Essence of the Divine - Part One

by jakewhite35

Yu'Biusk is a plane of mindless war and murder. But when the Big High War God Bandos issues his declaration of Total War, the thinkers prevail over the hordes. However, it's a thinker who will ruin plans on Yu'Biusk hundreds of years in the making.

For the first time that he could remember, the plane of Yu'biusk was still.

His huge ourg feet navigated the field of broken things. Bodies, weapons, and spirits. He took only one step at a time after which the weight of what had just happened crashed back down on his gigantic shoulders.

The ourg tactician Trawmod felt his boots snap the skeleton of a lesser goblin who had fallen on the field. The crunch brought no joy to the warrior's heart.

Trawmod looked around and snorted the air, sniffing for anything disturbing the scent of carnage and swamp. No other living thing dared breathe in this area. He was a lone, unfounded survivor.

Trawmod and two Ourg berserkers, Tdrii and Golsh, both female brutes ugly even by ourg standards, had been sent to break a rabblemaster trying to rally goblins against the orcs and ourgs who owned their tribe. The goblins were forgetful, there was a protest or a riot to put down every other day in Ziemadaa, where Trawmod had been for six years in service of his clan chief Graardor. However, the routine stomp operation turned sour as the Berserkers began to hear the goblins chanting in their native language; a crime punishable by removal of the goblin's tongue as dictated by Bandos, War God and divine ruler of all Yu'biusk. All races of Yu'biusk spoke the tongues of the orcs, and ourgs and certain high-ranking members of the goblins, orcs, ogres, and other races were taught the holy Kyzaj language for delicate conversation around lesser beings. Tdrii heard the goblin spittle first and slung her axe round her head with a war cry and charged toward the sound of the rabble. I reached out my gloved hand to hold back Golsh but she was headfirst into the now-terrified goblin rabble.

Ourgs against goblins, logistically, is just not fair. The skin on an ourg is as thick as a goblins arm and twice as tough. We stand up to thirteen feet high naturally, and sometimes Bandos gives us stance even beyond that. Goblins are knee-high even to the tiny human Bandos-deniers in the cliffs. To an ourg they are like swamp grapes that snap instead of pop when you squish them.

So the Berserkers set to clearing a path through the fifty or so goblins in the ruined field, a previous site of unimaginable carnage in the name of Bandos. I saw Tdrii grab the red-garbed goblin who seemed to be leading the mob and put him in her armpit. Mercifully, her powerful muscles flexed and ended the goblin before nasal suicide occurred.

Trawmod surveyed the scene and tactically saw no weaknesses. Berserkers were reckless but effective, none of the other races could improvise a plan that would stop a twelve foot, half-ton tank swinging a battleaxe in a few seconds. The goblins tried to scatter but most were caught by the huge reach of the vastly larger ourgs. Trawmod smiled, his pointed teeth grazing the outside of his upper lip. Textbook stomp op.

But then came the monster.

It rose from the ground like a triggered trap, prone to straight upright in a blink of an eye. Rotting flesh graced the black-stained bones of a hideous creature. It had the height of an orc but the staff it wielded suggested goblin origin. The staff glowed green and the remaining goblins began to rally around the new arrival, some declaring it an act of Bandos supporting their rebellion. I stood back, my tactical mind unsure of how to proceed, and even the berserkers paused. Undead were not common on Yu'Biusk, and neither were magic users.

The undead beast gathered flesh magically from the fallen bodies to pad its open bones. The creature's magic courses through the goblins and, as if there wasn't enough carnage, the goblins began to tear and claw at each other. Trawmod grimaced as he noticed Golsh eye Tdrii and raise her heavy mace. He held back a scream as the mace crushed Tdrii's helmet from the vulnerable rear and the ourg crashed to the ground. The undead mage continued to channel his mayhem and gather his physical form, dead flesh coursing through the air on unseen channels, ripping from corpses of goblin and ourg alike.

As the borrowed flesh packed together it became clear that the mage was, at one point, a hobgoblin, an exiled race of monstrosities who dared to rival the ourgs with their mental capabilities. Slaves who can think too well didn't make great slaves. This monster who had defied death somehow was proof that the hobgoblin threat was real.

At that moment it was too real. In her blind fury, Golsh had allowed goblin spears to pierce her leg armor and attacks to her tendons brought her low until goblin spears pierced each of her eyes and after a forceful growl and powerful death throes, she was still.

The six remaining goblins after Golsh's death turned to ourg tactician, over a hundred yards away. He had been standing so far back he couldn't even be seen but the goblins stared into his eyes with an impossible knowing. And then, silent as the void, their flesh melted away like a dandelion's seeds in a soft wind and came to join with the now-regenerated hobgoblin.

The brown skinned, naked thing looked at Trawmod with yellow eyes. He scared back, fury and rage of Bandos in his mind. Trawmod knew the same thing was present in its mind, the constant urge to fight and kill for the War God. But the mage put his staff to the earth and collapsed into a heap of steaming mud on the edge of a slaughter.

With nothing to unleash his fury on, Trawmod sent his fists flying through the branches of every tree within his reach, the birds squawked and flew from the destructive maelstrom as the giant tore into the field, making sure to destroy the bodies of every goblin in his wake. He came to my clan sisters, and in a rage at Golsh's susceptibility, rammed a javelin through her unfeeling shoulder just to watch the wound bleed. He backhanded Tdrii's idle face and the giantess's corpse collapsed on its side, face buried in the earth, ashamed of her failure.

The fury in the male ourg began to wane and with a force of effort, it ceased entirely. He stood between the bodies of two adult ourgs amongst the scattered pieces and wholes of goblin corpses. No hobgoblin teeth to bring home to celebrate the clan-sisters' victory in death. No goblin morale-boosting artifact to bring home and destroy while the captive priests watched. Nothing but a waste of two fine ourgs on a beast Trawmod couldn't understand.

The ourg wandered the field until the sun began to turn red. He pondered what had kept him so pensive as to keep him there, maybe he was waiting for the hobgoblin to return. Trawmod wasn't a mage but he was an adept ranger with thrown javelins five goblins long. He could pierce its muddy heart before it could control him like it had my clanswomen.

But nothing came. The air grew still. The birds returned to their nests and the dust settled. The corpses continued to lay about where they were. The mud hardened under the green sun's rays and every cloud seemed idle. But Trawmod was still by choice. He did not know how to continue, how to bring back news of what had happened; he didn't even know what had happened! Hobgoblins were rare, any mage on Yu'biusk was rare, and the undead were very rare indeed. To find all three in one horror was unbelievable and Trawmod would face a sentence of muting for lying to his superior officer, but worse than having his tongue torn out, he might perhaps face dishonorable execution for the death of his sisters. He was the tactician. He was supposed to stop these things. But Trawmod could not stop what he did not understand.

