The discovery of the troll tooth sent a wave fear through the cavern that morning. The older orcs, the ones who had heard the stories from their grandmothers, had their faces go pale from fear. The younger ones, the ones who had grown up in the relative safety of Grummok's reign, all looked confused, as their brittle shield against a terror they could not yet comprehend became a reality.
Ruk however, did not have the luxury of fear now, he had the burden of command being the War General. The troll threat was no longer a myth, but a clear and present danger as a shadow had fallen over his new world order and he knew, with a certainty that how he responded to this crisis would define his legacy as War General.
He did not panic but instead he acted and honed his mental state by a lifetime of quiet observation and a year of brutal, relentless survival as a whelp as he went into a state of cold overdrive. He was no longer Aiden Cross, the quiet, unassuming human. He was Ruk, the War General of the Black Tusk Clan and he would not let his people be slaughtered.
His first order was to lock down the cavern starting with the main entrance, there was a massive gaping hole of an entrance in the side of the mountain, he had it sealed with a hastily constructed barricade of rock, timber and sharpened stakes. It was a crude but effective, defense, a physical and psychological barrier against the coming storm.
His second order was to send out more scouts, not the deep mountain scouts, the ones who had vanished into the lower tunnels. He sent out his new elite reconnaissance teams, the ones he had been training for the past week. They were not the brawlers of the old way but now were quiet, patient and disciplined.
They were his eyes and ears.
He gave them specific instructions not to engage and not to fight. They were to observe and map the enemy's movements. To learn their numbers, patterns, strengths and their weaknesses. He was fighting a new kind of war with information of intelligence and strategy. A war that the trolls with their brute force and their primitive minds could not and would not be prepared for.
His third and most important order was to accelerate the training, so he had drills become more intense with the formations more complex and the discipline being more absolute. He was forging his new army in the fires of a looming crisis with the threat of the trolls a constant pressure on his mind. The warriors with their fear now channeled into a new and focused aggression were training with a ferocity they had never known before. They were no longer just fighting for glory but were fighting for their lives.
But it was Ruk's fourth order that was the most revolutionary and the most controversial to the system he created. He went to Grummok and did not ask for permission nor beg for help. He presented a plan.
"We cannot fight them in the open" Ruk said with a respectful voice as he stood before the Alpha's throne. "They are too strong and too numerous. They will crush us with their sheer numbers so we must fight them in the tunnels. In the chokepoints, in here their numbers count for nothing and our discipline counts for everything"
Grummok listened as his expression turned into a mixture of amusement and a new respect for the War General. The whelp was not just a killer but also a thinker.
"And how do you propose we do that little War General?" Grummok asked in almost amusement. "The tunnels are a maze and a deathtrap. We will be as blind as they are"
"Not if we have a map" Ruk replied in a firm and confident tone. He then unrolled a large, crudely drawn but surprisingly detailed map of the upper tunnels. It was a map he had been creating in his mind since the day he had arrived in the cavern and had been refining with every hunt and exploration with every quiet, solitary journey into the dark.
"We will lure them into the tunnels" Ruk explained with his finger tracing a path on the map. "We will lead them into a series of prepared ambushes, traps and dead ends. We will bleed them, exhaust them, break them and then, when they are weak, when they are confused, when they are demoralized! we will crush them!"
It was a plan of such breathtaking and utterly ruthless efficiency that even Grummok was impressed. He had expected a plea for help but he had received a declaration of war.
"You have my blessing, War General" Grummok said with a slow and cruel smile spreading across his face. "But know this. If you fail, if you lead my warriors to their deaths, I will not be merciful nor will I be kind. I will personally tear you limb from limb and feed your entrails to the Grawlers"
It was not a threat.
It was a promise that Ruk, with a cold unwavering certainty, knew that the Alpha would keep.
"I will not fail, Alpha" Ruk replied. He then bowed and walked away, the weight of his new responsibility settling upon his shoulders like a shroud.
The first encounter came two days later.
One of Ruk's reconnaissance teams, a group of three of his best scouts, was patrolling a narrow winding tunnel deep in the mountain's heart. They were moving with a quiet efficiency, their senses on high alert and their weapons at the ready.
They heard it before they saw it.
A low growl, a sound that was not of the mountain, but of something… hungry and angry. Something that was very, very close.
They froze with their bodies instantly going rigid. They flattened themselves against the tunnel wall with their green skin a perfect camouflage in the dim flickering torchlight. They waited with their hearts pounding in their chests as they held their breath in a silent and desperate prayer.
And then they saw it.
It was a Stone-Hide Troll. It was a monster of myth and legend, a creature of nightmare and terror. It was ten feet tall with its body a misshapen mass of muscle and rock with skin a thick, grey and almost impenetrable hide. Its eyes were small, black and filled with a cold intelligence. Its mouth was a gaping maw of jagged broken teeth, its breath a foul charnel stench of rot and decay.
It was not alone.
There were two more of them behind with their hulking forms filling the narrow tunnel. They were a scouting party and the first wave of the coming storm.
The orc scouts stayed calm as their training kicking in, they did not panic. They observed and analyzed as they looked for a weakness, a vulnerability and a chink in the monster's armor.
And they found one. The trolls, for all their strength and size were slow. They were clumsy and not built for the narrow, winding tunnels of the mountain. They were built for open spaces and overwhelming charges.
It was a small weakness and flaw, but it was enough for them to use.
The lead scout, an orc named Zog gave the signal. It was a low click of his tongue. It was the signal they had practiced a hundred times in the past week that meant one thing: attack.
They did not charge or roar but moved with a quiet, deadly and utterly ruthless efficiency. Zog the fastest of the three darted forward with his spear in frenzy. He did not aim for the troll's thick stony hide but for its eyes. For the soft, vulnerable and unprotected flesh that knew was a weak point for the troll's.
The troll roared in pain and rage as the spear tip sank into its left eye and made him thrash about, its massive club like fists smashing against the tunnel walls and sending a shower of rock and dust into the air.
But it was too late.
It was blind and disoriented but most importantly was now vulnerable.
The other two scouts moved in for the kill but with their training remembered to not attack from the front. They attacked from the sides and the rear, their spears and daggers finding the soft flesh of the troll's underbelly, they went for its joints and its throat. It was a bloody and one sided affair. The troll for all its strength and its size, was no match for the orcs' speed.
It fell with a ground shaking thud as its black blood spilled out like a river that pooled on the tunnel floor. The other two trolls seeing their comrade fall did not charge or roar. They hesitated and were confused by what they just saw. They had never seen anything like this before. They had never seen prey that fought back with such… intelligence.
It was a fatal hesitation.
The orc scouts with their blood now up had pressed their advantage. They moved with a coordinated and lethal grace.
The other two trolls did not last long as they were overwhelmed and dismantled. They died with a whimper, as their massive bodies collapsed to the tunnel floor with their black blood a testament to the orcs' terrifying prowess.
The three scouts stood over the bodies of their fallen enemies with their chests heaving and bodies slick with sweat and blood. They had done it and faced the monster of their nightmares and won.
They did not celebrate or gloat, instead they worked and took the trolls' teeth, claws and hearts. They took trophies of their accomplishment and they took proof. Then... they vanished back into the darkness as their mission was complete and left a message clear.
The Black Tusk Clan was no longer the prey.
They were the predators and the trolls were the monsters who had come to feast on their flesh, they were about to learn a new and very painful lesson. The lesson of fear.