- Location
- barking
how is the light progressing in the orcs cause if I recall (might need to reread) some are starting to catch on to what groks thing is and starting to get interest in it
Orc Quest; or, A Critical Examination of Agency Through in Interactive Fiction (Warcraft)
- Thread starter FractiousDay
- Start date
- Fantasy
I think they treat it like a shaman thing so a spirit of light.
- Location
- United Kingdom
I'll be discussing more of this as we go on, and we've had stuff like him asking Sesk and Haomarush, both Fel Orcs, why they ended up like that
I'm aware it might be tiresome though, so I'm not sure of the utility of the constant meditation on cultural shame etc. It's informed Grok's character, it'll come up a bit, but he's not necessarily seriously investigating it. The last chapter had him coming to terms more with why people follow the Fel, that's a distinct new realisation and character growth from when he was younger and had this awkward disregard for the Fel but had to publically respect warlocks etc.
Possibly. I'd considered bringing various people in but it's difficult for me to meaningfully integrate a decent cast of characters. You've got Sylvannus and Fairbanks, they represent most of what the undead might be thinking about. I'm loathe to include a new character unless just in a name, without having a narrative reason for them to be around.
There also don't seem to be many 1st Gen DKs about. They were Shadow Council members killed by Doomhammer and raised in human bodies, so there can't have been more than a dozen to start with, and they then would have been whittled down over the wars. There's a couple in Outland, but not many about now etc.
There's also the question of what narrative significace they could serve. This isn't only a resourcing issue on my part of keeping track of them, but why would I need one when I could use someone like Sesk or Haomarush, people who took power in war and are now monsterous? Or Feldad, or various others. There are people I need to integrate, including a character in the next chapter who I'm throwing in so you have a wizard you can actually trust rather than Zaruk the dodgy Twilight's Hammer guy.
Shall have a read! I would note however that Grok's leadership as a charismatic military figure is inherently brittle anyway. I want to bring in more populist challengers, like the Blackrock guy from a couple of chapters ago.
Somewhat different as the Orcs went over as a society to the Legion and while they might regret some specifics the creation of the Horde itself was a largely positive force for the Orcs. Comparably, the Cult of the Damned are a cult, not a popular or universal movement.
Grok is using it, almost none of the Orcs are aware he is, and assume he's just using shaman stuff. Grok's Light manifests as fire for example, which the Orcs are interpreting as the Spirit of Fire and maybe a bit of the Spirit of Life. They're not even thinking that really because they'd not be categorising it like that. Grok has rezzed 20 (I'll need to check) orcs who's eyes were glowing for a bit after he rezzed them, I can bring them back in potentially as some people who want to feel that feeling of the Light again, and Grok considering whether to teach them etc. We'll be having a major intervention/inquisition by the Silver Hand ni the chapter after next though, so it'll come up more.
I find it actually fascinating though the way you wrote it wasn't in a way that acts like Grok or those involved were mired in flagellating self pity.
Besides being more of the people involved in the past wars it's someone who's more versed in shadow magic besides being an OG death knight.
Though it depends on what you believe is narrative significance. Was he loyal to Guldan or the burning legion? Or is he more self serving and saw how the wind was turning and just put himself away until the time is right to come out and make his move.
The Legion had all the time to convert an entire people while in Azeroth they only had time to convert nations whether through the cult or undeath which can be debated from certain questionable points of view to be deemed positively too. Lordaeron got the brunt of it which reminds me but their population is like really fucked right?
Just wondering when the option of artifical aging human infants would ever be considered to bring them up to fighting age to be drafted whether it's with arcane or fel means.
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- Location
- barking
I feel the scarlet crusade is more like what the legion did to the orks, get leaders who can do what they want (instead they became the leaders)
the cult is more get rich asshole to ship grain
the cult is more get rich asshole to ship grain
Didn't thought of it that way but also true when it's notDanrothan at the helm but the cult's origins had the same intention as the horde and also the scarlets when Balthasar hijacked it. Get pawns for the eventual corruption of Azeroth.
The cult was pretty widespread once their leader got to work. Kelthuzad used his own resources and influence to preach to tired Lordaeron masses among the locals attractive collective ideas with immortality and a society free of the burdens Lordaeron forced on them besides the nobility and the landowners.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
It kinda is. I am more of a proponent of practical changes through choice. The previous policies may have been wrong of have gone in undesirable ways, sure, but what is the lesson to take from it? Not a lesson one gets in their head by contemplating their navel, but a lesson one implements into the structure he is in charge of.
