Karava Thukana

Before the battle

"...how do orcoids keep their population? The migrations appear to be surplus herds,
but no expedition ever found evidence of the farming or transhumance necessary
for the Orc Belt to sustain such numbers. And even through volcanic soil usually
is quite fertile, no orcoid was ever seen planting or even gathering vegetables.
This, plus the fact that they metabolize iron into outgrowths of cold iron,
makes me think that they somehow leech the fairies, and that the otherworldly
river between the Belt and Numéria was created to prevent them from invading
the fey realms. They could even be the reason for which the fairies contracted
their lands until the present territory north of our principalities."

—Excerpt from A Plague of Bone and Iron,
a kosinbian compilation of orcish studies.

— I'm a hundred years older than you, but I only learned to kill and enjoy it, my little lord. If you truly wish my aged wisdom, know two things: age does not equals wisdom, and ten years of leadership taught you more than my hundred and twenty having fun — The weight in Khumba's voice was stressed by the fact of being a qapukulu, practically a biped and intelligent elephant.

— And the second? — Asked Shevet, furrowing his lips while diverting his gaze towards the ancient scarring in the ample gut in front of him.

— Do not trust a veteran which never lost or you will end up losing along with him. That imperial commander, he smells as one who always won, and such a fragrance hides a stench of imminent disaster — Khumba raises his trunk, waving it up and down — Stench of disaster, yes. The lack of fear in his sweat emphasizes that. You lost your family, my mahout lord, and grew up knowing how to lose. That's why I obey you. Any idiot knows how to win, but thinking and losing, to admit defeat and react from this fear... That's why I obey you. But enough wisdom, now I'll drink those casks.

Shevet smiled and — Ghost pains and stinging scars Khumba? No ache in the heart for so many kills yet? Or in the liver, with so much booze?

The pachiderm snorted his proboscis, scaring two soldiers nearby — I'm old, but not soft, my desert lord. My heart loves so many fights, the dwarf inside my liver loves so many drinks. Only broken bones, burns and missing pieces complain about nuisances like flaming darts. Even more as that time in which they were stuffing my belly and giving me an heartburn. I remember of ripping one off with my snout and looking at the incredulous in front of me. My fat belly had taken most of it but I felt close to collapsing. So I licked the tip, said I was well-done. Half ran. At that point I recovered my broken tusks and...

— No, not again, go drink before I get sick. Again.

— As per my mahout wish – Khumba turned towards the night feast, snorted his trunk like a tuba, and went in the direction of the spirit casks, which seemed to tremble with fear. Or maybe the qapukulu's column-like legs were the reason.

(He always changes the subject when I remark the drinking)

He could think that was convincing as a mix of proud warrior and reminiscent old man, but Shevet knew him better than that. Khumba "Battalion" Purushottama saw himself as an "itself", and his appearance matched that. Offered as tribute to the khejali sultanate caste still a child, fused to an elephant's essence and raised as an elite guard, became an old war beast. The ears were laden with condecorations made into earrings. When they slept in the open, it sufficed to settle around his huge frame and its howling snores, no predator dared to go near. Once, they woke up and saw a bunch of monkeys on top of Khumba, seeking refuge of some nocturnal danger.