As the goblin messengers rode toward Gor-Thalok, the true hands of war slithered unseen through the sands. A dozen spies, the Night-Tongues of the Deep Burrows, moved like whispers on the wind. Their purpose was not to kill, but to sow doubt, fury, and betrayal.
With faces wrapped in shadow-silk, voices coated in honeyed venom, and hands skilled in deception, they each traveled toward their prey. They would turn brother against brother, ally against ally, until the desert burned in war once more.
I. The Ember Sands – The Black Sun Clan: The Black Sun Clan, one of the fiercest warrior factions in the desert, made their home in the Ember Sands, a land of eternal twilight where the sky glowed red from burning minerals buried beneath the dunes. Their people worshiped the Night-Forged Sun, believing that only through fire and blood could warriors prove themselves worthy.
A goblin spy, Kaizar the Shroud, approached their settlement at dusk, wearing the sigil of the Sand Surfers. He had stolen the markings from a fallen mercenary, and his disguise was flawless.
As he stepped into the Black Sun stronghold, he approached the War Council, his voice trembling in false anger.
"The Sand Surfers mock thee, mighty warriors! They say the Black Sun be naught but shadows slinking in the dunes! They call ye cowards, thieves unfit for war!"
The chieftain, Dromak the Ash-Walker, narrowed his glowing yellow eyes, his charcoal-black skin marked by ritual burns.
"The Surfers dare insult us?" he growled. "We burn our dead upon the ember sands while they scavenge like rats?"
Kaizar grinned beneath his veil.
"Aye, mighty one. An' they boast that they shall ride upon the Ember Sands soon, to claim what ye have not the spine to defend!"
The warriors erupted in outraged roars.Kaizar bowed, slipping away as the first war horns sounded.
II. The Sacred Sand City – The Priests of the Deep Sun: The Sacred Sand City is a place of golden domes and sandstone temples, where the Priests of the Deep Sun ruled over the spiritual heart of the desert. They were keepers of old knowledge, guardians of divine power, and enemies to all who would defile the sands.
The goblin spy Zahmir the Hiss approached their gates, cloaked in the robes of a Black Sun envoy. His mission: to make the priests believe the Black Sun Clan had forsaken peace and sought to defile the Holy Grounds.
He arrived at the Temple of the Eternal Dawn, where Archpriest Bal-Haresh, an elder with a sun-etched staff, awaited him.
"Why dost thee come, warrior of the Black Sun?" the priest asked.
Zahmir fell to his knees, feigning desperation.
"Revered one, we beg forgiveness! Mine brethren hath lost their way! They curse the gods, saying the Deep Sun be naught but an illusion! They march toward the Sacred Sand City, blades drawn, to cast down the temples!"
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
The Archpriest's wrinkled fingers tightened around his staff.
"Blasphemy."
A younger priest spoke, his voice shaking.
"Shall we let them defile our holy grounds?"
Bal-Haresh shook his head.
"Nay. If they march to desecrate, we shall march to defend. Let the light of the Deep Sun cleanse their wickedness in flame."
Zahmir smirked beneath his veil as bells tolled, calling the priests to war.
III. The Volcanic Lands – The Sorcerers of the East: Beyond the desert, the Volcanic Lands seethed with boiling rivers of magma and mountains that bled fire into the sky. The Sorcerers of the East ruled here, clad in obsidian robes, wielding magic drawn from the blood of the world.
A goblin spy, Fakhir the Ash-Shadow, infiltrated their citadel, wearing the golden insignia of the Priests of the Deep Sun. He entered a grand chamber, where Sorcerer-Lord Zanthur the Molten-Eyed sat upon a throne of basalt.
Fakhir fell to his knees, his voice frantic.
"Sorcerer-Lord! The priests hath condemned thee as heretics! They say thy magic be wicked, unnatural! They march 'pon thy lands even now, vowing to cleanse thee in holy fire!"
Zanthur's eyes blazed like twin embers.
"The Priests dare cast judgment upon us? Upon ME?"
His robes billowed as power surged through him, the air around him shimmering with heat.
"They forget that fire be mine domain! If they come to burn us, let us burn first!"
He raised his staff, and a shockwave of molten energy rippled through the chamber. Fakhir stepped back, grinning as the Sorcerers prepared their own war march.
IV. The Radiant Desert – The Sand Surfers: The Sand Surfers, led by Ra'Zir al-Sol, were feared as both warriors and scavengers, their ships riding the dunes like waves upon the sea. They had no true loyalties, answering only to gold and conquest.
The goblin spy Hadir the Scarred knew how to exploit this. He disguised himself in sorcerer's robes, staggering into the Surfer encampment with burned hands, as if scarred by magic.
