I'm sure they can get swords just not the best ones suited for a blademaster unless there's dwarves willing to shell out for the good quality ores.
Orc Quest; or, A Critical Examination of Agency Through in Interactive Fiction (Warcraft)
- Thread starter FractiousDay
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- Fantasy
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Certainly. I'd imagine that a lot of it can be explained under normal circumstances as a sincere desire to just do X for whatever reason would probably be broadly similar to marrying into a family if specific reassurances were needed.
That said the specific optics of the decision, with the black rocks being cosy with the burning blade and its general expansion is likely going to cause trouble just from people seeing it and going "oh no."
I know there's two, and I'm very worried that you think whatever Fel dad is doing will only make me moderately upset considering its a reasonable assumption it involves trading a fel nuke to a nathrazim.I think the thing with Feldad that you don't know about will only make you moderately upset. There are in fact two specific things that would be annoying but what Feldad's done is only one
Dark Iron!
Probably the closest you can get to black rock on Azeroth, filled with all that guud fire elemental energy.
- Location
- United Kingdom
Three things in that case, was only counting the unrevealed ones.
I think probably elementium actually. You might look to the difference between Dark Iron as a product of elemental stuff vs elementium being directly elemental stuff itself? Not sure.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Lovely.
And I was looking at it more from an availability angle. Elementium is meant to be really rare, much more than black rock or dark iron.
Lordaeron Turn 4 Results
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Lordaeron Turn 4 Results
"So this is a murloc is it?"
Vark is holding a small amphibian creature by the leg as it flails and tries to turn to bite him while the big orc looks down at it sceptically.
"Why don't the sharks eat them, do you think?" he asks.
The waters of Durotar and the Echo Isles were hazardous for children, though less so for adults because of the plethora of creatures that lived around the coasts. The crabmen, the Makrura to use their proper name, were largely immune to the sharks' attacks but that was because of their shells, you can't imagine a creature such as the one Vark hold being able to survive in the same way.
"He had a spear." you reply, "Maybe they fight them?"
Vark looks even more sceptical, "They'd be taken in one bite!"
You think about it, probably, but it also occurs to you as you think that perhaps sharks of the sort back home simply don't inhabit the waters around Lordaeron. "Let it go, we'll follow it back."
It's been told to you that murlocs are difficult to actually eliminate, but that the destruction of their villages is often enough to make them move on. They're a pest, not an apocalypse, but they're enough of a distraction and a danger along the rivers that Tirion's noted them to you.
The creature sprints back through the brush, limbs flapping in a way that looks truly ridiculous, shouting a gurgling cry as it flees. Happily the call is loud enough for you and Vok'fon to hear and you find yourself amidst sandy dunes in the north of the province, crawling to the low summit of one rise and looking down.
Before you is a small collection of seaweed and driftwood huts, many more of the fish-folk are wandering about, some of them starting in alarm when their scared comrade rushes in.
"Can we stop them escaping somehow?" you murmur.
"They'll run into the sea when they see us." Vark replies.
"When dey see you maybey!" Vok'fon grins and you all laugh softly.
"I'll take Sorek in." you say, "They'll outnumber us, think themselves more secure. Split up, take each village in turn, hit them from three sides."
The plan is hatched and you slink back to the warband and give the orders.
murlocs, as it turns out, are exactly as you predicted them to be. They gesticulate and growl, one bearing a long kitchen knife like a broadsword, and eventually they charge you and the aspirants, only to be decimated as soon as they meet you in combat. You leap forward, the form of the serpent in your strike, cleaving through the front rank and their scavenging champion's eye widen before it's death. The murlocs burn at the Fireblade's touch, their oily skin igniting even as the aspirants follow you, each strike mortal.
And swiftly it's over, the longer legs of your warriors running the creatures down before they can reach the sea.
The scene is replicated across a long stretch of the shore and within a day there are none of the murlocs left. The strategy is broadly successful in all cases except Vark's assignment, with the murlocs fleeing at the sight of him before he's even able to reach them.