The stillness was broken by the first brave carrion birds to grass around the feet of the upright ourg, pensive and lost in thought instead of rage like most followers of Bandos. Trawmod needed answers but I knew the mud did not hold them. So, with heavy feet, he turned back to Ziemadaa unsure of how he would be met by his clansmen. The walk was short but it felt like many nights before he was at the limits of the city.

The orc guards atop stone bluffs acknowledged Trawmod's return tersely and he passed through the no-gate into the city. In a world of war where everyone was ten times as strong as they were smart, walls didn't count for much, so borders were implied by guards. Simple enough, Trawmod mused, still pondering the events of the day.

Nobody was in the streets. No goblins carrying their burdens to their orc masters. No ogres pursued their magical arts in the dark spaces and no towering ourg could be seen surveying it except for the returning Trawmod.

Everything was still. No sounds of battle or of feasting or of labor. The world was silent.

Bandos would never allow this unless there was some calamity. Trawmod struck out toward the center of the settlement, and still heard almost nothing. But slowly a buzz tickled the back of his ear, and he followed his feet where the sound grew stronger. The goblin village was hastily organized so navigation was hard, especially for an ourg. But eventually he saw it.

Bandos's gift to Yu'biusk.

The Herald of total war.

Tales had been told for a long time about the Total War that would come when Bandos deemed it necessary. The god demanded that the tribes and nations of his world fight without pause for his glory and entertainment. There were stories of civilizations past that became too civilized, so Bandos tore them down, returned them to skirmishing raiders once more.

Trawmod thought about Ziemadaa. He believed that the hierarchy of ourgs, goblins, ogres, and orcs was a better way to wage war. With structure, Graardor could crush other tribes much more successfully.

But then Trawmod thought about the last time he had had to defend the settlement. Organized war meant a commander had to keep his troops safe until an opportunity arose. Were they getting too smart for their own good?

The winged Archon turned to Trawmod, as if to confirm his fears. The Archons were divine servants, rarely ever seen. They mostly appear when another God tries to muscle in on Yu'biusk and Bandos uses the elite, airborne units to drive the trespasser elsewhere. But tales were told of when an Archon would arrive with his feet on the ground, for an Archon in service would always be in the air. And this Archon would wield a Kyzaj, a holy weapon of Bandos, that it would slam into the earth as a proclamation that Bandos's prophecy will come to pass.

The Herald had already planted his Kyzaj into the Ziemadaan street and around its feet were the bodies of two ogres, half a dozen orcs and a number of goblins Trawmod didn't bother to count.

Trawmod noticed movement beyond the Archon's eyeless stare, its humanoid head only an absence of substance, a complete void in which it is said a creature can lose its mind pondering. Luckily the followers of Bandos were not ponderers so this fate rarely befell.

The movement grew closer and Trawmod heard the familiar sound of flesh tearing from the bodies of the dead. Two huge ourg skeletons pushed their way *through* a goblin forge toward Trawmod.

The sick tearing of flesh was supplemented by the raw slapping of dead flesh against more dead flesh as the magic ourgs pulled their bodies from pieces of corpses, magically winding muscle and skin onto a long dead skeleton.

Trawmod was smaller than either of the ourg zombies who had a ghastly green glow to them. Trawmod saw tracks leading northeast from the Kyzaj, and exclusively on that direction. It appeared anyone who preferred another direction was featured as a corpse at the Archon's feet.

Trawmod broke into a run, his legs gliding him across the surface faster than the shambling zombies could follow. As he ran, more zombies began to appear. As he would pass groups of goblin bodies on the road or a wounded orc who would suddenly emit a burst of green light and shed his flesh, the ourg kept running.

He saw formations of Archon's sweep across the sky in arrowhead shapes of three members each, travelling at speeds unheard of to the earth-walking races of Yu'Biusk. They zoomed past him and in the distance, he saw more of the winged shapes coming together into their formations and arcing across the brown sky of his home world.

Trawmod found himself running out of breath as he entered a copse of trees. A goblin zombie hobbled toward him, almost no flesh on the body, and Trawmod, just as an instinct, brought out a warhammer to crush the whelp.

His hammer fell true and the bones of the goblin snapped loudly beneath the hammer. But as Trawmod lifted his weapon he found no trace of his defeated foe. Whatever remains there were blended into the marshy mud.

Trawmod walked on, breath heaving, looking for threats. He wished he knew where anybody else was. But the trees were just above his line of sight and he couldn't see far ahead. In his rage, he began to tear down trees that blocked his vision, one after another, heaving them into the thicket, crushing even more of the small forest. Eventually Trawmod reached the other side.

He stood on a small plateau with a cliff that led down into some of the hundreds of square miles of wastelands that coated Yu'Biusk like an uncomfortable coat. They were the sites of devastation beyond imagination at the hands of Bandos, his followers, or other divine beings who dared challenge the Big High War God. The surface of the ground was ashy grey interspersed with patches of blackish-brown. No life grew in these areas and every Bandosian knew that to hunt, forage, or settle on them was a waste of time.

But there was life beyond imagining on the wastes. Some marched rank and file, bearing flags and horns, and some ran helter skelter on their own toward an unseen objective. Trawmod counted tiny goblins, orcs with their rigidly disciplined ranks and ourgs leading the disheveled bands of warriors. Ogres could be seen, their pale skin sticking out against the common green skin of most Bandosian tribes.

But what made Trawmod most alert was the brown-skinned blocks of warriors moving alongside the green-skinned Bandosians.

Trawmod snarled, his large lower teeth jutting above his upper lip. Hobgoblins.

Trawmod didn't know the reason he hated Hobgoblins other than his tribe did and he did what his tribe did because he was part of his tribe. Trawmod never questioned his animosity towards the culture he knew next to nothing about besides their rumored increased intellect and ruddy skin. But he watched them move and while they didn't walk tall or proud like an ourg, or even tall like an orc, they moved with purpose. They hobbled along, hands sometimes touching the ground as the armed warriors kept pace with their kinsmen. There was a chaotic perfection to their movements.

Trawmod descended the cliff and noticed Archons coming from all directions. He saw a single arrowhead formation of Archon's fly in from the southwest, directly in front of him, over the Knuckles of Kal, a row of steep mountains that separated Ourg territory from the...

Trolls.

Trolls were "followers" of Bandos (They were too dumb for any real organized faith), although Trawmod had never seen one. He was told that most of them look like moving rocks and are about just as smart. But the sound he heard from the southwest was terrifying.

Whoops, hollers, and laughter bellowed across the open fields, bouncing off the bluffs and cliffs surrounding the wastelands. While most of the creatures marched in silence aside from perhaps a horn or a drum, the trolls made their presence known far before Trawmod could see them.

The ourg continued to move eastward to see around the Knuckles and glimpse a troll. He pushed forward and joined the fringes of the mass migration, himself led by curiosity while the rest seemed guided by an unseen, unspoken purpose. Was this Total War? A march together? Trawmod knew that Bandos would never foster togetherness.

They were coming together for a bloodbath. And every life knew that.

Finally the trolls descended the steep foothills of the Knuckles and allowed the other denizens of Yu'Biusk to take them in.

