If Rend interrupt was lower it may well be just cause.
Orc Quest; or, A Critical Examination of Agency Through in Interactive Fiction (Warcraft)
- Thread starter FractiousDay
- Start date
- Fantasy
- Location
- St. Petersburg
We could expedite the process by making inroads with some of Blackrock orcs, making offers and poaching off their more adventurous elements. It would be muscling in on Rend's turf, and likely seen as a challenge to his authority that would see them fight sooner rather than later.
However, I am not sure Grok is the kind of leader who sees merit in provoking others into violent action. He might be able to self-justify it to himself, but it'd requite a certain stretch of his views on honor.
We probably can make him do it "unintentionally" by creating natural conditions that would lead Blackrock clansmen to see him as a preferable alternative.
However, I am not sure Grok is the kind of leader who sees merit in provoking others into violent action. He might be able to self-justify it to himself, but it'd requite a certain stretch of his views on honor.
We probably can make him do it "unintentionally" by creating natural conditions that would lead Blackrock clansmen to see him as a preferable alternative.
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He's halfway there by striking it gold with the ore. Now he just needs to out Blackrock the Blackrocks that aren't under his control.
- Location
- barking
speaking of other things, rend is being aggressive towards stormwind and the trolls still are not raiding anything and their seems to be something brewing here with their being like 5 factions in alterac
@FractiousDay I'll assume Grok has been upping his earth affinity with ore hunting.
Besides finding ore can he use it to assist in agriculture?
Besides finding ore can he use it to assist in agriculture?
- Location
- United Kingdom
You're correct in saying that Grok wouldn't be able to consider such a thing, and therefore that I as GM wouldn't allow you to vote for it etc. However, indeed there are numerous reasons why conflict would naturally happen. Certainly, Thrall seems to feel he's not able to tolerate Rend's existence, and that it's a threat to his legitimacy as Warchief: "Rend dares make such grand claims because of the protection he is afforded by the black flight. You, <name>, will find a way to pass through the Halls of Ascension. You will then find 'Warchief' Rend Blackhand and you will destroy him - FOR THE HORDE!"
I would also say though that I'm perfectly happy for you to consider the ways in which Grok 'unintentionally' as you say, creates issues for himself. For example, Grok has continually put himself in the position of a leader, and has indeed basically made himself a warchief. This is somewhat problematic for him, as he's also aware that he doesn't want to do that necessarily. He however may be forced to do so through pressure from other people, eg Scorn.
So the roll there did indeed determine some advances. Not necessarily in affinity inherently, but it certainly made Grok realise a lot more about the uses of Dark Shamanism for infrastructure for example, so yes, terrace farming.
- Location
- barking
what no we are not a warchief sure we just have orcs of different clans (warsong, burning blade, blackrock, demonblade) we have ogres following us and we even have some trolls but okay we might be a warchief/jk
Lol. I think of the novel where Thrall and Drek Thar talk about shamanism that it has to be asked nicely. They're going to be speechless if Grok dark shamaned his way and got away with it.
One of my end game predictions when omake developing was when Grok learns why the elementals of Azeroth were kept in a separate plane it reinforced his dark shamanism beliefs and proceeds to use each elemental plane to get resources by force or by diplomacy.
edit: Picture Ragnaros who's quite into fulfilling the Twilight Prophecy and Grok manages to stop him. He gets used to power a spaceship because of his status and he likes fire a lot.
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- Location
- United Kingdom
A section from the next chapter:
"I mean to gather them up." you announced, tapping the map on the table. "All of them."
"Good, we must increase our numbers if we are to keep hold of this kingdom." Scorn said.
Dark smooth stones lay over a map of the northern mountains. These were the villages of Blackrock Orcs, or at least sub-clans once part of the Blackrock community. The Demonsword had been one of them, perhaps the most powerful and most divergent from the Blackrock norm, however there were several thousand orcs still in the mountains, or so you thought.
You had collected several hundred of them during your battles with the Scourge, their young warriors had come to gain glory and experience with you, and formed the largest part of your warband now, but there were whole communities out there, mostly hidden away or in fortified valleys. It would be better to gather them, you thought, upon the same model as the Demonsword, to give them discipline and a mission.
"This brings you closer to conflict with Thrall, and with the sons of Blackhand." Vark said, stroking his chin.
"Son, for only Dal'Rend lives now, they say." you replied.
"Be that as it may, if you gather these warriors, if you absorb the orcs of Northern Lordaeron, you set yourself up as a Warchief." Vark continued.
"I do not until I do." you shook your head. "I have not even declared myself a chief. My father leads the Burning Blade. A son cannot succeed a father who yet lives."
It was what some humans might call a legalistic interpretation, but your clan had always been the one which maintained the most written traditions and respect for the written word. In some clans, especially the barbarous and savage communities of the south, an agreement was only respected for as long as the ones who directly made it lived. But did you cling to those traditions as a shield? Perhaps. But then again Vark was right in a way.
"You have two chiefs who swear allegiance to you already." Haomarush said, the Demonsword Blademaster having come when you called for his counsel.
"I have only one." you protested, and that allegiance was personal, for Haomarush had sworn to you, not to bond the Demonsword and Burning Blade.
Haomarush frowned, looking at Vark.
Vark shrugged, "I swear allegiance to you?"
A few others laughed, but you just scowled. "I will not step blindly into war." you said, and you said it strongly, your fist scattering a dozen stones on the map. You looked about, the fire was in your eyes and your heart was beating. "I say to you, I will not. My father leads the Burning Blade. If he should fall in battle, I will step forward, if he should seek the peace of his old age, I will grant him that, if he should command me to lead a lesser clan, or a branch of our people, I would do these things too. But I will not grasp at every axebearer I can, only to acquire greater numbers of warriors. I do not seek confrontation with Thrall, or with Dal'Rend Blackhand. If it comes, I will meet it, but I will not seek to provoke them. I gather the clans of Lordaeron to protect them from the Alliance, and from their useless banditry, not to gather an army for myself."
The room was silent for a moment, you knew their looks though. Vark was your blood-brother, and he was content to follow where you led, even if he had done so without formality before. Haomarush was still getting used to his position and sought the brighter future your honour had promised him and his people.
"Better to strike first rather than be first struck." Scorn offered.
The captain was the worst of them, yet he was crucial all the same. He was grasping, ambitious, and driven. He had pushed you a driven you like a farmer would a swine, he would call you 'chief' and seek to elevate you, and himself too. Already he had risen from being an outcast murderer to essentially a chief of a small clan, for you delegated many matters of your warband to his oversight.
"No!" Haomarush cut across him, "Say rather, better to strike a blow knowingly with all your strength and skill, rather than lash out blindly."
"Our people were made for war, and I do not follow Thrall's pacifism." you acknowledged, "That is not the future of our people. I have resolved to safeguard the Orcs of Lordaeron, and to do so I must gather them. That is all. I will not engage in aggressive action. I ended the Frostwolves because they attacked us treacherously, not because of any inherent aggression toward them."
There was a pause again, but Vark broke it, "That doesn't matter, brother. No one else sees it like that. I stand with Haomarush and Scorn on this, your actions are interpreted by others in ways you may not desire them to be. Sorek, speak more on this, will you?"
Sorek had been being quiet, away in the corner, polishing his sword. Once, the former Blackrock Orc had been brash, but years of fighting with you, and the respect for you that grew in him, had made him almost obsequious. "My chief," he speaks, and at the beginning of your snarl he continues more quickly, "I must call you this, for that is what you are. I agree with the others, on some points at least." your bannerman sighs, "You have perhaps three or four thousand under your banner now, with the Blackrock of the mountains here that will be five, maybe six. With Hammerfell, and the remnants of the other clans in that area, it could be ten thousand. That is a significant force! There are four times that many Blackrock in Kalimdor, and perhaps only twice that many Warsong. Ten thousands, with alliance and support from the humans, is a formidable force, smaller than the larger clans, but bigger than almost all the others. You do not regard yourself as chief, very well, but others do. The Warchief- Thrall that is, not Dal'Rend, will regard that as a threat, and since the battle with the Frostwolves you are set against him. He must respond, he cannot permit a faction to rise which may challenge his legitimacy, especially one led by you and influenced by your father."
"I haven't spoken with my father in a year or more." you disagreed.
"It doesn't-" Sorek gasps in frustration, "My chief, it doesn't matter. You cannot believe everyone holds honour as dear as you, not even Thrall…"
No, you don't think others do. Your father, Thrall, Dathrohan. You had regarded all as having honour before, yet now you knew that honour was a different sort, all trying to preserve their peoples, yet still compromising their honour.
But then again, hadn't you? You had lied before the assembly of the Horde, lied to the Warchief, when you'd sworn oaths to do the bidding of the Lord of Clans.
"Let the Coward speak too, perhaps he has some snivelling to do?" Haomarush sneered, his lips contorting around his rune-carved tusks as he looked toward Gol'dir. The Demonsword Chief had developed an exceptionally low opinion of Gol'dir, since learning his story and the affair of the vision-mad Drek'thar. He regarded Gol'dir's presence as offensive and refused to refer to him by name.
The Frostwolf spy would never speak but when spoken to, and he endured whatever abuse was directed toward him, for by your command none were permitted to assault him physically, whatever they thought of him.
"I come here because of duty, demon-lover, can you say the same? Skulking in your mountains burning farmers?" Gol'dir replies, and he ignores the emerald fires that flash in Haomarush's eyes. "I have heard plenty of all this," and he gestured expansively around the room. "Some of your remarks are true. Yes, the Orcs of Lordaeron must be safeguarded under a strong commander, and in a strong place. Grok'mash is that commander, Alterac would seem to be that place. Yes, I admit that Thrall's policy has failed in Lordaeron, especially since the removal of the Forsaken as the Horde's main power on his continent. I would rather see the Orcs of Lordaeron under Grok'mash, than I would under Rend Blackhand. Yes, it is better to strike a blow well than to strike one poorly, or to wait to strike till one is struck. Yes, it will threaten Thrall's legitimacy as Warchief for you to establish yourself here, and yes, though he may not wish to, he may be forced to act against you to fulfil his own obligations. In truth though, I don't even think he particularly dislikes you."
Your eyebrows raise a little at that, but you let Gol'dir go on.
"You've made a peace with the Alliance, managed to grow in strength without turning to demons, and embody the traditions of Draenor and the Old Horde. These things Thrall has tried to do."
"Tried and failed." Scorn scorned.
"Perhaps." Gol'dir acknowledged evenly. "But Tagorr will say the same." and he looked toward the Blackrock executioner, who had also remained silent. "For many years Thrall has sought the death of Blackhand's sons. He cannot do so openly, nor could he gain the allegiance of the Blackrock Horde by diplomacy. It is his hope, I suppose, that by measures and time Dal'Rend's power may be reduced and this schism of our people be remedied. But I cannot see how division serves us." he now addresses you, "You mean to protect the Orcs of Lordaeron, very well, an honourable goal, yet by doing so you must weaken the position of Orcs elsewhere. What I most agree with is that you must have a policy yourself. You have the intelligence to acknowledge the consequences of your actions, and you have the strength to stand against those consequences. If there is one failing of Thrall's, it is his passivity. He seems many competing goals and policies, and cannot decide which to fulfil."
That at last and amidst the bellicosity of your captains, is a sensible point.
You are indeed split between priorities. That cuts to the heart of it, and it brings you back to Scorn and Haomarush's metaphor. If you would take an action, such as to gather the Orcs of Lordaeron, you had better commit to it, and see to the actions that would follow your work.
"We are growing fatigued. Let us adjourn for a time." you commanded, and with bowed heads they left.
Feedback and reflections welcome.
"I mean to gather them up." you announced, tapping the map on the table. "All of them."
"Good, we must increase our numbers if we are to keep hold of this kingdom." Scorn said.
Dark smooth stones lay over a map of the northern mountains. These were the villages of Blackrock Orcs, or at least sub-clans once part of the Blackrock community. The Demonsword had been one of them, perhaps the most powerful and most divergent from the Blackrock norm, however there were several thousand orcs still in the mountains, or so you thought.
You had collected several hundred of them during your battles with the Scourge, their young warriors had come to gain glory and experience with you, and formed the largest part of your warband now, but there were whole communities out there, mostly hidden away or in fortified valleys. It would be better to gather them, you thought, upon the same model as the Demonsword, to give them discipline and a mission.
