Constable Turn 3
The church stood as a testament to both time and turmoil.
Once a grand structure, it had been recently reclaimed from the clutches of the Scourge, and while the taint had been purged, the scars of the battle still marred its solemn beauty.
As you entered the church, your senses were immediately assaulted by the musty scent of old books and decaying wood. The air felt heavy with history, carrying the weight of countless prayers and sermons that had once echoed through these hallowed halls. Sunlight filtered through cracked stained glass windows, casting fractured rainbows upon the uneven stone floor.
While the more powerful of the Scourge could enter holy places, the lesser breeds could not, and of course Death Knights and Liches had little interest in holy tomes.
Patches of dampness clung to the walls like stubborn memories of the church's darkest days, evidence of the struggle to reclaim this place from the undead. The pews, once polished and regal, now bore the scars of conflict - scratches, gouges, and even burn marks, relics of the battles fought here. They had been gathered and placed against the doors in barricade, you suspected, but from what you saw that had helped little in the end. The fallen candles had been cleared away but their waxy remnants left streaks of grease on the floor, seeping into the stone like teardrops of the fallen.
In the dim light, statues of revered figures stood as stoic witnesses to the church's past glory. Their features, though worn and chipped, retained an air of dignity and determination, as if they had seen the worst of the world and remained unwavering in their faith. The altar, once adorned with intricate carvings and delicate drapery, now stood bare, stripped of its former splendour.
The spiders were still here, you saw. Spiderwebs clung to corners and crevices, weaving their intricate designs between the statues and the rafters above. Dust motes danced in the subdued sunlight, creating an ethereal, almost haunting atmosphere. Cobwebs hung like forgotten memories, veiling the church's history in a shroud of neglect.
Despite the disarray, a sense of grandeur still lingered, a faint echo of the church's former glory. The towering arches, though weathered and worn, reached for the heavens as if yearning to touch the divine once more. Fading frescoes adorned the ceiling, their colours muted by time, yet their intricate patterns hinted at the beauty they once possessed.
The church was a paradox of decayed grandeur and stoic magnificence, a place where the echoes of history mingled with the whispers of the present. It stood as a symbol of resilience, a testament to the indomitable spirit of those who had fought to reclaim it from the clutches of darkness.
Here was a place of history, a sacred font once, and one that would soon ring with the clamour of bells and the high songs of prayer.
You put your hand to your heart, bowing before the altar.
The action had slightly caught you out the first time you'd done it. You gave respect to the Spirits of any place you journeyed in of course. If you entered a Clan's burial grounds you'd bring an offering, but you had decided some time ago that you should give the same respect to the human religion, and had given such orders that your Orcs were to honour human priests as they did your own shaman. There had been some grumbling, for among the Blackrock especially there was greater animosity to the humans.
But none would question Grok'mash Fireblade, Blademaster…
You joined the two figured kneeling at the altar. Servants and deacons milled about clearing the church and conducting various rites, but you sought the peace of the kneelers. They had come to honour the fallen, to pray for strength, and to find a glimmer of hope in a world scarred by conflict.
Fairbanks the Priest, knelt upon the left at the centre of the church with an air of quiet grace and unwavering confidence. His presence, despite the bandages that obscured his undead form, exuded an aura of solemn authority. Every movement he took was deliberate, measured, as if he acted with the weight of his tragic existence and the burden of his mission.
His bandaged visage was a haunting tapestry of concealment, hiding the decayed features that lurked beneath. The tattered remnants of a priest's robes clung to his skeletal frame, a stark reminder of the life he once led before his transformation. Though the fabric was frayed and threadbare, it still bore the symbols of his faith, now stained with the hardships of his existence.
A palpable scent surrounded Fairbanks, a curious blend of suffering and purity. It was as though the very essence of his being and soul could be sensed in the slight metallic air around him. The suffering, a constant companion in his existence, emanated from the silver chains that hung around his body as cruel shackles. They burned him, you knew, with each movement, they burned his soul, or what was left of it.
