such hope and love that it nearly broke Dom’s heart.

“Murdoch. Murdoch, please…please help me.” Shira begged, hugging Murdoch’s leg, “Ya love me, righ’? Protect me, protect me please…”

Murdoch looked down at Shira, a warm smile touching his scarred lips. He reached down, gently stroking the feorc’s obsidian black hair. Then, with a sudden flash of his blade, he stabbed her through the throat. Shira let out a choked gurgle, blood spilling from her mouth. Still smiling warmly, Murdoch yanked his blade free and turned toward Krug. Shira fell like a discarded toy, spilling fresh blood over the sand. “Never send an orc to do an elf’s job, I suppose.” Murdoch grinned. Dom had to bite her lip to keep from gasping.

“Ya killed her.” Grahla murmured. Murdoch raised a slim, pale eyebrow.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I had no further need for her. Isn’t that what you orcs do? Cull the useless members of your race?” Wiping the blades on his trousers, Murdoch pointed toward Krug, “I was a fool to rely on Shira. It’s much quicker this way. Surrender your lands to me, Orc Father, or die.”

Krug stared impassively at the elf. “Jus’ try it.” Krug waved his hand. In an instant, a wild wind began whipping around the camp. Sand rose in blinding white clouds, obscuring Krug and the orcs from view. Dom squinted, covering her face and eyes with her shirt. Inside the tent, her mother’s swords lay against the weapon rack. Seizing the blades, she pushed out into the sandstorm. Her mother stood, paralyzed by the biting sand and wind, toward the heart of the storm. Dom tossed her mother one of the blades. Grahla caught it deftly.

“Let’s kill dat rabbit-eared skaher!” Dom shouted over the wind. Her mother nodded. They could hear the shouts of the bandits as the sandstorm lashed at them. A few were already fighting, swinging blindly at any orc who approached them. Dom caught sight of Murdoch’s long red hair flying in the wind. He was the only bandit without a helmet, “Dere!” Dom shouted to her mother. The two linked arms, pushing against the wind and cutting down any bandit that stumbled across their path.

Murdoch was blinded by the storm. He looked frantically around, crying out in pain as sand flew into his eyes. However, he was not helpless. He caught sight of Dom as she lifted her blade to kill him. With movement as quick as lightning, Murdoch blocked her blow with his right sword. He caught Grahla’s blow with his left, just barely staving off the mighty swings of the dual feorcs.

The clash of steel rang out over the howling wind. Murdoch blitzed through his stances, deftly blocking each of the feorcs’ strikes. At one point, Grahla finally landed a blow, but her iron sword bounced harmlessly off Murdoch’s diamond armor. “Damn elven armor!” Grahla shrieked. None of the orcs fighting had armor. The bandits caught them entirely unprepared. Dom caught sight of her father, fighting with nothing but fists and magic, against a group of five or more.

“Go fer his throat, Mama!” Dom cried over the din. Just as she turned to shout, though, Murdoch’s blade bit into her shoulder. Dom stumbled back, clutching the wound.

“Dom!” Grahla yelled. With a ferocious lunge, Grahla struck at Murdoch. He caught her blade between his. They pushed against each other, swords locked together. Dom saw her opportunity. With a cry of rage, she ran at Murdoch. He barely had time to turn his head before she struck. With a single, clean swipe of her sword, Dom cut the elf’s throat. Murdoch let out a gurgle, blood spurting in fountains from his neck, then keeled over. Grahla let out a gasp of relief. All around them, the bandits were beginning to fall. With a burst of lightning, Krug struck down the remaining forces. The men crumpled, their iron armor no match against the lightning. The winds calmed, leaving the entire camp with a fine coating of dust.

The orcs lowered their weapons. Dom stared down at the dead elf, lying half buried in the sand. Kneeling, she took her sword and chopped through his neck. Gripping his head by his long hair, she turned toward Krug. “Let dis be de fate o’ all who oppose Krug.” Dom murmured, holding the head aloft for her father to see. Krug approached his daughter, placing a strong hand on her head.

“His head be your trophy, daughtah. Keep it and remember yer bravery dis muun.” Krug replied. Dom blushed, squeezing the severed head hard between her hands.

A few feet away, Grahla brushed the sand away from Shira’s corpse. She’d died with that look on her face, her smile frozen in a rictus grin of false hope. “And dis one, Krug?” Grahla asked, her face stony. Krug scowled at the body of his sometime mate.

“Throw her body t’ de howlahs. She be not worthy of an honorable burial.” He commanded. Grahla nodded solemnly. In an instant, two orcs appeared to drag Shira’s body away. Krug inclined his head toward Grahla, “Ya were right, Grahla. She was a weak woman.”

“Not worthy o’ you.” Grahla replied.

Vanni stood stunned. As the orcs passed with his mother’s body, he lunged to stop them. They shoved him aside. Vanni whimpered, tears rolling down his cheeks and snot dribbling from his nose. Krug approached his traitor son. Vanni refused to look at his father, instead staring hatefully at the ground. “As for ya, Vanni…”

“The sins o’ de parent are not de sins o’ de child, Krug.” Grahla advised. Krug glanced over his shoulder at her, “Vanni loved his mama. An’ dat be why he got involved in dis.”

“Grahla speaks wisdom.” Krug acknowledged, “Vanni, go from dis place. Nevah return. Ya are not worthy to stand beside Dom as my heir.”

With no words, Vanni stumbled to his feet. He refused to look at anyone, his eyes lowered to the ground. Spitting on the sand, he bolted. Dom watched as his silhouette vanished over the salt flat. He would have been a fine orc were he born to anyone else.

Finally, Krug turned back to Dom. “Dom, ya have helped to kill my enemies and defend my lands. You will forever be honored among my offspring. Ya will have a clan of yer own and yer descendants will be many. This be my word.”

“I am honored.” Dom replied, bowing her head. Grahla smiled, gripping her daughter’s shoulder.

“Ya did well, Dom.” She whispered. Turning, Dom beamed at her mother.




Later in life, Dom discovered a talent for shamanism. She was among the first of the shamans and is still known as one of the greatest. She kept the skull of Murdoch throughout her life. The skull was as wicked as its owner and made a perfect channel for evil spirits. Using the skull, Dom exorcised many a dark spirit that plagued her clan. She had many sons and daughters, many of whom followed in her footsteps and became shamans themselves. The Dom clan grew large and powerful. Dom lived long enough to see the glory of her clan. She died before the onset of the Clan Wars and received an honorable burial, never to know the shame her clan would experience during the war.

As for Vanni, it is not known what became of him. Perhaps he died alone in the desert. Perhaps he found his way to civilization and had sons of his own. No one would ever know. If he did escape the desert’s deadly clutches, he changed his name and vanished into pinkskin civilization. No historian attempting to trace his history has ever discovered any clues to his or his descendants’ whereabouts.

Grahla, for her loyalty and wisdom, was called Krug’s lifemate and stayed by his side until her death, giving him many more sons and daughters. However, none were as great as the first four – Rax, Gorkil, Lur, and, of course, Dom.

Treacherous orc women are still sometimes referred to as “Shira”. Her betrayal was never forgotten by the Orcs.