Do you know of dragons, little one?
They are lumbering beasts with rippling muscles that scream power. They are beings of old that once littered the skies like the spilt ink of pens, and dominated all battlefields with a ruthlessness unseen since.
This tale is one such as that. This tale, of a time before Evanok the one eyed beast, is a story of honour and might knowing no limitations.
Though known commonly as Ogos, our hero chose simply the name of Ogo, preferring the mundane in most things. He was an Orc unlike his peers. Where they valued strength of a physical kind, Ogo preferred the wisdom of words. Where they demanded violence, Ogo saw the advantages of peace. He could see what others at the time could not.
Though this knowledge did not serve him well. At least not at first.
Ogo often fell victim to the ridicule and shame for views too advanced for their time. His ideas were mocked and discouraged because they did not fall among the ideas of those that could wield blades. Blades as long as Ogo was tall.
Though on the eve of a snow storm unlike any that had passed before, and any to pass since, Ogo was to become a leader in a way he had never before. In battle.
Without warning and without mercy, the Orcs of Ogo’s tribe fell casualty to a monster even the bravest of them could not fell. A bear of steel harder than granite, and of might stronger than fire.
In a haze of fruitless violence, the Orcs were defeated that night. The bear and it’s Human masters had slaughtered many, and taken all resources ensuring a safe winter.
Hard times lay ahead.
Though there was one among the battered survivors that did not weep and cower for the days coming. There was one who dared to see a future of retaliation.
It was Ogo who spoke, bringing light to the sunless day.
“I know a way,” he said.
Confused, they looked to him with lifeless expressions. How could an Orc as small as Ogo know how to fight the Humans?
“Come see,” he told them.
And see they did. From a device no bigger than Ogo’s hand, the little Orc called to him a creature gone for thousands of years. A monster long dead.
A voracious dragon of metal.
Frightened, but with a courage they had thought lost, the Orcs joined their new machine of war in the heart of the dragon’s belly. And Ogo took his place on the steely spiked scales above.
And so they flew with a quivering rage in their hearts, to return to the humans the same ruthless fury they had felt only hours ago.
Ogo’s creation managed to land the Orcs safely within the Human’s walls, though only after falling from the skies. Damaged, it was unable to fight.
But the Orcs took up their war cries nevertheless and brandished their axes for what they thought was the last time.
Hearing their cries, the steel bear awoke from its slumber with a thunder loud enough to wake those that slept deep below.
The Orcs saw their end.
Though it was not to be. Not that day.
With only seconds to spare, Ogo remedied what was broken and breathed life anew into his creation.
What followed was a fight fit for legends. A fight so ferocious and mad those that lived to tell of it speak only in hushed tones.
The Sun rose that morning to a fate far different from the one it had left the night before. The Orcs stood victorious, and the Humans defeated. It was that day the Orcs learned not all strength came from a sword’s swing.
Ogo returned home a warrior in every right, and was soon crowned chief of all those he had saved.
And thus little one, the Screwhead tribe was born.
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