"This brings you closer to conflict with Thrall, and with the sons of Blackhand." Vark said, stroking his chin.
"Son, for only Dal'Rend lives now, they say." you replied.
"Be that as it may, if you gather these warriors, if you absorb the orcs of Northern Lordaeron, you set yourself up as a Warchief." Vark continued.
"I do not until I do." you shook your head. "I have not even declared myself a chief. My father leads the Burning Blade. A son cannot succeed a father who yet lives."
It was what some humans might call a legalistic interpretation, but your clan had always been the one which maintained the most written traditions and respect for the written word. In some clans, especially the barbarous and savage communities of the south, an agreement was only respected for as long as the ones who directly made it lived. But did you cling to those traditions as a shield? Perhaps. But then again Vark was right in a way.
"You have two chiefs who swear allegiance to you already." Haomarush said, the Demonsword Blademaster having come when you called for his counsel.
"I have only one." you protested, and that allegiance was personal, for Haomarush had sworn to you, not to bond the Demonsword and Burning Blade.
Haomarush frowned, looking at Vark.
Vark shrugged, "I swear allegiance to you?"
A few others laughed, but you just scowled. "I will not step blindly into war." you said, and you said it strongly, your fist scattering a dozen stones on the map. You looked about, the fire was in your eyes and your heart was beating. "I say to you, I will not. My father leads the Burning Blade. If he should fall in battle, I will step forward, if he should seek the peace of his old age, I will grant him that, if he should command me to lead a lesser clan, or a branch of our people, I would do these things too. But I will not grasp at every axebearer I can, only to acquire greater numbers of warriors. I do not seek confrontation with Thrall, or with Dal'Rend Blackhand. If it comes, I will meet it, but I will not seek to provoke them. I gather the clans of Lordaeron to protect them from the Alliance, and from their useless banditry, not to gather an army for myself."
The room was silent for a moment, you knew their looks though. Vark was your blood-brother, and he was content to follow where you led, even if he had done so without formality before. Haomarush was still getting used to his position and sought the brighter future your honour had promised him and his people.
"Better to strike first rather than be first struck." Scorn offered.
The captain was the worst of them, yet he was crucial all the same. He was grasping, ambitious, and driven. He had pushed you a driven you like a farmer would a swine, he would call you 'chief' and seek to elevate you, and himself too. Already he had risen from being an outcast murderer to essentially a chief of a small clan, for you delegated many matters of your warband to his oversight.
"No!" Haomarush cut across him, "Say rather, better to strike a blow knowingly with all your strength and skill, rather than lash out blindly."
"Our people were made for war, and I do not follow Thrall's pacifism." you acknowledged, "That is not the future of our people. I have resolved to safeguard the Orcs of Lordaeron, and to do so I must gather them. That is all. I will not engage in aggressive action. I ended the Frostwolves because they attacked us treacherously, not because of any inherent aggression toward them."
There was a pause again, but Vark broke it, "That doesn't matter, brother. No one else sees it like that. I stand with Haomarush and Scorn on this, your actions are interpreted by others in ways you may not desire them to be. Sorek, speak more on this, will you?"
Sorek had been being quiet, away in the corner, polishing his sword. Once, the former Blackrock Orc had been brash, but years of fighting with you, and the respect for you that grew in him, had made him almost obsequious. "My chief," he speaks, and at the beginning of your snarl he continues more quickly, "I must call you this, for that is what you are. I agree with the others, on some points at least." your bannerman sighs, "You have perhaps three or four thousand under your banner now, with the Blackrock of the mountains here that will be five, maybe six. With Hammerfell, and the remnants of the other clans in that area, it could be ten thousand. That is a significant force! There are four times that many Blackrock in Kalimdor, and perhaps only twice that many Warsong. Ten thousands, with alliance and support from the humans, is a formidable force, smaller than the larger clans, but bigger than almost all the others. You do not regard yourself as chief, very well, but others do. The Warchief- Thrall that is, not Dal'Rend, will regard that as a threat, and since the battle with the Frostwolves you are set against him. He must respond, he cannot permit a faction to rise which may challenge his legitimacy, especially one led by you and influenced by your father."
"I haven't spoken with my father in a year or more." you disagreed.
"It doesn't-" Sorek gasps in frustration, "My chief, it doesn't matter. You cannot believe everyone holds honour as dear as you, not even Thrall…"
No, you don't think others do. Your father, Thrall, Dathrohan. You had regarded all as having honour before, yet now you knew that honour was a different sort, all trying to preserve their peoples, yet still compromising their honour.
But then again, hadn't you? You had lied before the assembly of the Horde, lied to the Warchief, when you'd sworn oaths to do the bidding of the Lord of Clans.
"Let the Coward speak too, perhaps he has some snivelling to do?" Haomarush sneered, his lips contorting around his rune-carved tusks as he looked toward Gol'dir. The Demonsword Chief had developed an exceptionally low opinion of Gol'dir, since learning his story and the affair of the vision-mad Drek'thar. He regarded Gol'dir's presence as offensive and refused to refer to him by name.
The Frostwolf spy would never speak but when spoken to, and he endured whatever abuse was directed toward him, for by your command none were permitted to assault him physically, whatever they thought of him.
"I come here because of duty, demon-lover, can you say the same? Skulking in your mountains burning farmers?" Gol'dir replies, and he ignores the emerald fires that flash in Haomarush's eyes. "I have heard plenty of all this," and he gestured expansively around the room. "Some of your remarks are true. Yes, the Orcs of Lordaeron must be safeguarded under a strong commander, and in a strong place. Grok'mash is that commander, Alterac would seem to be that place. Yes, I admit that Thrall's policy has failed in Lordaeron, especially since the removal of the Forsaken as the Horde's main power on his continent. I would rather see the Orcs of Lordaeron under Grok'mash, than I would under Rend Blackhand. Yes, it is better to strike a blow well than to strike one poorly, or to wait to strike till one is struck. Yes, it will threaten Thrall's legitimacy as Warchief for you to establish yourself here, and yes, though he may not wish to, he may be forced to act against you to fulfil his own obligations. In truth though, I don't even think he particularly dislikes you."
Your eyebrows raise a little at that, but you let Gol'dir go on.
"You've made a peace with the Alliance, managed to grow in strength without turning to demons, and embody the traditions of Draenor and the Old Horde. These things Thrall has tried to do."
"Tried and failed." Scorn scorned.
"Perhaps." Gol'dir acknowledged evenly. "But Tagorr will say the same." and he looked toward the Blackrock executioner, who had also remained silent. "For many years Thrall has sought the death of Blackhand's sons. He cannot do so openly, nor could he gain the allegiance of the Blackrock Horde by diplomacy. It is his hope, I suppose, that by measures and time Dal'Rend's power may be reduced and this schism of our people be remedied. But I cannot see how division serves us." he now addresses you, "You mean to protect the Orcs of Lordaeron, very well, an honourable goal, yet by doing so you must weaken the position of Orcs elsewhere. What I most agree with is that you must have a policy yourself. You have the intelligence to acknowledge the consequences of your actions, and you have the strength to stand against those consequences. If there is one failing of Thrall's, it is his passivity. He seems many competing goals and policies, and cannot decide which to fulfil."
That at last and amidst the bellicosity of your captains, is a sensible point.
You are indeed split between priorities. That cuts to the heart of it, and it brings you back to Scorn and Haomarush's metaphor. If you would take an action, such as to gather the Orcs of Lordaeron, you had better commit to it, and see to the actions that would follow your work.
"We are growing fatigued. Let us adjourn for a time." you commanded, and with bowed heads they left.
Feedback and reflections welcome.
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I like the point that was being made about Thrall not disliking Grok but he's just too much of a threat to Thrall's legitimacy and competence to continue.
So question about increasing the blade masters in Alterac, would they take the position of landed knights if they settle in Alterac?
Also I think we have something that's needed to pursue in the future.
As Grok is attuned closer to the earth element, following this tree might allow Grok to get closer to becoming a fragment of Grond when checking out those artifacts.
Also I think we have something that's needed to pursue in the future.
If anyone remembers, some dwarves like their dwarf king as hero units can unlock their avatar form to be more earthen.
As Grok is attuned closer to the earth element, following this tree might allow Grok to get closer to becoming a fragment of Grond when checking out those artifacts.
- Location
- barking
I like the discussion with all their different points of views, vrak not really caring gold'ir and hao not liking each other and their ideas for this , sorek speech.
The orcs do need to change if they are to surive but to do so they need a place that is helpful to them (so not a desert thrall) and a place they can thrive without falling back into revisionism (like garrosh and his cronies) cause of lack of needs being meet
The orcs do need to change if they are to surive but to do so they need a place that is helpful to them (so not a desert thrall) and a place they can thrive without falling back into revisionism (like garrosh and his cronies) cause of lack of needs being meet
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- Location
- Cave
Yes, this is us becoming a warchief, good to let Grok know. Perhaps we could establish a new status quo with Thrall, after all we'd be far more receptive to diplomacy than Dal'rend, but likely he'll just feel forced to strike us once dad pulls some bs, and then we'll retaliate.
Ultimately though I'm with Grok, honor honor honor, no preemptive strikes. We by necessity threaten other Orc run politys, just through doing our duty to those under us and those we feel responsible for, but that's their problem, until they make it ours.
The question is, if we're not going to be diplomancing Thrall to prevent it, what is his retaliation gonna look like? Accept the mandates of your so-called chief and work within them, : ^ )
The bickering of our lieutenants is an excellent read.
I almost feel bad for Thrall for being so thoroughly BTFO. He'll probably stroke out if he ever learns he probably could've just asked us to come back at any point and there's a decent chance we would've.
Ultimately though I'm with Grok, honor honor honor, no preemptive strikes. We by necessity threaten other Orc run politys, just through doing our duty to those under us and those we feel responsible for, but that's their problem, until they make it ours.
The question is, if we're not going to be diplomancing Thrall to prevent it, what is his retaliation gonna look like? Accept the mandates of your so-called chief and work within them, : ^ )
The bickering of our lieutenants is an excellent read.
Yes but when you do it it's for the Greater Good™, Grok.
I almost feel bad for Thrall for being so thoroughly BTFO. He'll probably stroke out if he ever learns he probably could've just asked us to come back at any point and there's a decent chance we would've.
There is the exile though that maybe where Goldir can help when Grok has everything needed to send aid towards the rebuilding efforts in Orgrimmar.
He's still exiled and can't come back so someone needs to go back and do things before coming back. The spy and some others make good substitutes.
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I sometimes wonder about the concern of power composition. The horde's easy enough to be self explanatory.
The alliance meanwhile is in for challenges when the Scarlet Crusade is seen as too "imperialistic" from a Stormwind regent viewpoint?
Merc work is needed.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoHacaPUlBs&pp=ygUZYmF0dGxlIHJlYWxtcyBzZXJwZW50aG9sbQ%3D%3D
The alliance meanwhile is in for challenges when the Scarlet Crusade is seen as too "imperialistic" from a Stormwind regent viewpoint?
The undertone to it all is we have an army and we're itching to unleash ourselves against something.
Merc work is needed.
I get reminded of this.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoHacaPUlBs&pp=ygUZYmF0dGxlIHJlYWxtcyBzZXJwZW50aG9sbQ%3D%3D
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- Location
- United Kingdom
It's possible, but they don't really value it. They don't pass down their rank through their children like a knight would, and they're more likely to pass down a blade to an apprentice. I also think the orcs would feel somewhat off about the idea of actual hereditary rule. They might go for a viceroy system, appointing military governors for example over regions. Again though that presupposes creating a defacto Orcish aristocracy, and that ship has sailed, given that Lord Gregor has already put the Syndicate nobles in their positions again.
I also somewhat question whether Grok would be that interested in a large programme of social reform. I suppose he might be because he recognises the issues at hand, however, he's remarkably unequipped for such a programme. Thrall isn't either tbh. Both are trying, but it's difficult for them obviously.
I suppose you kind of see this sort of thing in conversion attempts in the Reconquista as an exmple, but it requires a lot of killings and torture, which neither Thrall nor Grok want to go with.