"What d'you make of this?" Scorn asks, beckoning you over once you've joined up with the others.
You find a knot of orcs looking over a grisly carcass.
"It's a goblin." you remark in surprise. Indeed, the green skin and pointed ears, the size of the body, as well as a few scraps of cloth left from the murloc's feast, all make the race of the creature apparent, but it doesn't get you any closer to knowing what it's doing there in the first place, certainly you can't imagine why a goblin would be in such a place.
But in the end you move on.
The next stronghold of difficulty to the Crusade's success is Garren's Haunt. There you battle gnolls, hunched undead creatures, their bodies visibly rotting as they cackle at you. These at least you're familiar with as a few have made their way to Kalimdor, though you've no idea where they come from originally. These are the Rot Hide clan and you put an end to their corpse snatching activities and service to the Scourge, but just like the murlocs they don't last long, falling beneath your blades.
You take losses though, three warriors dead, two to undead spellwork, another to a large animated scarecrow which lumbers across the fields, reeking of dark magic.
Keldran proves his worth in the battle, waving his hands and muttering dark words, undoing the magics of the gnolls and the scarecrow both, disrupting the later enough for you to set the Fireblade to it.
The burning follows, you make pyres for the fallen, piling the weapons of their enemies beneath them in tribute, pulling down the decrepit farmhouses for fuel.
Sorek finds his way to your side after the rites and you turn to him, "There's something between you and the Blademasters." you say, "Speak."
"We…" the Blackrock begins, "We are discontent."
You stay silent, gazing into the pyrelight.
"We joined this expedition willingly, and I don't complain about it. I know you wish to avenge Akinos and so do we, the honour of the blade demands it, in time I know you intend to go into Alterac, but I suppose we also hoped to hone our skills. We're stagnant and when we see you or the Blademasters in battle the gulf between us is clear, it shames us… I went to Ishi, asked him if he'd train us as he was you but he just laughed in my face."
You grunt in acknowledgement. Your mind working through the issue.
The Blademasters were acknowledged as the finest warriors in the Horde, better fighters than the most skilful Thunderlords or the most savage Warsong. You knew all too well the desire of orcs to emulate them and you knew you were privileged to be one yourself.
In training anyway…
There were two issues, the first, that Sesk and Ishi hadn't the interest in teaching and passing on their traditions that Akinos had. The later was unusual in that respect, as you'd found in your survey of the Blademasters, but that wasn't all. Sorek had committed one of the taboos of your people, trying to learn the secrets of another clan.
The Thunderlords had their battle language, the Bonechewers and Blackrock had the secrets of alchemy and steel respectively, the Burning Blade… the skill Sorek and the other sought.
When Blackhand reformed the Horde he'd deepened the segregations of ancient tradition, he'd set the smaller clans like your own to particular tasks, the Burning Blade having the commission and supplying of exceptional single warriors, magical fighters and mage-killers.
There'd always been close connections between particular clans, for example the one that existed between the Burning Blade and the Blackrock, but it simply wasn't done to ask to learn the secrets of others.
But perhaps you had a solution, "I cannot order him to teach you." you reply, and Sorek's face is tight, "Nor would I even if I could. It would be a disgrace to share the secrets of the clan in such a way. However… However…"
And you unsheathe the Fireblade.
"This is Blackrock Iron is it not?" you ask, and naturally Sorek nods, "Our clans are as brothers, you forged for us, and we went into battle with your weapons. We rose from Grond's might corpse, we took secrets from his bones. My father claims this is made from our progenitor's spine, and I've no reason to doubt him."
You flourish the weapon slowly, running through one of the more basic motions of your clan's technique.
