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- United Kingdom
Orc Quest; or, A Critical Examination of Agency Through in Interactive Fiction (Warcraft)
- Thread starter FractiousDay
- Start date
- Fantasy
- Location
- United Kingdom
rolls
syndicate cohesion 36 fairly poor, but manage to bring a force together
anti syndicate army cohesion 20, even worse, ineffective fighting force
orc raiders 92, very effective, begin to sweep through settlements
speed of alliance help 23, not coming any time soon
trolls? 27 some raiding nothing consequential that the alliance can't deal with
grok doing all the work 87, syndicate sorted
ravenholt intervention, 41, Black Dragon counter 79
argus wake 41, moderate effect but nothing very effective
opinion of grok 78
syndicate cohesion 36 fairly poor, but manage to bring a force together
anti syndicate army cohesion 20, even worse, ineffective fighting force
orc raiders 92, very effective, begin to sweep through settlements
speed of alliance help 23, not coming any time soon
trolls? 27 some raiding nothing consequential that the alliance can't deal with
grok doing all the work 87, syndicate sorted
ravenholt intervention, 41, Black Dragon counter 79
argus wake 41, moderate effect but nothing very effective
opinion of grok 78
Last edited:
- Location
- barking
well that doesn't look good I think
Grok having to shoulder the burden.
Good news is his help is well recieved. Makes him all the more valuable.
Too bad about the rest.
wowwiki-archive.fandom.com
So this is ravenholdt. Assassins opposed to the syndicate for what intervention? Black dragons put a stop to that.
wowwiki-archive.fandom.com
Shadow council members affiliated with the syndicate.
They must be the ones that thought well of Grok actually.
Good news is his help is well recieved. Makes him all the more valuable.
Too bad about the rest.
Ravenholdt
Ravenholdt is a guild of thieves and assassins which welcomes only those of extraordinary prowess into its fold. They are diametrically opposed to the Syndicate and are a rogue-only faction as all quests are rogue-only quests. The exception is the quest Junkboxes Needed, which is available to...
So this is ravenholdt. Assassins opposed to the syndicate for what intervention? Black dragons put a stop to that.
Argus Wake
The Argus Wake are a mysterious group of the Shadow Council allied to the Syndicate in Alterac. Known Argus Wake members are the Argus Shadow Mages found in Strahnbrad and the Uplands. According to Thrall, they are members of the Shadow Council, and should be considered one and the same. The...
Shadow council members affiliated with the syndicate.
They must be the ones that thought well of Grok actually.
Last edited:
- Location
- barking
well shame about the orks raiding going well and we should look into getting someone to look into a healer cause all that carrying got to hurt groks back 
- Location
- Just passing through.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"Do I have to do everything myself?!"
-Grok'mash, future Warchief, probably.
-Grok'mash, future Warchief, probably.
Alterac 17
- Location
- United Kingdom
Alterac 17
[X] Go south to pacify the remnants of the Syndicate, and to prevent any insurgency.
The Blackrock raiding could be dealt with later. There couldn't be more than a few thousand of them, you judged, and it would be worse if the Syndicate managed to rebuilt itself.
No, south it was, escorting Bishop Karlus and his Varnholders, almost emptying the city garrison and leaving its defence in the hands of old men and cripples.
"We must be quick, however we do this." Vark observed to you as you marched, "There must be a new King of Alterac soon, otherwise these bandits will disappear off into the hills."
In truth, you didn't much care for the internal politics of the Alliance. It was likely, you suspected, that Dathrohan saw the interregnum of Alterac as an opportunity to enhance his power. The less that was said about the Scarlet Princess the better, for while Dathrohan still hadn't produced her, no one was seriously questioning him on the matter.
Dathrohan would see this as a way to gain power, that much you were sure of. You had his measure by now, he was a puissant knight, and a mighty lord, but he had a darkness in him, a grasping malevolence, a shadow of the Light.
Alterac's mines would be seized, it's roads patrolled and fortresses either thrown down or garrisoned, and the Alteraci warriors pressed into the service of the Scarlet Onslaught. You didn't need to be a farseer to understand that.
But where you came in was in what Dathrohan might do after. If you were to safeguard the Orcs of Lordaeron and the Eastern Kingdoms, you needed power and influence yourself, you needed the confidence of the human and dwarven rulers, the forbearance of their priests and the respect of their warriors, and perhaps yes, you needed a kingdom of your own.