They had grayish-green skin, which was typical of Bandosian species. But all along their bodies the beasts also had rows of hardened, armor-like growths that resembled rocks. And they ran faster than Trawmod had ever seen any orc or Ourg run. The largest of them looked like they weighed more than two ourgs could lift but they carried themselves across the ground like they were weightless, long strides punctuated by heavy crashes of rock-laden feet.

Trawmod also noted the many assorted sizes of the trolls. Most, he noticed, were about the size of orcs, same height but not as broad. But he also saw trolls that could rival ourgs in size and build. And Trawmod thought for a moment he saw a troll so giant a standing ourg could see up its kilt, but when he rubbed his eyes he lost track of the behemoth.

The trolls covered distance so fast that the goblins, orcs, and ourgs couldn't stand to be beaten to whatever destination they were pushing towards. As shouted commands reverberated from the front of the migration towards the back, the speed of the pilgrimage doubled as the civilized races of Bandos raced the wild trolls of the south.

Trawmod found himself sprinting beside a brown-skinned hobgoblin wrapped in leather bands securing feathers and what seemed to be darts or arrowheads close to his body. The hobgoblin's yellow eyes looked up at Trawmod's huge arm pumping back and forth a foot from his face but turned his eyes back forward after only a moment.

What had possessed these people? Trawmod saw the Archon's message too but he didn't feel pulled in the direction he was going, he was just going because he knew of nowhere else to go to. But the exiled hobgoblins, who were few thanks to breeding difficulties and the animosity by the larger clans of Yu'Biusk had come out into the open with full confidence of their safety. Trolls, who had never been known the cross through the Knuckles of Kal were now streaming out in a less than subtle manner.

They approached what seemed to be the destination and the line began to slow. Trawmod saw the blue slimy skin of the river trolls and sea trolls from the south as they huddled close together as they moved. In the distance, white shapes hurtled over obstacles as the southernmost ice trolls ran to join their brethren. Wide berths were given to the rare groups of several jogres who had appeared, wearing bones of both animal and recognizably Bandosian species on cords wrapped around their green bodies like jewelry. Mogres could be found usually in solitude of their kind, looking none too confident about the proceedings without their watery homes.

This was it. This was the prophecy come to fruition. The Herald, the presence of all of Bandos's followers - even the Archons maintained positions on higher grounds, glowing clouds of ghostly white against the reddening sky. The prophecy spoke nothing of a pilgrimage to this spot but somehow thousands of Bandosians across Yu'Biusk found their way and were coming to the center of this wasted plain, a dozen miles in diameter at its widest point, and around that, cliffs and the Knuckles formed a ring around the thousands of souls within. Only a few rocky outcrops dotted the plains, and each of them was claimed by Archons. Ourgs, orcs, goblins, all kinds of ogres and trolls, the exiled hobgoblins and the divine Archons all coming together, and Trawmod watched with great anticipation as the first of the green-skins from the north met with the trolls from the south.

A white pillar of light screamed down from the sky between where all the forces seemed to be gathering. Its light was blinding and Trawmod had to turn away. When he looked back he saw a lone Archon, taller than the tallest ourg he could ever remember and with a voice loud enough for everything in miles to hear it speak. It raised its white robed arms that ended with no hands wide and proclaimed, "Total War has been declared by your creator, Lord, and master, Bandos!"

The cliffs shook with the roars of what must be tens of thousands of Bandosians now gathered to hear this Archon speak. Trawmod has never heard one of the divine servants speak. Somehow, he supposed that if he ever did it would be the last thing he'd hear. To hear the baritone rumble of it speak and not feel the immediate brace for a death blow was unusual.

A troll from the south shouted something like a rallying cry to the rock monsters behind him, but only he and one other charged forward against the Archon. The being seemed to grow as with a flip of a ghostly arm two pillars of starlight came down and obliterated the trolls, leaving behind no trace they had ever existed. The gathered Bandosians shifted uncomfortably but did not falter.

"Bandos has chosen to see who is the greatest of his chosen races to dwell here in his paradise." The Archon gestured widely to the swampy, wasted world of Yu'Biusk. "But he also grows tired. With this declaration of total war, Bandos sends along two new commandments!"

In where his hands would have been appeared two flags made entirely of bronze, from the banner to the pole, and the Archon struck both into the ground where they were surrounded by a white glow visible even from the half mile away Trawmod stood.

"One," the Archon demanded the attention of its unruly audience. "Followers of Bandos are hereby forbidden to think for themselves aside from thoughts of immediate survival unless otherwise told to do so by someone who is superior to the person in question. This is commanded to prevent any more science or defense spoiling the grand sport of war which we all play for Bandos!"

Tremendous cheers were up from the ourgs, trolls, and ogres, the lesser races all joined in once their superiors allowed it, all present knowing that disobeying a commandment of Bandos would mean an immediate smiting by the Archons.

The cheers quieted down but the central Archon's voice boomed louder than could be physically possible, sending everything present back a step except for the unmoving Archons on their steppes, bluffs, and outcrops.

"I am the Grand Archon of Bandos! Recently appointed Arbiter of the Total War and Chief Harbinger. You will hear my voice and tremble for know, that wherever you are, I can find you. My Archons can find you. And Bandos commands that from this point on, any servant of Bandos who acts not in the honor of the War God or his or her own honor shall be swept away to a secret place where they'll never be seen again on Yu'Biusk or in the glorious afterlife. This Bandos declares and I shall enforce! Glory to the War God!"

This time the shouts felt forced, leaders making their begrudging underlings cheer such a backwards commandment. To commit a sin against Bandos was a sin, sure, but damnation? Trawmod couldn't understand it. It sounded too overthought for the Bandos he thought he knew.

"And now..." The Grand Archon's voice echoed loudly and clearly although it was raspy like a whisper. "Let Total War... begin."

The Grand Archon pulled the two bronze flags from the earth and vanished into thin air after spinning into the air with a flourish. In the holes the flags left prismatic light emerged for a moment, then tainted by a sick green-brown. Every Bandosian close to the epicenter took two steps back and got into defensive position and creatures far away struggled to see the action.

The light exploded upward and Trawmod saw the earth fall inward: a sinkhole hundreds of feet across. Trawmod didn't see any fall into the hole although he mused that at least one goblin must have. The sound of the earth opening drowned out the screams of those who fell into its maw.

Trawmod stared at the pit and then noticed a wave of readying weapons starting at the sinkhole and pushing outward. After a moment Trawmod felt it too. An indescribable feeling of dread mixed with rage, like Trawmod faced life or death every moment. He wanted to defend himself but he knew not what against. The hobgoblins? Trolls? Each other? The Grand Archon didn't go over the rules well.

Then Trawmod saw the shambling white shapes crawl up from the ridges of the sinkhole and his heart sank with certain anticipation. More undead. The tactician dreaded the idea of trying to face this unknown enemy once again.