"I will not permit you to be taught. I cannot. However, it has always been my wish to rebuild the Blademasters, make them once again the force they were, the swords that cleaved fortresses open. I will be chief one day, in fact I suspect my father may step aside should I prove myself worthy enough, he has little patience for the duties he must fulfil. Here and now though it is my place to set policies, to guide and lead those of my clan in this land. You and the others wish to be Blademasters? You have the desire I know, you have the courage. Join me. Join us. I will welcome you all in under my banner and rather than being like brothers we'll be kin in truth."
Sorek's eager grin as he takes your hand is all the answer you need, and he's followed by every one of the aspirants. It's isn't too unusual for orcs to change clans for various reasons, but as you conduct the necessary rites for the transfer you're surprised at the sheer enthusiasm of them all. They cut up their Blackrock tunics, sewing the orange fabric into your own banner, the flaming sabre held high, and after that they march with pride as your guards. They train with you each night and you smile each time you teach them a new technique, and when they fight there's a tangible excitement which you see running through them.
After Garren's Haunt you march north and west, heading toward the Agamand Mills. One night you stop for rest at a ruined tower by a pond, black and still. The hills and fields you see from the tower stretch out to the north before running into cliffs and the cold sea between the Eastern Kingdoms and Northrend.
You call Keldran to you and the necrolyte comes quickly.
"We'll face more spellcasters at the Mills, at least three of some power, or so I've been informed." you tell him, "We took losses mainly because of them at the farm and I want defences, what are your thoughts?"
The orc nods, "It depends on the type." he replies, "The gnolls were part of a whole tribe which had been infected with the Plague and reanimated by a powerful necromancer. Like many of their sort, the centaur, the quillboar, and others, they used some minor magics commonly, but had no spellcasters of strength. I'm not nearly at the level of the Shadowmoon shaman who formed the first necrolytes but even I could undo the gnolls' spells with little effort."
"Very well." you say, "Where does that lead us?"
"Groups of civilisation and power use magic more exclusively, it's a tendency I've observed in my studies, this means humans and elves mostly. Of the kingdoms of the Alliance there was only one which routinely practiced magic, the Kirin Tor of Dalaran, and they sent their mages out to the other kingdoms. A human spellcaster is rarer than a gnoll or a quillboar one… There were what, fifty shaman in the centaur you fought at Dreadmist Peak?"
"So Kartha told me."
"Well then, the centaur maintain that many shaman for a whole tribe, thousands strong. The humans maintain perhaps a single mage for every thousand others."
"So human mages are twenty times stronger than centaur ones?"
Keldran shrugs, "Not quite but essentially yes, stronger but less common."
That was both good and bad. On one hand you had only two within the warband who could match mages, yourself and Keldran himself and you'd been concerned about widespread magical opposition from magical undead.
"Your advice then?"
"Any magic users among them will either have learnt in life, or after death. They'll be mages, likely frost mages, or they'll be necromancers. The former will be more dangerous directly, they'll throw magical missiles, great lances of ice and rime, bring down icicle daggers from the sky in a blizzard and other sorts of things, but they're essentially the same as things we've faced before. Shields up, advance as one, dodge if it looks like something big is coming. Necromancers are more difficult. If they use shadow magic it's much like the mages, they'll throw a spell and it'll be like they've throw three spears at you at once, if they're more advanced though they'll use curses, rotting magics, plagues and other sorcery. I can undo these as I did the gnoll work, but it'll take time."
You speak a while more on the capabilities of the enemy, but the conversation turns to the nature of shadow magic itself.
"It's intimate, personal, the opposite of the Fel in that respect." Keldran explains. "There's evil in the Fel but it's broader, you have to hold onto the rage, but it needn't be directed as closely. That wickerman at the farm? Someone had specifically set an evil spirit in it, they'd trapped it in a spell and nurtured it, raised the evil, tortured it and made it remember hatred and fear… You can mould the Fel but you the Shadow needs greater effort. Whoever set that curse did it with an evil joy, not just to create a weapon but specifically to punish someone, perhaps an enemy, by making them destroy everything they loved, then stand over the ruins forever as a witness."
