The First Light of Dawn

"What is that?" "Moradin above, it's a dragon! A gold dragon!" "I've never seen such a massive, magnificent dragon! He looks like a statue cast from solid gold!" "Are those our reinforcements?" As the golden dragon appeared on the horizon, the dwarves along the ramparts raised their heads in unison. Their faces were filled with astonishment, and for a moment they even forgot about the swarming orc assault. The orcs noticed the uninvited guest as well, discovering to their horror that the gold dragon was diving straight toward them. The dragon's face, flanked by whisker-like barbels, was exceptionally majestic. Within vertical pupils resembling pools of molten gold, pure fury boiled. The orc officers and shamans instantly felt a terrifying pressure weighing down on their shoulders. Panic seized them, and they shouted in terror: "It's a gold dragon!" "That beast must be an ally of the dwarves! Quick, shoot down that damned golden lizard!" At the command, the orcs hurriedly raised their crude bows, loosing volley after volley of arrows into the sky toward the dragon. Yet before the dragon clad in golden scales, the orcs' inferior arrows proved utterly powerless. Most wavered and tumbled out of the sky before reaching him, and even those that found their mark failed to leave so much as a scratch upon his impervious scales. Looking down at the swarming masses of orcs below, the fire in the gold dragon's slit pupils burned even hotter. He slowly parted his jaws. Light flared anew in his throat and chest, as though a blazing sun were concealed within his very flesh. "All-Father Gruumsh, it... that dragon is flying down!" "How do we stop it?!" "Get down!" "Watch out, that's dragonfire!" Under the terrified gaze of the orcs, the gold dragon unfurled his vast, sweeping wings and plunged into a dive. The colossal shadow cast by the beast enveloped the fortress walls, engulfing hundreds of dwarves and orcs beneath it. With each beat of those massive wings, howling gales tore across the battlefield. *Boom—* The air cracked with a thunderous roar. A searing blast of heat rushed outward as roaring torrents of flame poured from the gold dragon's maw. In an instant, the packed masses of orcs beneath the walls were swallowed by fire. Even the siege ladders propped against the ramparts were set ablaze, sending hundreds of screaming orcs plunging to their deaths. "No!" "It burns! Damn it, I'm on fire!" "All-Father Gruumsh above! Where did this gold dragon come from?!" The orcs thrashed and wailed amid the raging dragonfire. Their crude animal-hair garments and leather armor burned, charring to ash. "No, no... I haven't set foot in Evindeldan yet! I haven't enslaved the dwarves..." "All-Father, I don't want to die here!" Scorched by the inferno, the surviving orcs lost their senses, dropping to their knees to plead toward the sky. Yet the gold dragon showed no sign of stopping. *Roar—* A clarion roar rang out, echoing through the peaks of the Blackstone Mountains and drowning out the agonized screams of the orcs. Like a reaper descending upon the battlefield, the dragon glided along the walls of Evindeldan, continually venting searing torrents of flame. A ribbon of fire hundreds of meters wide unfurled beneath the walls. Cinders swirled through the air, wild flames spread in every direction, heat waves distorted the atmosphere, and gray smoke drifted across the field of slaughter. Time and again, the gold dragon climbed, circled, and unleashed sweeping dives hundreds of meters long, spewing dragonfire until every last orc outside the walls was reduced to ashes. In little more than ten minutes, tens of thousands of orcs were ruthlessly consumed by dragonfire, leaving hills of charred corpses in their wake. "Moradin above..." "The orc siege army... was wiped out just like that..." "What a blessing! It seems this stranger is an ally of our Mountain Kingdom." Along the ramparts, the surviving dwarves gazed down at the burning orcs, feeling both a profound sense of vindication and sheer awe at the dragon's devastating might. They looked up once more. The blood mists and dark clouds conjured by the orc shamans had been burned away by the flames, allowing the sun to shine through once again. Shafts of sunlight bathed the massive gold dragon, setting his scales ablaze with radiant light, as though his body were plated in a divine aura. Even the notoriously rough dwarven warriors were stunned into slack-jawed silence, unable to muster more than a breathless gasp. Bjorn, the oldest and wisest