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

Alterac 15

Varnhold was a strong town.

It wasn't quite a city, that was clear, for most of the buildings were still wooden, and the walls were in poor repair, but the town was strong.

The walls were broad, but not tall, and there were two large gatehouses guarding them.

For the most part, the town seem to be doing well. In the Uplands of Alterac there were some fertile valleys, and around Varnhold there were clear signs of farming, not just the sparse herds of other towns.

You could see why Bishop Karlus had made it his seat, for although the church within wasn't as large as Anderol's, it was still substantial, certainly the largest building in the town.

Dusk was falling, and up in the mountains might could sneak up on you when the sun went behind a range.

You would approach by night, no reason to cause alarm after all.

You handed your usual possessions to the guards at the picket of the camp. You wouldn't need much on your mission, and the rest was just weight and bulk. You kept the Fireblade though, what was a Blademaster without his blade?

"Galtak Ered'nash." said one guard and you looked up with a start.

The orc was Blackrock by his skin, and was young, perhaps only a few years older than you. His armaments were relatively poor though, so you judged that he was one of the warriors from the hill clans, not one of the penal troops the Alliance had given you.

"Watch the gates." you finally replied, "Either I'll return soon, or you'll see them open. In an hour, pass word to Scorn to assemble a force. Have them stand ready for another few hours for the gates."

"And if you don't return, chief?" the warrior asked.

"They couldn't hold me if they tried." you replied confidently. Not with your sword and Myzrael on your side.

You loped away toward Varnhold, down the road directly, then breaking off into a field, vaulting a few fences till you came to the town's wall.

The guard's words had been concerning. In Eredun, the demonic tongue of the Burning Legion, it meant 'All Hail the Burning Blade'.

You hadn't wanted to ask about it, to admit ignorance was to admit weakness, that was something your father had taught you though.

But how had such a phrase gotten into the mouth of a Blackrock warrior in your warband?

It was an old phrase, not simply because of the language, but because of the phrasing. Orcs spoke Orcish, everyone knew that, and most orcs could at least understand Ogres, for the languages, like the peoples were cousins. There were some older words, words and phrases you knew but many would not, which descended from the ancient language of the Elementals of Draenor, of that tongue, Kalimag, which Grond himself had roared aloud when he battled the Evergrowth.

But Eredun was newer, and phrases in it had been relatively common in the First Horde under Blackhand and Guldan, and were frowned upon under Thrall.

"Galtak Ered'nash." you breathed to yourself as you walked uncaring through the fields.

You knew where it came from, of course. It was your father, he had invented it, popularised it among the warlocks of the Burning Blade, and he would speak it after rituals, the words to be echoed by those who attended.

You used an older battle cry, 'A blade, a blade, a Burning Blade!'. Those words were older than your fathers, and you supposed it represented the division between you two. He followed the newer traditions of demonology and fel magic, you the older works of the Blademasters.

You were glad, you supposed, that your father had always approved of your desire to become a Blademaster and revive that tradition. It would have all been so much more difficult if he's been opposed to it, or if he'd forced you to become a warlock. The most he'd done was teach you demonology, but you supposed that itself was useful knowledge even if you didn't use it.

But then who had taught the guard the phrase? It must be someone close to your father, close to the more modern Burning Blade. But who? Scorn wouldn't have done so, nor would Sesk, nor you thought would Keldran.

It must have been someone who thought you'd approve of it, which anyone who knew you would know you wouldn't.

It would have to wait, you were at the walls now. Rough cut stone was before you, and mortar crumbling away from the rain.

While certain arcane processes or alchemic treatments could render a material spiritually inert, the walls of Varnhold had no such protections.

You laid your hand against the stone. The walls were young, perhaps three hundred years at most since they'd been set up around the town. But the stone, the stone was old, thousands, thousands and thousands of years. It remembered the days before humans and trolls even walked the land, it remembered the Earth.

And to the Earth you called, "Myzrael, guide my climb."

The stone moved under your hand, into hold and ledge, and slowly, your glaive on your back, you began to climb.

It wasn't far, only thirty feet or so, but the feat gave you time for thought.

You didn't know what sort of man Bishop Karlus was. He seemed to have the respect of the people, and seemed to be opposed to the Syndicate. He was a Bishop, and would probably have greater allegiance to the Church of the Holy Light than he did the Kingdom of Alterac, but that in itself didn't mean much.

You supposed he was also a capable leader, for Varnhold prospered, moreso than any town you'd seen so far in Alterac.

You gained the summit of the wall easily, slipping over, sword in hand. There were guards, but they hadn't seen you yet and you quickly, went to the edge, handing over it with one hand before you dropped ten feet of so to the street below.

You were in, but perhaps that was the easy part, for any within the town would know you didn't belong. The colour of your skin, let alone the massive sword in your hand would tell that clearly.

The street or the roofs? You looked along, seeing a few people still out as night fell. It would be the roofs, and with half a dozen bounds and a heavy pull you were up again, balancing on the beams of someone's house.

