Chapter 3 - Chapter 2 : Karz’thal Kingdom and The King of Orcs

The Kingdom of Karz'thal stands proudly on an active lava hill, surrounded by black stone fortifications that appear impregnable. The hot, heavy air envelops everything, filled with the scorching dust from the flowing lava valleys below. The sound of a gong rings out, breaking the silence and signaling the start of a day filled with tension.Inside the great hall, the Ur'zahruk Council, rulers of the Orc kingdom, have gathered. At the far end of the room, Ragnar Brorhaz, King of Karz'thal, sits arrogantly on a throne made of enemy bones. His large body, clad in shining black armor, radiates an aura of dominance. His sharp eyes stare straight ahead, as though coldly surveying the world."The humans in the north are beginning to grow bolder," Ragnar says, his voice echoing loudly. "They are still under our control, but if left unchecked, their resistance could become a major threat."Tharkoz Brorhaz, Ragnar's ambitious son, steps forward with enthusiasm. "Father, grant me permission. My elite forces are ready. One night, and they'll know who rules this land." A wide smile shows his wolf-like fangs.Ragnar gazes at his son, his eyes cold. "You wish to attack them just like that? That would invite a much larger war."Tharkoz shrugs. "Power is everything. If we show them who is stronger, they will retreat."However, Urthala Brorhaz, the Queen, speaks calmly but firmly. "Power without calculation is foolishness, Tharkoz," she says, her gaze sharp. "We don't just need a victory, we need absolute domination. Every rebellion must be crushed before it has a chance to grow."Tharkoz snorts in frustration. "But mother—"Urthala interrupts him with a cold voice. "There is no 'but,' Tharkoz. Our success depends on strategy, not just strength."Vezra Brorhaz, Ragnar's daughter, speaks in a low tone full of calculation. "We must break them first, destroy their power from within. If we strike too soon, they will unite and fight back stronger."General Drogmuk, the respected war commander, nods in agreement. "A frontal assault would only waste our strength. A siege is the best option. We'll cut off their supplies and force them to surrender without having to fight."Ragnar listens carefully to all the advice. Then, his gaze turns to Zarnak, the wise head of the Department of Law. "Zarnak," Ragnar says in a deep voice. "What is your advice?"Zarnak steps forward, his sharp eyes assessing each council member. "We must tighten control over their resources. Every small rebellion must be crushed with harsh punishment. Do that, and they will learn to fear our law."Ragnar pauses for a moment, before finally speaking. "Indeed, our strength is the core of our existence. Karz'thal is not just a kingdom. It is a nation built on blood, fire, and destruction. Humans are dust beneath our feet. We will make sure they know that."Morgash the Raider, head of agriculture and plantations, stands calmly but firmly. "We will ensure the harvests from their villages keep flowing. They will have nothing to fight us with."Grukka the Overseer, a large and muscular figure, speaks with a heavy voice. "Discipline is key. We must control their workers. Every violation must be punished swiftly and decisively."Varghul the Ironclad, with his nearly indestructible armor, speaks with an authoritative tone. "Our defenses are impenetrable. No one can breach these fortresses. But we must remain vigilant, ready to face any attack."Kazruk the Earthshaper, with his large, strong hands, adds, "We dig deeper to ensure our supply of metals doesn't run dry. Our weapons will only grow stronger."Trogath the Beastkeeper, a tall Orc with a cunning smile, says, "Our beasts are also ready. They are not just food; they will become an unexpected weapon."Zorvak the Builder, with his lean yet muscular build, speaks with fervor. "We strengthen the fortifications and structures across the region. Every village we conquer will become a small stronghold to solidify our control."Ragnar observes all the council members sharply, before finally rising from his throne. His deep voice echoes throughout the room. "You all speak wisely, but remember this: our strength is everything. Karz'thal is an unmatched nation. Humans are mere dust. We will ensure they know their place."The council members nod with confidence, ready to follow Ragnar's absolute command. In their hearts, they know that every step taken must be accompanied by unwavering certainty.**After Ragnar and his family leave, the council room, once filled with an aura of dominance and power, becomes a hidden battlefield. The tension thickens, like a smoldering ember quietly releasing smoke, waiting for the right gust of wind to turn it into an explosion of flames. Each member of the Ur'zahruk feels the invisible weight that hangs over every movement, every word spoken. Behind the stern faces and hands gripping control, there is a current of uncertainty creeping in, as though within this room, they are not only facing enemies from without but also the shadow of betrayal lurking from within.Zarnak, the wise and calculating advisor, breaks the silence with his deep voice, piercing the quiet air like lightning that strikes just behind the stillness of dawn. Every word he speaks is wrapped in sharp sarcasm, as though challenging the entire room to respond."We all know," Zarnak begins, his voice echoing in the cold stone room, "we are not facing a large army ready to attack, but rather a movement. A movement that slyly hides behind the fog of confusion that we ourselves have created."His sharp eyes lock onto every council member, ensuring that their gazes are fixed on him, that every word he speaks is etched into their minds. "Those in the north," Zarnak continues, a smug smile forming on his face, "perhaps we've let them grow for too long, grow without the proper oversight."Each syllable he utters cuts through the incompetence of the other department heads who have failed to manage the situation. Zarnak, who controls the law and power, speaks with the confidence of a judge handing down judgment without hesitation. "Perhaps we've been too busy discussing strength and armies, but we've forgotten that rebellion can spread quietly, like a fire that starts from a small spark, consuming everything in its path."His voice remains heavy, yet sharp with intelligence, like a sword ready to cut through the lies that surround them. With careful but firm