among them, raised his head. His throat quivered, his tone fraught with emotion, and his gray beard trembled slightly. "My kin! This noble, righteous guest has saved Evindeldan! He has delivered our Mountain Kingdom!" He hoisted his staff high. "He is the first light of dawn..." "The Dragon of Dawn!" "Praise the mighty gold dragon!" The dwarven warriors raised their fists alongside Bjorn, cheering at the top of their lungs for their extraordinary reinforcement in the sky, their shouts shaking the heavens. High above, the gold dragon beat his sail-like wings and nodded slightly, seemingly acknowledging his dwarven allies on the walls from afar. Down on the battlefield below, facing the spreading dragonfire, the orc shamans fell into panic, unable to maintain their focus. Ed, bound by their spells, finally saw his chance. He shattered the divine chains binding him, a fierce light blazing in his eyes. "Filthy spawn of Gruumsh!" The dwarven king raised his warhammer high. His voice cracked like thunder, and countless shattered boulders coalesced, hovering suspended in the air. "Behold! The gold dragon's flames burn bright, and your brutal army is reduced to ash!" The orc shamans shook their heads frantically, terror etched into their features. "No, impossible! The All-Father blinded the eyes of the gods! Reinforcements from Mount Celestia could never have noticed this place!" "Curse it! The prophecy of the One-Eyed God never spoke of this gold dragon! This cannot be our..." Ed glared at the shamans, his eyes burning with fury. The dwarven king swung his warhammer down in a righteous roar: "This is your doom! Before the might of justice and order, you filthy, savage orcs cannot withstand a single blow!" *Boom!* The moment his words fell, the colossal boulders slammed into the earth like falling meteors, kicking up blinding clouds of dust and making the ground shudder violently. The scattering orc shamans stood no chance, crushed to pulp beneath the falling stone. Only a single shaman dissolved his body into black mist to escape the impact, but with a mighty leap, Ed closed the distance in an instant. The shaman laughed crazily, clutching his bone staff as he chanted under his breath: "It's... it's useless! Even a dragon cannot withstand the Blood Spear of Gruumsh! Dwarven King, remember this: Evindeldan will become an orc fortress, and dwarves will be our slaves!" Ed laughed in cold fury, brandishing his warhammer, his voice shaking with wrath. "You court death!" *Crack!* Ed's hammer smashed through the shaman's fragile skull, splattering himself with fresh blood and thick gore. The dwarven king whirled among the orc ranks like a sandstorm, his warhammer roaring through the air and eliciting shriek after shriek from the enemy. "Runt! I'll crush you underfoot!" A massive half-orc giant nearly five meters tall charged forward aggressively, shouldering a heavy bone club. Ed swung his hammer and shattered both the creature's knees, bringing the giant crashing to the dirt in a single exchange, howling in agony. In the next instant, the seemingly diminutive dwarf sprang into the air and brought his hammer down without mercy, obliterating the massive head. *Smash!* Ed slowly rose to his feet. His body was drenched in orc blood, and his warhammer was stained crimson, flecked with bits of flesh. Within a hundred paces of him, not a single living orc remained. In mere moments, the dozen shamans and hundreds of elite orc warriors tasked with pinning down the dwarven king had been annihilated. Such was the formidable power of Ed Klein, Lord of the Mountains. Standing in a pool of blood, Ed raised his warhammer high and roared toward the walls of Evindeldan: "My people! The orcs' schemes will never prevail! Moradin's holy light will forever shine upon this land! Charge with me! Drive Gruumsh's filthy brood from our realm!" Lowering his hammer, Ed met the gaze of the dragon high above and nodded in deep gratitude to the mysterious visitor. The dwarven king shuddered to think what would have become of his people had this gold dragon not intervened while he was incapacitated. "Praise Dumathoin, Guardian of the Shield Dwarves! It's King Ed!" "Moradin above, I knew His Majesty wouldn't fall so easily!" "Counterattack!" "Drive the orcs back to the north!" Seeing their king carve a bloody path out of the orc horde, the dwarves within Evindeldan were swept with fervor. Led by Ed, they surged forth from the gates, brandishing warhammers and blades to pursue the retreating enemy. Devastated by the gold dragon's