He collapsed before Ra'Zir's tent, gasping, "The Sorcerers betray thee! They claim thee be parasites, vermin unfit to rule the sands! They boast that soon, the Surfers shall be drowned in fire!"
Ra'Zir gritted his golden teeth.
"Sorcerers dare mock us? The ones who cower in caves, hiding behind their flames?"
He stood, drawing his curved blades, and turned to his captains.
"We ride! Let the desert tremble beneath our wrath!"
V. The Scorching Flatland – The Iron Foot: The Iron Foot, clad in steel and stone, were the most disciplined warriors in the desert, mercenaries who believed in strength over deceit.
The goblin spy, Dhamil the Whisper-Fang, approached them under the banner of the Sand Surfers, carrying a sealed letter smeared with blood.
He presented it to Warlord Boris Thorson, a colossal warrior clad in iron-plated robes.
Boris read the letter aloud: "Ye Iron Bastards be naught but rustin' fools. Ye think ye own the desert, but all shall crumble before the riders o' the dunes. Soon, yer walls shall break, an' we shall claim yer steel for our own."
The Iron Foot warriors muttered in anger, fists clenching around their weapons.
Boris's eyes darkened.
"The Sand Surfers seek war? So be it."
As the goblin spies vanished into the night, the desert burned with rage and vengeance. Dawn broke over the desert, the great factions, now consumed by fury and deception, began their preparations for war. Each faction, hardened by the sands and its own traditions, forged weapons, summoned warriors, and sharpened their strategies for the coming bloodshed.
The desert, long silent in uneasy peace, now echoed with the clang of steel, the chants of war prayers, and the cries of beasts preparing for battle.
I. The Black Sun Clan – The Ember Sands: Preparations of the Night-Forged Warriors
Arming the Fireborn – Warriors painted their bodies in black ash and wrapped themselves in charred linens. Their weapons were bathed in oil and set ablaze, a sacred ritual to prove their worthiness. Blacksmiths reforged obsidian-bladed spears and flame-etched scimitars, their hilts wrapped in leather from desert wyverns.
Ritual of the Ember Lords – High Shamans gathered in a circle of burning pyres, chanting prayers to the Night-Forged Sun. They cut their palms, letting blood drip into the sacred flames, a vow to burn their enemies in divine wrath.
Beasts of War – Massive sand drakes, trained for war, were fitted with spiked armor and strapped with bronze-plated war saddles. Riders bonded with their beasts by walking barefoot across embers, a tradition to ensure only the strongest could mount them.
Battle Strategy – Fast-moving warbands would storm into enemy camps at night, setting fire to supplies and retreating before counterattacks. Large cavalry units would ride behind, flanking foes caught in the chaos.
With their banners raised, the Black Sun Clan marched south, eager to strike the Sand Surfers first.
II. The Priests of the Deep Sun – The Sacred Sand City: Preparations of the Divine Warriors
Blessing the War-Born – Priests anointed warriors with gold-dusted sand, marking them with symbols of the sun. Sacred chants filled the air as warriors kneeled before grand statues of the Sun God, Sol-Haresh.
Forging Divine Arms – The city's finest smiths crafted blessed spears, shields, and crescent-bladed axes. Their armor was laced with thin strips of enchanted silver, a barrier against sorcery.
Sacred War Beasts – Gigantic Sun-Lions, beasts with golden fur and flaming manes, were prepared for battle. Their claws were sharpened, and they were fed a mixture of herbs and alchemical stimulants to enrage them before combat.
Battle Strategy – Heavy infantry, shielded in bronze, would form unbreakable phalanxes, advancing slowly but crushing all in their path. Priest-Wardens, trained in sunfire magic, would stand at the rear, hurling blinding solar flames upon their foes. Chariot riders would flank enemies, their scythe-wheeled vehicles tearing through enemy lines.
As the sacred bells rang, the Priests of the Deep Sun rode east, determined to crush the Black Sun heretics.
III. The Sorcerers of the East – The Volcanic Lands: Preparations of the Fire Mages
Summoning the Infernal Host –Necromancers called forth molten revenants, spirits trapped in burning corpses, bound to serve the Sorcerers in battle. Ritual circles blazed with crimson fire, drawing power from ancient volcanoes.
Enchanting Weapons – Warriors wielded blacksteel glaives, imbued with heat enchantments that could melt through enemy armor. Warlocks inscribed runes onto iron staves, granting them the ability to launch firestorms.
Mounts of War – Lava serpents, great beasts of smoldering stone and molten breath, were prepared as battle mounts. Riders trained to guide the serpents through the battlefield, their enemies burning under their fiery gaze.
Battle Strategy – Fire warlocks and pyromancers would launch aerial bombardments before the battle began.
Infantry would engage from the flanks, cutting off escape routes. Volcanic landslides would be created by mages, trapping enemies in a field of magma and destruction.
