Orc Quest; or, A Critical Examination of Agency Through in Interactive Fiction (Warcraft)

Alterac 12
[X] Over the mountains, into the Uplands

Strahnbrad was mere lights against darkness.

It was clear that night, you could see the stars. A change from the cold mist and oppressive rain that had dogged your trip from the Stormpike pass.

Through the mountains you'd gone, by tiny goat paths where your warband had been forced to go single file for miles, till you'd finally emerged in the Uplands of Alterac. It had been a miserable two days, dining on trail rations of salt pork and going without fires, for you'd ordered that none should be lit, and had Sorek enforce it with the flat of his sword.

The Dwarves had led you, suspicious, flint-eyed rangers with long rifles. These weapons were greatly feared by the Frostwolves, for the Dwarf rams were better climbers than the Frostwolf mounts, and the rangers would post themselves in the heights to fire down. The Frostwolves scorned this as cowardice, and it was one of the points of bad blood between the two peoples, but after all, an Orc was generally at least twice as powerful than a Dwarf, so you felt little sympathy for the complaining Frostwolves.

"They don't look very well prepared." you remarked.

You were standing on a low rise, the bulk of the ridge shielding your warband's size from the town. It had less than a thousand within, or so you'd been told before, but clearly some force from the Syndicate had been raised. There were picket lines, lanterns, and a clear camp outside the town's walls.

"I think we could've taken them." replied Vark.

You could see it all, about twenty miles away to the south. You'd stolen around, through the mountains, refusing direct battle and intending to defeat your enemy by degrees. You even had thoughts of knocking down the Syndicate nobles, for you suspected the Alteraci would be more friendly without their bandit overlords.

"They're outlaws. If they've managed to scrape together a force that can contest us I'd be surprised, even with the Ogres…" Vark said.

Your blood-brother sat on a big rock next to you, also looking out. His tusks gleamed in the moonlight, and his braid was plaited thickly with silver ornaments.

Your own was shorter now, Mograine's sword having cut it off in the Battle of Naxxramas, and you'd styled it in a tight bun to keep it out of your eyes till it grew long enough for a braid again.

"What's the plan then?" Vark asked, "We could have taken them, but here we are I suppose. We could turn and smash them from behind, make a night march maybe? If not, I could lead the Warsong and my Ogres to hit the towns to the north, you can take the others through the south of the Uplands, we'll meet up at the end of the vale?"

You didn't have one yet. You'd arrived at sunset and would need more information about the enemy to properly decide. "I'm not sure." you admitted, falling into silence. "But I don't want killing, I didn't come here for blood."

"Are all seers as blind as Drek'thar?" Vark asked pointedly, "You've always had a remarkable ability to separate what happens when you slash at someone with your sword. You look at the corpse in front of you and say 'Woe, how has such a thing happened?'"

You grimaced. Vark was unsubtle, as ever, but perhaps he had a point. Naturally, defeating the Syndicate would mean killing. "But I don't want to loose your Warsong and the Ogres. Can you seriously tell me that you can control them? They won't go about burning and killing and smashing?"

"That's what they're for." Vark shrugged, "This is war, you need burning and killing and smashing."

You look at Vark. The war had been good for him. You occasionally saw him touching his side where he'd been wounded at Naxxramas by a curse, where you'd burned his flesh to rid it of the contagion, but he seemed strong now.

An hour passed in silence, the cold wind through the mountains stirred at your furs, but you were comfortable.

"Thank you for helping me." you said eventually, and that caused the big orc to turn in his seat.

"You're welcome, but why say such a thing? We're brothers, I would help you anyway."

"The others have orders." you said, "They're looking to please their superiors, or get something out of it. Scorn wants advancement through me, he's made that clear enough… you don't know, you've followed me into battle several times without promise of any sort of reward."

"Oh I wouldn't say that." Vark grins, "I've been enjoying myself. I like fighting!"

You smile back, in truth, so do you, "I know," you reply, "but you were therefore me at the Valley of Trials, and you're here now, so I wanted to thank you for it. If there's anything I can do, let me know."

Vark reaches over to clasp your shoulder, "I want what anyone wants. To see the world, to fight worthy battles. I want to see our people prosper, I want respect from fellow warriors. But that's it. I don't have rank like you or a clan chief I need to obey. I'm not a thinker either. If I can fight, I suppose I could command, but I leave the thinking to you. All this plotting with the Alliance? Whatever's between your father and the Warchief, that doesn't come into it for me."

