The beating of drums sounded in the great war camp of Chief DardDeath, heralding yet another attack on Fort Higgins. The fort responded as usual, making sure every man in the camp was on the walls and ready to shoot the charging orc war parties and discourage those that tried to climb the walls with hot sand, burning oil, or hurled rocks. The officers gave speeches, and the orcs yelled and beat their shields in time with the drums. Darkest Death stood next to his wife, finishing his mug of beer. "I hate those fething drums with a passion.""Ah, something I love about you, husband. So passionate about many things, even your hatred for our traditional tribal music.""It's not the music, it's the warning that it sends to our enemies!""So you have said before, but the drums are a great tradition in our culture. The strike fear in the hearts of our enemies!" The twinkle in her eye let him know that she wasn't entirely serious. "You understand battle, husband, but not always the subtle ways of our people. Drums are important."He groaned, knowing what she was going to say "Please don't say it....""They are a tradition, and a favorite of our gods. To ignore tradition is to offend the gods. As you well know.""Oh, I know. The bastards aren't subtle about it. I can't count how many warriors I've had to club in the head who got a prophetic dream about beating me to death with a club, and whenever there's a storm it feels like I'm a target. I wondered why your father insisted I take Storm Resistance and drink a potion Weather Protection each morning. My favorite napping tree is a burnt husk and I've still got the burns on my butt from that time I went drinking with the goblins.""What you did was sacrilegious. Funny as hell, but sacrilegious. I had hoped you had learned something.""Yeah, I learned the gods don't like the view of my scarred butt and that I can't dodge good when drunk. But I'm still here and as stubborn as anyone in the tribe. Everyone is a afraid of offending the gods. I've heard the old saying a million times: 'And the Tribes will hold the forests for as long as they keep tradition.' It's nice real estate if you like trees."He decided he needed another beer before he had to his speech to the warriors about to charge the fort, also a tradition. "I thought that taking Greenburrow would show we could break with the old battleplans. Everyone had a great time, we drank all the booze, stole the food, shattered the teleporter and I was ready to head to Midland and then Blackrock. Nope! They all turned around afterward and came back to take Fort Higgins, with traditional stupidity. I'm slowly convincing the chiefs that we don't need to take the fort, but in the meantime, I'm watching as we lose good warriors, tossing them against those walls. Sooner or later, the Empire will get enough troops down here, and they'll move stuff through the passes, and we'll be sitting here caught between two armies still pounding on those walls. Your dad warned me. Should have listened. I could have carved out a chunk of forest, traded for beer, and raised our own tribe by having kids.""I enjoy having children with you. I'm pregnant again, but the way. This will be our third little of young, only four to go until we have a respectable family. Things are good. You are a mighty chief and have the best wife anyone could hope for. News of your victory brings new recruits. Young warriors are pouring into your camp.""Sure, and then those new warriors over there will charge the fort, get mowed down by arrows, and beat their clubs against the from gates. The smarter ones will climb the walls and get knocked off. A few will make it back, the toughest ones. I suppose that is tradition as well.""It is." She shrugged. " If nothing else, weeds out the most hotheaded of them.""We've attacked the Fort fifty-seven times this way. I think it's time for some new traditions and ways of doing things."She shook her head, "If you break tradition, the tribes will melt away. You've done well so far. Taking the human city forces the Emperor to fight and send his troops. That pleases many of the chiefs. They haven't had so much fun in ages. But they won't go further until Fort Higgins falls.""Another tradition, of course."She smiled, "Of course. But don't worry, this time will be different. The charge will be furious and he gates will fall. Little Death is going to lead the charge. She is blessed by the spirits like her father. How can she fail?""WHAT!!? Who the hell puts a young girl in the front of the charge. Especially my girl!" He'd wanted to call her something else, but with how aggressive she'd been growing up, the tribe had named her Little Death. He'd started teaching her to fight as soon as she could walk, which for orcs wasn't long at all. That had shocked him almost as much as finding out that multiple births was the norm. His family was growing fast and his greatest joy was wrestling with the kids while they pounded on him with anything they could get their grubby little hands on. Little Death earned special weapons the day she hit him from behind hard enough to give him a concussion.His wife scowled at him, "She is a warrior! You saw her pass the Trial of Blades, the Trial of Headbutting, and the Trial of Clubbing. She made you proud, you praised her. She demanded to be in the next assault, as is her right. What was I supposed to do? Shame her? Protect her? That is not how things work. She may die, and we accept that.""I don't accept it!"He looked at the group milling about, laughing and swinging their clubs around, finally spotting her. He still marveled at having a pack of kids. Especially when they grew up so fast. He hadn't expected he'd start losing them just as fast. Anger built fast inside of him and he screamed out his rage, then cursed in languages only the oldest of shamans understood, making them blush and cover their ears. DarkDeath had a talent for stringing together blasphemies and he used all of his skill now as he screamed at the sky in frustration.
