Deus Necros

“Grath,” Ludwig locked eyes with the massive orc.

The burning settlement sat behind them like a wound that refused to close. Smoke rose in a steady column that leaned with the wind, and even from this distance, Ludwig could taste the ash in the back of his throat, a dry bitterness that clung to the tongue.

The grass around the blackened ruins had been trampled into muddy paths by fleeing feet and pursuing feet, and the air carried that faint, sick mix of scorched wood, cooked fat, and damp earth trying and failing to smother the smell.

Ludwig’s new orc body registered it all differently than his usual one, the scent sharper, the heat of the fire more present, but he kept his face flat. The Tower wanted a reaction. Ludwig preferred information.

“Yes, chieftain,” The burly creature replied, all too eager to be given a task.

Grath’s eyes were bright, the kind of brightness that came from a warrior being offered direction after wandering without one.

He stood with his shoulders squared and his weapon held like it was already thirsty. Ludwig could feel how the other orcs behind him waited on Grath’s tone, as if the old leader’s enthusiasm gave them permission to be enthusiastic too. That was useful. It also meant Ludwig had to steer it carefully or it would become noise.

“Tell me, who killed those guys?” Ludwig asked as he pointed toward the burning settlement.

The settlement was not a story. It was evidence. Ludwig’s mind ran through possibilities while he waited. Raid. Ritual. Territory dispute. A warning to rivals. A test of strength. Becoming king was a trial that likely began with blood, and the Tower had made sure the first blood was already spilled.

Grath turned his head, “The Red Tusk tribe.” Grath replied as if that was all the information that anyone needed to understand the situation.

The name came out like a verdict, simple and final. Ludwig watched Grath’s jaw tighten as he said it, and saw the faint twitch of anger in the orc’s expression. Red Tusk was not just a faction name to Grath. It was personal, or at least familiar enough to feel like an old insult.

“How many tribes are there in these plains?”

Kaiser’s orc form looked wrong in a different way than Grath’s. Less built for brawling, more built for enduring long hours of annoyance. His tone made it clear he already disliked this trial’s premise. Ludwig did not blame him. Politics with suppressed stats sounded like a slow death.

“Hmm, Many.” He replied.

Kaiser stared at Grath for a moment, the kind of stare that tried to pull more words out by force alone.

Grath did not seem to understand what the problem was. Ludwig understood immediately. Many was not a number. Many was what people said when they didn’t want to think.

“This guy is as useful as tits on a boar…” Kaiser muttered.

“Boar tits are good when roasted,” Grath added.

Ludwig curled his lips, almost amused, and the amusement came with irritation right behind it. Grath’s answer was exactly what a fighter gave when asked a strategist’s question. Ludwig couldn’t change Grath’s nature in an hour. He could only use it and aim it.

“Do you have a settlement?”

“We do, up toward the setting sun. Good food, good water. But danger.”

Ludwig followed Grath’s gesture toward the west, seeing only grassland and distant tree lines, but the orc spoke with certainty. Ludwig noted the phrase but danger. Danger was vague, but at least it implied there was something consistent enough to be named.

“What sort of danger?” Ludwig asked.

“The Lizardman Tribe lives near. That’s why we came out to search for a new settlement or new people to fight.”

The honesty was almost refreshing. Not a new settlement to be safe. New settlement to fight. Ludwig absorbed that and adjusted his mental model. Orcs here were not motivated by comfort alone. They were motivated by conflict. That could be exploited.

“I see. How many other races are here?”

“Us, trolls, ogres, goblins, and Lizardman.”

“Five different races…” Ludwig thought for a second, “Any of them have a king?”

“Yes, goblins have king. Very strong. And very cunning. Hard to deal with when they are always together, and they never fight fair.”

The mention of goblins gave Ludwig an immediate anchor. Goblins meant organization, greed, and survival instinct sharp enough to compensate for weak bodies. A goblin king being described as very strong and very cunning meant the Tower had likely elevated the role beyond the usual petty scavenger behavior. It also meant if kingship existed, there was a framework of authority already in place. Ludwig did not like improvising under time pressure. Frameworks could be abused.

“I see,” Ludwig thought for a second.

Orcs could be pointed like spears. Goblins had to be cornered like rats, and rats bit hardest when desperate. Ludwig’s mind began stacking priorities. Secure base. Stop bleeding resources. Gain manpower. Remove immediate threats. Then consider the goblin king, because clever enemies multiplied risk.

“Let’s go to your settlement for now,” Ludwig said.

“It is full of lizardmen, we lost the territory…”

“We’ll reclaim it then, and after that, we’ll hunt the Red Tusk tribe,” Ludwig said.

The decision came out clean, and Ludwig watched what it did to the orcs around him. The plan offered exactly what they wanted: a fight now, and another fight after. It also gave direction. Orcs without direction became a mob. Ludwig needed an army, even a crude one.

The orcs that came with Grath all looked at each other and then back at Ludwig. Seeing his ’thirst’ for battle ignited theirs.

Their expressions shifted like a fire catching dry wood. A moment ago they had been uncertain, evaluating the new chieftain. Now they saw a leader who promised blood. In this scenario, that was legitimacy.

“HORAAA!” they howled as one when they realized that they got to spill blood soon.

“Lead the way, Grath,” Ludwig said, and the giant creature moved ahead of the group.