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

Alterac 16
[X] Reveal your connection to the Light, let faith bring him to understanding.

"You claim to trust in the Light." you said, once more speaking slowly as you fed your hope into the pure fire in your heart. "Trust then, trust that I am no raider or murderer. Trust that I would avoid death if I can help it, and despite the inclinations of my people. Trust in my honour, trust in my sword to protect the people of Alterac better than a bandit king. Trust… in the Light!"

From your fist the pure flame erupted, the radiance bathing the church in golden light.

You didn't see Karlus fall back in amazement, tripping over the alter step. You didn't see the cries of alarm from the town as the church's windows lit up.

You felt it, you heard it. The Light embraced your soul. Where you had to command or compel the Spirits to obey you, where the Fel had to be promised sacrifice, the Light simply came when you called, it gave aid and sooth and you felt it run through your body, healing any minor hurt, rejuvenating you.

"This power I felt in the darkness of Naxxramas. This power I wield against the foe." you continued as you will the Light to grow stronger, ignoring the braziers around the church as they burst into golden fire. "This Light I trust, as much as I trust my skill or my blade. This Light will bear me through the tumult, into battle and beyond."

Bishop Karlus had raised himself, leaning on the altar.

"And so it shall!"

With a fervour in his eyes the priest chased you from the church, shouting for his attendants, calling for the bells to be rung in triumph, calling for oils and sacred herbs.

You sped away across the roofs again as the townspeople woke in confusion, but when you crested the wall and clambered back down you thought you heard singing.

The way back was quick, and you found Scorn waiting with a company readying for battle.

"What's happened, we heard the bells!" he barked out as you came up, retrieving your accoutrements from the guard you'd given them to.

"Varnhold is with us." you announced and grunts of approval went up in the company.

"Good." Vark said, hand upon his greatbow. "But Gol'dir and the outriders are in, you'll want to hear their report."

You nodded, gesturing for him to lead the way. You'd appointed Gol'dir to lead the Warsong wolf-riders you had left, the few of them that there were, and the Frostwolf's knowledge had proved useful indeed in directing your course through the mountains.

Gol'dir's report was swift. That was good, for after you'd heard it there was much to do.

The scouts reported that a mixed force of ogres and humans were making their way toward you. You'd been assaulting towns, while they'd just marched through after you and now they'd caught up. They'd be at Varnhold by morning, and then you'd have a battle on your hands.

"They've marched through the night." Vark was saying as you assembled your war council. "The Boulderfist will be fine to fight, but the humans won't be happy."

"They're not Boulderfist, they're Stonemaul." Gol'dir pointed out but Vark ignored him.

"It won't matter once we break them." your brother shrugged, "But if possible I'd like to challenge their leader."

"I'm not sure you'll get that chance." you replied, "From what I hear they just mass and charge."

The ogres of the Crushridge Clan were of dubious providence. The Boulderfist in Arathi had been somehow subordinate to the Crushridge, yet if the Crushridge were actually Stonemaul, that would seem most unusual. The Boulderfist had been the first organised Ogres to emerge in the ruins of Highmaul, their claim to fame being that they could pick up rocks rather than just beating each other with their fists, yet the Stonemaul had overcome them, instead tying the rocks to sticks first. The two clans, degenerate remnants of the ancient Gorian Empire, had struggled for supremacy till Blackhand had forced them to join the Horde's invasion of Azeroth.

"What's more troubling is this alliance between the ogres and the Alteraci." Gol'dir said, "We could never get to the bottom of their relationship, it seemed they fought a lot, but equally in Arathi you fought ogres allied with the Syndicate. At least it looks like it. The Crushridge are in the vanguard now, I suppose the humans lagged behind."

No doubt, you agreed privately, but the Syndicate were known for their treachery, so you suspected it might also be due to betray the ogres.

Kartha clearly thought the same and voiced it, but you were listening through the earth.

The enemy were close, you could feel their footsteps, the lumbering gait of the Crushridge, then the trudge of the Syndicate army.

At least five hundred ogres, and at least two thousand humans.

Good odds.

Morning came swiftly, and if found your warband arrayed between the enemy and the town of Varnhold.

You couldn't see any way for the Syndicate to have learned of Varnhold's defection, but you set your warband up between the two as a trick, for even if the enemy didn't take the bait and assume your flanks were open to attack, your presence away from the town would force them to go far around to meet them.