But each searing pain was a penance he willingly bore in his mission to bring salvation to his undead brethren.
Mirador, truthfully Tirion Fordring, redeemed Knight of the Silver Hand, knelt beside him murmuring softly as his hands played over a worn charm about his wrist. He was almost the opposite of his companion, a noble figure upright and proud and a beacon of unwavering righteousness amidst the fallen grandeur of the church. His presence filled the room with a palpable sense of strength and purpose, as if the very walls themselves leaned in to listen when he spoke. His voice you knew was rough from battle and blood-din, while his armour which once shone now bore the scars of conflict, dents and scratches that told the stories of the enemies he had faced and the trials he had endured.
But while you might wish to see your friend well, you looked on aghast, seeing each line etched into his face in a new light. How long had it been, six months since you saw him in battle? Had he fought all that time to see to gaunt and drawn? It was as if he was one of the undead himself, so sallow you saw him, so pale and wan. His features, once chiselled, now seemed swollen as if a corpse's or from sorrowful weeping while his once proud silver mane had turned to drooping straw, grey and unwashed.
His eyes as he turned to you almost halted your step. You remembered those eyes, once twin pools of unwavering resolve and a deep well of deep well of compassion and righteousness. They were eyes that had seen the darkest depths of the world and yet remained unyielding in their commitment to justice. Now it was not so, now they bore an eerie coldness, shining with an otherworldly brilliance. There was still power behind them, power and desire… But now you felt as if the man had lost his way.
"What ails you, Brother?" you asked him, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Mirador sighed. The charm about his hands rose to his lips as he kissed the miniature silver hand. "Horror and war." he said heavily.
And truly, you could sense it on him. Death clung to him like a spectre, as it did many of the Crusade who had fought near to powerful foes who's very gaze could freeze a warrior's blood. The scent of ash and battle wafted from his pauldrons, subtle and ominous.
"Our brother fights too often on the front lines." Fairbanks said from your other side. "There is black work in the north."
"I have heard rumours." you said. "Giants in the mist, the undead resurgent in the east."
"Both are true. We are hard pressed and many of the Silver Hand have been fighting for months. Only we have the mobility to combat the Scourge properly. Many have fallen, High General Abbendis was the keenest loss… drawn out upon a plain they thought clear only to have a hundred new monstrosities conjured up by the Lich King fall upon them to the General's doom." Tirion explained.
"His daughter rallied the army." Fairbanks put in, "A credit to her to be sure, but the east is all but lost to us."
This was far worse than you'd thought. "What does the Highlord do? What are his plans?"
"They are what troubles our friend so." Fairbanks said, gesturing, then taking his other hand to tuck back in a strand of cloth fallen away from his bandages.
"As Fairbanks says, there is black work going on."
"I have prayed for a Blessing of Wisdom." Fordring said, "A Blessing to give me the strength of mind, the strength of word, to oppose these things. But I cannot. Dathrohan has always looked to the fringes of righteousness, always walked a thin line. In the beginning that was slaying any non-human for fear that they would spread the Plague, but since then he's turned to other weapons."
A Blessing was a specific type of intercession, commonly allocated to heroes of various sorts within the theology of the Church of the Holy Light. In the legends of holy folk, the Light could be called upon to provide assistance in times of need whether to scholars seeking a cure to a disease to kings troubled by matters of state. You knew from your readings that there was great debate within the Church regarding whether it was an individual's inherent righteousness which led to such a Blessing, or a decision and patronage by a more personified Holy Light.
"All things are but tools to him, weapons to oppose the Lich King." Fairbanks said, "Though I have no liking for the man, I too can't think of ways to oppose his methods, for how else might we fight the battles we must fight? His leadership has been what was necessary, though I think perhaps at the detriment of our souls…"
"Tell me of these weapons, of these methods." you asked.