The way through the city was easy after that. People seldom looked up and you sped across the roofs in the darkness, the light just strong enough still to see where to step, then, with one final bound, you gained the church's roof too, edging along the stonework toward the main tower.

Bishop Karlus would be in the Church, that much you were sure of. The human religion had many feast days and other holy times, and today and now was one of them.

You found a window and forced it open, slipping inside. It was now that for one of the only times in your life, you felt glad that you were smaller than most Orcs. The window barely fit you, and you had to contort uncomfortably to get inside, but once you did you found yourself in a high galley, overlooking the nave below.

There were new and old parts of the church, and for a moment you felt the building through the stone, felt the old smaller building, the first time primitive humans who had yet to even hear or Arathor, had raised a crude altar, till when the worship of the Light had spread among the humans, many hundreds of years later, and the church expanded, the columned hall you stood above being the newest part.

Karlus was below you, it had to be him, for none others would wear such rich vestments. He stood before an altar, laying his hands upon the parishioners until a line of them were dismissed, and the bishop turned to his altar, folding a cloth upon it with great reverence, and handing two large candles to an attendant. He took off his rich clothes too, folding these and handing them to another servant, before he dismissed them too and knelt in a simple robe, hands in prayer.

You supposed the church seemed empty enough by now, you'd heard the doors to the vestry close. You slipped down, hanging again from a ledge, then dropping to the floor quietly, approaching the Bishop.

"If you mean to kill me, know that I shall not resist." said Karlus, startling you a little and making you stop, "Nor shall I call guards or servants, I have no wish for them to die too."

You were pleasantly surprised, the words spoke of great bravery. Did he truly think you were there to kill him?

"How did you detect my approach?" you asked lightly, not approaching him yet.

Karlus laughed lightly, "I've always had a sense for such things. I felt something, something powerful, perhaps some artefact you bear."

You carried several such things, indeed, as you recall, Castillian had also remarked that the Fireblade had been interfering with his magic, and you supposed it wasn't too unusual that Karlus could feel such a thing too.

"Interesting." you replied, but shrugged and came forward toward the Bishop, "But I don't intend to kill you, I mean you no harm, nor any to your followers."

Karlus kissed his necklace, wrapped it around his arm and stood, turning toward you.

He was a human of middling age, dark of hair and with weathered face. There was strength there, a keenness of eye, fortitude and spirit within him.

"Then I wonder why you're here." Karlus replied, "For I hear you've taken six towns in the last week, and mine is the seventh. I serve the King of Alterac, as the nobles you slew did, and your people are already raiding in the west."

'Your people'? He must mean the Blackrock remnants in Alterac, those same remnants you'd come to find. That was something very interesting. Karlus seemed to be under the impression you were allied.

"That's not what I've heard." you said easily, setting the tip of your blade on the floor as you spoke. "I came to seek allies against the Syndicate, and I can't see how any priest of the Light can serve them, or is all of this for show?" you asked, gesturing broadly around you at the church.

Karlus' face reddens, "What would an Orc know of-" he cuts himself off, murmuring something to himself. "I'm sorry, that was unworthy of me. I fought in the Third War, and Orcs have done much harm to my family, my brother-" he cuts himself off again, shaking his head, "Well, that's not important now."

You stayed silent, wondering what he might say. As a child you knew some had called you stupid, but you'd often found it to your advantage to let others speak before opening your own mouth.

"I know your purpose here." Karlus said eventually, "I've heard that you bear some writ from the Alliance? Very well, and you intend to take the King? I cannot aid you in that, I swore oaths, and though the Alliance and the King of Alterac be at odds, that doesn't invalidate my oath. Nor could I lead my people against the Syndicate's bandits, they would be destroyed, and the town taken in storm and blood."

"I took Andoral against a Lich and twenty thousand undead. We stormed that city and fought in the cathedral while the Priestess, Whitemane, raised her voice in praise of the Light. I fought my way through the Death Knights of Naxxramas and killed Alexandros Mograine in single combat. I defeated Drek'thar, Elder Shaman of the Frostwolves in a duel not two weeks ago. Your king leads an army of bandits and broken men, he cannot stand against me." you said slowly, hand slowly playing over the leather of your blade.

Karlus was silent, his hands playing over the beads of his necklace.

"I do not like killing." you continued, choosing your words carefully, "But I must, and I wield this blade for the ends I see fit. I must have someone to lead the people of Alterac. I smashed the gates in six towns yes, but I harmed none of their people, and none who bore no weapon against my people. I did not come here to burn and destroy, I came here to fight evil. The Syndicate makes slaves of my people, they raid and extort all they can, and make alliances with foulness like the Scourge. This cannot stand, and Saiden Dathrohan has charged me to destroy them, and take Aliden Perenolde."

"You speak with such sincerity." Karlus breathed, "But my oaths stand. You are an enemy of Alterac, and but for your current mission, an enemy to the Alliance, I would judge. Upon the assumption of his throne the King had all men renew their oaths. I am bound by them, ever since I took up arms in the Third War. I fought alongside my brother, and I will not break my oaths again."

You'd not expected such a difficulty, but you were curious now, "Tell me of this brother."