The enemy crested the horizon, coming over between a line of hills along the main road. The ogres in front tore it up, and the human army behind them were covered in mud up to their knees, looking utterly miserable.

"What a motley band they are!" exclaimed Vark beside you. He was to lead the centre with his Boulderfist, while you would take the right flank to attack while the left led by Tagorr would pin the enemy in place.

"Perhaps, but be careful, brother." you replied, and exchanging a nod, marched away to your station.

Before you'd left you could already hear the dull thuds of Vark's bow. He was aiming high, sending his shafts into the fleshy mass of the Crushridge warband. They didn't do much damage, you could see that with a glance, but it looked like he'd already killed one of them, the others around the body gesticulating and shouting toward him.

That would provoke them. Good.

A small band of horsemen approached the Crushridge, speaking briefly, then departing. You saw the umber hawk of Alterac there, and knew it must be King Perenolde himself. Whatever he'd said to the ogres, it clearly rallied them, for they couched their spears and began to advance.

"Look there!" Sorek called to the others, gesturing with his banner, "Already we'll have battle, that is good!"

They were advancing quickly actually, far quicker than you'd thought.

The ogres of Draenor were older than the orcs. They had risen and built cities when your people had barely emerged from the caverns of Gorgrond.

But where were the ogres now?

"Once, the Gorian Empire ruled Draenor." you spoke, and the earth carried your words, even as you began to feel the ground shake from the ogre charge. "Once," you continued, "Highmaul and Bladespire rose in might. Once, they were strong and great."

The Crushridge were nearing, the rocks shook.

"Once, but no more." you said, "Let us remind them then, why the orcs ruled Draenor!"

The roar of your clan joined the bellows of the charging ogres. Each bore a spear twice as tall as any orc, and many more bore cudgels or crude blades at their waists. They were fearsome, but they weren't the only ones who could make the earth shake.

Up from the ground came the rage, up came the hurt and fear and loathing. Up came Myzrael, Princess of Deepholm, and her fury broke the mountains in sunder.

Rocks crashed down all around the valley, the walls of Varnhold shook, but the ogre charge floundered, the first ranks plummeting into a trench, swallowed by the earth.

"A blade!" you roared, springing forward.

Your clansmen roared around you as they charged. Tagorr's Blackrocks beat axe on shield and went forward in lockstep, Vark threw aside his bow and drew his long knife, leading the Boulderfist, their woad shining in the sun, and you ran on the right, Sorek's aspirants behind you, Scorn behind them, and the fury of Halvalor lending speed to your charge.

A single ogre tried to rally the clan, their chief, you didn't doubt, but Vark was on him, rushing through the Crushridge, bowling them aside as he ran on, then leaping at the ogre he stabbed and stabbed with his knife, gouts of the creatures blood coating his face as he sat astride the enemy chief.

You hit the left flank of the Crushridge and you had little time for more thought, blood was on you, and fire too as the blades of the clansmen erupted in flame.

You slew and slew, striding over Myzrael's trench, stepping on broken ogres as you advanced over it, blade swinging down to cut off a stretching hand, crude and meaty and grasping.

Horns blared in front and behind. The Syndicate advanced, their officers goading the men with threats and inducements, but despite it all they went forward cautiously. Clearly they had planned to betray the ogres and whatever feeble pact they'd made, but soon it was humans on the end of your blade, for the first time in almost two years, since that moment in the Kul Tiran tower.

You led your battle in, flanking the confused remnants of the Crushridge to link up with Vark's Boulderfist, you slew as you went, and you saw Sorek cutting down half a dozen with his sword as the banners of the Burning Blade flew high.

More horns came and the Varnholders crashed in.

"Turn from evil, brothers! Turn from evil, to the Light!" Bishop Karlus called astride a shining white horse, his robes already speckled with blood as he rode, the banner of Alterac in one hand, a mace in the other.

Vark was there before you, nursing a gouge on his neck from an ogre's tusk, "The Crushridge are with us, but I wouldn't trust them in this fight." he said quickly, "How was it for you?"

"They were confused, we went through them easily, have you seen Perenolde? We must take him!" you replied.

"I haven't, though they've many horsemen hanging back over there. Will they commit?"

"Give me a boost." you instructed, and stepping quickly in Vark's cupped hands you climbed up, gripping his shoulder to get a better view.