"There are many. The Craftsman, Omarion, one of those Brothers who feel any method is acceptable if it destroys the undead, he has broken open the vaults of the Scholomance and read the dread secrets within. Bishop Voss is with them too and carries a Shadow upon his soul, and Dathrohan has set a new magic among his Red Guards. He now calls them the 'Risen', says they have become more than men, that they are closer to the Light. But if you were to see them you'd know it was something else, something evil. The Light is in them, that is true, but their souls are gone, consumed by it, if such a thing is possible." Tirion said, his voice low. "It is they who first came up with the Mightstones, you know? We thought them wonders then," and the Paladin fingered a similar stone to the one that hung about your own neck, "But perhaps we were foolish to be so enthusiastic."
"This is grim news." you replied, settling into an uncomfortable silence. The Light was compassion. It could be used by misguided people, but ultimately it relied upon the righteousness of the cause. This was another point of debate within the Church, whether or not the Light could be personified and understood, whether it had motives and how mortals could understand them, and whether if used for evil, why this was. Some explained it as the Light's compassion extending to he who used it, regardless of use.
"Enough of these dark thoughts." Tirion said, shaking himself like a dog emerging from a pond. "Come, let us see the sun."
And you both followed him out, the church's staff bowing respectfully as you went. Mirador bade you speak of your own affairs as he stared off down the road toward Andorhal, away from the little village you'd arranged to meet in. "These are all good deeds, and I commend you." he said eventually as you related the march of the Orcs of Hammerfall. "It would perhaps be better that the relationship between you and the King of the Arathi be not as hostile as you make it seem, but that is for tomorrow. That you needed not spill more blood is good indeed. Far too many things cannot seem to be done without bloodshed, in these dark times…"
"I agree." Fairbanks continued after Tirion grew silent, "But many strange things have clearly happened. How did such a force of Orcs disappear? No matter how well they knew the terrain, Eire Peak guards that whole region. Did they find some underground road? Or did dragons carry them all?"
You had not spoken of the pact you'd made with the Black Dragonflight. That was a secret for the moment but both of them knew about your new companion, the Black drake you'd found and taken in. Tirion had treated it like a tame beast and recommended you saddle it, while Fairbanks had wondered how you might do so, for surely the Wildhammer Dwarves though capable with griffons, would refuse to assist a dragon from a flight which had killed so many of them.
You'd spoken for many hours, and both of your companions had to be elsewhere. Tirion had flinched again, a shadow passing over his eyes, when you'd demonstrated your ability with the Light to a sceptical Fairbanks. You'd asked for their guidance in your letters, and this meeting was to get their advice for you trusted both of them.
You had embraced the Light, you felt it now, the Pureflame within your heart, no your soul. It surrounded it, cradled it, made it safe and strong. But while you accepted the Light and wielded it, there was another matter if you were to consider the human religion. As you stood in the courtyard of the church, the weight of the decision you faced pressed heavily upon your shoulders, you looked to the heavens but the sun was weak, much different from the clear sign you might look for, whether from the Spirits of your ancestors or from the Light itself.
The Light was foreign to you, yet ever so close. Even within the traditions of your own people, your ways were strange. You were bound by honour, when some like even Thrall would manipulate honour for their own means. You would always honour the Spirits, but since the March of Forneus and now later with Myzrael's bracer around your wrist you knew that the Elements were not the respectful and harmonious beings that Thrall's Frostwolves spoke of. The Elements had to be constrained. Not abused as the goblins sometimes did, or the warlocks of your father, but they were capricious and potentially hostile to mortal life. They warred with each other, each Plane seeking to dominate the others, to drown Azeroth in fire or water, to crush it beneath a hammer of air or a battering mountain.
The Light had found its way into you, it had answered in your hour of need, it had brightened your being and given you hope. More than that, you almost felt that it had burned away the darkness of your past transgressions, of the shame of your birth, of your father's scorn and of the exile... But now, as you contemplated the path ahead, you couldn't help but feel the looming conflict between your newfound faith and the reverence you held for your ancestors.