steps, he drives the conversation deeper, touching upon the growing tension in the room.Morgash the Raider, though smaller in stature than many of the council members, has a sharp mind full of calculation, like poison hidden behind a smile. Hearing Zarnak's hidden jibe, his lips curl into a thin, knowing smile. He is adept at playing the game of words, knowing exactly how to strike at his opponent's ego. His sharp eyes gleam, and with a subtle movement, he stretches his shoulders and shifts his gaze toward Zarnak, as if looking for a chink in his armor to attack.Morgash begins to speak, his voice low but sharp, hiding his edge behind a relaxed demeanor. "Ah, Zarnak, you speak as though they are the root of all our problems here on this land." He pauses for a moment, letting his words settle. "Their harvests, which are barely enough to feed themselves, let alone rise up against us. Are you truly certain they will rebel against us? Have you ever considered what they do every morning, when they plow the barren land, praying for rain that never comes?"Morgash steps closer, each sentence full of calculation and precision, as though he is carving with his words. "Do you know how they farm? Perhaps if they had more than just your wise words, they could produce more than this." Every word he speaks is like a lash to the chest, forcing those in the room to acknowledge the undeniable truth that they would rather ignore.Zarnak, sitting across from him, can't help but feel the heat flash across his face. But he only gives a thin smile, his expression calm while turmoil churns inside him. "You always find a way to deflect attention, Morgash," Zarnak replies flatly, his voice steady. "But even though they may not farm wisely, that little harvest is still fuel for rebellion. Even a small fire can ignite a much larger one if left unchecked." There is a sharper edge to Zarnak's words now, a subtle warning hidden behind them.Morgash grins, clearly pleased with how he has pressed Zarnak, but he knows that the conversation is just beginning.Zarnak's gaze cuts through Morgash with the intensity of calculation, his eyes gleaming like a sharp sword slicing through the air between them. The tension in the room thickens with each word spoken, as if the walls themselves can feel the heat rising from each utterance. "Ah... of course, Morgash," Zarnak replies, his voice flat but sharp as a knife, the irony in his tone impossible to ignore. "I know exactly what you mean. But perhaps there is one thing you've overlooked." He tilts his head slightly, his gaze never leaving Morgash, as if his eyes can pierce straight into his soul. "You know who should be overseeing that land, don't you? You know who is responsible for every seed planted there, don't you? You know who should ensure that the harvest falls into the hands of those who truly deserve it?"A thin smile spreads across Zarnak's lips, like a serpent waiting to strike. "Perhaps we need to investigate further, Morgash," he continues, his voice full of subtle provocation, "before we continue discussing the foolish rebel. Perhaps we need to ask—who truly allowed their harvest to fall into the hands of those unworthy? Who should have ensured that theft didn't occur, making sure no one profits from their sweat?"Zarnak's words are like a dagger, sharp and swift, spreading suspicion with a subtlety that cannot be ignored but cannot be immediately accused either.Grukka the Overseer, his stocky form not as tall as the other council members, snorts in frustration, his rugged face scrunching into a scowl, his mouth twisting into a cynical smile. "The harvest is not the real issue," he mutters, his voice rough and commanding, laced with unspoken threat. "Discipline is what really matters. We can't keep forgiving those stupid villagers, who play with our laws. The villagers... they are all the same, treating their land as if they own it. What's needed here is a firm hand—a hand that won't hesitate to crush even the smallest mistake." His voice grows heavier with each word, his tone sharp, each utterance an unspoken threat hanging in the air like a sword ready to strike.He pauses for a moment, his gaze now locked on Varghul the Ironclad, the intensity of his stare almost as if it could pierce stone. "We must set an example, a clear message," Grukka says firmly, his voice thick with barely contained rage, radiating an unspoken threat. "Those who oppose us, whoever they may be, must learn what it means to challenge the law of Karz'thal." His voice grows louder, filled with anger hidden beneath the surface, as his eyes stay focused on Varghul, waiting for a response.In the dim council room, the air grows heavier, the tension palpable. Varghul the Ironclad, his body covered in black iron armor that seems inseparable from him like his skin, stares at Grukka with a sharp, calculating gaze. The discussions echo through the room like the sounds of war on a battlefield, and within himself, that war rages fiercely.**At the end of the table, Ragnar Brorhaz sat upright, his body clad in black armor adorned with the marks of battle, exuding an aura of commanding authority. Every inch of him reflected the strength of a merciless king.Beside him, Urthala Brorhaz, the queen, sat with a calm and calculated demeanor. Her sharp eyes observed intently, always ready to take a step further behind Ragnar's throne.Their son, Tharkoz Brorhaz, stood by the hearth, his eyes blazing with hatred. The flames before him seemed to mirror his uncontrollable passion, an ambition that could not be extinguished. "I will destroy them all," he said, his voice low and thunderous.At the opposite end of the table, their daughter, Vezra Brorhaz, sat in silence. Though she rarely spoke, each of her glances was filled with calculation. There was doubt in her eyes, not born of weakness, but of deeper thought than met the eye.**

The royal family's chamber within Karz'thal Castle was thick with an oppressive air that made each step feel heavy. The rough stone walls bore the scars of every battle ever fought. The ceiling, adorned with the great horns of wild beasts, loomed over a large table surrounded by rugged chairs. The black stone floor, stained with blood, marked a history of unending violence.

Urthala broke the silence. "Ragnar," her voice was soft but laden with threat, "we've allowed this rebellion to fester for too long. Our department heads failed to see the danger from the beginning."