Indeed, it's also in the rpg, there's some sort of class dwarves can take which is to call on the power of the titans and turn to stone etc? Don't recall the specifics. I think it's this?
In time a sister of steel surpasses her mortality through "Steelflesh Ascendance" and becomes a being of living stone and metal. Her type changes from humanoid to elemental. She gains immunity to poison, sleep effects, paralysis and stunning. She is not subject to critical hits at all. She no longer needs to eat, sleep, or breathe. Her weight doubles (in total, she weighs eight times her original weight). Unlike most other living creatures, the sister of steel no longer has dual nature — her soul and body form one unit. If she is slain, no soul is set loose. Spells that restore souls to their bodies such as raise dead, reincarnate, and resurrection, don't work on her. It takes a different magical effect, such as limited wishes, wishes, miracles, or true resurrection to restore her to life.[2]
There's references to Kazzgoroth etc, and the Titans generally, and the class predates the titanforging stuff, but it's similar I suppose. We could see a culturally specific class for the Dwarves etc.
These two are difficult. The Horde seems fairly simple, it's supposed to be a clan confederacy, its supposed to be relatively chill, there's no centralised taxation etc primarily because none of the races really do currency etc. However, it gets significantly more complex later and later as things progress. I've been into it a bit in the Horde bureaucracy info posts, but you have to have currency at some point, you have to have the development of a managerial and bourgeoisie class of officers etc if you want to do transcontinential campaigns, you cant just go round hitting stuff iwth axes.
The alliance meanwhile, yes are going thorugh some changes. They at least start off as a specific alliance with taxation etc to manage shared defence, and they're more formal. Dathrohan is taking advantage of the constitutional confusion in the Alliance to grab land and influence, as well as get potential votes on side etc.
Some in Stormwind are certainly feeling in some sort of way about the Crusade's aggression, but they can't do much at the moment, they're having problems of their own.
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SneakyWalrus
Is the Water Free?
I wouldn't be surprised at the existence of a non-hereditary form of role within the military, compared to knighthood. Some form of exemplary effort and skill being acknowledged as an individual of great value within Alteraci society from both the Human and Orcish perspectives. Having the role of a Blademaster being something that is aspirational and open to all might seem like a fair compromise for those on both sides, especially if they're both making an effort to integrate Orcs and Humans into living together as a functional society.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
The funniest thing about this meeting is that of all the high and mighty orcs in attendance there is only one who knows what kind of future he wants with a 100% certainty.
Scorn.
Motivation and conviction may not be everything, but they count for a lot. I hope he keeps being the driving force behind Grok's rising star.
Thrall and Rend will make your work for you, just be there to lend a helping hand!
Scorn.
Motivation and conviction may not be everything, but they count for a lot. I hope he keeps being the driving force behind Grok's rising star.
A bit too blunt, my dude. Let Grok preserve some notion of modesty. Meanwhile, enjoy growing the army under a noble excuse.
Thrall and Rend will make your work for you, just be there to lend a helping hand!
I wonder though when the orcs start properly settling Alterac.
I just see the alliance trying to think of human concepts to deal with them settling land the Alteraci wouldn't like much deeper in the mountains that humans wouldn't settle.
I found some AI art to share.
View: https://youtu.be/aScQW-_BprY
Also what actual ore finds did Grok find?
It would make trade negotiations rather easier.
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Constable Turn 2 Results
- Location
- United Kingdom
Constable Turn 2 Results
You weren't entirely sure whether the situation in Alterac had improved or degraded over the last few months.
It had become more complex, certainly, but that didn't entirely mean it was worse off for it.
Indeed, much had been improved. The filth of the Stonemaul Ogres had finally been cleared away, and Ravrok'gor was looking more like a city, rather than a collection of collapsed masonry.
Lord Gregor, for all your scorn for his manner and habits, had proven himself and even taught you something. While you might have seized power for yourself to assure the defence of the kingdom, Gregor had ceded power, giving away parts of his authority and influence to the former nobles of the Syndicate, forgiving their histories while setting them in high offices of the kingdom once more, and also inviting influential folk from other kingdoms to join his administration. Each brought their own contribution, from a Brozebeard cousin who'd been giving mining licences over the eastern ranges in return for a clutch of gryphons for the royal aerie, to the appointment of Archbishop Hylan, who with him had brought a dozen paladins from Dathrohan's Red Guards, as well as many clerics, deacons and other functionaries to set the Alteraci clergy to rights.
Some of these developments were ill for you, and Hylan in particular had made his thoughts known when you'd briefly met during his investiture. The new Archbishop was firmly in Dathrohan's camp, and indeed still wore the crimson garb of the Scarlet Crusade. He was one of the older band who'd rallied around the first Highlord, Alexandros Mograine, and he firmly adhered to Dathrohan's views on non-humans.
Dathrohan had always been civil to you, and Hylan was too, but the scorn he had for your race was clear. You didn't really mind though, you acted in the interest of orcs, just as the human bishop acted in the interest of humans.
Nevertheless, while the power in Alterac had once been evenly split between yourself and the Lord Regent, now the influential folk of the Kingdom followed at least five camps, from the Regent's to the clergy to the foreign interests to the merchants who'd seized the opportunity to once again colonise Alterac's cities.
Your own influence was slipping away. Gregor had established a postal system, apparently similar to that in Stormwind, with armed messengers and roadwardens, stations and watchtowers, all outside your control, while Hylan had set his paladins to training a militia force, though one currently immature in both faith and skill.
Though you could have been worried, you weren't. You held an unbreakable hold over the true power in Alterac. You had taken the kingdom with a few hundred orcs, and it would take more than the whole of Alterac could muster against you before your hold over the kingdom could be set aside. You were Marshal of Alterac, and you would stay in that office till you gave it up.
In the meantime though, you had your own duties to attend to. In the absence of any foreign engagement, you busied yourself with the affairs of your office. The Royal Army was in a pitiful state, and your hand fell upon them in a fury. They had sworn to obey, and they would, you saw to that.
You taught them in the manner they were best accustomed. They had been bandits, ruled by strength, and now you ruled them. You walked among them, and those who fell beneath your standards were punished. None would eat in the camp, unless they served, and those who serve would have better conditions. It took a month to break the spirit of the mutineers, but you taught them the lesson of obedience. The few of Varnhold's sergeants who remained were given more authority, for clearly you couldn't trust the former Syndicate commanders if they wouldn't maintain order. Bishop Karlus eagerly offered you more officers when you enquired, perhaps eager to restore his influence in Alterac following Hylan's arrival, and now the Army worked properly for you.
There had been resistance of course, three times men had tried to murder you when you came for inspections, and three heads you had placed on spikes at the ramparts of the Army's grounds. Besides that, they needed blooding, and out you went with them to slay beasts like the yetis of the mountains.
It was hardly finished, you still wouldn't trust them in battle, but the Army was at least better than it was.
You had considered blooding them against the trolls, but after a conversation, you decided against it, sitting back in your chair and looking across your desk.
"You have fought with me for two years." you told Vok'fon. "Any debt between us is settled more than once, and I will not try to persuade you to stay. You would be welcome, but it is for you to decide your own affairs."
The Darkspear rebel nodded, "The Orcs have ever been friends to us." he said, "But you in particular, I will speak of wherever I meet other tribes. Whether they will listen… that'll be for them."
Vok'fon had originally planned to visit the Zandalari trolls, and had originally come to you in the hopes of visiting the Amani away to the north instead. Now he had come to you for permission to leave your service, and you did not prevent it. He left with a bag of gold, all the supplies he could carry, and a writ marked with the seal of Alterac for his safe passage back to Kalimdor. You had briefly debated the issue of the Winteraxe trolls with him, and he had agreed to bear a message and a warning to them. You knew there were few humans east of the river which wound south from the falls at Darromere, but still, you had told the Winteraxe not to cross the river, and you wouldn't trouble them. If they did, your duty would compel you to destroy them.
Further afield, the situation in Stormwind seemed to be degrading. The Defias Brotherhood, a tribe of rebels on the borders, had apparently surged out in a series of attacks. Swathes of the countryside paid taxes to them, not to the King, and it seemed little good was occurring in that Kingdom in other places. The Blackrock orcs were attacking too, it seemed, and a terrible creature called 'Hogger' had destroyed a town. You knew not what sort of beast it was, but clearly a formidable one.
In the north, Liam Greymane was holding the capital of Gilneas against his foes, having guarded one of the gates of the city and burned several districts of it in his battle against the Worgen. You knew Dathrohan was attempting to build his influence in that area, but what might come from it you didn't know.
You had received calls to arms from the Grand Crusader, he requested the assistance of his neighbours in fighting back the resurgent Scourge. He spoke of strange ghostly ships on the north shore, of interrupted supplies, and of sightings of those undead champions who had escaped the fall of Naxxramas. That was less good, and you would have to think carefully about whether you could send forces to assist the Scarlet Crusade. Dathrohan had been attempting to cleanse the land after his victories, but it was a difficult thing when more than half the country was plagued and ruined.
Almost the whole west of the Plaguelands had been overwhelmed, retaken by the Scourge. To your mind, perhaps Dathrohan had focused too much on foreign affairs, rather than the security of Lordaeron itself. You had heard that Stratholme, Tyr's Hand, as well as numerous small garrisons were relatively secure, but that fortified farming colonies, or many of the smaller patrols had been set upon by the resurgent Scourge. The Crusade's strategies had been effective in the first instance, but now hordes of warndering monsters molested the Grand Crusader's supply lines. It was a step back, but perhaps you thought it was equally a step back for the Scourge, for it seemed the Lich King had released all the hidden horrors of his arsenal in Lordaeron, sending undead giants against Strathholme and a dozen new plagues which the Crusaders were carefully screening for.
But you were not Dathrohan, and it was not your business to tend to his affairs. Rather, issues closer to home beckoned.
"I mean to gather them up." you announced, tapping the map on the table. "All of them."
"Good, we must increase our numbers if we are to keep hold of this kingdom." Scorn said.
Dark smooth stones lay over a map of the northern mountains. These were the villages of Blackrock Orcs, or at least sub-clans once part of the Blackrock community. The Demonsword had been one of them, perhaps the most powerful and most divergent from the Blackrock norm, however there were several thousand orcs still in the mountains, or so you thought.
You had collected several hundred of them during your battles with the Scourge, their young warriors had come to gain glory and experience with you, and formed the largest part of your warband now, but there were whole communities out there, mostly hidden away or in fortified valleys. It would be better to gather them, you thought, upon the same model as the Demonsword, to give them discipline and a mission.
"This brings you closer to conflict with Thrall, and with the sons of Blackhand." Vark said, stroking his chin.
"Son, for only Dal'Rend lives now, they say." you replied.
"Be that as it may, if you gather these warriors, if you absorb the orcs of Northern Lordaeron, you set yourself up as a Warchief." Vark continued.
"I do not until I do." you shook your head. "I have not even declared myself a chief. My father leads the Burning Blade. A son cannot succeed a father who yet lives."
It was what some humans might call a legalistic interpretation, but your clan had always been the one which maintained the most written traditions and respect for the written word. In some clans, especially the barbarous and savage communities of the south, an agreement was only respected for as long as the ones who directly made it lived. But did you cling to those traditions as a shield? Perhaps. But then again Vark was right in a way.
"You have two chiefs who swear allegiance to you already." Haomarush said, the Demonsword Blademaster having come when you called for his counsel.
"I have only one." you protested, and that allegiance was personal, for Haomarush had sworn to you, not to bond the Demonsword and Burning Blade.
Haomarush frowned, looking at Vark.
Vark shrugged, "I swear allegiance to you? Does that resolve the issue? I don't see why this is a problem, you're my blood brother, we've spoken on this before."
A few others laughed, but you just scowled. "I will not step blindly into war." you said, and you said it strongly, your fist scattering a dozen stones on the map. You looked about, the fire was in your eyes and your heart was beating. "I say to you, I will not. My father leads the Burning Blade. If he should fall in battle, I will step forward, if he should seek the peace of his old age, I will grant him that, if he should command me to lead a lesser clan, or a branch of our people, I would do these things too. But I will not grasp at every axebearer I can, only to acquire greater numbers of warriors. I do not seek confrontation with Thrall, or with Dal'Rend Blackhand. If it comes, I will meet it, but I will not seek to provoke them. I gather the clans of Lordaeron to protect them from the Alliance, and from their useless banditry, not to gather an army for myself."