In the quiet moments of introspection, you found yourself torn between two worlds. On one hand, there was the Light, offering you a chance to live in valour and purity. But on the other hand, there was the deep-rooted respect for your heritage, a culture steeped in tradition and the worship of ancestors. How could you reconcile the teachings of the Light with the customs of your people?
As you mulled over these conflicting emotions, your mind turned ever to the potential discord that might arise within your own culture if you were to openly embrace the Light. The orcs had long been defined by their fierce warrior traditions and shamanistic beliefs, and the introduction of a foreign faith could be met with suspicion, if not outright resistance. You could foresee the fractures forming within your society, the divisions between those who embraced the Light and those who clung steadfastly to the old ways.
The Apostle to the Forsaken spoke upon spiritual goodness, of the righteousness of conversion, "You have a moral duty, my brother, for truly we are brothers in spirit. Once I condemned non-humans, once I looked to the advancement of my race beyond others, even those who had accepted the Light like the elves or dwarves. No more, my eyes and soul are open, I hear the whisper of the chimes, I heed the pure Light from beyond the veil. Conversion, my friend, is not merely a matter of numbers or political implications. It is a sacred calling, a testament to the Light's boundless compassion and the moral duty we bear. In its purest form, conversion is an act of utmost grace, extending an offer of redemption to all who seek it, regardless of their origins. The Light teaches us to look beyond the superficial differences and to see the potential for goodness in every soul. To spread its message is to bring hope to the lost, to offer solace to the afflicted, and to guide those who walk in darkness toward the eternal embrace of the Light. It is a matter of morality, of nurturing the spiritual goodness within ourselves and others, and it is a path worth walking, even when the road is uncertain."
"It cannot be so!" exclaimed Tirion, who had been shaking his head throughout the statement, "It cannot!" and he crashed his mailed fist into the palm of his other hand.
"Do not disturb yourself!" cried Fairbanks holding up a hand, but Tirion darted back.
The Paladin breathed quickly, eyes narrow, then with an effort of will he rallied himself, "I beg your forgiveness, my brothers." he said, "I am disturbed of late, I'm sorry…"
"Speak." you said, speaking nothing of the offence, for it was already forgiven, "And I will listen. I would have your words too."
Tirion nodded a little closing his eyes, then kneading his forehead. "You spoke in your letter of your own experience, and how that had been received by this Karlus. I don't know the man but he seems reasonable, but not all other will be, that is why I advised you to tell no one when last we met. Circumstances change, very well, it is as it is, but this is too complex for emotion. Here we must look to wisdom and prudence. With respect, Fairbanks, you don't knoww the Orcs… And neither do you Grok'mash."
"I should like to think I do." you replied, grinning a little around your tusks.
"Hm." replied Tirion, "No, I think not. I do not wish to lecture you, but I do not think this will end well. While the Light's grace is an undeniable force for good, we must approach the subject of mass conversion with caution, especially among the orcs. We have seen how religious differences can ignite conflicts and sow discord within societies, remember the wars between Kul Tiras and Lordaeron in the past. They still cling to ancient beliefs, as do many of the peasantry of Gilneas. The orc culture is deeply rooted in its own traditions and beliefs, and a swift and forceful conversion effort could risk destabilizing your society, leading to internal strife and factionalism. Worse, you will be at the heart of it. You will be, finally and openly, a competitor to Thrall and to Blackhand's son. Everything will begin to turn on this question, 'do you follow this religion or that?' This cannot be. The Light must remain aloof, converts may come, but they must be allowed to. Otherwise the success or failure of this endeavour will depend on your willingness to go about slaying and overcoming other shaman. Already you've explained this is happening to an extent with Drek'thar and his Frostwolves, and already you know you face whispers within your own camp that you are too close to the humans. You must consider the broader implications of your actions, not just the immediate spiritual impact but the political consequences. Sometimes, faith must be tempered with wisdom, and it is our responsibility to navigate this path with care… That, I believe is the path of Compassion, that is the path of Respect, of Tenacity to bear these injuries, to remain respectful of your own culture, to maintain your mission, if you choose this path."