Give us choices where we can put this to use, where we can finally give our views solid shape so that they could be tested, and their consequences examined.
I have my hopes on -- Runewatcher, was it? -- forcing our hand in certain regards, but I wonder what it could be that'd make us say something definitive about the place of the Fel and warlocks in our society.
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Really cool chapter and I like all that's going on. Can't wait to see if feldad has become even more demonic and cool looking.
Demon Gate Interlude 2
- Location
- United Kingdom
This chapter ended up being 9k so I'm going to break it up to encourage discussion and reflection. I'll post the remainder over the next few days. There's a lot of names of people and groups in this and the next couple of chapters, which some people may not be familiar with. This is the problem in essentially providing exposition to a character and the audience, and here having a character explain a wiki page, so I hope it went well.
I also note that this is a fairly climactic chapter, so I'm hoping it lands well. It should evoke feelings of interest and give an idea of where the quest might be going. If it doesn't seem like that for you, do let me know as it's good to have feedback.
Not that I don't generally welcome feedback, but I thought it particularly good to note here. If things are unclear generally, also let me know and then I can write a little more etc.
Demon Gate Interlude 2
A powerful warlock could rip open a portal on their own, simply by their will and the unnatural energies they could store within themselves, and marshal to whatever purpose they chose.
The warlocks of the Argus Wake were not especially powerful however.
You stood on the central podium before the gate, focusing your will on the thin connection you'd maintained with your father. You could send him messages in fires, or seek his soul across the world, but you had no particular skill in the astral arts. Some shaman could send their spirit out as a spy or even attack others invisibly, but that was beyond you.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning herbs and the metallic tang of blood, mingling with the ambient heat radiating from the portal itself. There was no fire there, though the swirling energies almost looked like a sort of fire. Instead it was the friction of the two ends of the portal forming and grinding against each other as the warlocks set the wording. The vortex within the gate churned violently, a swirling maelstrom of green and black energy that crackled and spat, casting strange shadows across the camp.
It was your task to keep the energies focused while the other warlocks and sorcerers channelled their power into the gate's tributary pillars. Neither was a complex exercise but both required concentration and precision. The warlocks had been working for hours already, but your part had come later after they'd finished the initiating rituals.
It'd been almost two years since you'd seen your father. The brief moments of communication didn't count, and you'd had no messages from him so far. There was much you'd want to ask him, which was why you were trying to get the warlocks to establish a stable portal. Whether that worked out you'd seen, you might have an hour or a day, or it might be established properly and be completely functional, you didn't know yet.
As the warlocks burnt their sacred leaves and sacrificed their experimental fel-beasts on your orders, you stared into the portal. Occasionally you'd see a flicker of something, the shapes in the swirling energies too indistinct to make it out properly, but sometimes it was a face, a fortress, a great chamber, a winged creature floating on the sun-currents of the Twisting Nether. The magics were drawing closer though, and more than once you'd seen turreted towers on a low mountain, Thunder Axe Fortress, halfway around the world in Desolace.
It was strange to think you'd speak with your father soon. You had alerted him that you would contact him, and though the message had been vague due to your unskilled sending, you knew he'd be ready on the other side at some similar portal.
What would you tell him? Much had happened and there was much to tell. Most recently you'd received reports that the Gilneans had failed to establish a proper foundry at Snowgate with the exile engineers and gunsmiths of their kingdom, or that you held dominion over Alterac and had expanded recently to take most of Silverpine Forest. Would your father be interested in that? Perhaps not, but it would be well to concentrate on your broader position in Lordaeron and the invitation the Kul Tirans had given you to visit Boralus, their capital?
You did not like to think of that trip. To one so attuned to the elements of Earth and Fire, sea travel had been as alien to you as when you'd first started to train Azanoth in aerial warfare. The voyage had been mercifully short though, you'd marched five hundred orcs down to Southshore and took ship with the Kul Tirans. Though suspicious, Lord Waycrest's seal was on your papers and they dropped you off a few leagues from an encampment of Vrykul squatting in the hills of Stormsong Valley. The battle had been short and simple, you had called on Myzrael to shake the earth and darted forward, your warriors sure-footed while the Vrykul stumbled about. You'd only taken a few losses while all the Vrykul were killed, bravely fighting to the death, even after you took their leader's head.