"The old king had another son, Isiden." you said to Vark, "But Dathrohan says he's either a Death Knight or in Gilneas, and can't be found in any case. To proclaim him would be tantamount to Dathrohan setting himself up as regent of yet another kingdom. The other option is for some other noble take the throne, some kinsman perhaps of the Perenoldes."
Vark stroked his beard. "I don't see the point." he shrugged, "Why bother? I understand the humans have a love of written laws and documents, but the Perenoldes are still traitors, what legitimacy would they derive from it?"
It was a strange thing, having to adapt to the human customs, and indeed it always had been. You could speak of honour with a human knight and more or less comprehend the code by which they lived, but the idea of currency had been extremely unusual to you. The Orcs of Draenor never had such a thing, though the Blackrock had a custom of 'work-debts' which came somewhat similar.
You, Vark and Kartha had puzzled over it all in the almost two years you'd been in Lordaeron now. Kartha had the best grasp, but the idea of hereditary monarchy was most unusual. Your grandfather hadn't led the Burning Blade, and until recently there hadn't been a guarantee that you would either. True, in most clans the children of chiefs often had a good shot at leadership, but there wasn't any inherent mysticism about the authority of a chief like there was for a king.
"I suppose the other option is Prestor." Vark said.
That was true, but you made no comment. Lady Prestor seemed worthy enough, and to hear that she had the love of Lord Bolvar made her rise in your esteem. In truth, you'd only met her a few times. She seemed intelligent, inquisitive and capable, having shared the regency of Stormwind with Bolvar. She had a love for old lore and knowledge that you'd welcomed, and with Brann Bronzebeard she'd questioned you extensively regarding the Elements and Orcish beliefs in general.
You marched on Alterac, scattering small bands of the Syndicate before you. Karlus and the Varnholders had the vanguard, for none would have it otherwise, and the Bishop's authority would be diminished if he was seen to send others before him.
Unfortunately, he was still a bishop, and no battlefield commander.
Thrice Karlus lost costly skirmishes, almost a third of his retinue being slain by ambushes and feints before you felt you had to step in. After that it went more smoothly. You smashed the Syndicate, slaying a succession of smaller bands of only a few hundred, their survivors joining the Bishop's army.
It seemed the Syndicate had yet to assemble themselves, but eventually they managed to get another army together, only for you to charge in in darkness, surrounding the whole group and igniting the swords of your warband in a great circle that forced a surrender almost immediately after the Syndicate nobles found themselves surrounded.
"Fine work." Karlus said, his arm in a sling from a wound, "Bloody work, but fine enough for all that."
The morning saw the dead buried in a great pit, and you called the flames to scourge their souls of sin while your warriors howled aloud and clashed their shields.
The Syndicate were broken, the battle done, but from the north came evil news.
Blackrock Orcs swept through the Uplands, through mountain and vale, burning where they went and piling the dead into great bonfires while they called to long-departed demons for aid. Hundreds were given to the flames, and Karlus more than once looked suspiciously at you when the reports came in.
"My father is a demonologist." you assured him, "Those methods have long been abandoned, such crudities have little power."
Karlus raised his eyebrows and spoke, "May we be thankful to the Light for that at least…"
Your outriders had made contact with Alliance cavalry coming up the road from Southshore. Their captains spoke of Plague and poison, of assassination and unrest, some trick of the Scourge, they thought, but it seemed Dathrohan had closed the port for the time being, and was landing supplies at smaller docks along the coast. It was slower, and no help would come from the Alliance to Alterac any time soon. To them perhaps it seemed that the Syndicate were vanquished, and Alterac likely to be compliant shortly, despite the occasional raids on the supply routes by the Winteraxe Trolls.
Three days you camped in the ruins of Alterac while Karlus asserted himself. He did not take the King's throne, nor the Archbishop's, but rather a modest townhouse of some merchant, and held a sort of court there. One night he brought concerning news, asking your advice.
"I think," he began, "I think we may be secure. Or at least, as much as can be done. Those more moderate of the Syndicate, those loyal to the King not his banditry I've set in high positions as the captains of the host, and those of more radical views I've imprisoned. What may come of it I don't know, but whoever rules Alterac in a year will decide the matter, I'm sure. They may wish to pardon some to assuage the others, to show mercy, or I suppose they may just kill them all and install Dathrohan's men in their place. Who knows?"
