Rise of the Horde

Khao\'khen\'s interest piqued, "So, the golden wolf figure that I presented to the horde, it became a symbol of my power and protection and treated as a totem?"

//Affirmative//, the system confirmed. //The golden wolf totem served as a physical representation of your authority and a focal point for the horde\'s belief in your strength. Their faith in you and the totem created a powerful connection, enhancing your own abilities and providing a layer of protection, ofcourse with a bit of assistance from the system//.

The chieftain\'s eyes narrowed as he considered the implications. "And this power, it is what shielded the horde previously from the enemy magic cannons?"

//Their collective belief and the spiritual energy channeled through the totem created a protective barrier. It was an unexpected development, one that indicates the depth of their faith and the strength of their connection to you//, the system explained.

Khao\'khen\'s gaze shifted to the cheering orcs, his mind grappling with the idea that their devotion had manifested in such a way. "So, as long as their faith remains strong, this power should be of great use?"

//Their faith is the fuel that powers this unique ability of the golden wolf. It is a resource that should not be underestimated, for it can be a formidable force//, the system advised.

The chieftain\'s expression softened as he realized the weight of his responsibility to his people. "Then I must ensure their belief to me remains unwavering. Their faith is my strength."

"Oh yeah one more question", Khao\'khen quickly added, "Is there anyone else from the horde that could harness the power of totems?"

//There are none...for now//

The system\'s answer puzzled him.

//The shamans among the orc race, host. They are the ones who know of its origin and the concept behind its power. But none among the shamans present except for you have touch upon the knowledge about totems yet.//

//Totems are imbued with ancient magic, a force that only few of the strong shamans managed to comprehend.//

The celebrations continued late into the night, the orcs\' raucous revelry a testament to their victory and their unwavering faith in their chieftain. Khao\'khen, his mind now armed with newfound knowledge, looked out over the sea of his people with a newfound sense of awe and respect. He understood now the depth of their devotion and the power it bestowed upon him.

The golden wolf, a symbol of his authority and their collective belief, had become a beacon of their strength and unity. As the moon rose, casting an ethereal light upon the scene, Khao\'khen\'s gaze fell upon the figure of the golden wolf. It stood tall and proud, a silent sentinel keeping watch over the festivities.

*****

In the wake of the orcish horde\'s triumph, a different scene unfolded in the vast expanse of sand between the City of Alsenna and Baron Ragab\'s territory. Commander Ishaq and his Sandstorm Cavalry had been waging a relentless campaign, raiding the orcs\' supply lines in an attempt to stall their advance on the capital.

Ishaq\'s strategy was simple: cut off their supplies, force them to retreat, and buy time for the defenders. However, upon receiving news of the king\'s defeat, a sense of disappointment and helplessness washed over him.

Despite their efforts, the orcs\' momentum remained unbroken. With a heavy heart, Commander Ishaq gathered his cavalry and made haste towards the capital, knowing that their defense now would mostly depended on them.

The Sandstorm Cavalry, known for their swift maneuvers and resilience in the harsh desert conditions, pushed their mounts to the limit. They raced across the sand, a cloud of dust trailing in their wake, determined to reach the capital before the horde. Ishaq\'s mind raced with strategies, hoping to find a weakness in the orcs\' seemingly unstoppable force.

*****

The throne room buzzed with the agitated hum of voices. Ereia\'s officials, a mix of seasoned warriors and bespectacled advisors, argued amongst themselves, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony of concern.

Queen Elara, perched on her throne, observed the proceedings with a detached amusement. She held her chin with a gloved hand, the jeweled circlet resting atop her raven hair, a beacon of serenity amidst the storm.

"My Queen," a man with a voice like gravel began, "we must act swiftly! The enemy army is just a day\'s march away, poised to strike."

"We must mobilize the every man capable of holding a weapon," another man, a veteran of countless battles, interjected, "but without the King\'s orders, it will be a chaotic affair."

"We could use the King\'s signet ring," a smooth-tongued advisor suggested, "to issue a decree. It would be... persuasive."

Elara remained silent. She didn\'t even blink, her gaze fixed on the men as if they were exotic birds squawking in a cage. They were all, in their own way, a fascinating spectacle, a chaotic tapestry of anxieties woven into a desperate bid for survival.

"The Queen!" one of the older warriors finally shouted, "What is your decree? We require your guidance!"

Elara finally turned her head, her lips curling into a subtle smile. "My decree?" She asked, her voice surprisingly soft. "My dear men, I have no decree. The King is still alive, and while he remains so, I have no intention of usurping his authority."

The room fell silent. The men stared at her, bewildered. The Queen was no stranger to them, they all knew her attitude towards the kingdom, but her unwillingness to take the reins in this dire situation was confounding.