You thought back to Dreadmist. The elder shaman of the peak didn't have any specific animosity toward the centaur they'd sacrificed to summon the Ur'zuhl, they'd set themselves to the task and achieved it, the torture of the centaurs being secondary to the effort.
"It's something I think the Cult of the Damned and the Scourge understood better than Gul'dan ever did." Keldran continues, "He could never grasp the hatred necessary."
That makes you frown, "Gul'dan purposefully mutilated the survivors of Arak." you say, "He ordered the Arakkoa thrown into the Pools of Sethe and laughed as they that cursed place twisted them and their wings withered. What do you mean he 'could never grasp the hatred'?"
"Spite." Keldran corrects, "Gul'dan had enough spite to fill a lake, but it wasn't hatred, it wasn't personal. He was from the north, it was the southern clans who destroyed Arak and its people, they were the ones who'd always fought against the birdmen, not clans from Gorgrond."
You disagree, but you suppose Keldran actually learnt from Shadow Council, though only for a short time… In the end you dismiss him, giving orders to your officers on the necrolyte's advice. Vark in particular decides he needs a shield and tears the tower's ironbound door off its hinges, his size making it like a tower shield, heavy and thick enough to resist the attacks of the enemy.
In the morning you march out, but you find an unexpected escort on the road.
"Mirador!" the orcs behind you cry, many of them retaining the name Tirion had given in your first meeting with him. You'd been moderately worried about any residual cultural hatred against humans and the Knights of the Silver Hand in particular, but quite the opposite has occurred. The orcs of your warband regard the paladin with great respect, treating him as a shaman.
The paladin rides up. "Hail. I'm bound for the north, I've letters to take to our admiral, but I thought I'd join you in the attack."
"You're most welcome to." you reply, "Have you any advice? I've prepared as best I can but you're more familiar with the foe."
Tirion nods and you speak as you march, "The Mills are the largest and strongest concentration of undead left in the Glades." he relates, "But the Scourge are different than other enemies. They won't break, you'll have noticed that before, but they do crumble, the enchantments holding them together can be disrupted, firstly by the destruction of their masters, but also by simply killing enough of them. I've less knowledge on it than some but there's a mage back at the camp who's been studying the phenomena, Castillian, he made me this," and Tirion fingers a weighty gem around his neck, "The Crusade has managed to turn the enemy's weapons against them, and though I'd rather trust the Light over any magic, these are powerful nevertheless."
The eponymous mills of the region start to come into sight, still in the unnatural weather, dark shapes against the overcast sky.
"There's more though." Tirion continues, "The Scourge have no care whatsoever for their minions. They don't fear desertion, morale, the population's support for wars, or any of the other usual strategic considerations. One of the problems we had in the early years was trying to win battles rather the war, we'd slaughter legions of skeletons but then the necromancers and lichs would escape during the fighting. Since then we've learnt to target them first, and in turn they've realised they need to throw everything they have at us soon and then retreat."
"So we strike the necromancers directly? We can cut a way through." you ask.
"Yes and no." Tirion replies. "This is a large estate, days march from one end to the other. You have to hit each of their leaders at once over such a large region, you can't go from one to the other knocking them all down. Divide your force into three…"
And Tirion relates to you the specifics of the Agamands, the family who had previously controlled the Mills and wide estates in the north of the Glades. In the end you send Vark off to slay two of the more martially powerful undead, Keldran to take on the traitor who let the Scourge through the Agamand defences, while you decide to strike the deep into the Mills to kill a banshee haunting the old family house.
"And where will you be?"
"I'll ride ahead, get as far as I can ahorse, then proceed on foot to the crypts, we have intelligence of agents of the Scourge, perhaps a coven's worth, raising the ancient corpses of that place. Hundreds of years' worth of bodies, perhaps thousands of potential soldiers for the Scourge." Tirion looks down from his mount, "It's a task unsuited to any you have here, you're all too big, we don't build them with orcs in mind."