It would be well, you supposed, to discuss the Dragonmaw and your battles with Rend's Horde. You desperately needed your father's counsel on that matter, for you would not break with the structure of your clan or call his leadership into question, no matter how your captains tried to persuade you.
Kartha had come to you one night, reporting on a campaign of whispers spreading through what some had begun to call 'The Horde of Alterac' or 'Grok'mash's Horde'. It was unacceptable. Worst, they whispered only encouragements and many warriors thought it reasonable. Whoever was spreading them was doing it with subtlety, not questioning your leadership but rather Thrall's, degrading the Frostwolves for their dishonourable attack while calling for you to march on Blackrock Mountain and rally the support of the Alliance in the fight.
It was especially problematic because you didn't even disagree with them.
A frown crept onto the cast of your face and you concentrated on the demons instead.
You'd ordered that the demons the Argus Wake had summoned be dispelled, but in such a way that their stored energies could be fed back into the Demon Gate. As you understood it, such a fate was extremely uncomfortable for a demon, though not fatal as their kind would reform in the Twisting Nether anyway. Whether the Mo'arg and the Doomguard had any thoughts on the matter you didn't know, but they obeyed anyway.
You also didn't intend to give some grand update about the situation in Lordaeron to your father. He wouldn't be able to influence it in any way so it seemed useless. It might be a curiosity that Zul'jin had bestirred himself and come out with his army and was now fighting the undead, but it had little impact on your father's affairs personally.
The warlocks had begun to sing, some issuing guttural cries in the demon tongue, while others chanted ancient song of binding and summoning from Draenor. They raised their hands, sending streams of green fire directly into the portal where it roiled and pooled.
The vortex stabilizes momentarily, revealing glimpses of another world on the other side. You see jagged landscapes, bathed in the same sickly green hue, teeming with demonic silhouettes and twisted flora. The portal seems almost alive, a sentient force hungry for the energies fed into it, eager to bridge the gap between realms.
Then the image changes, you see towers and a great stone hall above a cropping of grey stone and a barren, cracked plain.
Desolace.
You see a ridge, and the view changes again, you seem to fly forward and you almost catch yourself stumbling before you realise that the portal has moved, not you. The ridge is closer now and you see demons looking up with their attendant warlocks and summoning assistants turning toward you. You see tall towers and ruined halls of unknown providence, great domes stoved in as if by the fist of an angry god.
Then you see him.
A figure stands on the other side of the portal. He is changed, mutated, a dark shape with shadows around him like two great wings.
But he is your father and you know him as soon as you see him.
With a final incantation, Neeru Fireblade, Chief of the Burning Blade, makes the portal strong. The world shimmers around you as you step through, barely feeling the transition of thousands of miles as you cross the world.
"Father…" you say, all thought of your reports forgotten, "I'm glad to see you."
The light is poor in Desolace, the sun is barely peeking through roiling dark clouds coming out of the east, but you see him still.
He raises his head. He seems bigger somehow, and you realise that yes, there's more bulk to him in addition to the more elaborate robes he now wears. There is gold and precious stones of fel energies embroidered in his robes, which now rises over a dozen bony spikes that crown his great shoulders and stand over an elaborate crimson mantle that makes him seem twice as wide as he is.
But his eyes grab you. They burn with power, tightly controlled and intense, a terrible gleam over them as they stare into your soul.
Then in a swift step you father has his arm around you, embracing you close.
You breath into his shoulder, returning the embrace instinctively, unsure of where to put your hands as your wrists bump into his bone spikes as they erupt from his back. He smells of ash and fire, but you feel his claws holding you close.
"My son." he breathes in a voice rich with emotion.
The grip loosens and you step back, looking at him again.
You eyes were drawn first to his hand, or rather, hand, for he hides one beneath his cloak. Strange, but the remaining one is now clawed and gnarled, scales clear across the skin and the palm leathery and tough. His nails, once turned black and hard from his exposure to the Fel, are now true talons, wickedly sharp and glinting in the portal's light.