Karlus looked into the fire before you. He was swaddled in furs while you sat only in your jacket. The Orcs were a hardy folk, and once again you were reminded of it. For the most part you let him speak, offering advice where you could.
"An assassin came to me last night." Karlus said after a pause.
You tilted your head, "I heard nothing of this, no alarum in the city…"
"He introduced himself as such, woke me, though how he gained entry to my chamber I don't know, though the window I suppose, but when he'd said his piece he was away again before I could call." Karlus explained, "He named himself 'Fahrad', claimed that he now controlled the League of Assassins."
"I've never heard of such a group."
"No, I had only heard whispers years ago." Karlus shrugged, "Supposedly they were set up to stop wars in the years after the fall of Arathor. To concentrate the military strength of the human kingdoms against the Trolls, to keep conflicts local, prevent two kingdoms going to war and letting the Trolls exploit the weakness."
It was a strange way of doing things you supposed, but that was humans for you.
"Well it seems they exist after all. Fahrad, if that was truly his name, claimed that Jorach Ravenholdt, a lord of some renown in the kingdom, had secretly opposed the Syndicate for many years, and that now Perenolde was dead he desired to take the kingdom for himself. This apparently caused some schism among the Assassins, and Fahrad led a faction who desired to remain neutral, rather than to serve Ravenholdt's personal interests. In any case, Ravenholdt is dead, his manor burned, and certain papers now in my possession seem to indicate the truth of all this. Fahrad offered me aid, a counterbalance against the Syndicate, and provided me with evidence of various schemes by their members, desiring me to use it to secure Alterac once more."
It was a shadowy affair indeed, but once more you saw less reason to become involved in it yourself, and besides, "I don't see how you might safely refuse such 'aid'." you remarked.
"Nor I." Karlus agreed, "Perhaps Lady Prestor will make this Fahrad her Spymaster, if he's so skilled. But for now I'll deal with him. For your part, I would have you return north, I can't take the Alteraci against the Orcs, for years Perenolde tried and it availed him little, yours is the only force which can oppose them."
"And so I shall." you replied. "I'll leave some of my warriors with you. See that any of the orc slaves the Syndicate took are freed and sent to me."
That night you stepped out of the camp, walking barefoot upon the earth.
It was a habit you'd taken to recently, to better feel the roll and coil of Myzrael, barely restrained in her bonds of hatred, ready to leap forth to slaughter.
"Peace, Spirit." you told her, "The time for battle is soon."
At once an oily darkness came from the trees before you, and you felt a corruption upon the earth.
"How right you are, Blademaster." came smooth voice, "And let it be soon! For a blade must have a scabbard and that scabbard must be of blood!"
Three figures revealed themselves, dropping the concealing magic that had shrouded them.
The Fireblade was drawn and burning in your hand, but the lead figure held up an open palm. "Galtak Ered'nash." he said, "En kalathar ashkaz."
They hailed the Burning Blade and claimed to be friends, or, you supposed based on the word used, partners, allies perhaps. After all, there was no word you knew in Ered'ruin for 'friend'.
You doubted that, but you made no move against them. "Approach then, and come out of the darkness." and with that you cast orbs of fire to float around you, bathing the clearing in light.
The three were orcs, two males and one female. The first, the speaker, set his hand to his chest, "En kalathar Nagaz, en kalathar na'at'arash. Enarath na'at'arath." he said in Ered'ruin, the demonic tongue.
Nagaz, for that was the Orc's name, was a warrior of average built, yet clearly of greater than average subtlety. He spoke the demon tongue freely, more freely than any orc in Thrall's Horde, including your father, and he spoke it well with a confidence that spoke of long instruction.
More concerning, was that he claimed a place in the Third Circle.
In the Burning Blade, there were a number of ranks in your father's hierarchy. They were not spoken of to outsiders, but only the most experienced warlocks and agents were of the third rank, while your father was of the first, and only Jergosh, another warlock, of the second.
"Then let them name themselves." you replied, and let them speak in a tongue that does not so offend the Spirits."
Nagaz had named the other two as of the Fourth Circle, and you looked at both of them in turn.
"Enkil'eneshar gol-lithar." grumbled the first, a brutal looking Orc, whom the Spirit of Fire knew well. 'The Spirits are weak' he said, but under your gaze he changed into Orcish, "I am Ritssyn." he said simply, rolling his broad shoulders under a mantle of dark cloth.