Overhead, thunder rolled, showing that the gods had heard him cursing them, along with the tribes, and most of all their traditions. It was not the first time he had said such things, usually mumbling under his breath. That the gods could ignore. Shouting at them was another thing entirely. Lightning crackled as the gods showed their displeasure and a mighty stroke of lightning struck the earth, aiming for the War Chief.Darkest Death sidestepped and was barely singed. It wasn't the first time the gods had chastised him, and wouldn't be the last. He made a rude gesture at the heavens, "Your aim still sucks! But fine, you want tradition, I'll work with that! I'll give you tradition!" He turned and shouted at the assembled chiefs, "Gather every drummer we've got, they're coming with us. Then I want fifty of the strongest, and oldest warriors we have. Ones that can follow orders. And tell the rest of them to grab their clubs and get ready."Orcs ran in all directions to do his will. His wife looked at him with excitement, he was planning something. "We're charging the gates as a family? Sounds fun.""Yeah, might as well make it a family affair. Gather up the rugrats, I've got jobs for them. I need them to fetch my collection of clubs that I took off defeated challengers." He walked to the half empty keg of Blud Extra Dark Special Reserve. He'd been savoring it slowly since the goblins gave it to him. He stove in the top of the cask, and lifted it over his head. Some missed his mouth, but not much, and he didn't quit until the barrel was empty. Then he turned to the assemble, (and highly impressed) warriors, and belched loudly. Then raised his weapon above his head."What is this?" A few orcs shrugged. "A club?""Yes, a club. It's made of wood, and it hits things hard. Say it again, what is it?""A club."LOUDER! Or I beat your brains in, one by one."Not one orc disbelieved him at that point. "A CLUB!""WHAT IS IT MADE FROM?""WOOD!!!""WHAT DOES IT DO?""HITS THINGS HARD.""THIS IS TRADITION. MADE OF WOOD. HITS THINGS HARD. A CLUB. TRADITION. Now, say it again."They were on their fourth repeat when his children arrived, carrying his collection of of clubs. He spoke quietly to his biggest son, "Take your pick of these, then tell your grandpaw to bring me one of the throwers." The excited youth picked out a black club made of gnarled wood with iron bands, leered at his siblings and sped away. DarkDeath picked up a huge club, normally wielded with both hands. He swung it around like it was nothing."What's this?""A CLUB!"
"What does it do?""HITS THINGS HARD!!! THIS IS TRADION." They repeated the mantra over and over until six burly veterans marched up to DarkDeath and put an onager in front of him. He pointed to the war machine."What's this made of?" The warriors looked at him, confused. A few said, "Wood?""YES, WOOD! WHAT DOES IT DO? THINK ABOUT IT. WHAT DOES IT DO?""HITS THINGS HARD!He looked at all of them, staring into feverish and confused eyes. "AND I SAY THIS IS A CLUB. IT HITS THINGS HARD. IT'S MADE OF WOOD. TRADITION!!!" There was a pause, then his Father-In-Law, the old war chief stepped forward. "TRADITION!" The shamans and other chiefs followed. "TRADITION!"The assembled warriors began chanting over and over while the drums pounded. "TODAY, EVERYONE IS CHARGING. DRUMS IN THE FRONT. BIGGEST CLUBS NEXT, THEN LITTLE DEATH AND HER SQUAD. DRUMMERS, WHEN I YELL DOWN, DROP TO THE GRASS. LET'S MOVE"The drummers proudly advanced, banging their drums, not worried at all about being in front. Just out of arrow range, DarkDeath called a halt and the onager teams pounded stakes to hold the war machines to the ground. Burly orcs spun the cranks until the heavy wood of the throwing arm bowed. Heavy iron balls with the ACME symbol and the mark of Ares were loaded. DarkDeath looked at Little Death, "Run like hell when they fire and don't quit until we take Fort Higgins!""DRUMMERS DOWN! FIRE" The onagers fired. One had been staked poorly and as the arm slammed into the bar, the shot went high, hitting the stone above the gate, sending up a shower of dust and shards of rock that blinded some of the archers temporarily. Two drummers were too into their rhythm to stop and lost their heads as the shots steaked toward the gates. The heavy balls hit like cannon, splintering the old wood and breaking the bar holding the gates closed. Orcs surged toward Fort Higgins from all sides, led by Little Death. The archers on the walls targeted her until a better target presented itself. "Target the War Chief. Take him out."Outrunning the rest of the horde, DarkDeath ran screaming at the gates, picking up speed as he ran. Dozens of arrows struck him, most bouncing off his hardened skin as if they were nothing. Nine arrows pieced deep enough to draw blood, but he didn't stop. Thirty feet from the gates he leaped high in the air, slamming the double-handed club into the broken gates yelling "TRADITION!!!" The gates shattered and swung open and he rolled inside, coming to his feet screaming expecting to die. The rest of the horde followed and the out-numbered defenders ran to more fortified positions. DarkDeath kneeled, having trouble breathing, blood pooling around him. His children ran by, screaming and chasing soldiers. His wife grabbed his shoulder and heaved him up. Ah shaman put a large mug of healing draught in his hands. His wife smiled, showing off her sharpened tusks. "You don't get to die now. You have more fights to win and children to father! Another tradition."He downed the mug, and tossed it behind him. "Yeah, and who am I to buck tradition. But, remind me to order more clubs from Gadobhra."