Gorkrel, the Voice of the King, scowled at the four young Gorkhim and spoke in his powerful booming voice.

The assembly cheered as the gate to the right of the throne opened and in lumbered Farah Din, a hulking brute even by the reckoning of the Trollim. His body was adorned with the trophies he would take from his kills, be it rattling bones dangling by strips of hide, his cloak of scalps or the mummified members of all kinds that reminded all that he was called 'Death Made Flesh' for good reason. If any convicted to face Farah Din could overcome him, their crimes would be forgiven, but anyone who could accomplish such a feat would not be facing him in the first place. At least they could die with some honor, but that did not often happen either.

This time, not one of the convicted Gorkhim showed even a drop of courage. They all fled toward the stands and clawed their way up the walls. This was another amusement for the assembly. Those in the front rows carried sticks for this very occasion. Some of them would bet on who could score the blow that would knock the fleeing convict back into the arena. Anyone who made the unsporting move of dealing a fatal blow was often tossed into the arena for spoiling everyone else's entertainment. It was much the same fate that would befall any convict resilient enough to weather the blows and get into the stands. All hands would be on him and he would be thrown back over the side. There did not seem to be much chance of that happening this time, though. One was not even fit enough to climb within reach of the sticks.

Farah Din did not hurry. He did not need to and there was no reason to cut the entertainment short anyway. He started with the one struggling to climb the wall. The pathetic Gork did not even notice Farah Din's approach. The Trolwer seized the Gork by the back of the head and smashed his face into the wall, then did so a few more times until there was not much of a face left. He then dragged the Gork's body along, smearing the wall with his blood, as he approached his next victim.

The next Gork was holding his head, which was bleeding from a sound blow, when he saw Farah Din coming. He made a desperate effort to scramble back up the wall, but he was beaten badly by the assembly. He did not fall off the wall this time, though, but that simply meant Farah Din would pluck him off the wall instead of the ground. He took hold of the Gork hand and foot and started pulling. This was another opportunity to take bets. Would Farah Din tear off the arm or the leg first? This time, it was the leg.

Farah Din dropped the screaming Gork to give him a chance to try crawling away. He did not let the Gork get far before he proceeded to beat him to death with his own leg. The crowd always enjoyed such sights, but he had something even better for the finale. He took the third Gork and twisted off his head, then threw the head at the fourth to knock him off the wall. The last Gork gave a horrified shriek when he realized what it was that hit him but that could not compare to the shrill cries he made when Farah Din dug his claws into the Gork's belly and began slowly pulling out his entrails. The screams only ended when Farah Din strangled the Gork with those selfsame entrails. The assembly, of course, was riotous in their delight. All told, it was a rather satisfying show.

As Farah Din withdrew, attendants come out to gather up the bodies. Once Farah Din had claimed his trophies, whatever remained would be fed to the thrall-beasts, the final seal on their dishonor. And now that the day's entertainment had concluded, it was time to move on to more serious matters. There had already been discussions held and decisions made, but the assembly demanded theatrics and so it was theatrics they were given.

Gorkrel raised both his hands and his voice and declared,"The dishonor of these four is but an outward sign of the disease. The source is the lack of fear in the hearts of the humans. They have forgotten the terror of our warriors, else they would not encroach on our lands. We must remind them! They must know fear!"

The assembly cheered. If only they would be so eager to volunteer for such a raid. They were quite happy to see the blood of others spilled but not nearly so quick to risk spilling their own.

Gorki the King stood up from his throne and shouted, "Summon Fear and Fury and unleash my wrath on the humans!"

As expected, there were few volunteers among the assembly, perhaps one in five of the males at most. The greater part of the war-band would come from thrall-warriors. If they availed themselves well in battle, they could win their freedom. Having such a reason to fight could be powerful motivation, not that blood and glory were not motivation enough for any true Gork.

Those with the courage to volunteer themselves raised their fists and shouted "For glory!" Many who had not volunteered added their voices as well, but their words were empty. Still, it would be enough. So long as the humans were made to suffer, the honor of the Gorkhim would be avenged.