"I am known as Marez of the Cowl." said the female next, drawing back her hood to expose a bare scalp writ with demonic runes, and a stubby pair of horns poking through to denote the Fel corruption of her art.
Nagaz placed his hand on his breast again and gave a low bow, not quite obsequious, but with an abundance of respect which forced you to set down your sword, "Again we greet you." he said, then ran a hand to smooth back his long hair and tug slightly at an eyepatch which covered a long scar. "We serve the Burning Blade, and were dispatched by your father to infiltrate the Syndicate several years ago, as well as to reconnect with strongholds of the Clan here in Alterac."
That at least, was a bold lie, you decided. Your father may have secrets, indeed many of them, but he would have told you such a thing. Why then does Nagaz seek to deceive you?
"We did much in the last few weeks to sow discord among the Syndicate and prepare the way for your coming, and now we reveal ourselves to you. We have many acolytes, for we gave our services to the Alteraci and taught them our magics."
"And yet," you interrupted, "I've seen few spellslingers among them, save a few mages who I killed in the King's guard."
Nagaz bows again, impressively unphased, "This is true, mighty warrior," he says, "for we commanded our followers to retreat, taking to hidden places which only we know and to lay there in readiness for your order. Alas, Haomarush, the Blademaster who commands the Blackrock of the north, was always suspicious of us and has finally turned to madness, and now seeks to destroy you."
That is perhaps unsurprising, given you seek the same for him. "I didn't know a Blademaster survived the Lich King's assault on Alterac." you remarked.
"He did, though barely." Marez says, "But in the years since his mind has deteriorated much, and only his skill with a blade remains."
A terrible fate, you decided, though one many Blademasters might prefer over the opposite, for to lose their skill was to lose themselves.
"Haomarush commands three thousand warriors, and they now march on Alterac. If you can stop their assembly though, you might slay Haomarush and take command of his clan!" Nagaz continued, "We will aid you, if we can."
Who exactly these Orcs were, you didn't know. You'd never heard of them before, nor had your father spoken of them, which you thought he would have. Clearly they had much to offer, from information to magical support, but they were also willing to flatter and lie to get into your service. You would not cut them down, they had observed the courtesies, and you would too, but that didn't necessarily mean you had to accept them into your service.
You would return shortly to the camp to rouse your warriors, for if they spoke truth regarding Haomarush and his Blackrock, you were needed in the north. If they lied, well, you sword would claim three heads.
Choose 1:
[ ] Accept the warlocks' aid.
[ ] Deny the warlocks' aid.
[X] Go south to pacify the remnants of the Syndicate, and to prevent any insurgency.
The Blackrock raiding could be dealt with later. There couldn't be more than a few thousand of them, you judged, and it would be worse if the Syndicate managed to rebuilt itself.
No, south it was, escorting Bishop Karlus and his Varnholders, almost emptying the city garrison and leaving its defence in the hands of old men and cripples.
"We must be quick, however we do this." Vark observed to you as you marched, "There must be a new King of Alterac soon, otherwise these bandits will disappear off into the hills."
In truth, you didn't much care for the internal politics of the Alliance. It was likely, you suspected, that Dathrohan saw the interregnum of Alterac as an opportunity to enhance his power. The less that was said about the Scarlet Princess the better, for while Dathrohan still hadn't produced her, no one was seriously questioning him on the matter.
Dathrohan would see this as a way to gain power, that much you were sure of. You had his measure by now, he was a puissant knight, and a mighty lord, but he had a darkness in him, a grasping malevolence, a shadow of the Light.
Alterac's mines would be seized, it's roads patrolled and fortresses either thrown down or garrisoned, and the Alteraci warriors pressed into the service of the Scarlet Onslaught. You didn't need to be a farseer to understand that.
But where you came in was in what Dathrohan might do after. If you were to safeguard the Orcs of Lordaeron and the Eastern Kingdoms, you needed power and influence yourself, you needed the confidence of the human and dwarven rulers, the forbearance of their priests and the respect of their warriors, and perhaps yes, you needed a kingdom of your own.
"The old king had another son, Isiden." you said to Vark, "But Dathrohan says he's either a Death Knight or in Gilneas, and can't be found in any case. To proclaim him would be tantamount to Dathrohan setting himself up as regent of yet another kingdom. The other option is for some other noble take the throne, some kinsman perhaps of the Perenoldes."
