IT was dawn in the World's Edge Mountains, and Thokk, of the Evil Skarz orc tribe was beginning his day. His goblin slave Runt had very timidly awoken him, lightly shaking the pile of reeking hides Thokk slept on. Runt had soon been rewarded with the first beating of the day. A light one, for Thokk was in a good mood today. And why shouldn't he be? Today he challenged Old Scar for the position of Boss. Thokk was sure he'd win; he was younger, stronger, and smarter. Also, Old Scar had lost an eye and three fingers on his left hand in the last battle with the Ogres.

Thokk thought about this as he ate his breakfast (one of the squigs Runt had scavenged from the Drops, and some fungus wine). When he was Boss, they'd take the fight to the Ogres, and stop their raids once and for all. "Nowhun c'n git away wif treatin' Orcses like dat, leas' of all dem fat gitz" Thokk grumbled to himself "Ol' Scar'z fergot wat Da Odds want fum us ". He nodded to himself, secure in the knowledge that Gork and Mork (the 'Odds' as he called them) were firmly on his side. After all, they loved brave and thoughtless warriors. Old Scars talk of strategy and plans was anathema to them, and smelled of human-thinking.

Before he set out he made sure to take his weapons. A talisman the tribes shaman had secretly given him, his horned helmet, plus an axe looted from the High Elves. It was light as a feather, sharp as could be, and could chop through just about anything. Thokk had named it Rippa, because of the wy it ripped through enemies. Much better than its Elf name, "Shining Hope".

Honestly, only Elves…

Filled with a sense of imminent importance, Thokk strode out of the hut into the cold air. The atmosphere was filled with the sounds and smells of an Orc settement. The clang of a forge, the clashing of weapons, the grunting and farting of the boars, the squealing of goblins, and the rough brutal voices of the orcs themselves. The smell would have been unbearable to a human, but the orcs didn't even notice it. After all, it was THEIR smell; a mixture of stale sweat, dried (and fresh) blood, droppings and badly cured hides.

He marched boldly up to the Boss Tent, notable in that it was the biggest one around and that it was made of the skins of fallen enemies, and thepoles were made of bone. Humans, Ogres, Orcs, Elves, Dwarfs, even Skaven and mutants had made contributions. Thokk was filled with pride and wonder at his peoples might. He couldn't wait until it was all his.

"SCAR!" He bellowed. This wasn't really necessary (there was nothing wrong with the old gits hearing) but it was part of his challenge to show who yelled loudest "SCAR!"

"WHUT!" came the reply from inside. Old Scar was loud but not quite loud enough. Thokk grinned, the first round was almost his

"GIT YERSELF OUT HERE! NOW!" Thokk roared, his green face turning reddish-black with the effort. "I'ZE HERE T'CHALENGE YOU!"

The old Orc stomped outside, carrying his magical club, the Hitty Stik. His green frame bulged with muscles and was covered with scars and tattoos. Scar was a feral orc, from one of the primitive tribes far to the south. He had joined their tribe and begun using metal weapons, but had kept his magic tattoos. Orcs of the Evil Skarz had taken to getting tattooed to look like da Boss, but Thokk felt that it wasn't "civ'lized" and a further sign of how Scar was ruining the tribe.

"Yeh? So, you gonna to more'n jus' talk, ya pansy git? Les' party" Scar growled and charged forward, the Hitty Stik raised. The club was enchanted to be nearly unbreakable and to hit really really REALLY hard. Thokk knew he'd have to be careful.

He dodge left, letting the blow pass him by, at the same time aiming a bllow from Rippa at Scar's midriff. The blow should have chopped the Orc Boss in two, but instead was deflected by the magic of the tattoos, just enough to turn a killing blow into a deep cut. The Boss was now bleeding profusely from the wound. In a human this would have made Thokk's eventual victory all but certain, as blood loss made the foe progressively weaker. Scar was an Orc however, and so much tougher than any weedy human. The wound would slow him a little, but not much. Not enough.

The Hitty Stik was legendary among Orcs. Whoever had it was basically invincible in single combat; the only way to take the Bosshood (and the item itself) was through low cunning or treachery. Normally, Thokk would have approved of either choice, but not here. He wanted to stomp the Feral Orcs face, and let the entire tribe know just who the biggest baddest orc of them all was.

That was proving harder than he'd thought, though. A blow from the Hitty Stikk made it through Thokk's defenses and crashed down on his metal helmet. The helm took the blow, but shattered. Well Thokk thought betta me 'at dan me 'ed

Thokk managed to ignore the pain just long enough to land the final blow. An underhand swing that landed squarely between Old Scar's massive legs. The talisman around his neck glowed, and the glow spread to Rippa, allowing the axe to ignore the magic of the tattoos. The Boss Orc let out the highest, loudest scream Thokk had ever heard. If I'da knowed he could scream like dat, I wouda givven 'im anudda chance as Boss he thought. Blood exploded from the wound, gallons of black liquid staining the ground. Within seconds it was all over. Thokk was now the Boss of the Evil Skarz.

Dis is GREAT! But… now waddooo I do?

End Chapter 1

Chapter 2 will only come if I see reviews.