That is not the only way the Fel has marked him further. He hid much of his previous mutations beneath his robes, but his new robes are much more open. His feet are bare and clawed like his hands, and his face is sharper. He is not as monstrous as Haomarush with his double-curving ram's horns, but certainly your father's teeth seem sharper…
"You look well." you say.
Your father smiles, "As do you." he replies, his smile becoming more familiar as the seconds march on, but his head tilts up, then down to take in your form. "You bear the banner. I saw it through the fires, but it's another thing entirely to see you bear it before me."
Your father had secretly sent your banner with you when you went away, and it had been after the Battle of Anderhol that you'd been awarded it by Sesk and Ishi. Sorek bore it as a standard for you sometimes, but most of the time you wore it proudly.
"I have not dishonoured it." you reply. That seemed important, and some ghost of shame in the pit of your belly made you say it.
Your father made a vague gesture with his hand, "I don't care. You are well, you are strong, you are all that I might have hoped you would be. That is what matters." and then he drew himself up to stand straight, gripping his hand into a fist at his breast, "Hail then, Grok'mash Fireblade, Blademaster."
You blinked furiously, for he had thrust to your heart in as deadly a way as Alexandros Mograine had when he slew you with the Ashbringer.
It had been a formal greeting, and it shamed you to have only remembered to return it as formally after a few moments of embarrassed silence. It was a gift from your father, and you received it well.
"You've taken wounds, I see." your father said, brushing one claw across your cheek, then looking at the long scars on your limbs and torso from the battles of the last few years. "But you've survived, and that's what's important."
"Yes." you said simply.
The smile on your father's lips tugged into a sneer, "It is much the same with me, though I've remedied it." he replied with a shrug of his shoulder, the one still concealing his other arm under his robes.
Your expression was all the question that was needed and he revealed the limb. The flesh, scaled like his other hand, ended at the elbow and instead you saw a strange construct of demonic energies and dark metal the fingers twice as long as they might ordinarily be like the claws of a dragon.
"The Hand of Iruxos." your father explained, "I mastered it with great sacrifice." and his voice had an air of melancholy to it.
Had his hand been severed in some battle? Or had he sacrificed it himself to gain this artifact, whatever it was?
"No matter. Tell me swiftly of all you can. If we are to stabilise this portal we must do so soon, for I sense the Legion's eyes on us already." Neeru ordered.
You hastened to oblige. You spoke of the Scarlet Crusade, of the Demon Seed which your father had intrigued with the Dreadlord, Varimathras, to use to spirit the Forsaken away. You spoke of the battles against the Scourge, summarising months into a few sentences. You spoke of Naxxramas, of the duel with the Four Horsemen and your call to the Light.
The revelation that you were the first Orc in history to wield the Holy Light was met without significant reaction from your father. "Hm." he grunted, and it was more a noise of mild surprise than of amazement, as if you had merely told him you had seen a strange bird somewhere.
You spoke of Arathi, of the Hinterlands, of the Dragonmaw and of Alterac, of your growing concern about the political situation among your followers, and the danger of sliding into conflict with either Rend or Thrall's Hordes.
"There are captains calling me 'Warchief' openly." you reported, "The Alliance seems to be treating me as one, and I can't see a way to stop it because the Warchief Rend has already decided I'm an enemy and seeks to subvert my warriors. Oh, and some are going about saying 'Galtak Ered'nash' and I don't know why. An infiltrator has influenced them in some way, but I've no love for the Fel so I don't know why they say it to me because I've made my thoughts clear on it."
It all seemed to come out in a rush, your anxieties, your hopes, your desires and your fears. You glossed over many things, coming back to them in your narrative out of order and you feared forgetting some essential point that might serve to better inform your father in some way, but eventually you fell silent, trailing off and taking a deep breath to centre yourself as you waited for your father's response.
I also note that this is a fairly climactic chapter, so I'm hoping it lands well. It should evoke feelings of interest and give an idea of where the quest might be going. If it doesn't seem like that for you, do let me know as it's good to have feedback.
Not that I don't generally welcome feedback, but I thought it particularly good to note here. If things are unclear generally, also let me know and then I can write a little more etc.
Demon Gate Interlude 2
A powerful warlock could rip open a portal on their own, simply by their will and the unnatural energies they could store within themselves, and marshal to whatever purpose they chose.
The warlocks of the Argus Wake were not especially powerful however.