Vark stroked his beard. "I don't see the point." he shrugged, "Why bother? I understand the humans have a love of written laws and documents, but the Perenoldes are still traitors, what legitimacy would they derive from it?"
It was a strange thing, having to adapt to the human customs, and indeed it always had been. You could speak of honour with a human knight and more or less comprehend the code by which they lived, but the idea of currency had been extremely unusual to you. The Orcs of Draenor never had such a thing, though the Blackrock had a custom of 'work-debts' which came somewhat similar.
You, Vark and Kartha had puzzled over it all in the almost two years you'd been in Lordaeron now. Kartha had the best grasp, but the idea of hereditary monarchy was most unusual. Your grandfather hadn't led the Burning Blade, and until recently there hadn't been a guarantee that you would either. True, in most clans the children of chiefs often had a good shot at leadership, but there wasn't any inherent mysticism about the authority of a chief like there was for a king.
"I suppose the other option is Prestor." Vark said.
That was true, but you made no comment. Lady Prestor seemed worthy enough, and to hear that she had the love of Lord Bolvar made her rise in your esteem. In truth, you'd only met her a few times. She seemed intelligent, inquisitive and capable, having shared the regency of Stormwind with Bolvar. She had a love for old lore and knowledge that you'd welcomed, and with Brann Bronzebeard she'd questioned you extensively regarding the Elements and Orcish beliefs in general.
You marched on Alterac, scattering small bands of the Syndicate before you. Karlus and the Varnholders had the vanguard, for none would have it otherwise, and the Bishop's authority would be diminished if he was seen to send others before him.
Unfortunately, he was still a bishop, and no battlefield commander.
Thrice Karlus lost costly skirmishes, almost a third of his retinue being slain by ambushes and feints before you felt you had to step in. After that it went more smoothly. You smashed the Syndicate, slaying a succession of smaller bands of only a few hundred, their survivors joining the Bishop's army.
It seemed the Syndicate had yet to assemble themselves, but eventually they managed to get another army together, only for you to charge in in darkness, surrounding the whole group and igniting the swords of your warband in a great circle that forced a surrender almost immediately after the Syndicate nobles found themselves surrounded.
"Fine work." Karlus said, his arm in a sling from a wound, "Bloody work, but fine enough for all that."
The morning saw the dead buried in a great pit, and you called the flames to scourge their souls of sin while your warriors howled aloud and clashed their shields.
The Syndicate were broken, the battle done, but from the north came evil news.
Blackrock Orcs swept through the Uplands, through mountain and vale, burning where they went and piling the dead into great bonfires while they called to long-departed demons for aid. Hundreds were given to the flames, and Karlus more than once looked suspiciously at you when the reports came in.
"My father is a demonologist." you assured him, "Those methods have long been abandoned, such crudities have little power."
Karlus raised his eyebrows and spoke, "May we be thankful to the Light for that at least…"
Your outriders had made contact with Alliance cavalry coming up the road from Southshore. Their captains spoke of Plague and poison, of assassination and unrest, some trick of the Scourge, they thought, but it seemed Dathrohan had closed the port for the time being, and was landing supplies at smaller docks along the coast. It was slower, and no help would come from the Alliance to Alterac any time soon. To them perhaps it seemed that the Syndicate were vanquished, and Alterac likely to be compliant shortly, despite the occasional raids on the supply routes by the Winteraxe Trolls.
Three days you camped in the ruins of Alterac while Karlus asserted himself. He did not take the King's throne, nor the Archbishop's, but rather a modest townhouse of some merchant, and held a sort of court there. One night he brought concerning news, asking your advice.
"I think," he began, "I think we may be secure. Or at least, as much as can be done. Those more moderate of the Syndicate, those loyal to the King not his banditry I've set in high positions as the captains of the host, and those of more radical views I've imprisoned. What may come of it I don't know, but whoever rules Alterac in a year will decide the matter, I'm sure. They may wish to pardon some to assuage the others, to show mercy, or I suppose they may just kill them all and install Dathrohan's men in their place. Who knows?"
Karlus looked into the fire before you. He was swaddled in furs while you sat only in your jacket. The Orcs were a hardy folk, and once again you were reminded of it. For the most part you let him speak, offering advice where you could.
"An assassin came to me last night." Karlus said after a pause.