You hadn't yet. You'd merely asked for advice, and although perhaps the Light was a fine fit for you personally, you knew very well that for others it would seem odious and feeble.
"Only you can do this." agreed Fairbanks. "I may go among the Forsaken and the undead with enough mind left that they can communicate, but only you could go among the Orcs. I do believe in the gifts of salvation and redemption, I have received these boons myself and they are glorious indeed, though they burn me." and he shrugged in his chained ornaments, "But there are goods outside merely the spiritual, there's a real value in hope, in the faith one can have in something better, something so good as the Light. But more, more political as you say, Tirion, is the peace that can come if Grok'mash's people were to accept Tyr's Hand."
Tirion shook his head again, "It will lead to conflict. Conflict and division, resistance from those already leading your people's spiritual practices, and scepticism from potential converts. It may escalate to civil unrest, to even misuse of the faith! This needs a proper mission, like that to the Dwarves and the Elves, not the fumblings of a worthy but ultimately inexperienced warrior."
You could hardly refute such an accusation, if you were honest with yourself. If nothing else, you had little ability to convert another through words alone, your deeds had always been that which proved your worth.
"What is more," Tirion continued, "I do not wish to insult you, but the orcs are a primitive people. The trappings of the Silver Hand are unknown to them, the organisation of discipline of religion, not just of faith. The Light's teachings are codified among us, doctrine is espoused, and the Three Tenants and Five Virtues are well understood in the education of even children. The faith of your people though is fractured and disorganised. Perhaps that is what your people desire, and I have no wish to make a judgement on another's faith. There is honour in the Orcish Shamanism, this I know for I spoke often of it when I sheltered Eitrigg, but there is great risk here… Great risk."
Fordring indeed knew orcs better than most humans, and his interaction with Eitrigg of the Blackrock Clan was well known to all Orcs. He made good points, even if a few of them struck close to home.
"What I can offer is a meeting with a few of the others of the Silver Hand." Tirion said. "Perhaps this matter might be discussed more by the priests, but for the moment you are a warrior who wields the Light, and its time you learnt how to do so as we do, I think. Think on it, and call on me if you decide you think this proper. Or do you disagree, Fairbanks?"
"Better the sword and hammer, than the staff and mitre." replied the undead. "I do not contest it, though I only wish Archbishop Faol was still with us. The institution of the Knights of the Silver Hand was the last time such a debate arouse in our Church, and had a proper forum for debate. I fear no such forum would find the patronage of Dathrohan."
"If there is one person who should not be told, it is him." Agreed Fordring. "He would only twist it and strain it, and you and your people would all suffer." the paladin said, nodding at you. "Now." Tirion continued, "We must be away. We should meet again, soon perhaps, but the war calls and we must answer. Farewell."
Actions
Choose 4:
[ ] Build up the Army... Again
The Royal Army is finally in a state that you can begin to expand it again with relative confidence. Do so, setting your particular attention to maintining the culture of discipline you've already instilled while you bring in new blood.
[ ] Warlocks Continued
The Warlocks have disappeared. You don't know where they might be, and if they've left the country they might still cause problems for the neighbouring powers. Send out the riders again to investigate these missing villages.
[ ] Orc Wrangling 2
The Blackrock Orcs of Alterac and the surrounding territories have following emissaries of Warchief Dal'rend away. You know not where, but it would be wise to pursue them while the trail may yet be fresh.
[ ] Diplomatic Mission
While you could send emissaries, it may prove a sensible option to visit one of the Alliance capitals yourself on a number of purposes, including the negotiation of aid, or simply to make positive diplomatic contact. For example, your master, Akinos, had visited Stormwind several times on diplomatic missions. Indicate briefly where you want to go, and with what intentions.