You stood on the central podium before the gate, focusing your will on the thin connection you'd maintained with your father. You could send him messages in fires, or seek his soul across the world, but you had no particular skill in the astral arts. Some shaman could send their spirit out as a spy or even attack others invisibly, but that was beyond you.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning herbs and the metallic tang of blood, mingling with the ambient heat radiating from the portal itself. There was no fire there, though the swirling energies almost looked like a sort of fire. Instead it was the friction of the two ends of the portal forming and grinding against each other as the warlocks set the wording. The vortex within the gate churned violently, a swirling maelstrom of green and black energy that crackled and spat, casting strange shadows across the camp.
It was your task to keep the energies focused while the other warlocks and sorcerers channelled their power into the gate's tributary pillars. Neither was a complex exercise but both required concentration and precision. The warlocks had been working for hours already, but your part had come later after they'd finished the initiating rituals.
It'd been almost two years since you'd seen your father. The brief moments of communication didn't count, and you'd had no messages from him so far. There was much you'd want to ask him, which was why you were trying to get the warlocks to establish a stable portal. Whether that worked out you'd seen, you might have an hour or a day, or it might be established properly and be completely functional, you didn't know yet.
As the warlocks burnt their sacred leaves and sacrificed their experimental fel-beasts on your orders, you stared into the portal. Occasionally you'd see a flicker of something, the shapes in the swirling energies too indistinct to make it out properly, but sometimes it was a face, a fortress, a great chamber, a winged creature floating on the sun-currents of the Twisting Nether. The magics were drawing closer though, and more than once you'd seen turreted towers on a low mountain, Thunder Axe Fortress, halfway around the world in Desolace.
It was strange to think you'd speak with your father soon. You had alerted him that you would contact him, and though the message had been vague due to your unskilled sending, you knew he'd be ready on the other side at some similar portal.
What would you tell him? Much had happened and there was much to tell. Most recently you'd received reports that the Gilneans had failed to establish a proper foundry at Snowgate with the exile engineers and gunsmiths of their kingdom, or that you held dominion over Alterac and had expanded recently to take most of Silverpine Forest. Would your father be interested in that? Perhaps not, but it would be well to concentrate on your broader position in Lordaeron and the invitation the Kul Tirans had given you to visit Boralus, their capital?
You did not like to think of that trip. To one so attuned to the elements of Earth and Fire, sea travel had been as alien to you as when you'd first started to train Azanoth in aerial warfare. The voyage had been mercifully short though, you'd marched five hundred orcs down to Southshore and took ship with the Kul Tirans. Though suspicious, Lord Waycrest's seal was on your papers and they dropped you off a few leagues from an encampment of Vrykul squatting in the hills of Stormsong Valley. The battle had been short and simple, you had called on Myzrael to shake the earth and darted forward, your warriors sure-footed while the Vrykul stumbled about. You'd only taken a few losses while all the Vrykul were killed, bravely fighting to the death, even after you took their leader's head.
It would be well, you supposed, to discuss the Dragonmaw and your battles with Rend's Horde. You desperately needed your father's counsel on that matter, for you would not break with the structure of your clan or call his leadership into question, no matter how your captains tried to persuade you.
Kartha had come to you one night, reporting on a campaign of whispers spreading through what some had begun to call 'The Horde of Alterac' or 'Grok'mash's Horde'. It was unacceptable. Worst, they whispered only encouragements and many warriors thought it reasonable. Whoever was spreading them was doing it with subtlety, not questioning your leadership but rather Thrall's, degrading the Frostwolves for their dishonourable attack while calling for you to march on Blackrock Mountain and rally the support of the Alliance in the fight.
It was especially problematic because you didn't even disagree with them.
A frown crept onto the cast of your face and you concentrated on the demons instead.
You'd ordered that the demons the Argus Wake had summoned be dispelled, but in such a way that their stored energies could be fed back into the Demon Gate. As you understood it, such a fate was extremely uncomfortable for a demon, though not fatal as their kind would reform in the Twisting Nether anyway. Whether the Mo'arg and the Doomguard had any thoughts on the matter you didn't know, but they obeyed anyway.
You also didn't intend to give some grand update about the situation in Lordaeron to your father. He wouldn't be able to influence it in any way so it seemed useless. It might be a curiosity that Zul'jin had bestirred himself and come out with his army and was now fighting the undead, but it had little impact on your father's affairs personally.