You tilted your head, "I heard nothing of this, no alarum in the city…"
"He introduced himself as such, woke me, though how he gained entry to my chamber I don't know, though the window I suppose, but when he'd said his piece he was away again before I could call." Karlus explained, "He named himself 'Fahrad', claimed that he now controlled the League of Assassins."
"I've never heard of such a group."
"No, I had only heard whispers years ago." Karlus shrugged, "Supposedly they were set up to stop wars in the years after the fall of Arathor. To concentrate the military strength of the human kingdoms against the Trolls, to keep conflicts local, prevent two kingdoms going to war and letting the Trolls exploit the weakness."
It was a strange way of doing things you supposed, but that was humans for you.
"Well it seems they exist after all. Fahrad, if that was truly his name, claimed that Jorach Ravenholdt, a lord of some renown in the kingdom, had secretly opposed the Syndicate for many years, and that now Perenolde was dead he desired to take the kingdom for himself. This apparently caused some schism among the Assassins, and Fahrad led a faction who desired to remain neutral, rather than to serve Ravenholdt's personal interests. In any case, Ravenholdt is dead, his manor burned, and certain papers now in my possession seem to indicate the truth of all this. Fahrad offered me aid, a counterbalance against the Syndicate, and provided me with evidence of various schemes by their members, desiring me to use it to secure Alterac once more."
It was a shadowy affair indeed, but once more you saw less reason to become involved in it yourself, and besides, "I don't see how you might safely refuse such 'aid'." you remarked.
"Nor I." Karlus agreed, "Perhaps Lady Prestor will make this Fahrad her Spymaster, if he's so skilled. But for now I'll deal with him. For your part, I would have you return north, I can't take the Alteraci against the Orcs, for years Perenolde tried and it availed him little, yours is the only force which can oppose them."
"And so I shall." you replied. "I'll leave some of my warriors with you. See that any of the orc slaves the Syndicate took are freed and sent to me."
That night you stepped out of the camp, walking barefoot upon the earth.
It was a habit you'd taken to recently, to better feel the roll and coil of Myzrael, barely restrained in her bonds of hatred, ready to leap forth to slaughter.
"Peace, Spirit." you told her, "The time for battle is soon."
At once an oily darkness came from the trees before you, and you felt a corruption upon the earth.
"How right you are, Blademaster." came smooth voice, "And let it be soon! For a blade must have a scabbard and that scabbard must be of blood!"
Three figures revealed themselves, dropping the concealing magic that had shrouded them.
The Fireblade was drawn and burning in your hand, but the lead figure held up an open palm. "Galtak Ered'nash." he said, "En kalathar ashkaz."
They hailed the Burning Blade and claimed to be friends, or, you supposed based on the word used, partners, allies perhaps. After all, there was no word you knew in Ered'ruin for 'friend'.
You doubted that, but you made no move against them. "Approach then, and come out of the darkness." and with that you cast orbs of fire to float around you, bathing the clearing in light.
The three were orcs, two males and one female. The first, the speaker, set his hand to his chest, "En kalathar Nagaz, en kalathar na'at'arash. Enarath na'at'arath." he said in Ered'ruin, the demonic tongue.
Nagaz, for that was the Orc's name, was a warrior of average built, yet clearly of greater than average subtlety. He spoke the demon tongue freely, more freely than any orc in Thrall's Horde, including your father, and he spoke it well with a confidence that spoke of long instruction.
More concerning, was that he claimed a place in the Third Circle.
In the Burning Blade, there were a number of ranks in your father's hierarchy. They were not spoken of to outsiders, but only the most experienced warlocks and agents were of the third rank, while your father was of the first, and only Jergosh, another warlock, of the second.
"Then let them name themselves." you replied, and let them speak in a tongue that does not so offend the Spirits."
Nagaz had named the other two as of the Fourth Circle, and you looked at both of them in turn.
"Enkil'eneshar gol-lithar." grumbled the first, a brutal looking Orc, whom the Spirit of Fire knew well. 'The Spirits are weak' he said, but under your gaze he changed into Orcish, "I am Ritssyn." he said simply, rolling his broad shoulders under a mantle of dark cloth.
"I am known as Marez of the Cowl." said the female next, drawing back her hood to expose a bare scalp writ with demonic runes, and a stubby pair of horns poking through to denote the Fel corruption of her art.