The room was silent for a moment, you knew their looks though. Vark was your blood-brother, and he was content to follow where you led, even if he had done so without formality before. Haomarush was still getting used to his position and sought the brighter future your honour had promised him and his people.
"Better to strike first rather than be first struck." Scorn offered.
The captain was the worst of them, yet he was crucial all the same. He was grasping, ambitious, and driven. He had pushed you a driven you like a farmer would a swine, he would call you 'chief' and seek to elevate you, and himself too. Already he had risen from being an outcast murderer to essentially a chief of a small clan, for you delegated many matters of your warband to his oversight.
"No!" Haomarush cut across him, "Say rather, better to strike a blow knowingly with all your strength and skill, rather than lash out blindly."
"Our people were made for war, and I do not follow Thrall's pacifism." you acknowledged, "That is not the future of our people. I have resolved to safeguard the Orcs of Lordaeron, and to do so I must gather them. That is all. I will not engage in aggressive action. I ended the Frostwolves because they attacked us treacherously, not because of any inherent aggression toward them."
There was a pause again, but Vark broke it, "That doesn't matter, brother. No one else sees it like that. I stand with Haomarush and Scorn on this, your actions are interpreted by others in ways you may not desire them to be. Sorek, speak more on this, will you?"
Sorek had been being quiet, away in the corner, polishing his sword. Once, the former Blackrock Orc had been brash, but years of fighting with you, and the respect for you that grew in him, had made him almost obsequious. "My chief," he speaks, and at the beginning of your snarl he continues more quickly, "I must call you this, for that is what you are. I agree with the others, on some points at least." your bannerman sighs, "You have perhaps three or four thousand under your banner now, with the Blackrock of the mountains here that will be five, maybe six. With Hammerfell, and the remnants of the other clans in that area, it could be ten thousand. That is a significant force! There are four times that many Blackrock in Kalimdor, and perhaps only twice that many Warsong. Ten thousands, with alliance and support from the humans, is a formidable force, smaller than the larger clans, but bigger than almost all the others. You do not regard yourself as chief, very well, but others do. The Warchief- Thrall that is, not Dal'Rend, will regard that as a threat, and since the battle with the Frostwolves you are set against him. He must respond, he cannot permit a faction to rise which may challenge his legitimacy, especially one led by you and influenced by your father."
"I haven't spoken with my father in a year or more." you disagreed.
"It doesn't-" Sorek gasps in frustration, "My chief, it doesn't matter. You cannot believe everyone holds honour as dear as you, not even Thrall…"
No, you don't think others do. Your father, Thrall, Dathrohan. You had regarded all as having honour before, yet now you knew that honour was a different sort, all trying to preserve their peoples, yet still compromising their honour.
But then again, hadn't you? You had lied before the assembly of the Horde, lied to the Warchief, when you'd sworn oaths to do the bidding of the Lord of Clans.
"Let the Coward speak too, perhaps he has some snivelling to do?" Haomarush sneered, his lips contorting around his rune-carved tusks as he looked toward Gol'dir. The Demonsword Chief had developed an exceptionally low opinion of Gol'dir, since learning his story and the affair of the vision-mad Drek'thar. He regarded Gol'dir's presence as offensive and refused to refer to him by name.
The Frostwolf spy would never speak but when spoken to, and he endured whatever abuse was directed toward him, for by your command none were permitted to assault him physically, whatever they thought of him.
"I come here because of duty, demon-lover, can you say the same? Skulking in your mountains burning farmers?" Gol'dir replies, and he ignores the emerald fires that flash in Haomarush's eyes. "I have heard plenty of all this," and he gestured expansively around the room. "Some of your remarks are true. Yes, the Orcs of Lordaeron must be safeguarded under a strong commander, and in a strong place. Grok'mash is that commander, Alterac would seem to be that place. Yes, I admit that Thrall's policy has failed in Lordaeron, especially since the removal of the Forsaken as the Horde's main power on his continent. I would rather see the Orcs of Lordaeron under Grok'mash, than I would under Rend Blackhand. Yes, it is better to strike a blow well than to strike one poorly, or to wait to strike till one is struck. Yes, it will threaten Thrall's legitimacy as Warchief for you to establish yourself here, and yes, though he may not wish to, he may be forced to act against you to fulfil his own obligations. In truth though, I don't even think he particularly dislikes you."
Your eyebrows raise a little at that, but you let Gol'dir go on.
"You've made a peace with the Alliance, managed to grow in strength without turning to demons, and embody the traditions of Draenor and the Old Horde. These things Thrall has tried to do."
"Tried and failed." Scorn scorned.
"Perhaps." Gol'dir acknowledged evenly. "But Tagorr will say the same." and he looked toward the Blackrock executioner, who had also remained silent. "For many years Thrall has sought the death of Blackhand's sons. He cannot do so openly, nor could he gain the allegiance of the Blackrock Horde by diplomacy. It is his hope, I suppose, that by measures and time Dal'Rend's power may be reduced and this schism of our people be remedied. But I cannot see how division serves us." he now addresses you, "You mean to protect the Orcs of Lordaeron, very well, an honourable goal, yet by doing so you must weaken the position of Orcs elsewhere. What I most agree with is that you must have a policy yourself. You have the intelligence to acknowledge the consequences of your actions, and you have the strength to stand against those consequences. If there is one failing of Thrall's, it is his passivity. He seems many competing goals and policies, and cannot decide which to fulfil."
That at last and amidst the bellicosity of your captains, is a sensible point.
You are indeed split between priorities. That cuts to the heart of it, and it brings you back to Scorn and Haomarush's metaphor. If you would take an action, such as to gather the Orcs of Lordaeron, you had better commit to it, and see to the actions that would follow your work.
"We are growing fatigued. Let us adjourn for a time." you commanded, and with bowed heads they left. "Not you, Tagorr, stay a moment."
The clink of a mailed gauntlet against the Blackrock's breastplate reaches your ears as you turn away, wetting your lips with a goblet from Darion.
"What would you have of me, Chief?" Tagorr the Dread asks, the head of his greataxe against the wooden floor.
"Merely your words, for now." you replied, "It may be as the others say, that conflict between myself and with Thrall, or with Dal'Rend is inevitable. If it be so, where would you stand? You served Dal'Rend recently, would you fight against him, or your kin? I would not wish to ask it of any Orc, that they slay their own clan members, but it may be necessary, just as I once fought against those who called themselves Burning Blade."
"It may be so, I agree." Tagorr replied, "I was not high in my clan, but I will tell you that some have little love of Blackhand's son. No doubt it is so among Thrall's followers too, but may call him passive, and speak that he grows too old now to lead us, and listens to much to the counsel of the Black Dragon, Neferian. I will tell you also that the Orcs of Blackrock Mountain are divided into many clans, not merely the Blackrock. I was of the Bloodaxe, while others are of the Scarshield, the Firebrand, the Black Tooth Grin, or the Blackhand Clan. I consider you a worthy chief, and would consider you a worthy Warchief. That you ask these questions, that you listen to your captains, and that you still fight as a warrior must, is worthy indeed! But while I wouldn't hesitate to raise my weapon against Thrall's Horde in your name, I might against those who were once my kin. Nevertheless, I have sworn oaths."
Indeed. All the Orcs who had joined your warband during the campaign against the Scourge had done so. In return for you saving them from the Alliance's prisons and the inevitable headsman's block, they had sworn to you, forsaking other allegiance. It was less clear for some of the others, those who you'd drawn from the hill clans around Lordaeron, but nevertheless, all who fought with you had sworn to you.
"I would rather it not be so though, for the common good of all Orcs." Tagorr continued. "And it need not be. If you can gain entrance to Blackrock Mountain, gain the upper floors to what is called the Spire, you might challenge Rend to Mak'gora, and in doing so seize the stronghold, for though Rend was once skilled, you are a Blademaster."
You nodded, perhaps it would be so, but as you'd said to the others, you couldn't simply declare a Mak'gora without cause, it was a dishonourable move, and one you could not bear, it was not in your blood to do so.
That was for later though, for now you needed to rally the Orcs of Lordaeron, and the single largest gathering of them was Hammerfell.
For the Constable of Alterac, gaining entry to the kingdom was not difficult, there were various niceties, but you weren't inclined to follow them. You went directly there, running through the mountains with Sesk at your side, the two of you alone, save for the dark shadow that followed you, the young drake you'd discovered last season. You could have brought a small force, travelled normally or broke bread with King Trollbane, but you had little desire to do so, and so you followed speed instead. Twenty or thirty miles you travelled each day, and with the strength of the Earth flowing into you with each step, and with the vigour of the Mightstone around your neck you ate up the distance in a week. You flew past the peaks of Alterac, over the swift river that marked the boundary between your territory and that you'd left for the Winteraxe Trolls, then down into the foothills of Arathi. Over the strategic zone named Arathi Basin you went, then finally down into the abandoned lands around Hammerfall itself.
Your return to the settlement was depressing.
While you'd though the settlement was pathetic before, you'd clearly underestimated the depths to which your people could sink.
Had this been the misery of the camps? Truly? You had always regarded the Orcs on Lordaeron as being better off than those on Draenor after the Second War, despite the experience of the camps, but was it truly better to starve in captivity, rather than in freedom, if this was what it was like?
There were beggars, hollow eyed orcs sitting in the eaves of the ruined buildings. There was fire damage and burned wrecks on the outskirts, and the warriors looked exhausted. There was a palpably malaise which swept over you as you neared, as you came within the fortifications and saw the folk there.
The gates weren't even barred, and only a single desultory note went up from the sentries before you reached the threshold.
The story swiftly came out as a few of the more vigorous officers approached you. Since your last visit the pact of non-aggression between the Orcs and Stromgarde had held, but following your decimation of the Frostwolves, as well as a renewed bout of war between the Warsong and the Amani-allied trolls to the north, King Trollbane and the Stromic forces had taken the initiative. They'd pushed back into their former lands, deliberately provoking attacks from the Orcs, who sought to protect their pastures and hunting grounds. It had unfolded exactly as you'd suspected, even if you'd hoped the truce would last for longer. In truth, you'd hope maybe Thrall would have sorted them out, done something anyway, to resolve the decline of the settlement, but it seemed you had to do so.
The aged warrior, Drum Fel, eventually appeared to you. He leant heavily upon his spear, and his limp was pronounced as he made his way across the square toward you.
"You have come again then, Blademaster, what would you have of us now? We've heard much from you from the Frostwolves you attacked."
"I have come to speak with you, greybeard." you replied, you blood rising slightly. You lived for honour, and you would not accept it being questions, "Insult me again and I won't bother with the speaking. Drek'thar treacherously tried to murder me and I defeated him. Hear news from those better informed next time."
The old orc quailed, but you'd already looked away from him. You supposed he was under great stress, but if not for Orcs like him the people of Hammerfall wouldn't have gotten into such a state anyway.
"Rally your people. I am taking you back to Alterac. You may live in security there under my banner." you continued, looking toward Drum Fel.
"Others would have said we might live in peace, as we have always desired." the old orc pointed out.
"Others might." you accepted, "But peace is not the destiny of our people. Nor a policy you have pursued, for you have made alliance with raiders and pillagers, and you've never sought such peace with the Arathi." you paused.
Did you really want to do this?
Naturally yes you had to gather the Orcs, but did you really want to get into an argument with Drum Fel?
No, you decided.
"My authority is much diminished in recent days." said Drum Fel, "You took away many of the most vigorous warriors, and those who follow me have seen where I've led them. Where are your forces? I have heard nothing from our scouts."
"I need none." you replied simply. "Now, go prepare the settlement. Bring all that has use, but do not overly burden yourselves. There are resources in Alterac, enough for you all."
"You brought… no one?" Drum Fel stares at you in confusion. "How did you get past- no, what do you expect us to use to get past the humans? We'd be cut to pieces. It would take weeks to cross the kingdom, months maybe."
"We will march swiftly, it will not take months. I have much to do, I'll not spend months coddling you." you replied cooly.
Drum Fel flushed in shame and rage. You were standing and speaking with him, rather than to a crowd, but it was hardly private.
"Coddling! This settlement was built by the wounded, by the crippled!" And he struck his spear against the ground, "Would you have us set ourselves in a shield wall? Will you protect us?"
