The dense, ancient forest seemed to close in around them as Volk and the other young orcs continued their march.
Every step forward felt heavier, as if the ground itself was trying to slow them down.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a distant, thunderous roars that rolled through the trees like a wave.
The young orcs froze in place, their eyes wide with confusion and a hint of fear. They exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what the sound meant.
Even Volk, who hadn't many unknowns in this strange new world, felt a shiver run down his spine. The roars were unlike anything he had ever heard—a deep, primal sound that stirred something ancient and instinctual within them.
One of the bone-armored orcs, standing at the front of the group, turned to address the younglings. His voice was calm but carried the weight of authority. "Listen up, young Mag'Durotans," he began, his tone brooking no argument. "What you just heard is the sound of battle, far off but close enough to matter. We are near the catacombs, a place where many clans converge, including ours—the Dreadmaw Clan. Those roars you hear are the battle cries of our brothers and sisters, chosen as representatives to fight for the honor of our clan."
Volk and the others leaned in, their attention fully captured.
The armored orc continued, his voice taking on a storyteller's cadence, as if recounting an old legend. "The catacombs are sacred grounds, places of power and mystery. When we draw near, it is tradition that the clans send their strongest young warriors to fight. The victors earn the right to enter the catacombs first, securing their place in the trials ahead. It's a battle not just of strength, but of skill, wit, and determination. Those who prevail are seen as worthy in the eyes of our ancestors."
The explanation was long and detailed, but none of the young orcs minded.
They were spellbound, hanging on to every word. Volk's heart pounded in his chest, somehow his blood pumping with an unknown excitement. He could picture the scene the armored orc was describing—young orcs, not much older than himself, locked in fierce combat.
As the armored orc's words sank in, one of the younglings, a smaller orc with a curious expression, raised his hand. "But what is a catacomb, exactly?"
The armored orc nodded, clearly expecting the question. "Ah, a wise question, young one. The catacombs… they are more than just caves. They are ancient places, steeped in magic and mystery. When you enter a catacomb, you are stepping into the unknown. It's said that the catacombs are not of this world, or perhaps they are, but they exist on the edge of our reality. When you pass through their gates, you could be transported anywhere."
He paused for effect, letting the weight of his words settle on the young orcs. "Some who enter find themselves in a simple cave, dark and silent, where they must rely on their senses and courage to navigate. In these places, you may travel together, relying on each other's strength. But the catacombs are unpredictable. At times, they will pull you apart, sending each orc to a different place—alone, separated from their kin, forced to face whatever lies ahead without support."
Volk felt a chill at the thought of being alone in such a place, cut off from his companions.
The armored orc's voice grew even more serious as he continued. "Some of the catacombs are filled with traps, ancient mechanisms designed to test the unwary. Others are labyrinths, twisting and turning, leading you deeper and deeper until you are hopelessly lost. And then there are those that are alive, where the very walls seem to move, where shadows play tricks on your mind, and the echoes of your footsteps seem to come from all directions at once."
The young orcs were silent, their minds racing with the images conjured by the armored orc's words.
Volk could almost see it—the twisting tunnels, the shifting walls, the traps waiting to spring. He felt a mix of fear and excitement, his warrior's spirit rising to the challenge even as his rational mind balked at the dangers.
The armored orc's voice dropped to a near whisper, forcing the young orcs to lean in even closer. "And then there are the portals. Sometimes, the catacombs will open up a portal, a doorway to a place beyond our world. Those who step through may find themselves in a land of fire and ash, or a realm of eternal night, where the stars never shine and the air is thick with the scent of death. Only the strongest, the wisest, can navigate these places and return."
Another roar echoed through the forest, louder this time, pulling the young orcs back to the present. But this time, the bone-armored orc leading them did not raise a war cry in response. Instead, a heavy silence fell over the group, the absence of the expected shout a bad omen.
They stood there for what felt like an eternity, the tension mounting with every passing second. Then, finally, the order came. "March!" The bone-armored orcs barked out commands, and the group began to move again, their pace quickening as they made their way through the thick underbrush.
As they walked, Volk couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his gut.
The roars in the distance had stopped. However, omething wasn't right. He could feel it in his bones, a sense of foreboding that grew stronger with each step.
The armored orcs continued to shout commands, their voices carrying through the trees. "Keep your formation tight! Eyes forward! Watch your footing!" The young orcs obeyed without question, their focus sharpened by the tension in the air.
Volk found himself near the back of the group, his mind racing as he tried to process everything he had just learned.
The catacombs sounded like a place of endless danger and uncertainty, a true test of an orc's mettle. But there was something else bothering him, something that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.
Suddenly, he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, as if he were being watched. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the ranks of young orcs marching beside him.
That's when he saw it—an orc, not far from him, staring directly at him with a look of pure animosity.
The orc's eyes were dark, his expression twisted with anger and hatred. Volk didn't recognize him, but the intensity of the orc's gaze sent a shiver down his spine.
There was no mistaking the hostility in those eyes—this orc saw Volk as an enemy.
Volk quickly looked away, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know why this orc was targeting him, but he could feel the weight of that stare burning into his back. He forced himself to focus on the march, on the commands being shouted by the armored orcs, but the feeling of unease lingered, like a shadow that refused to be shaken.
As they continued their march, the cave entrance finally came into view—a dark, gaping maw in the side of a rocky hill, shrouded in mist and shadows. The bone-armored orcs stopped just outside, their eyes scanning the group of younglings.
"Form up!" one of the armored orcs shouted.
The young orcs quickly fell into line, their expressions a mix of determination and fear.
Volk took his place in the formation, trying to push aside the feeling of dread that had settled over him.
The entrance to the cave loomed before them, dark and foreboding. The mist that clung to the ground seemed to swirl with a life of its own, as if beckoning them to step inside. Volk swallowed hard, his mouth dry as he stared into the darkness.
The bone-armored orc at the front of the group turned to address them one last time. "This is it, young Mag'Durotans. The catacombs await. Remember what I've told you. Stay together if you can, but be prepared to face whatever lies within on your own. Trust in your strength, trust in your wits, and you may just survive."
With that, he raised his hand, signaling them to move forward.
The young orcs took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness.
As Volk stepped into the cave, the feeling of animosity from the orc who had been watching him returned, stronger than ever. He didn't dare look back, but he could feel those eyes boring into him, filled with a hatred he couldn't understand.
But there was no time to dwell on it now.
The catacombs were ahead, and whatever awaited them inside would demand his full attention. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was inside, and plunged into the darkness.