This was Bandos's idea of total War? Have the living fight the dead? No honor in felling a warrior who's been felled before. But his zeal overtook him at last as the enemy crawled its way from within the earth and Trawmod the ourg readied his heavy warhammer and defender, and charged.

Trawmod joined with another Ourg and the battalion of orcs he was leading as he ran toward the battle. However, the battle did not wait long to come to them. Just like Trawmod had seen when the hobgoblin arose from the earth at that goblin rally, skeletons and half-fleshed zombies erupted from the earth- some clawed their way into being, some simply appeared in the blink of an eye and began to search for dead flesh to make them whole once more.

From the cliffs, more undead swamped into the wasteland, leaving the fringes with just as difficult a fight as those near the sinkhole. Everywhere Trawmod saw combat and it felt glorious. This is how it should be. Perhaps the dead could provide sport worthy of glory. Trawmod felt the air change and his skin bristled with excitement as the ruddy orange sun finally sank behind the cliffs and dusk clouded his world. The undead would lose in the night, their own domain, and Trawmod would stand proud over them.

Trawmod and the ourg next to him fell into a combat cycle against their enemies. Most of the undead were shapes they've seen before. An orc, a troll, an ogre. But every once in a while, a shape would arise that resembled an ourg, but in a twisted way. These strong ourgish undead usually gathered enough flesh to make their appearance clear; they were not pure ourg. Trawmod wondered if they were the extinct fayrgs or one of Bandos's other crossbreeding experiments.

Trawmod's thoughts collapsed as he saw a spear sink through the shoulder of his battle partner, a spear held by a bony orc with no flesh on its skull. Trawmod must have imagined it was smiling, for that was impossible. With a twist of his huge hips Trawmod smashed the orc down with his hammer. Bones split and shattered but him hammer only came up wet with mud.

"The creatures..." The injured ourg said to Trawmod. "They come from the mud... and in death return to it... their numbers will never-" as she tried to utter the last phrase a skeletal goblin vaulted up the lodged spear and slashed a grin across the ourg's throat. Blood seeped like a fountain over the ground from the huge ourg as her last words were drowned in her death gurgles. She collapsed and lay prone on the ground, brought low by a goblin. An undead one, but a goblin no less. To see such heresy fueled Trawmod into hours of combat. His legs did not grow tired, his arms from swinging or his body from the wounds he suffered. A couple of slashes on his legs from short things cutting at him, an arrow or two stuck out of him where they pierced his armor and a gash was stuffed with material from Trawmod's clothes after a skeletal "ourg-ish" thing cut him with a spiked mace. But Trawmod still fought fluidly and defensively, saving other Bandosians, namely ourgs, where he could and trying to make a protective circle to defend against the undead tide.

The trouble a tactician faces in Total War comes from the fact that an enemy can materialize out of anywhere. He thought he was safe, no enemies close by, everyone at the ready and suddenly an ogress's battleaxe cleaved through the shoulders of the orc chief who Trawmod had begun to stick close to keep the bigger beasts from his tribe. They were not from Ziemadaa but in this war, it didn't matter. It was Bandosians versus death. And Trawmod watched the split orc tumble across the ground uselessly as his mom charged the zombie ogress who fell him.

After untold hours Trawmod found himself close to the sinkhole. It was enormous and the Ourg noticed every occasionally, a kick would send a form toppling into the black abyss - both undead or living.

Trawmod tried to survey the battlefield to see how the Bandosians were holding up. He noticed that the skeletons main advantage came from their surprise attacks, in combat they were no more skilled than an orc and they shattered or splattered usually with one swing of the hammer. The mages posed an issue as not many living Bandosians pursued magical arts - too knowledgy - and no one knew how to counter the hobgoblins, ogres, even goblins who were throwing magic earth and fire at their adversaries. Trawmod watched a hulking skeletal ourg with all but it's left arm - which was missing - covered in undead flesh channel gray magic through his arm and when he swung his fist, his enemy and everything along the trajectory of his swing was thrown back violently by an unseen force. Most of those thrown back were bloodied by the sheer force of the magic and some didn't rise. The beast continued its rampage. Trawmod kept an eye on it. He didn't want to come face to face with that magic soon.

As the cries of victory and calls for rally diminished in both frequency and volume, Trawmod knew that many Bandosians had lost their lives in this bloodbath for the glory of Bandos. For a moment Trawmod wondered if it would ever end, or if the dead would rule Yu'Biusk now and this was the last stand of the living.

Only a few minutes later, while Trawmod and the small retinue that had formed around him wiped mud from their faces and braced for a charge of more undead, dawn broke over the Knuckles of Kal and the mudmen were still. The giant mage, who had been making his way toward Trawmod, stopped midstep and visibly melted toward the ground, all sixteen feet of his stature turning to goo as his form ceased and he was with the mud once more.

Every undead creature looked to the sun and their bodies dematerialized. Trawmod was confused. He fought the first mud-hobgoblin in broad daylight, certainly the sun didn't destroy them. Something had terminated them. Something with power beyond even the giant mage.

As it had given un-life, it had taken it away.

Within minutes not a shambling skeleton or flesh-packed zombie could be seen anywhere on the great battlefield. Cries of victory went up from around the wasteland, pockets of survivors all celebrating their victory of the night.

Trawmod finally noticed one thing that was off about the night. He hadn't noticed at what point the Archons had disappeared, but they were certainly gone. With the Grand Archon's magnanimous exit and the following sinkhole perhaps they all escaped into the air in the chaos. Trawmod grew angry. They were Bandosians. Why should they not endure Total War to prove their devotion?

The Grand Archon hovered over the sinkhole, appearing as silently as a breeze. Its alabaster aura shone bright in the opening minutes of the day. "You have survived, warriors of Bandos." It said without enthusiasm, simply stating a fact. Scattered cheers went up but Trawmod just wanted to know if the ordeal was complete. While he was a Bandosian to the core and would fight every second until his death, the ourg suddenly felt the wounds he had acquired as his adrenaline stopped circulating. Trawmod looked over his body and decided that he'd seen corpses in better condition. The Total War had taken its toll, Bandos had his spectacle and many earned their life's glory during the night. But the Grand Archon's speech continued.

"Bandos congratulates you all. You have all faced the spirits of true Bandosians past, given the gift of fighting once more in the land of the living just for this occasion. This afterlife is yours to grasp if you seek it. Fight and die gloriously for Bandos!" The Archon declares, his voice deafening. Cheers went up from all around as the surviving cadres of Bandosians made their way back toward the center to received whatever reward awaited those who survived the Total War.

"And it is with great honor that as the second phase of this wonderful tournament -" the whole plain froze with the mention of a second phase. It wasn't over. Trawmod almost wept with shock. It wasn't over.

"- you will be invited to inspire others to this afterlife."

Trawmod breath left his chest and he saw the men and women of various species around him start eyeing each other.