The warlocks had begun to sing, some issuing guttural cries in the demon tongue, while others chanted ancient song of binding and summoning from Draenor. They raised their hands, sending streams of green fire directly into the portal where it roiled and pooled.
The vortex stabilizes momentarily, revealing glimpses of another world on the other side. You see jagged landscapes, bathed in the same sickly green hue, teeming with demonic silhouettes and twisted flora. The portal seems almost alive, a sentient force hungry for the energies fed into it, eager to bridge the gap between realms.
Then the image changes, you see towers and a great stone hall above a cropping of grey stone and a barren, cracked plain.
Desolace.
You see a ridge, and the view changes again, you seem to fly forward and you almost catch yourself stumbling before you realise that the portal has moved, not you. The ridge is closer now and you see demons looking up with their attendant warlocks and summoning assistants turning toward you. You see tall towers and ruined halls of unknown providence, great domes stoved in as if by the fist of an angry god.
Then you see him.
A figure stands on the other side of the portal. He is changed, mutated, a dark shape with shadows around him like two great wings.
But he is your father and you know him as soon as you see him.
With a final incantation, Neeru Fireblade, Chief of the Burning Blade, makes the portal strong. The world shimmers around you as you step through, barely feeling the transition of thousands of miles as you cross the world.
"Father…" you say, all thought of your reports forgotten, "I'm glad to see you."
The light is poor in Desolace, the sun is barely peeking through roiling dark clouds coming out of the east, but you see him still.
He raises his head. He seems bigger somehow, and you realise that yes, there's more bulk to him in addition to the more elaborate robes he now wears. There is gold and precious stones of fel energies embroidered in his robes, which now rises over a dozen bony spikes that crown his great shoulders and stand over an elaborate crimson mantle that makes him seem twice as wide as he is.
But his eyes grab you. They burn with power, tightly controlled and intense, a terrible gleam over them as they stare into your soul.
Then in a swift step you father has his arm around you, embracing you close.
You breath into his shoulder, returning the embrace instinctively, unsure of where to put your hands as your wrists bump into his bone spikes as they erupt from his back. He smells of ash and fire, but you feel his claws holding you close.
"My son." he breathes in a voice rich with emotion.
The grip loosens and you step back, looking at him again.
You eyes were drawn first to his hand, or rather, hand, for he hides one beneath his cloak. Strange, but the remaining one is now clawed and gnarled, scales clear across the skin and the palm leathery and tough. His nails, once turned black and hard from his exposure to the Fel, are now true talons, wickedly sharp and glinting in the portal's light.
That is not the only way the Fel has marked him further. He hid much of his previous mutations beneath his robes, but his new robes are much more open. His feet are bare and clawed like his hands, and his face is sharper. He is not as monstrous as Haomarush with his double-curving ram's horns, but certainly your father's teeth seem sharper…
"You look well." you say.
Your father smiles, "As do you." he replies, his smile becoming more familiar as the seconds march on, but his head tilts up, then down to take in your form. "You bear the banner. I saw it through the fires, but it's another thing entirely to see you bear it before me."
Your father had secretly sent your banner with you when you went away, and it had been after the Battle of Anderhol that you'd been awarded it by Sesk and Ishi. Sorek bore it as a standard for you sometimes, but most of the time you wore it proudly.
"I have not dishonoured it." you reply. That seemed important, and some ghost of shame in the pit of your belly made you say it.
Your father made a vague gesture with his hand, "I don't care. You are well, you are strong, you are all that I might have hoped you would be. That is what matters." and then he drew himself up to stand straight, gripping his hand into a fist at his breast, "Hail then, Grok'mash Fireblade, Blademaster."
You blinked furiously, for he had thrust to your heart in as deadly a way as Alexandros Mograine had when he slew you with the Ashbringer.
It had been a formal greeting, and it shamed you to have only remembered to return it as formally after a few moments of embarrassed silence. It was a gift from your father, and you received it well.
"You've taken wounds, I see." your father said, brushing one claw across your cheek, then looking at the long scars on your limbs and torso from the battles of the last few years. "But you've survived, and that's what's important."
"Yes." you said simply.
The smile on your father's lips tugged into a sneer, "It is much the same with me, though I've remedied it." he replied with a shrug of his shoulder, the one still concealing his other arm under his robes.