But you had no tolerance for that either. "It's been many years since Doomhammer's death. This day would come, I told you that… months ago. You will join me in Alterac now. You will gather your people, if you must, call yourself the Chief of the Hammerfell Clan, I care not. If you do not do these things, the Trolls and Stromgarde will crush you between their armies and you will be overcome. I will protect you, I am Grok'mash of the Burning Blade, I have spoken."
You turned away. You had to find the Warsong.
You were in Hammerfell for two weeks in the end. Hunters went out to clear the highlands, messengers and sometimes yourself visited the outlying villages to persuade them to come, and for the most part they did. Drum Fel cooperated, though he resented you for it you knew, but that was his problem. The Warsong were also willing to send you their people, and quite quickly a thousand or more Orcs had rallied in Hammerfell, swelling the numbers more.
"We won't even have enough food. We'll starve on the road." moaned Drum Fel one evening.
"I will see to that. I have told you, I will protect you."
The word of a Blademaster was powerful indeed, and though you suppose you might have been overly optimistic, it seemed a optimism had slipped into the looks of the Orcs, a sense of purpose and direction. You would lead them to Alterac, lead them to a secure home, and a duty toward Azeroth, the same duty you held within yourself.
In the meantime you walked among them. You sent forth the Purefire from your soul to heal them, you trained with the young warriors, showing them blade and battle. You sat with the Shaman in communion with the Elements, and you spoke of the Orcish destiny, the fate of the Breakers.
You even made some inroads with the Frostwolves. After you'd sent them away from Alterac they'd rallied to Hammerfall, and though you denied them a return to their home, you were willing to take them too. The only disappointment you supposed was that though they numbered more than two thousands all together, the Orcs you were gathering were hardly of the highest quality. The Warsong were mostly the non-combatants, with the warriors being off in their remote war camps, fighting against the Trolls. Comparably, the New Clan of Hammerfell were better, but still a distinct change from the Demonsword Clan you'd been interacting with more recently.
The journey back through Arathi was somewhat of a mess. For such a large band of orcs organisation was sorely needed, and you relied on the few hundred warriors to guard the column during the day, camping by the road at night. You stripped the land clean as you went, Warsong youths on juvenile wargs herding back sheep and cattle from the human farms. You crossed the basin, and you extorted supplies from the hidden garrison there, the castellan gaping as the stone of the hidden passage inside moulded around your form as you stepped through his fortifications.
"I am taking the Orcs away." you told the Stromic Battlemaster, "You have years worth of supplies and will not suffer siege any time soon. You must either give me the supplies to bring my people away, or you must accept that I must seek supplies elsewhere. What would you prefer?"
In the end you got an escort to the border. You were shadowed the whole way, and again, just like when you'd first travelled to Hammerfell, supplies started appearing on the roadside, the riders who guarded it galloping away when they sighted you.
"By what means do you do this thing?" asked Drum Fel one evening as you dined on dense wheat cakes, the rations of the Arathi forces.
"By word and deed, and by honour. These you have forgotten." you replied. "I do not say this to insult you, I genuinely believe it."
"Speak then. Your word and deed have earned you that much, even if you do insult me." Drum Fel complained.
"Thrall, you all, have forgotten honour. I don't know when, perhaps when Blackhand became Warchief, perhaps when we hunted the Gronn to extinction. I don't know…" you began, ruminating on matters that had haunted your mind in the quiet moments of the night, "There are twin impulses of our people. The first was to survive on Draenor among monsters and upon a hostile world. The second is honour, our customs and practices and the shared history of our people. You might kill a stranger to take his possessions, or you might offer him hospitality and share them. I think Thrall has forgotten this. I think the Horde has… Honour is enough, honour for honour's sake. Not for gain, not for reputation. To act, and to do what you must because it is right, not because you enhance your own reputation. I think that is what has been forgotten."
Drum Fel did not respond that night, though you spoke more in the days that followed.
Stromgarde itself passed by on your left as you kept to the road. You'd half wondered whether King Trollbane might have tried to march against you, or somehow trouble you on the way, but it was not to be. The Stromic forces opened the gates on the great wall across their border, and in another month you were back in Alterac.
"Bad news." Kartha said, meeting you in one of the forts which guarded the passes, "Rend sent a force of Blackrocks while you were away. They had news of your departure, we think, and in the weeks gone by they've been rallying the sub-clans. Most of them have decided to leave, back to Blackrock Mountain."
You frowned. It would have been more pleasant to rest a little before you'd have to deal with more trouble, but Master Akinos had always said that duty was the enemy of leisure.
"We knew this might happen. How many stayed?" you asked.
"A tenth, perhaps. I've not taken a complete count of the elements remaining in the mountains." Kartha replied, "Mates and children of those who already swore to your warband."
That would not be many… Internally you seethed, but a chief did not show such emotion. This had always been a risk, a continual danger of the imprecise political constitution of your clan, of the lack of formal standing or relations between you, Thrall and Rend.
"Can we pursue them?"
Kartha grimaces, "I've… not tried. Your brother thought to do so, but I counselled against it, they might make for three directions, either south to perhaps seize transports form the Alliance fleet, and I ordered the border to be closed in your name. They might cross the river and go west through the mountains, which I suspect they have now that the Frostwolves are gone from that area, and lastly cross the Thandol Span, which I don't think would be possible, I can't see how they'd cross past both the Stromic forces and the Dwarves."
You thought for a moment, before nodding. "We'll speak more of this later."
Now you just needed rest.
That night you collapsed into your pile of furs. Your dreams were strange, full of stars and strange monsters in the dark.
You called for food, and ate in silence, sitting on the windowsill, looking out over the thousands of new orcs who'd joined you in Alterac. It had been inevitable that this came to a head, and now the Blackrocks with their better knowledge of the area had escaped. You could go after them you suppose, but you'd need to consider it first.
Strength… Strength was what you had, what you showed each day. Every day, every week, to every person you saw. Vark perhaps was the only one who you could drop you guard with… Even to him though you needed to show a strong face.
You thought that might have been enough. You'd spoken to Drum Fel of honour, of the example you intended to set to others, but you suppose an example wasn't enough sometimes.
Your hand clenched… Strength… Yes, but as you'd thought before, more than a year ago aboard the airship that'd brought you to this land, you needed the will to use strength as well.
Had you been too reluctant to provoke conflict? You'd never commanded the Blackrock sub-clans around Alterac, you'd never demanded their obedience, you'd invited their young warriors and bored battlemasters to come join you, you'd welcomed them, hoped they'd stay, but you'd ultimately be willing to accept their departure, as long as there wasn't a fight, like with the Frostwolves.
You supposed there was also the matter of the actual loyalty of your forces. Even if you opposed the Blackrock departure, with what force could you do so? Much of your own warband were Blackrock, and you could only rely entirely upon perhaps one hundred of them. No, perhaps this was for the best after all.
You knew you should try and integrate the Hammerfall Orcs, you knew you should have stayed, feted the new arrivals, done something here, but you couldn't face it. You left orders with Scorn and Vark to organise them, then made swiftly away to the north. Your rage was simmering beneath the surface and you knew a use for it.
"Your art is undeveloped." you told the shaman and warlocks around the caldera.
Even since you'd fought the knights of Kul Tiras in the Durotar watchtower till Vark had developed his double-armour idea you'd had an appreciation for metalwork. Among your people armour was relatively uncommon, save for the Blackrock. Even among them only the highest ranking warriors had full armour equal to the plate of the humans or dwarves of Azeroth. Even then, Orcish metalworking was crude in comparison with that of the other cultures and you aimed to change that.
All that the Demonsword Clan had, they'd pulled from the earth, and you told them that. "You seize power, you draw up iron and silver from the depths, from the very edges of Deepholme. You capture small spirits in this way, the smallest ones able to breech the barrier between the Material and Elemental Planes." you explained, "But small as they are, they'd weak, they provide only small supplies of the metals we need. No, instead you must draw up greater, more powerful spirits, and to do this you must use other methods. While a lesser spirit can travel the Planes with relative ease, you must think of the Elemental Plane as surrounded by a sort of net, the mesh of which is so fine it prevents the greater spirits travelling through like the lesser ones do."
"How then can we draw them up?" asks Mazath, undoubtable keen to understand the magics of his dead father and the other Blademasters. "I have felt the spirits, and the lesser ones, as you describe them, are indeed weak, easily dominated, they draw valuable metals amount them as they ascend through the earth, and our smiths then break apart their shells while we diminish them into the resources we need."
"This is so." you agreed, "You must tear the net in essence. A great spirit will disrupt the barrier between Planes as it ascends, but in doing so you'll gather a far greater quantity of resources which we need for the armament of our people. In truth, you must train more smiths I think, for what I am to show you will make a great difference to them."
Kalaran watched you keenly. With him were three others of his kin, you'd been introduced to them earlier. Nyxondra was the chief of them, the broodmother responsible for the Black Dragons who would make Alterac their home and her agent was Velarok. While Nyxondra emanated a feeling of steady power like the slow movements of the earth, Velarok was clearly younger or less powerful and seemed to puff himself up to look more dangerous than he was. Jirakka was the next of them, and his attendant, Moldarr. It seemed that the latter two were not dragons in fact, but rather some strange half-breed. You didn't understand it, but had no wish to pry into the reproductive practices of your allies. Kalaran would depart soon back to serve Queen Prestor and convey secret messages from his master, Neferian. All of the dragonfolk were disguised as a dark-skinned orcs with red eyes, slightly too unusual to be natural but given the company you kept of Fel-Orcs and other such figures no one had remarked upon them.
You handed the Fireblade to Sorek at your side, then stepped up to the caldera. The pool of sulphurous water lay beneath you, the treats of your boots almost touching the bubbling waters. The scent of it was in your nostrils, harsh and acrid like a rot, but you knew that just as decay could bring new life after a season so too would this pool offer up great power.
The waters simmered as you reached down with your soul. You could feel it down there, the chamber of magma a mile or more below the surface. That great furnace was what made this valley so hospitable, that which brought warmth and power to the land. That was what you seized.
"Go, Myzrael." you commanded the spirit and forth went the maddened elemental. You felt her, or perhaps 'it' descend, down through the earth battling lesser spirits of fire, sundering the chief of the elemental caldera as she travelled the greater spirit which sat within the magma chamber no match for Myzrael's strength.
You were one with Myzrael, the Elementium cuff on your wrist throbbed as if alive, but you felt yourself covered in magma, then deeper into the great stream of Earthblood, down through one plume you went, or went Myzrael.
Just beyond the boundary between this Plane and her rightful home she lurked, oh how she wanted to return home, to dance amidst the gems of the Stonecore, to wrestle with her brethren, to destroy he who had shackled her!
Your fists clenched. "Obey me, Spirit. By iron and blood you are bound, by rock and stone. Obey!"
Your spirit crashed into Myzrael, and this time you were the victor. You were as a luminous rylak, blazing and powerful while she was a darkened crystal of cracked facets. She quailed before your strength, both in the binding and ritual that forced her submission, and the threat of your power behind it. Strength you had, will you had, and now a use for it.
Myzrael called to her kin beyond the Plane, called with promises, with entreaties, with pleas and with taunts. They came, bursting out through the Plane of Earth and shaking the valley around you. The caldera roared as a surge of heat came from below and up they roared with Myzrael's arms about them.
With a crack and a hissing the caldera erupted. Fume and smoke spread and the ground shook again, Myzrael struggling against you, but futilely in the end for your will was greater and the Spirit dissipated from the physical reality, back into the world of spirits.
What was left was the strained amalgamation of Elementals drawn out of Deepholme. A great ball, irregularly shaped and studded with veins of strange metals and gems of all colours sat in the sulphur-water. It was larger than a house, as large as a great hall perhaps.
"Sunder it, harvest the minerals and the Spirits, if they survived the transition. Bind them, as I have." you ordered the Demonsword magicians, gesturing to the cuff on your wrist. "Go now, report to me later, I must rest."
You trudged to Haomarush's house, the other chief having given constructed a dwelling for you adjacent to his compound. You visited the Demonsword often enough to merit it, but you were grateful all the same. You fell into your furs there without even undressing, overcome by fatigue.
In the back of your mind Myzrael strained against her bonds, but you only smiled.