"Bandos needs to know that every subject on his world will kill rather than be killed. So, for the second phase, Bandos offers him charm -" the Archon pointed to a yellowish-skinned ourg who then glowed brown, radiating outward from him visibly. The Archon then launched a flurry of attacks with the speared end of one if the bronze flags and every blow was deflected by the magical charm. "- but only when you pay his price."

For invulnerability from whatever came next Trawmod would pay about anything short his own life.

"Bandos demands that you slay one of your own in single combat. Goblins against goblins and mogres against mogres - assuming there are any of either left," the Archon spoke on a silent crowd. Trawmod saw other ourgs whose heads poked above the crowds looking around. One locked eyes with him and Trawmod quickly turned away.

"Kill." The archon ordered. "And bring your quarry to the sinkhole. Deposit the body of your enemy and receive Bandos' charm and immunity from other attacks on your life. Once you have the charm, cease your attacks by Bandos' command. He wants you to instead prepare for what will come next." The Archon finished his speech with a note of suspense and flashed away in a spot of white light.

The field stood frozen. The shock of a second, and it sounded like a potential third round of combat froze the thinking races to the ground. Trolls immediately began to grapple with each other and goblins began to argue who gets to kill who, but the greater races took a moment to appreciate their god who had prepared so elaborate a test for them. Many warriors looked around at their kin and realized that half of them were not destined to leave. But the war lust of Bandos permeated the thoughtfulness of his followers, and every creature gave way to the War God's will.

Trawmod drew his hammer, determined, for the first time in his life, to spill ourg blood.

The battlefield went from shocked silence into chaos in three quick steps. First, the zealous goblins and trolls, both seeking only to spill the first blood, start grappling with each other seeing who gets thrown into the pit first.

Then, solidarity swept over the assembled masses as doubters of Bandos thought this was the time to denounce the conniving War God and live for themselves. These fools got themselves hoisted into the pit by angry mobs before they were even dead.

And then chaos ensued and war shouts echoed from all sides. Every Bandosian had a target picked out who they thought was the weak link they could take advantage of, many of these same Bandosians were the weak link to another. Trawmod saw orcs tear limbs from each other as their mouths foamed with furious rage and desperation for survival. A hobgoblin cathartically hoisted the body of another who bore the same tribe-garb as he did and start towards the pit, but he was intercepted by two other hobgoblins, who quickly executed the burdened target and took a corpse each and made for the sinkhole, alliance intact and only having to spill the blood of one other themselves. As the bodies fell into the endless black the charm of Bandos flared to life around the two victors, proof that all Bandos asked was a body, not to spill the blood yourself. It was truly every creature for itself.

Trawmod was no fool. He knew that on the whole wasted plain there were maybe two hundred ourgs left after the night; their numbers on Yu'Biusk had never been very high due to their huge size and fiery tempers. And they stood so tall that only the curve of the planet hid the furthest ones from view. Every ourg knew where every other one was, and none wanted to make the first, foolish move. Jogres and trolls can kill each other all they wanted, even ogres and orcs, but an ourg's life was sacred. There would be no tricks or agreements. Every ourg would win Bandos's charm in single, honorable combat.

Trawmod would have to kill one of the least populous species on his plane or be killed himself.

Trawmod saw the first of the little beings running around with their Bandos charms gloating. Angry uncharmed survivors lashed out but found nothing could pierce the charm's aura. But the second a charmed creature laid a finger on another Bandosian, the charm self-destructed. Trawmod watched a gloating ogre get reduced to a cloud of dirt when his friendly punch connected with an uncharmed ogre's shoulder. The living ogre didn't miss a beat and began gathering the dirt, hoping that if he threw it into the sinkhole it would count as his kill.

The charmed victors gradually pulled away from the sinkhole by Bandos' command and the fighting became closer and closer to the gaping maw. Trawmod looked around in every direction for a sign of an attacking ourg or an unsuspecting one. He glimpsed his war-chief, Graardor, bring down both hands together on a heavily armored enemy, and it crumbled under the blow. Graardor was the strongest, no one could take that from him. He pulled one boot of his quarry over his shoulder and hauled the thousand-pound ourg and his additional half-ton of armor to the center like it was his daily grind. No other ourg made anything close to a move to intercept.

Trawmod's tactical observation finally came to an end when he whirled around to see an Ourgress, a female ourg who was chosen for a life of breeding instead of conquering. She was lightly armored and had only a banded wooden shield, no weapon. But the Ourgress stood tall, perhaps even a few inches taller than Trawmod, and her ferocious nature meant that this would be no mercy killing or offering. Trawmod would have to fight for his life.

Trawmod pulled his spiked hammer from its loop at his belt and a bladed defender from a sheath on his left. He was the only one he knew besides the orcs to use a "shieldblade" but he found it valuable when facing a frenzied opponent, which is exactly what the Total War turned out to be.

"Your name." The ourgress said calmly over the clamor of the battle. "Tell me it."

Trawmod hesitated. "As you wish. I am Trawmod from Ziemadaa, of clan Graardor."

The woman widened her stance and answered, "I am Rikka from Mt. Kolney of clan Zarador. May Bandos be with us." She said with a ring of finality.

"He always is." Trawmod answered the traditional blessing softly, and the fight began.

The ourgress sprung to Trawmod's left, the defender made it obvious which side was his off-hand. Rikka hoped to take advantage of this but Trawmod had dealt with many opponents who believed they had the same advantage.

Rikka closed in, shield in a bash position and Trawmod readied his feet to swing aside from the barge and crush her shield with his hammer. But his opponent abandoned the barge and instead leapt at Trawmod, her open hand ready to grip the ourg and break him. Trawmod felt her hand connect with his side and brought his defender over to dissuade her assault. The ourgress's hand retreated and Trawmod found himself on the high ground, Rikka still recovering from her high-momentum attack.

Trawmod crossed his huge arms at the wrists and held his defender - which was the size of a longsword to an orc - level with the ground as he gripped his hammer tight and prepared for an attack he himself didn't know yet. He couldn't communicate his attacks if he acted on instinct. It wasn't his favorite plan but he figured it stood a chance against an enemy who had his tactician's eye.

The ourgress whirled around and took cover behind her shield as the defender cut high, causing Rikka to duck below her shield by reflex, and Trawmod's powerful arm brought his hammer down and back up in an uppercut swing that shattered the four-inch thick shield into three pieces, the metal bands and handle falling away uselessly as the hammer carried it's momentum into the ourgress's hand. Trawmod heard her bones lose their positioning. He allowed his opponent to catch her breath, pausing for a moment to catch his own.

Suddenly the woman was around his calves, having lunged from her vulnerable position to one where she could try to upturn the male ourg. Trawmod felt her try to shift his balance but after freeing his left foot from her arms, his footing was as strong the War God himself. The ourgress released his calves and hurried to her feet, only to be greeted by a hammer blow to her right shoulder which crushed her light armor like an overbaked clay plate. She cradled her decimated shoulder and left her side open for Trawmod to feint another hammer attack, but when Rikka reacted she found that it was the defender piercing her thick skin.

