Warcraft: The Rise of the Mag'har

The blade in your hands is a sturdy one. A human would struggle to lift it with one hand, you think, but not you. It is no masterful creation, and runes do not glimmer across its surface – shamanistic or otherwise. You have seen the examples of better weapons in all of the races save perhaps the ogres. But it will do well enough for this. It is not the axe of your forefathers, and that is a good thing in your opinion. Still. You glance at your warriors, who as ever are ready for battle, but you can't help but critical of the various scuffs along their armor and weapons. Nicks and scrapes. Things to be buffed out and fixed later. But for now…?

"Garrosh," you turn your head slightly, hefting the flat of your blade against your shoulder while the other hand ruffles at Dranar's fur.

"Warchief," he nods at you.

"Back me up."

"Always."

Then you leap atop Dranar's back, and begin to ride at Cho'war's startled grunt.

(Leading The Way: 56-Tired Troops(10)+Unprepared Guards(10)=56/100)
(Ranged Weaponry: 50-10+10=50/100)

The charge comes quickly, the rest of the raiders following you in while the grunts run behind. Above, on the higher edge of the cleft, archers begin to arc down their arrows. Gravity and skill combine as one. Your weapon is raised high, and the howls of wolves and riders as one ululate through the air. For all of this, however, the ogres are no easy foe, simple though their minds can be. Those that are awake and aware enough to respond are up quickly, the chance for battle and to exercise their strengths a welcome one. Surely these are the most disaffected of the clan at the moment, especially considering the fact that they were not allowed in for the clefthoof feast. Perhaps that might be an advantage at some time. As it is?

Your first line is beaten bloody the moment they crash into them. The sheer weight of ogres makes a usual cavalry charge unviable in effectiveness, even as great gobs of flesh are carved out of their fat bellies and wobbling arms. One raider near you is killed immediately after his wolf, his loyal companion's head pulped with the smash of a club before the ogre grabs the raider himself. He roars in pain before being ripped asunder at the waist. But you are busy as well. Your blade rises up and falls into an ogre's back, making it roar in pain and fall to its knees. Another pass ends it.

"Lok'tar, lok'tar!"

(Chaos Of Battle: 61+10-10=61/100)

The cry comes unbidden from your lips, but you let it come out all the same. Dranar, beneath you, snarls and howls as she fights just as you do, biting at an ogre's ankle and ripping away blood and cartilage alike. The fat creature falls to one knee with a pained roar, low enough for you to decapitate them. The grunts come, then, axes and swords flashing. The ogres are thoroughly in the fight, now, with some actually emerging from the cleft and immediately racing into the fight. The rumbling is loud indeed with so many running about, while behind you Cho'war and the rest of his brethren are coming, racing to get into the fight as well. You grimace as you survey the battlefield in a split crystal clear moment, the fight is not nearly enough in your favor. You are killing them, yes, but they are not even close to being overwhelmed.

(By The Power Of The Light, Burn: 100+Fresh Warsong(10)+10=120/100)

A column of light so bright it practically blisters your skin from the heat erupts in front of you. The scent of seared flesh fills the air, igniting the grass beneath, as one of the larger ogres is burnt down to blackened bones. Your head whips bout to see Garrosh, one hand outstretched almost like a claw, a harsh frown to his face. He does not snarl and roar like you would have thought, but instead is a tightly coiled fury. With his staff in one hand, he adjusts his aim, and obliterates another ogre where it was about to kill a downed grunt. Then the light over the staff begins to grow, before Garrosh slams it down with both hands clutched to it, and to your shock…the dead rise. The Light wreathes itself over a group of downed Mag'har around him, their bodies limp and unmoving, before all gasp and let loose hacking coughs, clutching at the wounds that ended them which have faded.

"Garrosh…," you murmur.

The Light…can raise the dead? The spirit should have passed on immediately, what of their journey to the ancestors? The questions burn their way into your mind and burrow deep, the theological implications astounding and frightening in equal measure. Thoughts of the damned Death Knights of the Horde, spirits transferred into fallen humans bubble up to the surface, but Garrosh's face has not changed its expression once. The rest of the Warsong around him begin letting loose lesser blasts of searing Light while healing the wounded, but he walks to you instead of doing any more. Only once he is close enough, blood dripping from both Dranar's maw and from the blade you picked up for this battle, does his face change to a quiet smile.