With embers still smoldering upon their skin, the Sorcerers rode forth, prepared to incinerate the Priests of the Deep Sun.
IV. The Sand Surfers – The Radiant Desert: Preparations of the Dune Striders
Tuning the Warships – The greatest sand-skimmers were reinforced with iron plating, making them faster and deadlier. Engineers fitted the vessels with harpoon cannons to hook enemy warriors from a distance.
Arming the Fleet – Warriors coated their scimitars in Sand Hydra venom, ensuring even the slightest cut is fatal. Sharpshooters prepared flintlock rifles, rare but deadly in the hands of the Surfers.
War Beasts – Sand Drakes, sleek and fast, were fitted with armor crafted from scavenged steel. The were-beasts among the crew prepared for battle, their fangs bared and hunger for flesh rising.
Battle Strategy – Swift hit-and-run attacks would cripple the enemy before they could respond. Raiders would swoop in from the dunes, strike, and disappear into the sandstorms. Saboteurs would infiltrate enemy camps, setting fire to food supplies and poisoning water sources.
With the wind at their backs, the Sand Surfers launched into the dunes, setting course toward the Sorcerers of the East.
V. The Iron Foot – The Scorching Flatland: Preparations of the Red Deaths
Reinforcing the Fortress – The Iron Foot warriors fortified their great stone bastion, setting up catapults and ballistae on the high walls. Moats of burning oil were prepared, ready to be lit ablaze when enemies approached.
Forging the Arsenal – Blacksmiths worked day and night, producing war hammers, steel lances, and heavy tower shields.
Siege engines were reinforced, capable of launching massive iron boulders into enemy formations.
War Beasts – Battle Rhinos, clad in iron armor, were prepared for front-line charges. Giant desert scorpions, trained by beastmasters, were fitted with metal claws to crush enemy cavalry.
Battle Strategy – The Iron Foot would not march to war—they would wait. Their forces would hold strong, forcing the enemy to break upon their steel defenses.
With drums pounding like thunder, the Iron Foot stood ready, waiting for the Sand Surfers to hurl themselves against an immovable wall.
The desert burned with war banners and fury, the Goblin King watched from the shadows, his plan set in motion.
The great factions, blinded by deception, prepared to tear each other apart. And soon… the sands would drink their blood.
By dawn, the goblins had vanished, leaving only chaos behind. The desert trembled with the march of thousands, their banners raised, their weapons drawn.
And in the deep tunnels of the Goblin King's den, the laughter of scheming minds echoed through the darkness.
As the desert factions marched toward war, blinded by hatred and deception, the Orcs of Sol-Mayora watched from the shadows of their great encampment.
They were not deceived—they knew who had truly orchestrated this war. Yet they did not care. War was opportunity.
When the time was right, when the great armies bled each other dry, when their weapons dulled and their warriors weakened, the Orcish Horde would descend like a storm upon the battlefield, claiming victory with brute force and sheer numbers.
At the heart of the encampment stood a towering obsidian throne, carved from the ruins of an ancient kingdom long forgotten.
Upon it sat Warlord Khadag, a giant among Orcs, clad in armor of black iron and crimson war paint. His battle-axe, Dreadfang, was said to have cleaved through a hundred men in a single battle.
Orcish blacksmiths labored day and night, forging weapons so large only Orcs could wield them. Great iron blades, massive war-hammers, and blood-stained axes were stacked by the hundreds. Their beastial mounts were fitted with spiked barding, their claws reinforced with steel talons.
The Beasts of War:
Wargs – Towering wolves bred for battle, their fur braided with bone charms and iron rings.
Dune Crushers – Enormous armored rhinocerine beasts, their horns wrapped in blacksteel chains, capable of shattering walls.
Sky Rippers – Giant carrion birds, trained to scout battlefields and swoop down upon the dying, tearing flesh from fallen warriors.
Warriors painted themselves in blood, marking their skin with sigils of conquest.
Chanting war cries, they sharpened their blades and tested their weapons against stone pillars. Drummers beat massive bone drums, shaking the earth with the sound of impending war.
The Orcs would not join the first battle. They would wait. They would watch as the factions tore each other apart, waiting for the moment of exhaustion and chaos. When the strongest armies fell, they would descend like a thunderstorm, smashing through the weakened survivors with overwhelming force.
Scouts were sent to every battlefield, hiding among the dunes, waiting for the sign.
When the war reached its peak, when blood soaked the sands and generals lay dead, the Orcs would rise. The sound of the Great War-Horn of Khadag would be heard across the desert, and the Iron Horde would march.
The factions of the desert, blinded by hatred, prepared to destroy one another. And in the shadows, the Orcs sharpened their blades, knowing that when the last warrior fell, the desert would belong to them.