Trawmod leapt back and prepared for a counterattack that would obviously not come. The ourgress had full control of neither her former shield-hand or her right hand and thick blood pooled down her leather leg-armor from her wounded side.

The ourgress got to her feet and attempted a grapple that failed as her two hands refused her mind's orders and she glanced off Trawmod like a dull arrow. She fell to half of the ourg tactician's height and clutched her bleeding side.

"Kill me for Bandos, ourg. I've played my role in his game." She sighed out, her voice confident and strong with only the slightest presence of defeat.

"Rikka of Clan Zarador, may you find your fight in the afterlife. For Bandos." Trawmod said dryly and cut the woman's throat with his defender, the way a soldier executes a prisoner with honor. To spare her misery, his hammer brought a much faster end to the dying ourgress.

Blood soaked Trawmod's left arm and around his knees from the killing blows he had struck. With a grunt Trawmod heaved Rikka's warm body over his shoulders behind his neck and laid her to rest in the sinkhole. He didn't know how to properly drop a body into a hole, so he simply held the woman in his arms at the sinkhole's edge and released her into a freefall, the body becoming obscured by darkness as it fell into unknown depths.

Trawmod felt pins and needles up and down his spine as the charm found him. He saw his own skin emit soft a soft brown aura with flecks of shining green and felt bittersweet pride. He was covered in ourg blood he had spilt. And while he had done it for the glory of Bandos, a small part of Trawmod wondered why Bandos would demand such a skilled warrior ourgress, not to mention being essential to the species' continuation, to be consumed by this game. There was no need for it except for Bandos' enjoyment. Solemnity fell on Trawmod as he realized that's the only reason he had done what he had done.

For Bandos.

He began to wander in thoughts of doubt for Bandos's whole scheme of the Total War- this wasn't war, it was a slaughter. A bloodbath where the living fought undying enemies and then their own kinsmen. It was cruel, and Trawmod wondered how much enjoyment Bandos could be getting out of it. As the ourg looked around, not many prayers to Bandos were being said any more. The victors stood or sat and some even lay down with their charmed auras glowing in the harsh light of late morning. No one reveled in their victories. Many had seen friends die today and some had killed them themselves. Today was a day of so much honor but no joy.

Trawmod sat on an outcrop and looked once again to the absent Archons on their rocks, having not returned from whatever sanctuary they were in. Anger flared in the ourg's heart as he realized that not only had the Archons not had to fight the Mud Men, but also none of their perfect groups of three was missing a member. They didn't need to murder each other for Bandos's favor. The thought crept into Trawmod's brain.

Did I need to earn Bandos's favor? Or is that just what I'm supposed to do?

His seditious thoughts broke off as the Grand Archon's resounding baritone once again echoed over the area. Trawmod looked to the sinkhole expecting to see a flare of white but the air was empty. The voice spoke, "Bandos congratulates those of you who have completed his challenge. You have earned great favor with your god on this day."

Cheers went up and Bandosians still fighting paused their skirmishes to listen to the message and wonder whether they still had to duel. Some fights continued nonetheless, a giant troll the size of an ourg-and-a-half finally overtaking a slightly smaller troll and tearing off its rocky head. Only dust burst from the wound as the troll threw the head into the sinkhole. But no charm surrounded his body.

The victors leaned forward. There was never a discussion about what would happen if you failed to complete Bandos' challenge on his unknown timetable. Some victors thanked Bandos for giving them haste. All eyes were on the uncharmed survivors.

The Archon's voice pulled at Trawmod's mind. He couldn't help but listen to its delivery of even more unwelcome news. It seemed the Archon spoke down to the remaining fighters even though his voice was omnipresent. "Bandos has found your will unsteady and your ferocity lacking. Your time is up, and you will be culled from the War God's flock."

The survivors erupted in protest and began to make their way towards the Archon in anger at its announcement. But nobody got far. Green fleshy tendrils shot up from the sinkhole, covered in moving, flowing material that Trawmod couldn't tell was moss, fire, or something else entirely. The tendrils grabbed their prey, anything that had once drawn breath, dead or alive, and with a snap, latched on and pulled them into the sinkhole. The tentacles looked small from his position, but one tendril could envelop an orc so that neither their ears nor feet could be seen, so Trawmod knew they were indeed massive.

In a matter of minutes hundreds of the flesh tendrils tore into the open air to find prey. Most of the living tried to run but found their flight to no avail. Any who stood to fight were crushed or swept away by the unknowable enemy who had nothing but swinging, grabbing, crushing death to give the followers of Bandos. The tentacles came near the victors but were repelled by Bandos's charm; they never came within inches of any victor. And every victor at this point had at least enough sense not to attack the big murder vine when they were momentarily invulnerable. Even the brainless trolls had a semblance of stoicness to them as their beady eyes watched their kinsmen and hundreds of other strangers get taken without glory and without honor.

The giant troll fought at the flailing tendrils, his huge club swinging but the moment one touched him, he fell limp in its grasp and the mobile mountain that was the living troll was effortlessly pulled to the War's epicenter and lost to the maw.

For the first time the field was silent. The tendrils reached for miles if they had to as they found the uncharmed, be they living or dead and dragged them in. One orc had tried to hide among a group of victors, hoping their collective auras would hide him. And his plan worked the tentacles couldn't get closer than an inch to him. But Trawmod watched as dozens of the huge things found their way to the hiding survivor, misshapen ends of the growths staring straight ahead with an eyeless glare at the orc. With a primal scream and a curse to the Archons the orc fell up on his own sword. The victors moved aside so that his body could be snapped up and the horrifying cleanup crew would move to another area of the field.

The tendrils came close to Trawmod several times. Their presence was unnerving. It wasn't just their exhibited strength and odd appearance. Although the exterior of every tendril appeared to crawl and tear and pop and reform instead as it moved, that's not what made the ourg afraid. What he feared was whatever force controlled them. Were they the appendages of some beyond-beast that stories had never mentioned? Were they manifestations of Bandos's will and purely divine in origin? Or were they machinations of the Archons who seemed invulnerable to the War so far? Trawmod's mind raced.

The field was soon empty of the uncharmed and those who remained cloistered together in solidarity. Hobgoblins stood shoulder to shoulder with ogres and trolls stood with jogres. Ice trolls and mogres sharpened their weapons sharing each other's tools. The incredible opposition had brought the warring species of the world together. Was this Bandos's plan for the War? To end the animosity between the races who followed him? It seemed unlike the War God but Trawmod entertained the possibility.

Nothing moved once the tendrils all completed their search to whatever master's satisfaction and disappeared back into the sinkhole. Trawmod thought of the Archon's warning. That they'd have to prepare for what came next. Trawmod prayed to Bandos vehemently to end the ruinous game and let the newly formed bonds of camaraderie in the Bandosians of Yu'Biusk lead them all home, wherever that may be now. Trawmod felt sick at all the lives lost in that hole in the last day- not even a full day! He wanted to retch but couldn't find the energy to do so. He, along with the rest of the world, was silent and still.