"I see the questions in your mind, for I had them as well when I learned at the feet of the Aldor. I cannot bring back the long-dead, no. I am not turning our honored dead away from the ancestors."

All around you the battle rages, but you can't help but stare at him all the same. Your doubt, you know, is obvious and clear on your face.

"As best as can be explained, the spirit doesn't leave the body immediately upon death. If there remains enough of them…I can return them before they begin the journey to the afterlife."

"Still," you shake your head slightly. "It…"

"It is an uncomfortable thought, I know," he claps a hand to your shoulder and shakes you slightly. "But we have a battle to finish, and can discuss it more in depth later. Perhaps you will come and speak to the Aldor yourself, hmm?"

(Mop Up: 66+10+10+Cho'war Arrival(10)=96/100)

You stare at him as he burns another ogre to death with the Light, before shaking your head and readying yourself once more. Cho'war is here, now, though you can see he is visibly disappointed at how well you've done thus far. He is not…cowed, no. Certainly not. Not yet. Some of the Boulderfist, two-headed, blast out at your troops with magic, but it is brutish and simple in application. Blasts of fire and ice come from them, and they clearly exhaust themselves with the effort more than your own troops do. Arcane shields spring up from your arcane warriors as they deflect such attacks and shoot back with their own, while others have come closer and loose arrows and spears. These are not stone, but metal, and stab deep into ogre flesh now.

Before you know it, the fight is over. The dying are immediately seen to by both shamans and priests of the Warsong, and some of the dead are even brought back by Garrosh. None of the others who have begun to study the powers of the Light are capable of doing the same, it seems. The son of Hellscream alone seems capable of the strength to bring the recently dead back. It is…quite the experience for others to see. Some of those brought back are panicked, confused, until the Light worshippers come to them, offering food, water, and calm counsel. The shamans are rather fiercely opposed to the practice, but after a fierce if quiet debate with Garrosh they at least agree to put the discussion aside until later.

Now…you stare at the entrance to the cleft, at the blood on the grass and stone that stains it. Over a dozen ogres fell to you personally, aided by Dranar of course, but many yet more remain. The vast majority, in fact. Cho'war approaches, then, chortling, at the blood that splatters across his body and the head of his hammer. Behind him is one of the two-headed variety of ogres, skin redder than most. One of the heads peers at the fallen and the entrance to the cleft, while the other seems entirely focused on you.

"Ha. Not a bad fight, tiny," the Pillager grunts, slapping at his belly. "But you lost a lot of you going up against Krol's boys. Not as many as I thought though! Haha!"

Yes. Orcs have died for this. More orcs will potentially be dead by the end of it. His disrespect of that fact is…increasingly frustrating.

"Strong magic, though," the new ogre says. Or at least one of his heads does, the other seems more distracted. "Healing and damage both. Intriguing."

"Shut up Zorbo," Cho'war grumbles. "That wasn't nearly a good enough fight, and you know it."

"Of course, my King," the now named Zorbo bows, both heads locking forward with gazes looking down. "My apologies."

Cho'war sniffs and turns away, though you note that both of Zorbo's heads roll their eyes.

"Good fight. But there's more. More of them cowards, running away from their king. I pushed out da gronn. I rule da hills," Cho'war slams his maul upon the ground, cracking the earth. "Traitors die. Traitors die!"

Then looks down at you.

"You did good, little 'Warchief'. But you took all the fun. Now you can sit and guard da entrance…and let da King meet 'is people."

Then he stomps away, calling together a great number of his ogres near the entrance. The Boulderfist are certainly alerted by this point. Stealth and surprise are no longer a weapon in your arsenal to be used. The Mag'har, on the other hand, are looking ready once more. Those that couldn't be brought back, either because their bodies were too damaged or Garrosh was simply unable for a multitude of reasons, are pulled to the side for proper burial later. The others are readying themselves once more. You watch as Garrosh walks amongst the warriors, his demeanor…so utterly different from the near-suicidal creature of before. Remarkable. His will, properly focused, is tremendous. A small benefit of his legacy by blood, you suppose.