Nagaz placed his hand on his breast again and gave a low bow, not quite obsequious, but with an abundance of respect which forced you to set down your sword, "Again we greet you." he said, then ran a hand to smooth back his long hair and tug slightly at an eyepatch which covered a long scar. "We serve the Burning Blade, and were dispatched by your father to infiltrate the Syndicate several years ago, as well as to reconnect with strongholds of the Clan here in Alterac."
That at least, was a bold lie, you decided. Your father may have secrets, indeed many of them, but he would have told you such a thing. Why then does Nagaz seek to deceive you?
"We did much in the last few weeks to sow discord among the Syndicate and prepare the way for your coming, and now we reveal ourselves to you. We have many acolytes, for we gave our services to the Alteraci and taught them our magics."
"And yet," you interrupted, "I've seen few spellslingers among them, save a few mages who I killed in the King's guard."
Nagaz bows again, impressively unphased, "This is true, mighty warrior," he says, "for we commanded our followers to retreat, taking to hidden places which only we know and to lay there in readiness for your order. Alas, Haomarush, the Blademaster who commands the Blackrock of the north, was always suspicious of us and has finally turned to madness, and now seeks to destroy you."
That is perhaps unsurprising, given you seek the same for him. "I didn't know a Blademaster survived the Lich King's assault on Alterac." you remarked.
"He did, though barely." Marez says, "But in the years since his mind has deteriorated much, and only his skill with a blade remains."
A terrible fate, you decided, though one many Blademasters might prefer over the opposite, for to lose their skill was to lose themselves.
"Haomarush commands three thousand warriors, and they now march on Alterac. If you can stop their assembly though, you might slay Haomarush and take command of his clan!" Nagaz continued, "We will aid you, if we can."
Who exactly these Orcs were, you didn't know. You'd never heard of them before, nor had your father spoken of them, which you thought he would have. Clearly they had much to offer, from information to magical support, but they were also willing to flatter and lie to get into your service. You would not cut them down, they had observed the courtesies, and you would too, but that didn't necessarily mean you had to accept them into your service.
You would return shortly to the camp to rouse your warriors, for if they spoke truth regarding Haomarush and his Blackrock, you were needed in the north. If they lied, well, you sword would claim three heads.
Choose 1:
[ ] Accept the warlocks' aid.
[ ] Deny the warlocks' aid.
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Mr.Norm
You can never have too many arms.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
While they are suspicious, and we shouldn't trust them in the slightest, I still think they could be of assistance in our upcomming fight with Haomarush and may have other useful insights surrounding Alterac. Ideally we would use flameseeing to verify their claims with our father, however if that is not possible I think we should accept them into the fold if for no other reason than to keep a close eye on their actions, perhaps delegating Kartha to their surveilance.
[] Accept the warlocks' aid.
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Looks like Grok is getting a taste of intrigue and assassination bullshit. Also we absolutely can't trust the Warlocks.
[x] Accept the warlocks' aid.
We need to talk to dad somehow.
We need to talk to dad somehow.
I should point out that utilizing high-grade demonoly right now would absolutely nuke our relations with our human subjects.
We will win a battle at the cost of a kingdom.
Edit: In fact, I believe that is the trap.
We will win a battle at the cost of a kingdom.
Edit: In fact, I believe that is the trap.
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- Location
- India
- Pronouns
- He/His
[X] Deny the warlocks' aid.
This is a blatant trap. All our efforts to seem different from the demon-using orcs will go down the drain the moment we accept these shady mofos in our battle group.
This is a blatant trap. All our efforts to seem different from the demon-using orcs will go down the drain the moment we accept these shady mofos in our battle group.
Kufufu
Adequate at best
- Location
- What's it to ya?
[] Accept the warlocks' aid.
90% chance that these guys are sleeper agents of the Burnign Crusade but that just means I want them where we can't see them less then I want them near us. We can get in touch with our father about this later and if they are actually his hands then great, if not then we know which throats need knives kept on them.
[X] Deny the warlocks' aid.
That being said, I can't really abide the hit to our reputation and Moral taking these guys on will be. Last thing we need is for Thrall to actually have a leg to stand on in his defamation campaign.
90% chance that these guys are sleeper agents of the Burnign Crusade but that just means I want them where we can't see them less then I want them near us. We can get in touch with our father about this later and if they are actually his hands then great, if not then we know which throats need knives kept on them.
[X] Deny the warlocks' aid.
That being said, I can't really abide the hit to our reputation and Moral taking these guys on will be. Last thing we need is for Thrall to actually have a leg to stand on in his defamation campaign.