Your expression was all the question that was needed and he revealed the limb. The flesh, scaled like his other hand, ended at the elbow and instead you saw a strange construct of demonic energies and dark metal the fingers twice as long as they might ordinarily be like the claws of a dragon.
"The Hand of Iruxos." your father explained, "I mastered it with great sacrifice." and his voice had an air of melancholy to it.
Had his hand been severed in some battle? Or had he sacrificed it himself to gain this artifact, whatever it was?
"No matter. Tell me swiftly of all you can. If we are to stabilise this portal we must do so soon, for I sense the Legion's eyes on us already." Neeru ordered.
You hastened to oblige. You spoke of the Scarlet Crusade, of the Demon Seed which your father had intrigued with the Dreadlord, Varimathras, to use to spirit the Forsaken away. You spoke of the battles against the Scourge, summarising months into a few sentences. You spoke of Naxxramas, of the duel with the Four Horsemen and your call to the Light.
The revelation that you were the first Orc in history to wield the Holy Light was met without significant reaction from your father. "Hm." he grunted, and it was more a noise of mild surprise than of amazement, as if you had merely told him you had seen a strange bird somewhere.
You spoke of Arathi, of the Hinterlands, of the Dragonmaw and of Alterac, of your growing concern about the political situation among your followers, and the danger of sliding into conflict with either Rend or Thrall's Hordes.
"There are captains calling me 'Warchief' openly." you reported, "The Alliance seems to be treating me as one, and I can't see a way to stop it because the Warchief Rend has already decided I'm an enemy and seeks to subvert my warriors. Oh, and some are going about saying 'Galtak Ered'nash' and I don't know why. An infiltrator has influenced them in some way, but I've no love for the Fel so I don't know why they say it to me because I've made my thoughts clear on it."
It all seemed to come out in a rush, your anxieties, your hopes, your desires and your fears. You glossed over many things, coming back to them in your narrative out of order and you feared forgetting some essential point that might serve to better inform your father in some way, but eventually you fell silent, trailing off and taking a deep breath to centre yourself as you waited for your father's response.
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Grok becoming an eager, nervous stammering mess in front of his father?
Its more likely than you think.
Still, its interesting to see Fel'Dad has not remained still in the meantime. I bet his position as puppet to the true leadership of the clan is far less true than in canon by this point.
Between the favor he gained from Grok's actions and the personal power he has gained since, I bet he is making the secret council pretty nervous.
Its more likely than you think.
Still, its interesting to see Fel'Dad has not remained still in the meantime. I bet his position as puppet to the true leadership of the clan is far less true than in canon by this point.
Between the favor he gained from Grok's actions and the personal power he has gained since, I bet he is making the secret council pretty nervous.
I honestly think fatherhood is giving Neeru a different perspective toward life. Before his canon self would be doing what he did before Garrosh killed him.
With a son who did question the checkered history of the horde he himself had to revaluate his own position on the fel and loyalties towards the burning legion and shadow council.
Grok's sacrifice when he volunteered to be the scapegoat for Dreadmist Peak and his later actions in exile has bolstered his position while discrediting Thrall's.
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That's used to open portals. Explains the reason why he can mess with portals.
With a son who did question the checkered history of the horde he himself had to revaluate his own position on the fel and loyalties towards the burning legion and shadow council.
Grok's sacrifice when he volunteered to be the scapegoat for Dreadmist Peak and his later actions in exile has bolstered his position while discrediting Thrall's.
Hand of Iruxos
The Hand of Iruxos is a powerful artifact capable of opening demonic portals, as well as closing any portals it previously opened. The Burning Blade cultists of Mannoroc Coven used it to summon a tide of demons into the world.
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That must explain it.
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Seeing Grok thinking about what he's going to tell his father and being anxious shows that for all he's grow there's still the Grok that started the quest within.
Grok seems really happy to see his fatehr.
Fel Dad has become more badass since Grok left.
Looks like Fel Dad is proud.
Grok is still someone who really wants and appreciates his father's approval.
Naru isn't really interested in the Light so Grok being able to use it is more a curiosity but he has proven that he's badass with it's help.
We're going to be seeing Naru's reaction to all this soon.
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You've come along way from ragefire chasm, pops.