[ ] Mission to Stormwind
Technically you report to Lady, now Queen, Katrana Prestor. However, you've never met her in her official capacity, and perhaps a trip to Stormwind would do you good. You might even visit the Bronzebeard Dwarves on your way, as you understand there's some sort of underground tunnel between Stormwind and Ironforge.
[ ] Sons of the Earth
The Stormpikes remarked that there are certain artefacts in their keeping which may be of interest to you and that the Orcs may hold some kinship with the Dwarves. While the former is interesting, it's the latter that might be of more immediate utility to you as Constable of Alterac.
[ ] Mercenaries
One thing Alterac has in abundance are Orcs, and Orcs are good at fighting. There is a need for warriors in several areas, notably Gilneas, and in return you might gain much for Alterac. Indicate briefly where you want to go, with what intentions. You also know that the Crusade may find use for warriors against the Scourge. Regent Gregor indicates that without the material support a mercenary engagement can provide, Alterac's coffers will rapidly empty due to the recent demands placed on the administration.
[ ] Seek Magical Aid
One thing you're quite clear about is the lack of magical support in your warband, and the wider Alteraci military. Seek aid from the Kirin Tor, as well as attempting to form a cohort of Shaman within your Orcish warband.
[ ] Trolls
The Winteraxe Trolls have harassed Alliance convoys for years, and will no doubt continue to do so. Lead a punitive expedition to discourage them.
[ ] Lead the Breakers
What else is there to call them, but the Breakers? Many of the Demonsword shaman and warlocks were inspired by your actions, and have taken your words to heart, summoning spirits and binding them, breaking their will and bodies into reagents and minerals. Your works were but a copy of the Blackrock Oreseekers you'd seen in action, but perhaps now is the chance to further develop the practices of your disciples?
[ ] Remnants
Though there are few of them, there remain a few fortified strongholds of the Syndicate which might prove a nuisance. Destroy them.
[ ] New Blademasters
Like yourself, Haomarush and the Demonsword have been training Blademaster. While Sorek and his aspirants have never expressed it, you know they yearn for advancement, and perhaps with Haomarush and Sesk you can increase the numbers of your profession.
[ ] Training
While you've grown considerably in the last few months, there is always more to do, and you should now seek out Sesk, or perhaps Haomarush for advice and training, either in the blade or in interactions with the Spirits.
[ ] The Silver Hand
Tirion has offered to assemble some of the remaining Knights of the Silver Hand to further discuss your use of the Light.
[ ] Train the Drake
You've acquired a Black Drake, which seems to want to keep your company rather than that of it's own kind. You refuse to treat the being as a mere beast, but perhaps you should try to engage with it.
[ ] Demongate
Jubei'thos' clan had formerly been guarding a Demongate, a lesser version of the Dark Portal, intended to aid in the summoning of lesser demons. The Traitor Prince, Arthas, had used the gate to received instructions from Burning Legion during their campaign on Azeroth. You've heard from Haomarush that the location of the Demongate is higher in the mountains, a place of great danger due to the rampant demons around the gate. While you don't intend to summon any demons, it might be well to use the gate to contact your father with greater reliability of communication perhaps.
[ ] Rescue the Revantusk
While you mainly cared about the Orcs of Arathi, you knew that Hammerfell also supported a tribe of allied trolls, the Revantusk. They will liekly be destroyed without your assistance, and you might journey to retrieve them, if they'd agree to join you.
[ ] Integrate the New Clan
While you could just leave them to their own affairs as a loose sub-clan under your leadership, it might also be wise to strike now and integrate the New Clan into your faction of the Burning Blade.
AN: I do in fact enjoy writing, so wrote this stuff up today. I have indeed be quite disrupted by various personal matters recently, but I'm hoping to get back into writing more. As noted, I decided to put the Spiritual Advice action from last turn in this chapter instead. Reminder to self to roll for non-taken actions too. On the Light stuff, Grok hasn't made any decision yet so you're not being railroaded etc. Voting not open yet. Discuss update text and also options, post draft plans if you want, but dont actually vote till the voting is open.
