RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Episode 86: The First Dworc
Thog Skullsplitter bent low, his thick fingers trembling as he reached for the black feather lying in the dust where the mountain had been. The plume shimmered unnaturally, glowing faintly as if catching light that wasn’t there.
“Careful, Thog,” Cedric warned, his shield rising instinctively. “That reeks of power not meant for mortal hands.”
“When has that ever stopped him?” Tessa muttered.
The half-orc grinned with tusked defiance. “It is Raven’s gift. Whelm sings to me of loss—perhaps this feather sings of answers.”
He lifted it.
Light seared through his arm, crawling up his veins like molten fire. Thog’s grin faltered, replaced by a rictus of pain. His roar split the air, shaking dust from the scarred earth.
“THOG!” Elowyn cried, rushing forward. But she staggered back as black-and-gold divine light burst outward, burning symbols into the ground.
Thog collapsed to his knees, convulsing. His skin darkened, then lightened, textures shifting—bones snapping and reshaping. His massive frame shrank, shoulders hunching. His features twisted, finding a terrible middle ground between dwarven stockiness and orcish brutality.
Thog rose, no longer half-orc, no longer just warrior—but something new.
He stood shorter, thicker—his tusks dulled to jagged stubs, his brow ridged like a dwarf’s. His armor had shrunk and reshaped to fit his body, ornate seams weaving into unfamiliar patterns.
His friends stared, mouths agape.
Tessa fumbled at her belt, pulling out a small mirror. “Okay… don’t freak out, but… you’re gonna want to see this.”
She held it up.
Thog’s new reflection glared back: squat, stocky, tusked, bearded in coarse black bristles. A paradox given flesh.
“WHAT—THE—FUCK?!” Thog bellowed, voice booming in rage and disbelief. He smashed a fist into the dirt, cracking stone. “What trick is this?!”
Elric, wide-eyed, whispered, “By the Nine Hells… a Dworc. A living impossibility.”
Cedric lowered his shield slowly. “No… not impossibility. Providence. Look—Whelm rests in your hand still. The hammer accepts you.”
Indeed, the weapon glowed with new resonance, runes flaring in recognition. The warhammer had been enchanted to bond only with dwarves—but now, in Thog’s hybrid form, it pulsed like a heart in harmony.
Theron’s voice was low, dangerous. “So Raven has changed you, brother. Turned you into a tool for his game.”
Whelm flared again—its voice ringing not just in Thog’s mind, but echoing aloud for all to hear. “At last… a true heir of stone and blood.”
The group fell into a storm of words.
“This is wrong,” Elowyn whispered, horrified. “A Dworc should not exist. Orc and dwarf blood are oil and fire. This is an abomination.”
“Abomination?” Thog spat, tusks bared. “I am stronger! I am chosen! Raven forged me for this moment!”
Tessa frowned, arms crossed. “Chosen or not, you look like someone squashed you with a blacksmith’s hammer. Gonna take some getting used to, big guy.”
“Not big guy,” Thog snarled. “Not small either. I AM THOG.”
Cedric stepped closer, his eyes steady. “Brother, do not lose yourself. This power is not yours—it is a mantle given. Raven gambles with our lives as pieces on a board.”
Thog tightened his grip on Whelm. “Then let me be the piece that shatters the board.”
Elric’s hand trembled on his staff. “You don’t understand. If Raven can twist flesh itself, then our fates are sealed. He has changed the rules.”
The ground rumbled beneath their feet, a deep quake. The scar where White Plume once stood began to crack open, releasing a strange light.
The ground still rumbled beneath their feet, but instead of a figure emerging, the scar where White Plume once stood split further, forming a jagged chasm. Strange light bled from the fissure—shifting between fiery red and icy blue, clashing like war within the earth.
Thog staggered forward, pulled by Whelm’s resonance. The hammer glowed, runes burning brighter with every tremor.
“Thog, stop!” Cedric shouted, holding him back. “We don’t know what’s down there.”
“I… can’t…” Thog growled, his arm trembling violently as though the weapon were dragging him against his will. His new Dworc form seemed to resonate with the power below, his veins pulsing with divine light.
The fissure’s glow sharpened, forming symbols in the air—runes that twisted between dwarven and orcish script. They hovered like a cruel joke of fate.
Tessa’s daggers flicked nervously in her hands. “This isn’t a door opening—it’s a summons. Something wants you down there.”
Theron’s voice was like a drawn blade. “Not something. Someone. Raven is calling his pawn home.”
The earth gave a final shudder, and from the chasm rose not a body, but a single echoing voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once—mocking, resonant, inhuman.
Raven’s Voice: “At last, the First Dworc rises. My gambit begins.”
The chasm slammed shut, leaving silence. Only Thog remained, panting, clutching Whelm as it thrummed with alien power. His friends stared at him, shaken—not by monsters, but by what he had become.
The party realized in that moment—Raven was not sending enemies against them. He was reshaping them into his pieces.