You're stunned at that. It seems such a simple thing but you'd completely missed it, "What about me?" you ask.
Tirion just looks at your sword.
You catch his meaning immediately and a wave of embarrassment sweeps over you as you imagine yourself making some heroic strike against a necromancer only to embed the Fireblade in a wall or low ceiling.
"What about that?" you ask, looking to Tirion's warhammer.
He merely pats the libram on his hip.
You try to move on, you'll just have to remember to seek out some alternate weapons and means of fighting, lest your whole warband be nullified because an enemy hides in a cave. Akinos had sometimes worn a claw, indeed he'd occasionally been known as 'Akinos Steelclaw' for it, perhaps you could do the same?
But such thoughts were irrelevant for now. Tirion sets spurs to his horse and rides, hammer high, into the fray, the heads of undead he passes exploding as he brings the weapon down.
There's an uncomfortable amount of risk, more than you'd like, you reflect as you lead your guard forward. You could proceed more warily, in a larger formation, but from Tirion's intelligence you might only succeed in routing the necromancers, only to have them return and rebuild their armies.
You'd assumed that the difference in numbers for your warband and the thousands of undead in the area would make the necromancers more willing to give you battle, indeed that had been your strategy, but no matter, your sword rose and fell among the dead as you pressed forward.
While going to and fro in the Mills might have taken days, by splitting up you can reach your objectives more swiftly, and you do, coming up on your target as the sun sets.
The undead have been less numerous than you'd expected, you'd only faced a few hundred of them, and universally they were of the lower orders, the shambling zombies and clanking skeletons, but do their necromancer masters even suspect disparate warbands of orcs to be attacking rather than a large army of humans? You lead about twenty, Vark and Keldran have thirty or so each, and in such small numbers you've been able to slip between most of the patrols.
"Move around the sides." you instruct the aspirants, "Your swords will do nothing against that."
Over the years the undergrowth and small trees have taken root in what was once a large clearing, a well-built farmhouse at the centre. All around there are various outbuildings which have fallen into disrepair, but in the centre of the clearing, swaying to unheard music, floats a spirit.
You don't have the awareness to know what creates a banshee, but here one is, the matriarch of the Agamand household, forced by sorrow and horror into an existence of pain, half-trapped in memories of the past. She looks straight as you as you vault over the farm's fence, Fireblade ready and blazing in your hand, springing forward.
Shadows and death fly from her hands in a wave of darkness, a low moan sounding in the clearing as you see your warriors setting against a disparate assortment of undead all around the farmhouse.
The Fireblade burns the darkness away, you cut through, the marrow of Grond far weightier than the darkness the banshee wields. You bear forward, bringing the burning blade down across the matriarch.
And at once you're back at Dreadmist. The evil wind is all around you, the screams of the dying centaur, maimed and bleeding as you step over a wall of corpses to slay again. The dreadful crying of the Ur'zuhl above you, the-
Your heart thunders but you raise your head, muscles tight, the half of your blade in your hand.
"You are nothing." you growl.
The Fireblade sweeps up, a dozen cuts in one. The creature wails as the ancient sword passes through her, fire covering her, warring with her deathly resilience.
And with a final cry the banshee fades for existence, only leaving an evil aura which seems to sink into the world, but others are less fortunate and you see a dozen ghouls tearing at one of the aspirants. Your blade ends them, but already you see the orc dead, as well as several others who were slain while they struggled with the banshee's wail.
Sorek is up though, as are others, and in short order you dispose of the other enemies around.
"Bear them to their pyre." you order, motioning toward the farmhouse, and you look out across the hills and see one of the windmills burning too.
You rendezvous at the crypts near the northern cliffs, and you've no need to ask the question.
"Four dead." Vark reports, his door-shield missing.
"Five." Keldran says.