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We accept their aid and we can tell them what to do and what not to do.
We don't accept their aid and they might decide to "help" us in the most visible way possible without our permission.
I don't want "SURPIRSE INFERNAL" suddenly rushing to our aid and freaking out our allies.
We can keep them under wraps till later.
We don't accept their aid and they might decide to "help" us in the most visible way possible without our permission.
I don't want "SURPIRSE INFERNAL" suddenly rushing to our aid and freaking out our allies.
We can keep them under wraps till later.
Kufufu
Adequate at best
- Location
- What's it to ya?
If we can get WOG that we can keep them secret then I'll change my vote, but until then I don't want to risk it on an assumption since that hasn't worked out for us historically speaking.
- Location
- England
[X] Accept the warlocks' aid.
Better we keep them close enough to find out what their game is I think
Better we keep them close enough to find out what their game is I think
- Location
- United States of America
[] Deny the warlocks' aid.
Would really be the smart play here.
Optics are really everything for Grok right now, both for greater Horde relations--are we the dirty fell worshiper that Thrall and Co. are trying to make us out to be?--and not immediately tanking our reputation with the local alliance members + now friendly Alteracians. Given that these warlocks say that they infiltrated the syndicate aka joined them and we crushed the syndicate basically on the basis that they were orc slavers + why not, it doesn't look good for them.
On the flip side, even though this is 100% a trap by the burning legion to ruin our legitimacy, they at least presented themselves as joining us in good faith and to kill them out of hand feels very....like a thing that crazy frostwolf shaman who recently tried to gank us would do.
I feel like Grok would definitely see them as the poisoned gift they are (did they even ~try~ to come up with better verifiable lies???), but would at least give them the rope to hang themselves with. It's not like we don't have reliable subordinates who can keep an eye on them, and "immediately kills you of he doesn't like you" isn't a good look if we're going to try to bring other orcs on this continent out of the cold.
[X] Accept the warlocks' aid.
Would really be the smart play here.
Optics are really everything for Grok right now, both for greater Horde relations--are we the dirty fell worshiper that Thrall and Co. are trying to make us out to be?--and not immediately tanking our reputation with the local alliance members + now friendly Alteracians. Given that these warlocks say that they infiltrated the syndicate aka joined them and we crushed the syndicate basically on the basis that they were orc slavers + why not, it doesn't look good for them.
On the flip side, even though this is 100% a trap by the burning legion to ruin our legitimacy, they at least presented themselves as joining us in good faith and to kill them out of hand feels very....like a thing that crazy frostwolf shaman who recently tried to gank us would do.
I feel like Grok would definitely see them as the poisoned gift they are (did they even ~try~ to come up with better verifiable lies???), but would at least give them the rope to hang themselves with. It's not like we don't have reliable subordinates who can keep an eye on them, and "immediately kills you of he doesn't like you" isn't a good look if we're going to try to bring other orcs on this continent out of the cold.
[X] Accept the warlocks' aid.
Intentionally choosing bad choises for roleplay purposes…
How dissapointing.
How dissapointing.
[X] Deny the warlocks' aid.
[X] Accept the warlocks' aid.
If not from his father, then how would they know of him? In Alterac news travel very slowly, especially for Syndicate who has no network outside it. So how would the know who is leading this force and who's the father of the leader? If not grom him, if they somehow scryed MC. Then MC will find out soon, besides he already has followers with questionable allegiance. It's not like it will do worse, is it?
Besides, it's the matter of survival. If MC deny them, then he must destroy them for they will sides with the enemy. With denying them we essentially are cornering the animal and it will lash out.
If not from his father, then how would they know of him? In Alterac news travel very slowly, especially for Syndicate who has no network outside it. So how would the know who is leading this force and who's the father of the leader? If not grom him, if they somehow scryed MC. Then MC will find out soon, besides he already has followers with questionable allegiance. It's not like it will do worse, is it?
Besides, it's the matter of survival. If MC deny them, then he must destroy them for they will sides with the enemy. With denying them we essentially are cornering the animal and it will lash out.
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- Location
- St. Petersburg
I know! I wanted to go around glorifying Best Dad and preaching the superiority of warlocks to spite Thrall's face, but we chose to care for Lordaeron and its puny humans for some unfathomable reason.
*sigh*
[x] Deny the warlocks' aid.