+100 Ogres
+2000 Hammerfall Orcs
+Chunk of Elementium, an unbreakable material pulled from the Stonecore itself, this unworked nugget has a greater value than some kingdoms.
Orcs of Alterac now supplied with high quality minerals.
Shamanism +25%, now 50% to next level, for a novel improvement in Dark Shamanism.
New Spell: Oreseeker: You have gained proficiency in the art of Oreseeking, a Blackrock practice involving Shaman drawing up useful resources from the depths of the Earth
AN: Sorry all, I'd written out about half of this a couple of weeks ago, and subsequently have been significantly disrupted by a number of personal and family issues, so haven't gotten around to writing or posting the other half. I've had to cut out the Light action result on this one, but it'll be covered in the next turn update. I've also taken some time to update the info posts on Character Sheet etc as I'd not done that in a while. Hope everyone enjoys.
-[]Lead the Oreseekers, 95, significant advances. Grok inspired toward more ideas for harnessing the Spirits for resouce stuff, as well as personally growing. Dragons also impressed. Elemental interrupt? 82, no interrupt.
-[] Orc Wrangling, 66, broadlty well, specific efforts: Hammerfall 98, all of them, Frostwolves 32, not many, they're distrustful, Warsong 23, busy fighting someone?, final Blackrock clans, 9, very poor, whyso? Triggers Rend interrupt, 36, poor opinion of you, but not openly hostile yet.
Trollbane interrupt? 52, attacking remaining orcs when he gets round to it, not getting anywhere really.
-[]A harsh hand, general impact? 79, will need further work next turn, but army somewhat improved.
-[] Spiritual Advice, Fairbanks/Tirion, 84, both available for a chat.
-[] Orc Wrangling, 66, broadlty well, specific efforts: Hammerfall 98, all of them, Frostwolves 32, not many, they're distrustful, Warsong 23, busy fighting someone?, final Blackrock clans, 9, very poor, whyso? Triggers Rend interrupt, 36, poor opinion of you, but not openly hostile yet.
Trollbane interrupt? 52, attacking remaining orcs when he gets round to it, not getting anywhere really.
-[]A harsh hand, general impact? 79, will need further work next turn, but army somewhat improved.
-[] Spiritual Advice, Fairbanks/Tirion, 84, both available for a chat.
You weren't entirely sure whether the situation in Alterac had improved or degraded over the last few months.
It had become more complex, certainly, but that didn't entirely mean it was worse off for it.
Indeed, much had been improved. The filth of the Stonemaul Ogres had finally been cleared away, and Ravrok'gor was looking more like a city, rather than a collection of collapsed masonry.
Lord Gregor, for all your scorn for his manner and habits, had proven himself and even taught you something. While you might have seized power for yourself to assure the defence of the kingdom, Gregor had ceded power, giving away parts of his authority and influence to the former nobles of the Syndicate, forgiving their histories while setting them in high offices of the kingdom once more, and also inviting influential folk from other kingdoms to join his administration. Each brought their own contribution, from a Brozebeard cousin who'd been giving mining licences over the eastern ranges in return for a clutch of gryphons for the royal aerie, to the appointment of Archbishop Hylan, who with him had brought a dozen paladins from Dathrohan's Red Guards, as well as many clerics, deacons and other functionaries to set the Alteraci clergy to rights.
Some of these developments were ill for you, and Hylan in particular had made his thoughts known when you'd briefly met during his investiture. The new Archbishop was firmly in Dathrohan's camp, and indeed still wore the crimson garb of the Scarlet Crusade. He was one of the older band who'd rallied around the first Highlord, Alexandros Mograine, and he firmly adhered to Dathrohan's views on non-humans.
Dathrohan had always been civil to you, and Hylan was too, but the scorn he had for your race was clear. You didn't really mind though, you acted in the interest of orcs, just as the human bishop acted in the interest of humans.
Nevertheless, while the power in Alterac had once been evenly split between yourself and the Lord Regent, now the influential folk of the Kingdom followed at least five camps, from the Regent's to the clergy to the foreign interests to the merchants who'd seized the opportunity to once again colonise Alterac's cities.
Your own influence was slipping away. Gregor had established a postal system, apparently similar to that in Stormwind, with armed messengers and roadwardens, stations and watchtowers, all outside your control, while Hylan had set his paladins to training a militia force, though one currently immature in both faith and skill.
Though you could have been worried, you weren't. You held an unbreakable hold over the true power in Alterac. You had taken the kingdom with a few hundred orcs, and it would take more than the whole of Alterac could muster against you before your hold over the kingdom could be set aside. You were Marshal of Alterac, and you would stay in that office till you gave it up.
In the meantime though, you had your own duties to attend to. In the absence of any foreign engagement, you busied yourself with the affairs of your office. The Royal Army was in a pitiful state, and your hand fell upon them in a fury. They had sworn to obey, and they would, you saw to that.
You taught them in the manner they were best accustomed. They had been bandits, ruled by strength, and now you ruled them. You walked among them, and those who fell beneath your standards were punished. None would eat in the camp, unless they served, and those who serve would have better conditions. It took a month to break the spirit of the mutineers, but you taught them the lesson of obedience. The few of Varnhold's sergeants who remained were given more authority, for clearly you couldn't trust the former Syndicate commanders if they wouldn't maintain order. Bishop Karlus eagerly offered you more officers when you enquired, perhaps eager to restore his influence in Alterac following Hylan's arrival, and now the Army worked properly for you.
There had been resistance of course, three times men had tried to murder you when you came for inspections, and three heads you had placed on spikes at the ramparts of the Army's grounds. Besides that, they needed blooding, and out you went with them to slay beasts like the yetis of the mountains.
It was hardly finished, you still wouldn't trust them in battle, but the Army was at least better than it was.
You had considered blooding them against the trolls, but after a conversation, you decided against it, sitting back in your chair and looking across your desk.
"You have fought with me for two years." you told Vok'fon. "Any debt between us is settled more than once, and I will not try to persuade you to stay. You would be welcome, but it is for you to decide your own affairs."
The Darkspear rebel nodded, "The Orcs have ever been friends to us." he said, "But you in particular, I will speak of wherever I meet other tribes. Whether they will listen… that'll be for them."
Vok'fon had originally planned to visit the Zandalari trolls, and had originally come to you in the hopes of visiting the Amani away to the north instead. Now he had come to you for permission to leave your service, and you did not prevent it. He left with a bag of gold, all the supplies he could carry, and a writ marked with the seal of Alterac for his safe passage back to Kalimdor. You had briefly debated the issue of the Winteraxe trolls with him, and he had agreed to bear a message and a warning to them. You knew there were few humans east of the river which wound south from the falls at Darromere, but still, you had told the Winteraxe not to cross the river, and you wouldn't trouble them. If they did, your duty would compel you to destroy them.
Further afield, the situation in Stormwind seemed to be degrading. The Defias Brotherhood, a tribe of rebels on the borders, had apparently surged out in a series of attacks. Swathes of the countryside paid taxes to them, not to the King, and it seemed little good was occurring in that Kingdom in other places. The Blackrock orcs were attacking too, it seemed, and a terrible creature called 'Hogger' had destroyed a town. You knew not what sort of beast it was, but clearly a formidable one.
In the north, Liam Greymane was holding the capital of Gilneas against his foes, having guarded one of the gates of the city and burned several districts of it in his battle against the Worgen. You knew Dathrohan was attempting to build his influence in that area, but what might come from it you didn't know.
You had received calls to arms from the Grand Crusader, he requested the assistance of his neighbours in fighting back the resurgent Scourge. He spoke of strange ghostly ships on the north shore, of interrupted supplies, and of sightings of those undead champions who had escaped the fall of Naxxramas. That was less good, and you would have to think carefully about whether you could send forces to assist the Scarlet Crusade. Dathrohan had been attempting to cleanse the land after his victories, but it was a difficult thing when more than half the country was plagued and ruined.
Almost the whole west of the Plaguelands had been overwhelmed, retaken by the Scourge. To your mind, perhaps Dathrohan had focused too much on foreign affairs, rather than the security of Lordaeron itself. You had heard that Stratholme, Tyr's Hand, as well as numerous small garrisons were relatively secure, but that fortified farming colonies, or many of the smaller patrols had been set upon by the resurgent Scourge. The Crusade's strategies had been effective in the first instance, but now hordes of warndering monsters molested the Grand Crusader's supply lines. It was a step back, but perhaps you thought it was equally a step back for the Scourge, for it seemed the Lich King had released all the hidden horrors of his arsenal in Lordaeron, sending undead giants against Strathholme and a dozen new plagues which the Crusaders were carefully screening for.
But you were not Dathrohan, and it was not your business to tend to his affairs. Rather, issues closer to home beckoned.
"I mean to gather them up." you announced, tapping the map on the table. "All of them."
"Good, we must increase our numbers if we are to keep hold of this kingdom." Scorn said.
Dark smooth stones lay over a map of the northern mountains. These were the villages of Blackrock Orcs, or at least sub-clans once part of the Blackrock community. The Demonsword had been one of them, perhaps the most powerful and most divergent from the Blackrock norm, however there were several thousand orcs still in the mountains, or so you thought.
You had collected several hundred of them during your battles with the Scourge, their young warriors had come to gain glory and experience with you, and formed the largest part of your warband now, but there were whole communities out there, mostly hidden away or in fortified valleys. It would be better to gather them, you thought, upon the same model as the Demonsword, to give them discipline and a mission.
"This brings you closer to conflict with Thrall, and with the sons of Blackhand." Vark said, stroking his chin.
"Son, for only Dal'Rend lives now, they say." you replied.
"Be that as it may, if you gather these warriors, if you absorb the orcs of Northern Lordaeron, you set yourself up as a Warchief." Vark continued.
"I do not until I do." you shook your head. "I have not even declared myself a chief. My father leads the Burning Blade. A son cannot succeed a father who yet lives."
It was what some humans might call a legalistic interpretation, but your clan had always been the one which maintained the most written traditions and respect for the written word. In some clans, especially the barbarous and savage communities of the south, an agreement was only respected for as long as the ones who directly made it lived. But did you cling to those traditions as a shield? Perhaps. But then again Vark was right in a way.
"You have two chiefs who swear allegiance to you already." Haomarush said, the Demonsword Blademaster having come when you called for his counsel.
"I have only one." you protested, and that allegiance was personal, for Haomarush had sworn to you, not to bond the Demonsword and Burning Blade.
Haomarush frowned, looking at Vark.
Vark shrugged, "I swear allegiance to you? Does that resolve the issue? I don't see why this is a problem, you're my blood brother, we've spoken on this before."
A few others laughed, but you just scowled. "I will not step blindly into war." you said, and you said it strongly, your fist scattering a dozen stones on the map. You looked about, the fire was in your eyes and your heart was beating. "I say to you, I will not. My father leads the Burning Blade. If he should fall in battle, I will step forward, if he should seek the peace of his old age, I will grant him that, if he should command me to lead a lesser clan, or a branch of our people, I would do these things too. But I will not grasp at every axebearer I can, only to acquire greater numbers of warriors. I do not seek confrontation with Thrall, or with Dal'Rend Blackhand. If it comes, I will meet it, but I will not seek to provoke them. I gather the clans of Lordaeron to protect them from the Alliance, and from their useless banditry, not to gather an army for myself."
The room was silent for a moment, you knew their looks though. Vark was your blood-brother, and he was content to follow where you led, even if he had done so without formality before. Haomarush was still getting used to his position and sought the brighter future your honour had promised him and his people.
"Better to strike first rather than be first struck." Scorn offered.
The captain was the worst of them, yet he was crucial all the same. He was grasping, ambitious, and driven. He had pushed you a driven you like a farmer would a swine, he would call you 'chief' and seek to elevate you, and himself too. Already he had risen from being an outcast murderer to essentially a chief of a small clan, for you delegated many matters of your warband to his oversight.
"No!" Haomarush cut across him, "Say rather, better to strike a blow knowingly with all your strength and skill, rather than lash out blindly."
"Our people were made for war, and I do not follow Thrall's pacifism." you acknowledged, "That is not the future of our people. I have resolved to safeguard the Orcs of Lordaeron, and to do so I must gather them. That is all. I will not engage in aggressive action. I ended the Frostwolves because they attacked us treacherously, not because of any inherent aggression toward them."