A grimace is clear on your face as you approach the mausoleum on the edge of the rise. There are burnt bodies lying around the entrance and your fingers twitch as you sense the magic within the structure.
You feel shadow and fire in bursts, a malevolent radiance which lingers, even as you feel it's origin dying. Then a figure comes forth, still half-wreathed in shadow.
Fordring steps out, the inner strength he bore now bowed, but while his limbs seem heavy the light in his eyes is undimmed, "Dargol is slain." he says, "And with him the last remnants of the Scourge in Tirasfal Glades. I congratulate you, and thank you. What you did here would have taken hundreds to do otherwise. Now this land will see the Light again, and a righteous rain follow."
"A blade!" Sorek calls, "A blade!"
"A Burning Blade!"
You warriors stand straighter, pride is in their eyes.
"Come, I saw Kul Tiran ships out to see and the Alliance delegation may be here already. There's a stream nearby, let us cleanse ourselves of this evil place." Tirion continues, and you follow him to the waterway.
After bathing you're marching again, this time at a slower pace, an almost leisurely walk.
"How are relations between the Crusade and the rest of the Alliance?" you enquire, looking to Tirion, who's resting his horse and walking alongside you.
"Complicated." Tirion smiles, "I'm sure you've noticed the sigils?"
"Fairbanks' guards wore blue 'L's, Dathrohan's wore red."
"That's the basis of it I suppose." Tirion continues, "I would be counted among former for this," and his taps his own chest with the silver hand of his order plain to see, "For your people the Third War was fought in Kalimdor, for us it was here in our homes. The Alliance had always been shaky, partly because of the expense of the wars against your people, but not entirely. Once it was merely the Council of Seven Nations, then Terenas took the masterstroke of binding us closer together, supporting the Silver Hand, encouraging commerce between kingdoms, and many other things. Despite the failings of his old age he was perhaps the greatest leader in the history of our people, though he never fought in any battles to my knowledge. But I'm getting lost in the past." and he grins.
"I trust there's some long and convoluted explanation regarding it? I've found as such myself in the political issues of my own people."
Tirion nods, "That's the case lad! I suppose now isn't the time to go through it all but I'll try to be brief. First, certain elements of Lordaeron's military were collected by Alexandros Mograine, the Ashbringer, the first Highlord of the Crusade. He told us that the strength to save our land lay within, and some like Dathrohan began to say we should not plead to faithless 'allies', by which he mainly meant the elves. That's the foundation of the true 'Scarlets' as it were, The blues but comparison are those who have some faith in the old order, the central tenet of the Alliance, that each kingdom would aid the others. A couple of years ago we went on the offensive and we've taken ground, the Glades for example, but this has really only exacerbated the debate. We have Kirin Tor mages in the Crusade, Quel'dorei rangers, Wildhammer gryphon riders, Dathrohan doesn't particuarly like any of them but he recognises their worth. The delegation approaching will have emissaries from Kul Tiras, Stormwind and Ironforge. They'll meet with Dathrohan and there's the potential the Alliance will be reformed from the atrophy of the Third War."
"That would be a worthy thing." you remark. You're actually somewhat glad you don't have the Horde's support in your endeavours, otherwise you might feel somehow obliged to sabotage the talks. A reborn Alliance which controlled significant portions of the Eastern Kingdoms would be far stronger than anything the Horde could rally.
"Indeed, yet old wounds still weep, and in the years that have passed many have found their own ways of tending them." Tirion reminds you grimly.
You crest the last hills and look out. In a small bay several large ships are anchored and a stream of little boats winds its way between them, taking supplies and men ashore. You see stocky dwarven warriors with orange beards tucked into their belts, knights bearing the blue on white of Stormwind, the stoic lion of the Wrynns.
"Trust in the Light, and all will be well." the paladin assures you, even as the delegation sees your party, near enough a hundred orcs with bright banners and ready blades. They scurry about, rushing to make a formation around a large tent just past where the sand turns to grass, shouting alarms and blowing bugles.