It wasn't that Vark was stupid, it was just that he didn't care for the larger picture. He could plan, you knew that, but he planned for immediate requirements and tasks, not in abstract.

His mentioned of you father made you think back. Neeru Fireblade hadn't given much direction to your adventure, but you wondered if Vark's father Tagar had. "What about you? Any orders from your father?" you asked.

Vark shook his head, "My father's a farmer, not a chief. He told me to act with honour, and reminded me I should also seek out a mate."

You grinned, looking around, "Really?"

"Hm." Vark grunted briefly, "He'd been looking for me, he told me to keep an open mind about ogre women."

You were struggling to keep a straight face as you thought of some of those in Vark's new clan.

"I'm not inspired."

You couldn't help it and burst out in a laugh.

Vark's hand cuffed you but you managed to dodge, away the stroke coming at your shoulder instead as you kept laughing.

You were still grinning, "Not to your fancy?" you managed to spit out, trying to calm enough to adopt a straight face.

"Hm." Vark just said, then shrugged, "It's-" he paused, rolling his shoulders in discomfort, "It's safer with a larger woman… the birthing…"

That was somewhat more understandable, and you felt a touch of regret for laughing. You didn't actually know what had happened to Vark's mother. Had she died bearing him? It was possible, given the size. You supposed it must have been a perilous subject for the Mok'Nathal as a community. The Ogres of Bladespire had bred the Mok'Nathal as a slave race and the forced couplings of ogres and orcs in that place were spoken of in dark whispers.

The amusement left you, and you looked out instead at the town of Strahnbrad, lights glimmering in the darkness.

"What about Angrais?" you asked suddenly. You weren't entirely sure where she might be at the moment, but she at least was of a good rank and position.

Angrais, like Vark, was only a quarter Mok'Nathal, for both their fathers were true Mok'Nathal, while their mothers were orcs. While Tagar and Rexxar were massive, truly enormous, standing at eight or nine feet, Vark and Angrais weren't so large. Still unusually tall and powerful for Orcs, but not having the same brutal features of the Mok'Nathal's mixed blood.

Suddenly Vark perked up, "What an idea! I'd have to track down Rexxar though…"

It was customary to ask the father of a female for permission to court her. At least it was among the more traditional tribes. In others, you could ask the female herself, and there were many stories of warriors who'd unwisely not consulted the object of their affection, and instead only asked the father. Those stories never tended to go well, but you supposed the point was moot, if Rexxar didn't approve of Vark anyway there was little point in asking his daughter at all.

You thought back to your childhood, as well as the time in Sen'jin Village. While you wouldn't necessarily say there was great affection between Vark and Angrais, they at least seemed to get along reasonably.

"You know, we should probably ask Kartha about all this." Vark said broadly into the silence.

You frowned, "What, about finding large women?"

"Nooo-." Vark whined, turning away so you couldn't see his blush. "Look, it's not like either of us know anything about spywork is it? She does, call her up, get her view."

"I will, but it can wait." you replied.

Dawn would break soon. You could see the enemy as you started at the lights of Strahnbrad, fell into the Seer's trance. You saw a disorganised mess of a camp in the shadow of the town's walls. You could see Ogres wandering here and there, but hardly the hundreds promised from Vark's words some time ago. No doubt more would come, but for now you had breathing room.

For now, you had to make a decision on where you'd march in the morning. As Vark suggested you could split the Warband into three, perhaps the Warsong taking the south to screen any enemy cavalry, the Dwarves taking the north flank, and you could lead the Burning Blade and Blackrock through the middle. It would be fast, bloody, but effective enough if you burned the small villages and bypassed the larger ones.

Alternatively, you could go slower. Take your warband in force, taking each of the major towns that were the Syndicate's lifeblood. It would be slower but surer, and more importantly you could at least control the violence.

What the Syndicate would do you didn't know. Whether their force might fragment as they pursued you, or whether attacking their towns might goad them to greater unity, you knew not.

Clearly though from your dealings with Drek'thar, no one could truly know the future…

Choose 1:
[ ] Spread your warband wide, three columns rushing across the Uplands
[ ] Proceed in a single force, hitting only the main towns