Karlus signed. "I suppose it's no great secret. My brother was Aretain, a paladin of the Silver Hand. We fought together in the Wars, where I was the priest of his company. The war broke him. Something inside him, it drove him to madness. After the war my brother refused to stop fighting, he would hunt orcs with the remnants of his company, he would slay any he found trading with them, he'd poison wells and streams, do all he could. He was driven by visions you see, the Light abandoned him and in return he claimed it sent him visions. I followed him during these years, I was a bandit, and though I told myself that I knew nothing of the evils he did, that was a wilful blindness."

"What happened to him?"

"He died." Karlus shrugged, "He took an arrow in the mountains, raved for a week in sickness, then died, and we all went our separate ways. I came here, and the old bishop took me in as a deacon and gave me a new name, then when he died a few years ago he willed the district to me."

"And your penance is your oaths to Perenolde?" you asked. The human fascination with self-flagellation had always been unusual to you, but if it was a matter of honour, you had little hope of shifting him.

"It isn't penance." Karlus shook his head, "I know I did evil, unknowingly or not. This is not for me, but for the people, and for the Kingdom."

"The Light's truest victory is in stirring the hearts of the people." you said, it was a quote Tirion had been fond of, supposedly attributed to Old King Terenas. "The Kingdom is the People, not their ruler. You know this, otherwise I'd have found you with dozens of guards ready to die for you."

You could have argued that Karlus' oaths had been invalidated by the treachery of Alterac, but you didn't think that would have worked.

"And it is the people that I protect." Karlus said, "I will not, cannot, aid you. You have a small force, against the King's army that even now advances, what can my retinue do? I will not call out the militia in a full battle, the horrors of war are too great. You may depart, if you wish, I will raise no alarm, but I cannot help you. Only the Light can deliver us now…"

You frowned. It wasn't as if the few hundred Karlus might have raised would make a great difference, but you needed him not for his soldiery but for his voice and position. Would he be any more willing after you'd slaughtered the Syndicate?

Dathrohan had said he wouldn't mind if the Syndicate and the Alteraci nobles were killed, but he'd emphasised that it would be better if they could be turned. If you could take the King without full battle, that would be better. Six hundred Orcs against at least two thousand humans and an unknown number of Ogres. You were confident, you knew you could win, but as you'd told Karlus, you hadn't come here for blood.

For some reason you found yourself starring into the blade of your weapon. The edge was incredibly sharp and hard, not even chipping when you'd broken the Ashrbinger, but the blade itself was glossy black obsidian, gleaming in the candlelight.

An idea came to you. One of oaths too, but ones sworn more recently.

"What oaths did the old bishop have you make? To protect the Church, to uphold it's rituals and security?" you asked, being moderately familiar with the processes.

"Yes?" Karlus said, clearly confused, "Oaths to uphold confidence entrusted to me, oaths to protect the weak and needy, to have obedience to my superiors. They were much like the oaths I took when I first took up holy orders many years ago."

"What of oaths to the Light?" you asked, "Oaths of respect, of tenacity, of compassion? Many a time I've spoken with Tirion Fordring or the Risen Fairbanks, many a time they've spoken of the Three Virtues. Would you abandon those oaths?"

Karlus was still confused, "It is those oaths too that I follow now." he replied evenly, "It's for that reason I'll not commit townspeople and goodmen to slaughter against hardened fighters. We shall endure Perenolde's rule, as we have before, and if you fight beyond my walls, I will be the first from the gates to heal the wounded and give rites to the fallen."

"You claim the Light abandoned your brother, yet the Light never truly leaves the faithful." you replied, "The Light's Grace is there, in your darkest moments you called on it to spare your brother's soul, didn't you?"

"I-" Karlus halts, "I did, even when I knew his evil, I prayed for him."

"Then pray now." you continue, "Pray again for guidance, and know the Light has not abandoned you. Know that all will be well, all will be in righteousness."

"You cannot know that." Karlus shakes his head again, this time slashing his hand through the air and taking a step forward, "Too often I endured my brother's ravings, his 'visions' that meant we killed and killed and killed! I trust in the Light, but you cannot know it's truth! It will be as it will be, but in that uncertainty and fear, I cannot aid you."

Now is the moment, to make the final play, or to step back from the precipice to a more familiar one. Tirion warned against it, yet here you are…

Choose 1:
[ ] Reveal your connection to the Light, let faith bring him to understanding.
[ ] Step back, Karlus cannot be convinced, and now the Path of Blood lies before you.

To note, Grok believes that revealing the Light will persuade Karlus to help him, by demonstrating that Grok is indeed a righteous co-religionist, not just some random orc warleader. In the way Grok believes that Karlus will be persuaded that Alterac and the people are better off under a Light-aligned orc than under the current bandit king.

Bishop Karlus is Syndrissin Naris, a minor character who's story I found interesting from the RPG books. I sometimes use them, as well as the game's minor characters, to fill out the cast of this quest. For example, Dak'mal and Umber were the antagonists of an adventure, while Scorn is a rare mob in game.