BESTDAD FELDAD
Would be interesting to see if he has any take at all on the tech-base acquiring with the humans. Or if he's totally uninterested/unable to see the value. The details of our dominion probably aren't relevant but you should touch on them anyway just in case. The political positions definitely, how you might turn human kingdoms into allies. Because you're a warchief now Grok
. This is all gonna come out as a stream of consciousness ramble, at this rate.We're a long way from a naval tradition. We must acquire more Kul Tirans. Also I love that us and our lads can trash some Vrykul, sure they're on difficult terrain and disadvantaged, still awesome to imagine.
"MY SO CALLED RUNT BECAME A BLADEMASTER WARCHIEF, EVERYTHING ELSE CAN GET FUCKED FOR DOUBTING US EVER."
God I love it when Feldad pulls out quest items. I hope he pursued this specifically for its portal abilities.
Edit: I wonder if the mannoroc legion portals/ agents behind that will be unchallenged without it being available to the 'player'. Or maybe Dad really is moving away from the legion and will close them himself.
Hey pal, it's that light that let us survive our most grievous wounds. It's got its own shine, compared to the twisting-nether or the fel or whatever, father.
Remember what I said about rambling? But it's good enough Grok.
Absolutely, and really it's a disadvantage for us probably, but god I love it.
TELL US THE OLD WORDS, POPS!
Edit: I do pray for a description of Thunder Axe fortress
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Not only that but he'll happily use the lives of his own clan and others to make sure Grok's fortune keeps rising.
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your right it could help the scarlets good reason to not do that/jk
more serious what we need is kul tiras to become less hostile to orcs will be helpful but well will have to see how our helping them effects things
At the current situation, the Scarlets are getting hammered and need breathing room. Tirion among them is also getting PTSD from all the death and radical solutions Danrothan is pulling with sanctified light notundead.
While I do think Grok should go to visit Onyxia there's just lots of fires that need putting out.
If the scarlets do end up on the deep end it makes all the losses at Naxxramas useless with the gains reversed.
Though I have to wonder too. Grok collects more fel users. Should he use them against the scourge to help out the Scarlets there's some irony in the fact it's one corrupt magic fighting another corrupt magic.
Why you got to tease me like this dude. Shit man right when feldad was going to put down some of the most diabolical commentary ever on Grok's adventures. Great chapter dude. Just love everything about this. The nuance of the fel, the changing world. I want to believe that feldad is genuine in how much he cares for his son but I just feel like he is going to betray Grok sometime soon.
I think it's genuine once Grok proved himself to Feldad by taking the blame for Dreadmist Peak. Everything else was his investment on Grok's ascension to blademaster and more.
Everything else is the accumulation of power and more for his son as the future chief and blademaster legacy.
I'd say his own childhood from Draenor to Orgimmar aided his decision making and their leaders especially Gul' dan.
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It better, because I certainly don't have anything resembling a long-term plan that is more than just a list of 'things I'd like to see/have'.
Right now we are spilling all the beans about our activities, and if they are out of order, that's because there have been little rhyme or reason to them. They weren't a part of some Great Scheme, but a number of actions taken in-the-moment that we felt we had to do. For Honor, or something. Now would be the time to reflect on them and put them in perspective, which should help us decide the follow up. This was a part of what I wanted from the conversation with our father, to give us a direction to stick to, and a more specific goal to work for.
Techno-orcs? Naval power? New religion? The Horde to rule them all? There are several ways our adventures could be interpreted as setting up a foundation, and I hope this is where we get to choose what we are building to.
Hm, indeed. I wonder what's with the lackluster reaction. Too strange to fit in with his existing schemes?
That got a laugh out of me, considering who it is Grok is complaining to. I can almost hear Neeru's mental struggle, 'Should I help him put more points towards Intrigue, or is he already perfect the way he is?'
You are a good swordmaster, Grok!
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Also, this is before we converted the Dragonmaw prisoners to our cause, right? This is a scene I'd like to see first hand. I know what motivates Grok's lieutenants, and I an imagine what they tell the grunts to ensure their loyalty, but this is not how Grok does things. I want to see how he turns people he just fought to his cause, and possibly against the one they considered their Warchief just a few months ago. Does what he say resonate with people, or are there other factors at work?
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I huff hopium daily that Feldad has thrown off the shackles of poor leadership and is carving his own path like us. With us.