6 Hunting Festival - 1/?

A few weeks later.

Maou woke up before the sun came up, dressed in thick clothes to protect himself from the cold, with anticipation began to walk towards the tribe.

The days were starting to get colder, the night was slowly lasting longer, and in the last days the cold winds were already manifesting in abundance, these winds were the messengers who warned about the advent of winter. And by the time of winter, it came to the time of the battle.

This station was of utmost importance to the Orcs of the Gray Mountain, very important to all mountain dwellers in reality, for it was the season of the hunts, the time of year that would show the tribe's performance in taking care of challenges, evolution of the hunters and evaluate the new seedlings, the greenhorns.

But this was also the time when the strongest would devour the weak.

Today would start the Festival of the Hunt and as usual, new warriors would be evaluated by their performances, they would evaluate the quantity and the quality. But the festival could not be taken lightly, every year many greenhorns succumbed to their foolishness, blinded by the will to obtain a good result, they would enter into the nests of powerful monsters only to be graced with the most brutal death possible, becoming from a warrior to a meal.

Death in the hunts was glorious, but foolish death was not.

The Gray Mountain was the home of the orcs, but they were not the only ones who lived there, and in the winter all the inhabitants of this place entered a state of frenzy, seeking the blood of their neighbors. The most dangerous were undoubtedly the dragons followed closely by the griffins and then an immensity of other powerful monsters. For the Greenhorns their targets were traditionally the packs of giant meadow wolves, bloodthirsty bears from the westernmost slopes, trolls that were anywhere, and the most glorious target, the Northern Cyclopes. Any other monster was the representation of either death or loss of time.

Common animals such as deer and wild boars are targets of the tribe slaves, in this case, the tiny goblins. They did not have sufficient strength to protect themselves in the dangerous areas they inhabited and sought refuge from the orcs. Common animal hunting is work for them, goblins.

Maou was looking forward to this era a long time ago, it was the perfect time to train and get a boost to get closer to the Gold level. Winter represented the opposite of spring anywhere else, that is, the deadliest time, but not there, winter on the Gray Mountain represented an opportunity.

At this season, one of the objectives was the collection of plants, there are peculiar plants in this region that behave in an opposite way to the others, they matured in the winter. Each such fruit, if refined, would strengthen anyone's body. And this was just one of several forms of opportunity that came in the winter.

Maou walked quickly, his steps showing his anxious state, his long strides quickly becoming a race.

He had finally arrived in the village. The place was packed with orcs and goblins, they were everywhere. Orcs smiling silly as they held their weapons, talking in their groups. Animated greenhorns screaming and running from side to side. goblins in large groups skipping around. The village that in almost every age was as silent as a rock, now vibrated with vigor and life.

Maou watched the surroundings with a smile on his face, it was impossible to hold, his eyes showed his hunger. Hunger for the opportunity.

Without delay, Maou realized that the Greenhorns were slowly gathering near the training barracks. He began to move in the direction and when he approached was eventually sighted by the other greenhorns, who, without trying to hide, looked at him with contempt and debauchery.

Maou was already used to it, but he did not like the least of it. He was always the smallest, the weakest. He would not be this anymore. Maou did not look away, which surprised the other greenhorns as they felt they were being challenged, something that happened frequently, but what bothered them was that they felt the worst feeling a warrior could feel, they felt fear. Many young Orcs quickly looked away and made room for Maou, only the sturdiest among them forced themselves to hold their positions, looking steadily at the weakest among them, they could feel that something had changed, but as Orcs did not they could hesitate.

Maou, not knowing what was going on in the other's head, walked to the space provided for him.

The warhorn roared, its sound reverberating through the room.

Everyone was silenced and organized. Long rows of warriors and hunters were formed.

The 4 big orcs are the warlords of the tribe.

From left to right, the first was sturdy, more to the fat side, his beard was long and gray, which passed through her prominent belly and reached her navel, his beard was arranged in fine braids, it was where all his body hair was, because his head was so smooth that it reflected the sky, one of his eyes was blind, a horrible scar showed the reason, a long canine protruded from his left side of his mouth, his skin was darker than usual , his dark green skin gave the sensation of looking into the forest abyss.

The second and third are similar, they were twins, both were robust, their muscles resembled iron, and unlike the first, they have long hair tied in loose braids. Their skin tone was more common was light blue. Both had a standard beard too, which was medium-sized and untied.

The last of the warlords was Mazzun, surprisingly similar to the leader of the orcs, only a little lower, two heads lower to be precise, but even so, Mazzun was the second highest among them.

The gigantic orc was Huzzar, the great leader of all the orcs of the Gray Mountain, the most powerful warrior among all orcs. Mazzun's older brother. Huzzar has no body hair, no beard, and no hair, his robust body is marked by an immeasurable number of scars, so many that it was scary, from his mouth two long canines protruding from his lower lips.

With the emergence of the leaders, the festival would begin.