breath, the orcs had long since lost the will to fight. Driven before the dwarves, they broke into a disorderly rout, fleeing desperately back toward their base in the north. The orcs' vanguard of tens of thousands was completely destroyed. Across the scorched earth strewn with orc corpses, the dwarves cheered in celebration of their hard-won victory. "Long live Moradin!" "The Mountain Kingdom will never fall!" "Praise our strange and wondrous guest! Without him, there would be no victory!" They shouted the names of the dwarven pantheon, lauded their king, and voiced their heartfelt gratitude for the Dragon of Dawn. *** Path of Glory, the Orc's Tombstone. Vultures circled overhead, their hoarse cries carrying across the wasteland. This outpost, which had once stood as a bulwark against orc incursions, now served as the main encampment of the Red Blood Tribe, where over a hundred thousand orcs were gathered. Astride the towering back of a wasteland landwyrm, seated upon a throne fashioned from bleached bones, Batu Skullsplitter narrowed his eyes, his savage face twisted in a snarl. "Cowards..." In the distance, the ragged survivors of the vanguard were staggering back in defeat. Haggard and panicked, their garments were torn to shreds and marked by scorch marks. "Who gave you permission to flee the field?" Batu rose slowly from his bone throne, looking down upon the routed troops with suppressed fury in his voice. "Lord Batu... It was a gold dragon! An unknown gold dragon attacked us! Our vanguard was on the verge of taking Evindeldan when that beast suddenly descended and breathed fire..." Seeing their chieftain, the lead officer threw himself to the ground, prostrating frantically until blood ran from his forehead. "A gold dragon?" Batu narrowed his single eye, his brow furrowing as a strange light flickered within his empty socket. According to the All-Father's decree, the gods of Mount Celestia had been blinded and could not possibly dispatch reinforcements for days. This was not part of the plan. Yet a moment later, Batu's expression darkened with explosive rage. His cold voice crashed over them like thunder: "That is no excuse for cowardice! The great All-Father Gruumsh said: those too weak to fight for your tribe should be pierced with spears." Despair washed over the orc officer. His legs gave out, and he scrambled to his feet, desperate to flee once more. Only then did he realize that with orcs to the north and dwarves to the south, there was nowhere left to run. "No, please... Lord Batu! I've bled for our kind! I slaughtered goblins for you on the Ugo Steppe! I..." Batu had no patience left to hear their pleas. The chieftain lifted his greataxe and swung it diagonally downward. *Slash—* A bloody arc flashed through the air, sending hundreds of fresh orc heads flying as geysers of blood erupted skyward. Every single survivor fleeing from the south was slaughtered where they stood, cut down without a shred of mercy. Watching the gruesome scene, the tens of thousands of surrounding orcs fell dead silent, the air itself turning stagnant. Batu leaped down from the landwyrm's back, picked up a severed head that was still warm, and held it high for all to see. "Do you see? This is the fate of deserters! Cowards have no place in Nishrek! Their souls will rot and fester, cast out forever into the wastes! Remember: orcs are conquerors! We must make our enemies fear us down to their very souls!" Batu cast the head aside and crushed it beneath his boot, then raised his arm in a fierce roar, his single eye ablaze with fanatical violence. "The One-Eyed God watches over you always! Every crime is glaring in his sight, and the greatest sin of all is cowardice! For All-Father Gruumsh! Conquer and butcher our foes!" "For All-Father Gruumsh!" "Death to the cowards who fled!" Whipping into a frenzy under Batu's inciting words, over a hundred thousand orcs raised their spears and blades, bellowing with feverish devotion and heaping scorn upon the dead deserters. They agreed wholeheartedly with Batu's proclamation. Within orc society, the church of Gruumsh bore not only the duty of preaching the faith, but also the responsibility of culling the sick, the weak, the lame, and the unfit from the tribe—regardless of age or status. Survival of the fittest: the strong endure, while the weak are culled to feed the beasts. Such was the iron law of the orcs. Batu sprang to the crest of the cliff, looking down over the raving horde before turning his gaze toward the south, ambition burning bright in his solitary eye.