Trawmod surveyed the field for the hundredth time that day. He always found that a few minutes could make a world of difference in this event and he tried to keep himself updated. His mind was grim as he found the pockets of survivors were both not as common and not as populous as he had hoped. He counted goblins resting against the legs of standing trolls. Orcs fought the urge to sleep and wounded warriors, still filled with pride, slowly died from their injuries as the day wore on. The warriors of Bandos, who lived to fight for their god, had no more fight left to give.

It was almost an hour between the disappearance of the last of the green tendrils into the hole in the world and the Grand Archon's reappearance. Eyes filled with animosity turned to face the glowing being. Everyone had had enough of his declarations for a lifetime.

The archon's hands opened wide, and with a single loud pop composed of hundreds of smaller ones, the missing Archons materialized in a ring around the edge of the sinkhole; Trawmod wasn't close enough to see if they were floating as usual with their unneeded wings or if their feet touched the earth. It didn't matter to Trawmod. He had lost all respect for the Archons that day.

"Elite of Bandos!" The Grand Archon declared, a detectable note of delight in his voice. "You've done it! Each of you has proven your worth to Bandos and have been promised an afterlife with your god!" The Archon seemed to wait for cheers; but none came.

"Your charms will now be removed." The voice boomed, noticeably less chipper after the lack of rejoicing at his announcement. Trawmod was emotionless as he watched the aura fizzle out along with the wards of everyone around him. Their invulnerability had ended and Trawmod was once again unsure if he'd see another sunset. The sun burned bright yellow in the air and the sky was blue and green waves on a sea of light brown. It would be beautiful if not for the scent of congealing ourg blood beneath Trawmod's nose.

" As you have been tested..." The Archon began, and the powerful being seemed to hesitate before he could say what he had to. "... So too shall the favored servants of Bandos. As you have proven your value so too must we, against you, the Elite Vanguard of Yu'Biusk."

Trawmod felt the war lust return as he glanced down the perfect ring of almost identical forms - it was a prayer answered! The Archons were now their declared targets. The thought made Trawmod salivate and he saw the attention of every other Bandosian on the plain perk up.

"You are all, as of this moment, no longer tribes or clans. You are no longer exiles or nomads. You are one society forged in the heat of Total War and by the power of Bandos's command. And we Archons shall cool your red-hot fury into the keen instruments you are destined to be. Goblins, rally with your brown-skinned cousins! Mogres, fear no more the land as you are as welcome to it as the races without webs on their feet! Ogres and hobgoblins will learn magic together from each other's masters, and Yu'Biusk will be a world beyond reckoning."

"An invader has made his presence known, loyal of Bandos." The Archon spoke and bore a hint of alarm. "This threat is unseen but loudly heard by our master. Where he has before been able to toss out invaders like Skargaroth or Tuska with our help, what's coming is far older and far, far subtler. It is no being on wanton destruction, but a calculating infiltrator. Bandos commands our vigilance. And he knows that no single force can defeat a god the War God himself cannot detect. So, he has declared that Yu'Biusk engage in Total War to prepare for whatever war comes this way from a place beyond Yu'Biusk."

The gathered crowds mumbled softly. Trawmod was silent; he only ground his teeth and glared at the white ring around the hole, sometimes even ambitiously looking up to the speaking Archon, his arms still spread wide. Maybe Trawmod could shut him up. The rage in the ourg's heart trampled his understanding of what the Archon was announcing. There were bigger threats but to the Vanguard of Bandos, none more immediate than the untouched Archons.

"To celebrate the creation of this global defense, Bandos has given us the knowledge of authority, and every Archon has inscribed a holy image with their understanding of it."

With a choreographed movement, each of the Archons extended a metal object about the size of a goblin that flickered with the same aura as their own bodies. Trawmod squinted and made out that every shape was a jagged Kyzaj, the symbol of Bandos. The many Kyzaj the Archons held disappeared suddenly and the assembled Archons resumed their previous stance.

"Collect this knowledge of authority from the Archons by besting them in any way you can. The more you collect, the greater your position when Bandos's new society is formed. Every Archon has one gift to give and will give it when their defeat is assured, nothing less, so do not hesitate for our sakes." The crowd snorted as the thought of sparing an Archon crossed its cumulative mind. They hoped to spill whatever ran in their unseen veins.

"Vanguard of Bandos..." The Grand Archon began before suddenly disappearing and reappearing on the ground, the two bronze flags bearing Bandos's commandments in its hands. With a flourish the other Archons free their weapons; swords, staves, wands, bows, and things beyond recognition. "... claim your authority."

The first true rally cry rang forth from Trawmod's left and he answered Graardor's familiar war shout. Finally, an enemy worth killing. His tribe - former tribe - at his back. And the promise of real society on Yu'biusk. All he had to do was survive and take his authority from the vile things arranged in their perfect ring.

Every Bandosian, mortal or Archon, had their weapons drawn. The two forces moved at first slowly but as the distance closed, the inner ring of white coming to head with the inward-collapsing outer nodes of survivors, everything began to move faster. Trawmod's legs carried him to battle, and fury overcame him as he began his battle against the War God's favored.

It became clear very quickly that blind rage would not overcome their enemy.

The white ring split into two as every other Archon halted and prepared to attack from a range as the outer ring spread their wings wide, keeping the circle unbroken, and free their weapons for melee combat. Arrows, stones, and darts hurled from far away were deflected on alabaster shields or knocked from the air with impossible fast movements. A few Bandosian warmages began to channel their hate-fueled magic but found their enemies' wards too powerful to break when their full concentration could be kept on protecting themselves. The old, wise mages ceased, and there was a gravitational pull toward the outer ring of the Archons as the melee began and the War God watched.

The Archons moved fast, but not especially fast. Trawmod had seen trolls move faster, albeit they were the fastest race in his world. The Archons were strong but the ourgs were stronger, few of them though there were. And they were organized, far more than any other race present. This organization gave them an upper hand that crushed their opposition.

The roused rabble crashed into the line of white warriors with bloodlust and war cries loud but cut short by the Archon's ruthless counter. An Archon directly in front of Trawmod held aloft a double-edged broadsword in two hands as a goblin's corpse slid down it from point to handle. With a very non-ceremonious slash in their air the goblin's body was thrown aside and the Archon found a new opponent.

Trawmod noticed that the Archons never broke their rings. The outer ring pushed outward in an unstoppable tide and the inner ring began to fling projectiles, both physical and magical, into enemy territory. They weren't aiming anywhere in particular, just blazing a trail for the outer ring to keep pushing. Trawmod's thoughts rushed as his feet ground to a halt, still some fifty feet from the encroaching line. There had to be a better way than throwing themselves against an unbreakable line of -

Yes. That's it. Trawmod had an idea. He bellowed orders out but no one heeded. Bloodlust ran too deep and he had never had a commanding voice. He watched more of his brothers and sisters charge the impenetrable line.