You looked out over the battle. Tagorr's shieldwall was plain, a line of black iron that bent around where the Syndicate were trying to flank the Blackrocks. The ogres were lying confused, some of them in larger bands guarded by orcs and Boulderfist warriors, while the Varnholders were pressing in from the east around the side of the battle, with the Syndicate committed in several large bands under different captains.

There!

You saw the royal banner flying, and a band of armoured knights on foot toward the rear. They would strengthen the enemy there.

"Keep fighting here, I'm going for the king!" you told Vark quickly, and then bounded away toward Karlus.

"We must take the king," you told him just as quickly, and with a nod the bishop called for his attendants before the whole lot of you charged into the Syndicate.

They wouldn't fight, they fell back before you as soon as you cut the first man in half with the Fireblade. Karlus was shouting about redemption and peace, Sorek was swiping this way and that with his own sword, even Kalaran was there, leading his knights near the bishop to clear the way.

Perenolde's attendants were firmer, and there were even mages among them, but Karlus merely stretched out his hand and a radiance shone from it, blinding them before they could cast a spell. Those that recovered quickly shot fireballs and bolts of ice, but between Kalaran's counterspells and your bladework none found purchase.

You were deep in the enemy formation now, entirely surrounded by the Syndicate army, but they had fallen back as you clashed with Perenolde's knights. You fought with one large man yourself, and for a moment you were surprised that his sword could resist yours, but in a single stroke you'd drawn your blade back and then forward again through his legs. A worthy warrior, but a dead one.

"The King is fallen! Perenolde is dead!" someone called, and you saw Karlus' white horse speed past you.

The human army broke. Panic and confusion spread through the ranks and their lines buckled when the nobles took to horse and galloped away in fear of their lives. The orcs cheered, chasing after their foes and cutting down many, while the Varnholders pressed forward too, meeting up with your band where Perenolde's body lay.

The King was indeed dead, you saw that as you approached, and you saw Karlus praying over him, making the sign of his faith over the King's face and hands.

He wasn't much to look upon, you reflected as you beheld the first king of your life. In truth you found the human system of hereditary rule quite unusual and somewhat alien, and you looked down at Perenolde wondering what he thought of it. Did he desire his crown? Or did he merely seek to follow the dictates of his rank and family, as you did?

The man's throat was laid open, the face pale save for the blood covering it.

"How did he die?" you asked the warband. It was inconvenient, you had wanted him alive, but such were the fortunes of war.

"None know." Kalaran offered, the knight of Stormwind was standing with sword drawn and bloody, but at rest, while his other hand was resting upon the dagger at his belt. "None here claim the credit, but it may be that he died in the press of battle and his killer didn't recognise him, or perhaps one of his own betrayed him…"

You nodded. It was inconvenient.

"No matter." you said eventually. Alterac was yours, the ogres and the Syndicate were broken. Karlus would absorb the remnants of the army soon enough, and you would have it that the bishop go south and take command of the remnants of the kingdom, at least until Dathrohan could sort out a true ruler.

"Kalaran," you said, "Make whatever preparations are necessary and bear him to Andorhal. Report to the Grand Crusader and say what we've done here, I'll give you a letter shortly."

You continued to think, Perenolde's death could have kept the situation less messy, for he was a rallying point for the other nobles who Dathrohan wanted to maintain their positions. Did Perenolde have heirs? The king's hair was grey, you suspected he did, but if so they would surely be hidden now. This was the greater part of the Syndicate's strength, and you couldn't let them gather themselves once more, or comparably allow them to escape and trouble the kingdom still.

You'd come here to break the Syndicate, you'd done that, but Karlus' words came back to you. There were orcs coming down from the mountains and raiding. Orcs who had to be the remnants of the old Blackrock clans, or even of your own clan. You were likely the only one who could resolve that situation peacefully.

You couldn't split your force, that would be dangerous with Vark's new ogres needing to be watched, but you also couldn't be in two places at once.

Choose 1:
[ ] Go into the mountains to seek out the raiding orcs, and to stop them.
[ ] Go south to pacify the remnants of the Syndicate, and to prevent any insurgency.

All in all, the battle went pretty well for you. Perenolde is dead though, which isn't ideal, but isn't catastrophic either. Main Syndicate force defeated, Crushridge absorbed, but now it's the decisions about what you'll do next, as your tasks in Alterac aren't finished yet. As I said I wanted to move the narrative along, so here I put the battle in sooner than I'd perhaps previously anticipated.
-100 orcs, +200 ogres.