"He'll never properly ally with you, you know," Zorbo suddenly says from next to you, having declined to follow his 'King' towards the entrance. "He's too proud. Too strong."

You glare at him, hands curling into fists at your sides.

"We are stronger. We will prove that to him."

At that, one of Zorbo's heads guffaws while the other chuckles.

"We know you're stronger, oh Mag'har," the ogre says in unison.

Then Zorbo lifts his hand, and you watch as the wind whistles through it temporarily, water from the nearby springs which fills the basin beneath Halaa burbling. Then it ceases to your wide-eyed shock.

"The elements told us so."

You take a small step to the side, Dranar cocking her head at the ogre.

"You…are a shaman?"

Zorbo's heads nod in unison.

"We are. We hear their words. Their…wisdoms. If you have the ability to listen, that is," the left head adds. "Is it so surprising? We descend from the gronn, and they from the magnaron, and they from the colossals. We have always had a connection to the Earth, before even Water, Fire, or Air."

"But…," you struggle to wrap your head around a shaman as a foe to the works of the Mag'har. "Why would you all…if you know, then how…?"

"The Furies don't have a 'chosen people'," Zorbo's heads shake at you in bemusement, "They never have. Before they spoke to the orcs, they spoke to the ogres. Few enough could listen at the time, and most…in the time of the Gorian Empire, turned to the arcane."

The ogre shaman shrugs his heavy shoulders.

"But…I will say this. The Furies voices have never been clearer in our minds. Before, they were so muddled…you could barely be sure they were actually talking to you at all," one of his heads says, the other remaining silent with a contemplative look on its face.

"And Cho'war, he…doesn't?"

Zorbo shakes their heads.

"No. He cares about war. About fighting. About…domination. He's close to the elder Breakers, our ancestors, that way. Enough to break and slay the gronn who ruled us before."

You glance over at where Cho'war clubs an ogre over the back of its head, snapping a hand out at another assemblage of ogres.

"And…you, I suppose, are different," you raise an eyebrow at Zorbo.

"I am," both heads nod. "The Boulderfist…no one has seen Kron since Cho'war threw him out, but Kron was perfectly happy to serve the gronn. Cho'war, on the other hand, will never serve anyone. He doesn't respect you, and even if he did…well."

Zorbo turns away from you and begins to walk before stopping.

"He respected the gronn too…and I watched as he broke them apart, piece by piece, with his hammer. Still, we have been proven wrong before. I would not be surprised if it happened again."

You glance at the shaman, now able to tell, after a moment's closer study of the feather necklaces, the small fetishes and charms that are smaller on their frames than they would be on that of the Mag'har. But there will be no more speaking with Zorbo now, as he has joined the rest of the ogres, and you assume he would prefer you not speaking about his criticisms of Cho'war while the 'King' of the Warmaul is standing there next to him. Still, it is something to think about. Mages and shaman, both in the Warmaul and the Boulderfist. You cannot afford to discount them, like you know that part of your mind was before.

Lesson learned, then.

"Are you all right, Dranosh?" Garrosh asks you as he comes closer, his priestly robes now flecked with the blood of those he knelt with. "You look…concerned."

"Not about the fight," you shake your head, "About other things. Spiritual…matters."

"Ahhh," he nods slowly. "I see. What are your orders now? Do we rush in ahead of Cho'war again, fight alongside them…?"

Choose One:
[] We are not done yet. We shall lead the charge once more. Let the Warmaul observe the bloody wake of the Mag'har and know the Nation's strength.
[] Fight alongside the Warmaul. Observe their combat capabilities up close. Let them see your own abilities up close as well. Through the cleft's innards, it will be unavoidable if you do this for them to see your strength.
[] The Warmaul are fresh. Too fresh. Too untested. And Cho'war is boastful and proud. Let them rush in first, and move in behind them. They want battle? They feel that they have been cooped up too long in their hills? Let them be disabused of that notion.