Suddenly behind him he heard a voice growl and bellow almost as loud as the Grand Archon, "MOVE BACK, MAGGOTS!"

Fights paused as even the Archons were caught off guard, although for only a moment. Then Bandosians scrambled backwards away from the sinkhole and the encroaching line.

"Graardor hopes you had a reason for retreat." The ourg chief said harshly to the tactician. Graardor stood a good two feet higher and in his armor, was roughly half again the size of Trawmod. But he answered back, unswayed by Graardor's intimidating stature,

"Yes. Just spread the word. Get Zarador and Cleffus on board and make sure the ogres and trolls aren't too proud to follow and ourg's command that they'd rather butcher themselves against the Archons while they're shoulder to shoulder."

Graardor huffed hot air and pulled a mighty war horn from his belt - each of the ourg chiefs had one. With a mighty force Graardor sounded the horn, it's sound higher than Trawmod imagined, as he had never heard one used before. They were tools of communication and ourgs didn't often partake in such trifles.

Trawmod suddenly hurried back a few steps as the Archon line came within ten feet of him and continued to press. He was on the front line now, most of the Bandosians in the area had pulled away from the outer ring at Graardor's command.

Trawmod saw the first flash of earthy brown between the wings of two approaching Archons. His plan was working.

As the Archons continued their organized march outward, their impressive numbers no longer created a tight, unbroken circle. As the diameter of the outer ring increased, the Archons had to adjust to keep their spacing and protect the inner ring. But it was this desire for organized warfare that would lead the Archons to ruin... or at least Trawmod hoped.

He goaded the Archons further onward, throwing rocks and hurling insults at them and whatever maternal figures an Archon might have. No Archon broke the line but the collective speed of the ring's expansion seemed to increase. Far across the field he saw yellow Zarador at the front of his force which was mostly moving backwards. Green-skinned Cleffus directed his troops away from the Archons as well. Graardor was soon beside him, his horn ready to sound again and close Trawmod's trap.

As Trawmod retreated at the same speed the Archons advanced, one thing he didn't consider occurred. The Archons broke into a run. No longer did their steps echo in time on the ground and their movements could be measured. In a blink, every warrior in the outer ring burst forward, weapons raised, as if a silent shout had been heard from an unknown commander. Trawmod triple-backpedaled as two came almost directly at him.

One approaching Archon hesitated in his sprint so that Graardor's massive fist landed in front of it, crushing the bare earth. Graardor grumbled and swatted the white warrior with an idle backhand and it became the first Archon to break the impenetrable circle as it tumbled backwards.

Trawmod met the other Archon with his hammer and shieldblade, parrying the heavy, aggressive attacks laid on him by the Archon's greatsword. Trawmod waited until the furthest Archon was at least a few moments away...

And he bellowed for the world to hear,

"FOR BANDOS!"

Graardor answered him with two short blasts on the horn, and the battlefield inverted.

Gaps between the Archons made passages from the tiny fast goblins to break through and make for the inner ring to hassle the Archons who fought from far away. Mages unleashed buried traps, rings and lines of fire and smoking earth that separated Archons from their kin. Archers prepared fully-drawn shots to pierce the Archons' defenses and retreating warriors by the hundreds turned on their heels and furiously attacked their now-disorganized enemy.

Trawmod gave a toothy grin as two longbows plunked behind him and two arrows found the neck of the greatsword-wielding Archon. It hesitated, and before Trawmod could follow up, the Archon disappeared in a flash of white light.

At his feet lay the enchanted kyzaj. The ourg looked around the make sure none of the bright warriors was approaching before leaning down to touch the glowing metal -

And as soon as his finger brushed the cold metal, it vanished. His trophy disappeared. But as if to acknowledge his victory, a crack of white lightning shot across the cloudless sky and thunder boomed somewhere far away, its sound soft but earth-snakingly low.

Trawmod stood and saw another bolt of lightning crash over the sky. Then two more in quick succession. Perhaps the War God was keeping score after all.

Trawmod engaged the scattered Archon melee forces with vigor as the survivor's superior numbers and greatly-different sizes, skills, and tactics put almost every Archon on the defense. Trawmod joined fight after fight, each was decided in moments as the Archon either fought back his attackers and took to the air, free of the ambush, or it was overwhelmed and departed in a familiar white flash.

Bandosians scrambled for the kyzaj the Archons dropped at their defeat but it seemed that every fight had a destined winner, and the kyzaj could not be so much as nudged by anyone but the chosen. Trawmod noticed that the most ferocious orcs or precise goblin archers earned the prize. Trawmod himself earned two more as his hammer and blade withstood assaults and dealt crippling blows.

The ambush lost its momentum eventually, however, and the Archons, while no longer in their formation, put themselves into tactically better positions with their gift of flight- they moved faster and beyond the reach of many warriors who fought hand-to-hand. Trawmod huffed at their cowardice as the swords and axes retreated to the cover of bows and magic.

Trawmod pressed the advantage and shouted out a war cry that was echoed by the other Bandosians who ran ahead at his back into the Archon lines.

No longer were the Archons mechanical and systematic. Trawmod had thrown a wrench in that machine, and now every one of them fought only by their own skill. Lightning and thunder crashed across the sky as Archons were defeated and teleported away. Trawmod wondered if they could be killed at all, or perhaps if their death was that silent flash and they were no more after leaving their kyzaj behind.

As if in answer to his question, he heard a high-pitched whining close by. He found the source of it at the end of an orc assassin's dagger buried deep into the neck of a flickering Archon, its very form seeming to bend in and out of existence. The air itself creamed and groaned and the whining grew louder until with a soft whoosh, the Archon's body fell away in motes of white light which faded into nothing. An Archon could be killed, Trawmod thought in wonder.

The assassin picked bent to pick up the enchanted kyzaj, and as he knelt a bronze shaft appeared on either side of her heart as the Grand Archon came into existence with his weapon already striking down the victorious orc.

"BANDOS!" the Archon's voice responded loudly, its anger palpable. "You made a promise with me, War God!"

The shouts echoed into the din of battle and the Grand Archon pulled the bronze flag from the dead orc.

You.

The voice was loud but no one else but Trawmod seemed to hear it.

Thinker. Strategist. Tactician.

The voice dripped with venom and Trawmod concluded the Archon's voice was in his head.

You rally your mortals and slay the divine. You reach beyond your purpose, ourg.

The Archon approached Trawmod and seemed to grow with each step. His wings spread wide and took up all Trawmod's vision. Its faceless void where the head should be glared down at Trawmod. The Archon's bronze standards were held in fists shaking with rage.

Bandos has no need for a strategist, mortal.

The voice in his head consumed his thoughts and Trawmod watched the Archon, now at least twenty feet in stature approach him with the pointed ends of both standards facing him. He was coming in for an execution.

Trawmod fought against the mental hold the wicked Archon held over him but was helpless as he watched the points rise before him and careen toward him, helpless to stop it.

Come, said a different voice in his head.

Trawmod imagined a hand in his mind which he took, and time ceased to be.