American comics: Starting with Luke the Maker

Wuu wuu...

The biting cold wind whipped up snowflakes, howling in the air.

A group of green-skinned, burly, humanoid creatures clad in animal hides were migrating through the whimpering snowstorm. They were a tribe of Orcs.

The sky was filled with swirling snow, the field of vision a vast expanse of white. Even the sky gradually dimmed.

Woo~!

A long and desolate horn sounded, its notes both prolonged and short. The Orcs on the march halted, whistling to restrain the massive beasts of burden, forming a ring to shield against the blizzard.

The densely packed Orcs began to erect a temporary camp in the snowstorm with practiced efficiency. Wooden frames and piled materials were constructed, using the transport beasts as anchor points. Inside, female Orcs busily erected thick tents and started fires for cooking.

Some Orcs, armed and accompanied by white frost wolves, returned from the blizzard, having scouted the surrounding area for threats.

The desolate expanse of heaven and earth suddenly gained a touch of warmth and activity.

But the Orcs' faces were filled with worry and gloom, like a group of displaced refugees with nowhere to go.

"Father, why are we leaving our homeland?" Inside a newly erected tent, a young Orc child asked his father.

"Because we must leave, Durotan," Garad, chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan, stroked his son's small head and said in a low voice.

"Is it because of the Skyfall Dragon?" The young Orc named Durotan continued to ask his father.

"Yes, the Skyfall Dragon. A wicked dragon that descended from the sky came to Draenor. It is cruel, tyrannical, and leaves behind a trail of pollution wherever it goes.

Beasts die, vegetation withers. In its territory, no life can survive except for the undead and its own kind.

The most terrifying thing is that it periodically seeks out a new place rich in life to settle, not remaining confined to one location. Even if it only passes by, the pollution it exudes can turn a land into a barren wasteland.

It is a calamity that all Orcs must face," Garad said with a grave expression, explaining to his child.

"Can't we kill it?" Little Durotan asked somewhat fiercely. Such was the way of the Orcs. Their living environment was not necessarily good, but not bad either. Most Orcs possessed a violent fighting heart and treated enemies and prey with cruelty.

"Kill it?" Garad smiled wryly, stroking his child's head. "Do you know where the Dragon Hunt Festival came from?

For a thousand years, every Orc clan has wanted to kill that evil dragon. Historically, several powerful clans even selected their most elite and powerful warriors to go on expeditions.

They failed time and time again, reorganizing themselves each time. Finally, on one occasion, several clans joined forces and slew the evil dragon.

Those Orcish warriors who returned from slaying the dragon won great respect and worship from all the clans. But only for a time. The slain evil dragon revived.

The chieftains of the various clans were extremely angry, believing that those warriors had deceived them with vile lies, that they had insulted the honor of the Orcs.

Those warriors, faced with the dragon's return, could not defend themselves. They were banished for their sins, not even allowed the right to become slaves.

After being driven out, those warriors sought out the evil dragon again. This time, they failed to slay the dragon, and instead became the souls under the evil dragon's command, wandering and wailing in its lair, unable to leave."

"Didn't those warriors kill the evil dragon?" Durotan looked up at his father.

"Of course they killed the evil dragon, but the evil dragon cannot be killed," Garad said slowly. "Subsequently, many clans once again launched expeditions, gathering the powerful forces of multiple clans, and finally succeeded in slaying the evil dragon once more by luck. However, the evil dragon cannot be killed; it will be resurrected.

Over the centuries, hundreds upon thousands of Orcish warriors have died at the hands of the evil dragon, and countless clans have been destroyed. It is because there is no way to deal with it, no way to kill it once and for all, that it is called a natural disaster."

Little Durotan understood his father's words. Looking at the tribesmen forced to migrate in the snowstorm, he felt anger towards that evil dragon.

Even though he was young, he was naturally more rational and intelligent than other Orcs. He was not a child who understood nothing. He knew the risks and the price of conducting a clan migration of this scale in such a snowy weather.

A clan's relocation was never a simple decision that could be made on a whim. They usually needed to find the next gathering place before migrating.

And that selected gathering place could not be chosen casually. At least there had to be enough prey or food around it. Otherwise, the mere shortage of food would be enough to plunge a powerful clan into decline and ruin.

The Frostwolf Clan had its own set of survival rules and some backup new gathering places. They would periodically migrate back and forth in a large area to ensure the ecological cycle of this area.

However, the arrival of the evil dragon disrupted this near-stable cycle. They would soon face the most undesirable predicament.

At that time, it would be difficult to find another way other than to wage war with the Orcs of the surrounding clans. And in this process, sacrifice and bloodshed were bound to accompany them.

If they won, they would gain a new place to live, re-establish a cycle, and survive.

If they failed, they would become slaves or even cannon fodder. If the warring clan did not have much food in reserve, then fewer of their tribesmen would survive.

If they were not at their wits' end, Durotan believed his father would not have chosen this path.

"Father!" A strong young Orc lifted the tent flap and walked in. He held a piece of animal hide and said to his father, "The chieftain of the Warsong Clan wants to invite us to restart the Dragon Hunt Festival! He says he has found a way to eradicate the evil dragon's threat once and for all this time!"

"What?" Garad suddenly stood up from the ground, looking at his eldest son, Fenris, in shock. The evil dragon could not be killed. This was a fact that countless Orcs had verified with blood and tears for thousands of years. Yet now, a clan had actually found a way to kill that evil dragon?

"It's true. They are bringing people to the Frozen Ridge, and they may be able to join us soon," Fenris said emphatically, waving the animal hide in his hand.

"Is there more information?" Garad was still somewhat incredulous. He reached for the animal hide in Fenris's hand and examined it carefully.

"It is said that this method was brought out by a person named Held," Fenris said.

PS: Thanks to classmate Quiet Peak for the reward.

PS: Woke up in the middle of the night and found that the timing was wrong, boom!