It was said that occupants of Dunia lived in harmony before their arrival. Just like most people, for Okhron, life was simple. Be a good warrior, honor your ancestors and respect your elders.

He looks at his hands covered with blood. However, this blood doesn’t look like anything he has killed before. It smells different… What was this thing? A demon? Was the shaman right?

“No time to think”, he said to himself. “MUST. KILL.THEM. ALL”

He remembers it clearly, it was one week before the ritual. He thought to himself, “this is a waste of time, I am a warrior!”. He was never the type to believe in fairytales. After all elders always talk too much and make up stories to entertain people.

He walks into the tent of the shaman. A room with different ornaments, skulls hanging off the poles, a central fire and a big pot above. Few different herbs on the floor, one of which he recognizes, rabbits ear. He knew this one, as a kid his sister would need rabbits ear to help her illness.

“Come here my son” says the old shaman. “Sit down”
He sits down, the shaman mutters something as he is crushing the herbs with mortar and pestle. “Give me that”, the old shaman points at the hanging dead lizard.

“Is it done old man?” asks Okhron impatiently.

The old shaman ignores and grabs Okhron’s hand with a strength that doesn’t match his old and frail appearance. He then slashes a thin cut on Okhrons palm and holds his hand above the bowl as the blood drips.

Then he proceeds to do the same with his own hand. He mixes the bowl one last time and takes a sip.

“Drink” he says as he passes the bowl to Okhron. “Finally I can get this over with” Okhron thinks to himself. He takes a few sips, puts the bowl back on the ground. His eyes starts to wander around the tent, he hears that the old shaman starts chanting louder. His attention slowly drifts into the skulls as smoke starts appearing around them. “Old shaman and his tricks”, Okhron thinks to himself as he is rubbing his eyes.

Each smoke cluster around the three skulls starts to take shape in the form of a person. Could it be real? He heard the story of three shamans but never thought they existed.

“Follow them” says the Old Shaman. Okhron starts to feel sleepy. He tries to keep himself awake but he loses control as he slowly drifts into sleep.

As he wakes up, he is greeted by the old shaman “Welcome back”.

“Who were those men?” Okhron asks in confusion.

“You know who they are.” says the old shaman.

“Vile blooded ones are here. They will bring destruction. They will bring pain. They want our blood, they want our spirit. You must be the burning fire, the endless rage, the sharpened spear of Rik’thar clan”

He leaves the tent with more questions than answers. Was the shaman just a crazy old man? Or was it all true?

“Time to go ” says Fokhun. It was time for the climb on the golden summit of the Kalibotan Mountains.

As the group of warriors gather, they start joking around bumping into each other and getting loud.

“Quiet!” says the high sergeant. “No time for play. We must leave.”

The trip to the mountains is hard. It tests the spirit of the warriors and some do not make it to the summit. Every year, half of the warriors aren’t able to climb all the way or won’t survive it. It is a test of spiritual and physical endurance.

As the days passed, some warriors started to drop one by one. The cheerful, playful group turned into a quiet bunch. Some gave up, thinking that next year they would be able to complete the climb.

As they gotten closer to the summit, Orkhun started to feel uneasy. All he could think of it was the visions that he saw during the shamanic ritual.

“We are here !!” yells Fokhun. “We finally made it!”

As they lifted their heads, they were greeted with the beautiful sight of their clan’s banner resting on the top of the mountain. It has been here since last year. The high sergeant approaches the banner and bows his head in respect before taking it down and gently folding it.

He extends his hand toward the group, one of the group members bring the new banner for him to replace it with. Every year, this ritual is completed to show the endurance and strength of Rikhtar Clan, the rightful occupants of the south side of Kalibotan mountains.

Once they have replaced the banner, the high sergeant turns to the bunch and says “Congratulations, you are now an honorable Rik’thar warrior. May your spears be sharp and souls be strong!”

As they started their descent back into the valley, the group has gotten more cheerful. The high sergeant started to tell his stories from the battle of three arrows as the group has listened with enthusiasm.

After five days of descent, they could finally see their town from afar. As they have gotten closer, the high sergeant had become very quiet.

“Whats wrong, sarge? “ asked Fokhun.

“The battle drums are playing, must be the goblins” grunted the high Sergeant.

“Let’s flank those disgusting goblins and crush a few skulls” said Morhgkor.

“Not that fast, we must see the enemy first.” said the High Sergeant.

The eagerness and excitement from the young warrior group could be felt. If the high sergeant let them, they would run to the battle in an instant. However, having been in hundreds of battles, sergeant knew that it wouldn’t be the smartest move to let these young Orcs to run into a goblin camp.

When they finally got closer, the sergeant noticed that these weren’t goblins. In fact, these weren’t anything that he has ever battled with.