Contestants:

  Morning light bathed the stronghold in a pale gold as Kraken, Rocka, Goram, and Traken prepared for the day ahead. Alkaia stood by the doorway, masking her anguish beneath a brave smile.

  “Good luck, boys. Do your best… and please come home safe,” she whispered, worry threading her voice.

  Kraken placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “Do not fret, love. They will fight well.”

  As the orc men made their way toward the arena, Rocka’s thoughts drifted as the other clans and warriors started to amass around them. The weight of the day pressed on him, heavier than any armor. Whispers followed him through the crowd—quiet, cutting, unmistakably about him. His jaw tightened.

  “Well… today’s the big day,” he muttered to himself. “Whatever happens, happens.”

  Goram’s voice snapped him back. “Rocka. You ready? Because I’m not going easy—and neither will they.” He nodded toward the gathering contestants, each one a wall of muscle and reputation.

  The arena roared with life. Warriors assembled in ranks, banners raised, spectators filled the stands, and the scent of dust and iron hung thick in the air. Kraken ascended the stage, his presence commanding silence.

  “Brothers!” his voice thundered. “Welcome to the Thirty?Second Tengwar Tournament! Today, our finest warriors will vie for my title of battle master—and for the right to stand as patriarch of their clans.”

  A wave of cheers rolled across the arena. Rocka swallowed hard, caught between pride and dread.

  Kraken raised his staff, calling the clans to formation.

  “The clans of our stronghold are more than divisions—they are pillars. Each bears its own legacy, forged through history, leadership, and martial might. Today, they stand before us.”

  He gestured to the first ranks.

  “Clan Rak?Ash!”

  Led by the eldest, Torkr Rak?Ash, a veteran whose scars were as numerous as his victories. His sons, Tragnash and Horker, stood at his side—broad?shouldered, disciplined, and fierce. Their clan was famed for loyalty, valor, and unbroken tradition.

  “Clan Gren?Lok!”

  Led by Malokr Gren?Lok, the mighty Strikemaster and defender of the stronghold’s walls. His brother Brek stood beside him, participating with Malokr’s full blessing. Since the death of their father, Gronehlok Gren?Lok, their conviction had hardened into iron. Their clan prized ruthlessness and overwhelming force above all.

  “Clan Dreknesh?Yorg!”

  Kraken’s voice rolled across the arena like thunder. “Led by Lukren Dreknesh?Yorg, a warrior whose rise was forged in blood. By defeating his own father in single combat, Lukren proved the clan’s creed—strength through adversity. With his brothers, Vihks and Grash, at his side, Clan Dreknesh?Yorg stands unbroken, devoted to honor, resolve, and martial excellence.”

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  A roar of approval surged from the stands.

  Kraken lifted his staff once more.

  “And lastly—Clan Urgnash?Yal.”

  A hush of reverence followed. “My clan. I, Kraken Urgnash, patriarch and battle master of this stronghold, uphold the ideals of unity, betterment, and duty. Clan Urgnash?Yal has long been a cornerstone of our defense and prosperity. Today, I am proud to volunteer my sons—Traken, Goram, and Rocka—to carry our legacy into the crucible of Tengwar.”

  The crowd erupted again, some cheers, some murmurs—especially at Rocka’s name.

  Kraken continued, his tone deepening.

  “There are other clans—Gared?Naal, Har?Durshnik, and others across the stronghold—but these are the pillars of Urgnash?Yal. These clans hold power in our council. They are bound by blood and tradition. They forge alliances, settle disputes, and safeguard orc way.”

  He raised his staff high.

  “In this arena, they compete not only for supremacy, but for rite, honor, and glory—ensuring their legacy endures for generations. May Mau?Lak favor us all, for we are thankful. May this Tengwar bring honor and glory to every clan!”

  The arena exploded with cheers. The kobza wailed. Drums thundered. Pipes and horns blared. The battle band took their positions as coordinators and began drawing lots for the first matches.

  Kraken stepped aside. “With that, I leave you in the capable hands of our great announcer—Fergus Fangblade, the Singing Greenskin—and the war?tunes of our stronghold’s battle band!”

  The crowd howled as Fergus bounded onto the stage, waving his twin axes like a conductor’s batons. Kraken took his seat among the elders.

  Meanwhile, Rocka and Goram pushed through the crowd toward the fight ballots. Their expressions tightened as they read the matchups.

  Rocka swallowed. “Looks like you’re first… against Horker Rak?Ash.”

  Goram nodded, jaw set. “Aye. After that it’s Lukren versus Garsom, Brek versus Grash, and then…” He paused, eyes widening. “Oh. You’re fighting Tragnash. Sorry, brother. I wonder if father arranged this.”

  Rocka blinked, nerves prickling. “What do you mean? He’s just another orc.”

  Goram gave him a flat stare. “Of course you’re ignorant of Tall Tragnash Rak?Ash.”

  “Tall Tragnash Rak?Ash?” Rocka repeated, unease creeping in.

  Goram sighed as he and Rocka glanced toward Tragnash. “Aye… Tall Tragnash. Aside from the extra feet he has on us, he’s built quite the reputation—especially for his age. When he was barely a teenager, he wiped out whole bands of tribals, Slavic and Germanic alike. He’s slain cave bears, smilos, woolly rhinos… and even hunted Khargos the Ancient.”

  Rocka blinked. “Khargos the Ancient?”

  Goram nodded grimly. “Khargos was a mammoth—five hundred years old, a behemoth that reached the height of an imperial siege tower and weighed as much as two galleys. The bounty on its head was enormous after the destruction it caused. And Tragnash slew it last winter. You weren’t here then, if I recall.”

  They both looked toward Tragnash.

  An orc towered above the others—broad as a gatehouse, scarred despite his youth, already blooded many times over. Draped across his shoulders was the hide of Khargos itself, the mammoth’s white fur gleaming like frost under the morning sun.

  Rocka swallowed. “Yes… yes, I see. He’s an upcoming legend. But how am I supposed to beat him?”

  Goram didn’t sugarcoat it. “I honestly have no idea. The only reason he isn’t ruling his clan already is because he respects his father too much. Old Torkr produced a monster of a son.”

  Rocka felt the weight of his dilemma settle like stone in his gut.

  Before he could say more, Fergus’s voice boomed across the arena. "Yeeeeessss!" The battle band struck up the kobza and war drums, the sound rolling like thunder as the crowd surged with anticipation.

  But then, dust drifted in the sunlight and the drums faded. The arena fell into a charged hush as Fergus readied his announcement.

  “Goram Urgnash versus Horker Rak?Ash are our first match!” Fergus roared. “Brace yourselves, my fellow orcs—excitement awaits!”

  Goram and Horker stepped forward, gearing up with practiced precision. Their faces hardened with determination as they took their positions. The crowd’s roar swelled, shaking the very timbers of the arena.

  The Thirty?Second Tengwar was about to begin.