There was a pause again, but Vark broke it, "That doesn't matter, brother. No one else sees it like that. I stand with Haomarush and Scorn on this, your actions are interpreted by others in ways you may not desire them to be. Sorek, speak more on this, will you?"
Sorek had been being quiet, away in the corner, polishing his sword. Once, the former Blackrock Orc had been brash, but years of fighting with you, and the respect for you that grew in him, had made him almost obsequious. "My chief," he speaks, and at the beginning of your snarl he continues more quickly, "I must call you this, for that is what you are. I agree with the others, on some points at least." your bannerman sighs, "You have perhaps three or four thousand under your banner now, with the Blackrock of the mountains here that will be five, maybe six. With Hammerfell, and the remnants of the other clans in that area, it could be ten thousand. That is a significant force! There are four times that many Blackrock in Kalimdor, and perhaps only twice that many Warsong. Ten thousands, with alliance and support from the humans, is a formidable force, smaller than the larger clans, but bigger than almost all the others. You do not regard yourself as chief, very well, but others do. The Warchief- Thrall that is, not Dal'Rend, will regard that as a threat, and since the battle with the Frostwolves you are set against him. He must respond, he cannot permit a faction to rise which may challenge his legitimacy, especially one led by you and influenced by your father."
"I haven't spoken with my father in a year or more." you disagreed.
"It doesn't-" Sorek gasps in frustration, "My chief, it doesn't matter. You cannot believe everyone holds honour as dear as you, not even Thrall…"
No, you don't think others do. Your father, Thrall, Dathrohan. You had regarded all as having honour before, yet now you knew that honour was a different sort, all trying to preserve their peoples, yet still compromising their honour.
But then again, hadn't you? You had lied before the assembly of the Horde, lied to the Warchief, when you'd sworn oaths to do the bidding of the Lord of Clans.
"Let the Coward speak too, perhaps he has some snivelling to do?" Haomarush sneered, his lips contorting around his rune-carved tusks as he looked toward Gol'dir. The Demonsword Chief had developed an exceptionally low opinion of Gol'dir, since learning his story and the affair of the vision-mad Drek'thar. He regarded Gol'dir's presence as offensive and refused to refer to him by name.
The Frostwolf spy would never speak but when spoken to, and he endured whatever abuse was directed toward him, for by your command none were permitted to assault him physically, whatever they thought of him.
"I come here because of duty, demon-lover, can you say the same? Skulking in your mountains burning farmers?" Gol'dir replies, and he ignores the emerald fires that flash in Haomarush's eyes. "I have heard plenty of all this," and he gestured expansively around the room. "Some of your remarks are true. Yes, the Orcs of Lordaeron must be safeguarded under a strong commander, and in a strong place. Grok'mash is that commander, Alterac would seem to be that place. Yes, I admit that Thrall's policy has failed in Lordaeron, especially since the removal of the Forsaken as the Horde's main power on his continent. I would rather see the Orcs of Lordaeron under Grok'mash, than I would under Rend Blackhand. Yes, it is better to strike a blow well than to strike one poorly, or to wait to strike till one is struck. Yes, it will threaten Thrall's legitimacy as Warchief for you to establish yourself here, and yes, though he may not wish to, he may be forced to act against you to fulfil his own obligations. In truth though, I don't even think he particularly dislikes you."
Your eyebrows raise a little at that, but you let Gol'dir go on.
"You've made a peace with the Alliance, managed to grow in strength without turning to demons, and embody the traditions of Draenor and the Old Horde. These things Thrall has tried to do."
"Tried and failed." Scorn scorned.
"Perhaps." Gol'dir acknowledged evenly. "But Tagorr will say the same." and he looked toward the Blackrock executioner, who had also remained silent. "For many years Thrall has sought the death of Blackhand's sons. He cannot do so openly, nor could he gain the allegiance of the Blackrock Horde by diplomacy. It is his hope, I suppose, that by measures and time Dal'Rend's power may be reduced and this schism of our people be remedied. But I cannot see how division serves us." he now addresses you, "You mean to protect the Orcs of Lordaeron, very well, an honourable goal, yet by doing so you must weaken the position of Orcs elsewhere. What I most agree with is that you must have a policy yourself. You have the intelligence to acknowledge the consequences of your actions, and you have the strength to stand against those consequences. If there is one failing of Thrall's, it is his passivity. He seems many competing goals and policies, and cannot decide which to fulfil."
That at last and amidst the bellicosity of your captains, is a sensible point.
You are indeed split between priorities. That cuts to the heart of it, and it brings you back to Scorn and Haomarush's metaphor. If you would take an action, such as to gather the Orcs of Lordaeron, you had better commit to it, and see to the actions that would follow your work.
"We are growing fatigued. Let us adjourn for a time." you commanded, and with bowed heads they left. "Not you, Tagorr, stay a moment."
The clink of a mailed gauntlet against the Blackrock's breastplate reaches your ears as you turn away, wetting your lips with a goblet from Darion.
"What would you have of me, Chief?" Tagorr the Dread asks, the head of his greataxe against the wooden floor.
"Merely your words, for now." you replied, "It may be as the others say, that conflict between myself and with Thrall, or with Dal'Rend is inevitable. If it be so, where would you stand? You served Dal'Rend recently, would you fight against him, or your kin? I would not wish to ask it of any Orc, that they slay their own clan members, but it may be necessary, just as I once fought against those who called themselves Burning Blade."
"It may be so, I agree." Tagorr replied, "I was not high in my clan, but I will tell you that some have little love of Blackhand's son. No doubt it is so among Thrall's followers too, but may call him passive, and speak that he grows too old now to lead us, and listens to much to the counsel of the Black Dragon, Neferian. I will tell you also that the Orcs of Blackrock Mountain are divided into many clans, not merely the Blackrock. I was of the Bloodaxe, while others are of the Scarshield, the Firebrand, the Black Tooth Grin, or the Blackhand Clan. I consider you a worthy chief, and would consider you a worthy Warchief. That you ask these questions, that you listen to your captains, and that you still fight as a warrior must, is worthy indeed! But while I wouldn't hesitate to raise my weapon against Thrall's Horde in your name, I might against those who were once my kin. Nevertheless, I have sworn oaths."
Indeed. All the Orcs who had joined your warband during the campaign against the Scourge had done so. In return for you saving them from the Alliance's prisons and the inevitable headsman's block, they had sworn to you, forsaking other allegiance. It was less clear for some of the others, those who you'd drawn from the hill clans around Lordaeron, but nevertheless, all who fought with you had sworn to you.
"I would rather it not be so though, for the common good of all Orcs." Tagorr continued. "And it need not be. If you can gain entrance to Blackrock Mountain, gain the upper floors to what is called the Spire, you might challenge Rend to Mak'gora, and in doing so seize the stronghold, for though Rend was once skilled, you are a Blademaster."
You nodded, perhaps it would be so, but as you'd said to the others, you couldn't simply declare a Mak'gora without cause, it was a dishonourable move, and one you could not bear, it was not in your blood to do so.
That was for later though, for now you needed to rally the Orcs of Lordaeron, and the single largest gathering of them was Hammerfell.
For the Constable of Alterac, gaining entry to the kingdom was not difficult, there were various niceties, but you weren't inclined to follow them. You went directly there, running through the mountains with Sesk at your side, the two of you alone, save for the dark shadow that followed you, the young drake you'd discovered last season. You could have brought a small force, travelled normally or broke bread with King Trollbane, but you had little desire to do so, and so you followed speed instead. Twenty or thirty miles you travelled each day, and with the strength of the Earth flowing into you with each step, and with the vigour of the Mightstone around your neck you ate up the distance in a week. You flew past the peaks of Alterac, over the swift river that marked the boundary between your territory and that you'd left for the Winteraxe Trolls, then down into the foothills of Arathi. Over the strategic zone named Arathi Basin you went, then finally down into the abandoned lands around Hammerfall itself.
Your return to the settlement was depressing.
While you'd though the settlement was pathetic before, you'd clearly underestimated the depths to which your people could sink.
Had this been the misery of the camps? Truly? You had always regarded the Orcs on Lordaeron as being better off than those on Draenor after the Second War, despite the experience of the camps, but was it truly better to starve in captivity, rather than in freedom, if this was what it was like?
There were beggars, hollow eyed orcs sitting in the eaves of the ruined buildings. There was fire damage and burned wrecks on the outskirts, and the warriors looked exhausted. There was a palpably malaise which swept over you as you neared, as you came within the fortifications and saw the folk there.
The gates weren't even barred, and only a single desultory note went up from the sentries before you reached the threshold.
The story swiftly came out as a few of the more vigorous officers approached you. Since your last visit the pact of non-aggression between the Orcs and Stromgarde had held, but following your decimation of the Frostwolves, as well as a renewed bout of war between the Warsong and the Amani-allied trolls to the north, King Trollbane and the Stromic forces had taken the initiative. They'd pushed back into their former lands, deliberately provoking attacks from the Orcs, who sought to protect their pastures and hunting grounds. It had unfolded exactly as you'd suspected, even if you'd hoped the truce would last for longer. In truth, you'd hope maybe Thrall would have sorted them out, done something anyway, to resolve the decline of the settlement, but it seemed you had to do so.
The aged warrior, Drum Fel, eventually appeared to you. He leant heavily upon his spear, and his limp was pronounced as he made his way across the square toward you.
"You have come again then, Blademaster, what would you have of us now? We've heard much from you from the Frostwolves you attacked."
"I have come to speak with you, greybeard." you replied, you blood rising slightly. You lived for honour, and you would not accept it being questions, "Insult me again and I won't bother with the speaking. Drek'thar treacherously tried to murder me and I defeated him. Hear news from those better informed next time."
The old orc quailed, but you'd already looked away from him. You supposed he was under great stress, but if not for Orcs like him the people of Hammerfall wouldn't have gotten into such a state anyway.
"Rally your people. I am taking you back to Alterac. You may live in security there under my banner." you continued, looking toward Drum Fel.
"Others would have said we might live in peace, as we have always desired." the old orc pointed out.
"Others might." you accepted, "But peace is not the destiny of our people. Nor a policy you have pursued, for you have made alliance with raiders and pillagers, and you've never sought such peace with the Arathi." you paused.
Did you really want to do this?
Naturally yes you had to gather the Orcs, but did you really want to get into an argument with Drum Fel?
No, you decided.
"My authority is much diminished in recent days." said Drum Fel, "You took away many of the most vigorous warriors, and those who follow me have seen where I've led them. Where are your forces? I have heard nothing from our scouts."
"I need none." you replied simply. "Now, go prepare the settlement. Bring all that has use, but do not overly burden yourselves. There are resources in Alterac, enough for you all."
"You brought… no one?" Drum Fel stares at you in confusion. "How did you get past- no, what do you expect us to use to get past the humans? We'd be cut to pieces. It would take weeks to cross the kingdom, months maybe."
"We will march swiftly, it will not take months. I have much to do, I'll not spend months coddling you." you replied cooly.
Drum Fel flushed in shame and rage. You were standing and speaking with him, rather than to a crowd, but it was hardly private.
"Coddling! This settlement was built by the wounded, by the crippled!" And he struck his spear against the ground, "Would you have us set ourselves in a shield wall? Will you protect us?"
But you had no tolerance for that either. "It's been many years since Doomhammer's death. This day would come, I told you that… months ago. You will join me in Alterac now. You will gather your people, if you must, call yourself the Chief of the Hammerfell Clan, I care not. If you do not do these things, the Trolls and Stromgarde will crush you between their armies and you will be overcome. I will protect you, I am Grok'mash of the Burning Blade, I have spoken."
You turned away. You had to find the Warsong.
You were in Hammerfell for two weeks in the end. Hunters went out to clear the highlands, messengers and sometimes yourself visited the outlying villages to persuade them to come, and for the most part they did. Drum Fel cooperated, though he resented you for it you knew, but that was his problem. The Warsong were also willing to send you their people, and quite quickly a thousand or more Orcs had rallied in Hammerfell, swelling the numbers more.
"We won't even have enough food. We'll starve on the road." moaned Drum Fel one evening.
"I will see to that. I have told you, I will protect you."
The word of a Blademaster was powerful indeed, and though you suppose you might have been overly optimistic, it seemed a optimism had slipped into the looks of the Orcs, a sense of purpose and direction. You would lead them to Alterac, lead them to a secure home, and a duty toward Azeroth, the same duty you held within yourself.
In the meantime you walked among them. You sent forth the Purefire from your soul to heal them, you trained with the young warriors, showing them blade and battle. You sat with the Shaman in communion with the Elements, and you spoke of the Orcish destiny, the fate of the Breakers.
You even made some inroads with the Frostwolves. After you'd sent them away from Alterac they'd rallied to Hammerfall, and though you denied them a return to their home, you were willing to take them too. The only disappointment you supposed was that though they numbered more than two thousands all together, the Orcs you were gathering were hardly of the highest quality. The Warsong were mostly the non-combatants, with the warriors being off in their remote war camps, fighting against the Trolls. Comparably, the New Clan of Hammerfell were better, but still a distinct change from the Demonsword Clan you'd been interacting with more recently.
The journey back through Arathi was somewhat of a mess. For such a large band of orcs organisation was sorely needed, and you relied on the few hundred warriors to guard the column during the day, camping by the road at night. You stripped the land clean as you went, Warsong youths on juvenile wargs herding back sheep and cattle from the human farms. You crossed the basin, and you extorted supplies from the hidden garrison there, the castellan gaping as the stone of the hidden passage inside moulded around your form as you stepped through his fortifications.
"I am taking the Orcs away." you told the Stromic Battlemaster, "You have years worth of supplies and will not suffer siege any time soon. You must either give me the supplies to bring my people away, or you must accept that I must seek supplies elsewhere. What would you prefer?"
In the end you got an escort to the border. You were shadowed the whole way, and again, just like when you'd first travelled to Hammerfell, supplies started appearing on the roadside, the riders who guarded it galloping away when they sighted you.
"By what means do you do this thing?" asked Drum Fel one evening as you dined on dense wheat cakes, the rations of the Arathi forces.
"By word and deed, and by honour. These you have forgotten." you replied. "I do not say this to insult you, I genuinely believe it."
"Speak then. Your word and deed have earned you that much, even if you do insult me." Drum Fel complained.
"Thrall, you all, have forgotten honour. I don't know when, perhaps when Blackhand became Warchief, perhaps when we hunted the Gronn to extinction. I don't know…" you began, ruminating on matters that had haunted your mind in the quiet moments of the night, "There are twin impulses of our people. The first was to survive on Draenor among monsters and upon a hostile world. The second is honour, our customs and practices and the shared history of our people. You might kill a stranger to take his possessions, or you might offer him hospitality and share them. I think Thrall has forgotten this. I think the Horde has… Honour is enough, honour for honour's sake. Not for gain, not for reputation. To act, and to do what you must because it is right, not because you enhance your own reputation. I think that is what has been forgotten."
Drum Fel did not respond that night, though you spoke more in the days that followed.
Stromgarde itself passed by on your left as you kept to the road. You'd half wondered whether King Trollbane might have tried to march against you, or somehow trouble you on the way, but it was not to be. The Stromic forces opened the gates on the great wall across their border, and in another month you were back in Alterac.
"Bad news." Kartha said, meeting you in one of the forts which guarded the passes, "Rend sent a force of Blackrocks while you were away. They had news of your departure, we think, and in the weeks gone by they've been rallying the sub-clans. Most of them have decided to leave, back to Blackrock Mountain."
You frowned. It would have been more pleasant to rest a little before you'd have to deal with more trouble, but Master Akinos had always said that duty was the enemy of leisure.
"We knew this might happen. How many stayed?" you asked.
"A tenth, perhaps. I've not taken a complete count of the elements remaining in the mountains." Kartha replied, "Mates and children of those who already swore to your warband."
That would not be many… Internally you seethed, but a chief did not show such emotion. This had always been a risk, a continual danger of the imprecise political constitution of your clan, of the lack of formal standing or relations between you, Thrall and Rend.
"Can we pursue them?"
Kartha grimaces, "I've… not tried. Your brother thought to do so, but I counselled against it, they might make for three directions, either south to perhaps seize transports form the Alliance fleet, and I ordered the border to be closed in your name. They might cross the river and go west through the mountains, which I suspect they have now that the Frostwolves are gone from that area, and lastly cross the Thandol Span, which I don't think would be possible, I can't see how they'd cross past both the Stromic forces and the Dwarves."
You thought for a moment, before nodding. "We'll speak more of this later."
Now you just needed rest.
That night you collapsed into your pile of furs. Your dreams were strange, full of stars and strange monsters in the dark.
You called for food, and ate in silence, sitting on the windowsill, looking out over the thousands of new orcs who'd joined you in Alterac. It had been inevitable that this came to a head, and now the Blackrocks with their better knowledge of the area had escaped. You could go after them you suppose, but you'd need to consider it first.
Strength… Strength was what you had, what you showed each day. Every day, every week, to every person you saw. Vark perhaps was the only one who you could drop you guard with… Even to him though you needed to show a strong face.
You thought that might have been enough. You'd spoken to Drum Fel of honour, of the example you intended to set to others, but you suppose an example wasn't enough sometimes.
Your hand clenched… Strength… Yes, but as you'd thought before, more than a year ago aboard the airship that'd brought you to this land, you needed the will to use strength as well.
Had you been too reluctant to provoke conflict? You'd never commanded the Blackrock sub-clans around Alterac, you'd never demanded their obedience, you'd invited their young warriors and bored battlemasters to come join you, you'd welcomed them, hoped they'd stay, but you'd ultimately be willing to accept their departure, as long as there wasn't a fight, like with the Frostwolves.
You supposed there was also the matter of the actual loyalty of your forces. Even if you opposed the Blackrock departure, with what force could you do so? Much of your own warband were Blackrock, and you could only rely entirely upon perhaps one hundred of them. No, perhaps this was for the best after all.
You knew you should try and integrate the Hammerfall Orcs, you knew you should have stayed, feted the new arrivals, done something here, but you couldn't face it. You left orders with Scorn and Vark to organise them, then made swiftly away to the north. Your rage was simmering beneath the surface and you knew a use for it.
"Your art is undeveloped." you told the shaman and warlocks around the caldera.
Even since you'd fought the knights of Kul Tiras in the Durotar watchtower till Vark had developed his double-armour idea you'd had an appreciation for metalwork. Among your people armour was relatively uncommon, save for the Blackrock. Even among them only the highest ranking warriors had full armour equal to the plate of the humans or dwarves of Azeroth. Even then, Orcish metalworking was crude in comparison with that of the other cultures and you aimed to change that.
All that the Demonsword Clan had, they'd pulled from the earth, and you told them that. "You seize power, you draw up iron and silver from the depths, from the very edges of Deepholme. You capture small spirits in this way, the smallest ones able to breech the barrier between the Material and Elemental Planes." you explained, "But small as they are, they'd weak, they provide only small supplies of the metals we need. No, instead you must draw up greater, more powerful spirits, and to do this you must use other methods. While a lesser spirit can travel the Planes with relative ease, you must think of the Elemental Plane as surrounded by a sort of net, the mesh of which is so fine it prevents the greater spirits travelling through like the lesser ones do."
"How then can we draw them up?" asks Mazath, undoubtable keen to understand the magics of his dead father and the other Blademasters. "I have felt the spirits, and the lesser ones, as you describe them, are indeed weak, easily dominated, they draw valuable metals amount them as they ascend through the earth, and our smiths then break apart their shells while we diminish them into the resources we need."
"This is so." you agreed, "You must tear the net in essence. A great spirit will disrupt the barrier between Planes as it ascends, but in doing so you'll gather a far greater quantity of resources which we need for the armament of our people. In truth, you must train more smiths I think, for what I am to show you will make a great difference to them."
Kalaran watched you keenly. With him were three others of his kin, you'd been introduced to them earlier. Nyxondra was the chief of them, the broodmother responsible for the Black Dragons who would make Alterac their home and her agent was Velarok. While Nyxondra emanated a feeling of steady power like the slow movements of the earth, Velarok was clearly younger or less powerful and seemed to puff himself up to look more dangerous than he was. Jirakka was the next of them, and his attendant, Moldarr. It seemed that the latter two were not dragons in fact, but rather some strange half-breed. You didn't understand it, but had no wish to pry into the reproductive practices of your allies. Kalaran would depart soon back to serve Queen Prestor and convey secret messages from his master, Neferian. All of the dragonfolk were disguised as a dark-skinned orcs with red eyes, slightly too unusual to be natural but given the company you kept of Fel-Orcs and other such figures no one had remarked upon them.
You handed the Fireblade to Sorek at your side, then stepped up to the caldera. The pool of sulphurous water lay beneath you, the treats of your boots almost touching the bubbling waters. The scent of it was in your nostrils, harsh and acrid like a rot, but you knew that just as decay could bring new life after a season so too would this pool offer up great power.
The waters simmered as you reached down with your soul. You could feel it down there, the chamber of magma a mile or more below the surface. That great furnace was what made this valley so hospitable, that which brought warmth and power to the land. That was what you seized.
"Go, Myzrael." you commanded the spirit and forth went the maddened elemental. You felt her, or perhaps 'it' descend, down through the earth battling lesser spirits of fire, sundering the chief of the elemental caldera as she travelled the greater spirit which sat within the magma chamber no match for Myzrael's strength.
You were one with Myzrael, the Elementium cuff on your wrist throbbed as if alive, but you felt yourself covered in magma, then deeper into the great stream of Earthblood, down through one plume you went, or went Myzrael.
Just beyond the boundary between this Plane and her rightful home she lurked, oh how she wanted to return home, to dance amidst the gems of the Stonecore, to wrestle with her brethren, to destroy he who had shackled her!
Your fists clenched. "Obey me, Spirit. By iron and blood you are bound, by rock and stone. Obey!"
Your spirit crashed into Myzrael, and this time you were the victor. You were as a luminous rylak, blazing and powerful while she was a darkened crystal of cracked facets. She quailed before your strength, both in the binding and ritual that forced her submission, and the threat of your power behind it. Strength you had, will you had, and now a use for it.
Myzrael called to her kin beyond the Plane, called with promises, with entreaties, with pleas and with taunts. They came, bursting out through the Plane of Earth and shaking the valley around you. The caldera roared as a surge of heat came from below and up they roared with Myzrael's arms about them.
With a crack and a hissing the caldera erupted. Fume and smoke spread and the ground shook again, Myzrael struggling against you, but futilely in the end for your will was greater and the Spirit dissipated from the physical reality, back into the world of spirits.
What was left was the strained amalgamation of Elementals drawn out of Deepholme. A great ball, irregularly shaped and studded with veins of strange metals and gems of all colours sat in the sulphur-water. It was larger than a house, as large as a great hall perhaps.
"Sunder it, harvest the minerals and the Spirits, if they survived the transition. Bind them, as I have." you ordered the Demonsword magicians, gesturing to the cuff on your wrist. "Go now, report to me later, I must rest."
You trudged to Haomarush's house, the other chief having given constructed a dwelling for you adjacent to his compound. You visited the Demonsword often enough to merit it, but you were grateful all the same. You fell into your furs there without even undressing, overcome by fatigue.
In the back of your mind Myzrael strained against her bonds, but you only smiled.
+100 Ogres
+2000 Hammerfall Orcs
+Chunk of Elementium, an unbreakable material pulled from the Stonecore itself, this unworked nugget has a greater value than some kingdoms.
Orcs of Alterac now supplied with high quality minerals.
Shamanism +25%, now 50% to next level, for a novel improvement in Dark Shamanism.
New Spell: Oreseeker: You have gained proficiency in the art of Oreseeking, a Blackrock practice involving Shaman drawing up useful resources from the depths of the Earth
AN: Sorry all, I'd written out about half of this a couple of weeks ago, and subsequently have been significantly disrupted by a number of personal and family issues, so haven't gotten around to writing or posting the other half. I've had to cut out the Light action result on this one, but it'll be covered in the next turn update. I've also taken some time to update the info posts on Character Sheet etc as I'd not done that in a while. Hope everyone enjoys.
Damn knew not getting the means of state and economy would bite us and here we with rivals at a time when our power should be absolute
Elementium. A good find for negotiations.
You can stress that next time on the order of importances. No promises as it did happen.
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