You come within a few hundred yards and Tirion bids you stop and wait, and approach with a few only on his signal, which he gives shortly after approaching the shieldwall himself to speak with those behind.
"Vok'fon!" you call, "Come forward and listen where I can't, you speak the human tongue too so see what you can find out. Sorek, bear my banner and keep your eyes open. Scorn, keep hold of the warriors here."
"And what if they prove treacherous?" the gruff orc asks, nodding toward the Alliance forces.
"Then Sesk and Ishi will be able to help me far more than you will." you remark. The two Blademasters thought the fights at Agamand beneath them, but you've caught sight of them a few times, following you from the treetops.
You go forward, a troll and an orc flanking you, head held high, your stride confident, your sword the symbol of your office.
There's no great hall, no corridor but the steely forms of the knights, their eyes hard between the slits of their helms. You're escorted but a few paces to the tent you saw where three figures wait. The first stands, hand ready on his swordhilt, yet undrawn for now. He's a middle aged human, brown haired, his armour rich with enamel and gold, apparently finding it necessary to wear such garb even when surrounded by his warriors. A soldier then?
The second also stands, a dwarf, stocky like all of his race, his beard in two thick forks running down his chest over a silk black doublet, an incongruous ratty brown hat on his head. You have no idea who he might be, but Vok'fon clearly does as he seems to share a familiar look and a tilt of the head with the dwarf, who also seems to recognise him. How strange!
The third does not stand, indeed she seems quite at ease. A richly dressed woman lies on a low couch before a lower table, apparently having discarded her flute of wine to receive you. From the looks of the humans around you it seems she must be very beautiful, yet you find it much similar to your interactions with troll women back at Sen'jin Village, and the most you can judge from her is that she's a healthy specimen of her kind.
"Lord Tirion," the man says suspiciously, "Who is your escort?"
"I am Grok'mash of the Burning Blade." you reply in Tirasian, taking momentary amusement at the minor widening of the eyes among the Alliance delegation. "I have learnt this tongue recently and we may converse in it."
Though you've overheard various things from the ignorance of others regarding your ability to understand the humans, they are your allies and it wounds your honour to continue to deceive them in such a way.
"And as you know Lord Bolvar, I am no longer a lord, my son has ruled Mardenholde for many years." Tirion remarks to the silence. "In any case, the Grand Crusader welcomes you to these shores and desires that you be conveyed to him. The Burning Blade have offered to escort you to his camp north of the capital. As it seems I'm no longer required here I'll continue with my own duties, is the Admiral still aboard his ship?"
Bolvar, Bolvar Fordragon you assume, a knight you've heard mentioned once or twice, turns to a subordinate.
"Admirals Waycrest and Westwind both remain at sea aboard the Sinner's Folly, sir." the captain replies.
"Then I must beg passage to them." Tirion continues, "I've letters to be delivered."
Yet again Fordring mentions the letters and yet again you're intrigued as to what they might contain to have one of the Knights of the Silver Hand acting as their bearer, but it seems you'll be doomed to wondering as Bolvar offers a boat and says farewell, ignoring Fordring's words regarding his title and inclining his head in respect to 'Lord Tirion'.
Bolvar looks at you for a few seconds and you look back, but apparently making his decision he calls for chairs and refreshments. Sorek remains standing behind you with your banner and you hand him your sword to hold, it being too big to wear while you're sitting. Vok'fon declines a seat, only squatting in the peculiar manner of the trolls.
"I had not expected to greet the Horde here." Bolvar remarks. "But if a Knight of the Silver Hand thinks you good company then as a brother paladin I can do no less. I am Bolvar Fordragon, knight and general of Stormwind. This is the Lady Katrana Prestor, an advisor to King Varian Wrynn, as well as Prince Brann Bronzebeard of Ironforge."
The woman you didn't know, but you were aware of the name of the ruling family of the dwarves. Clearly the dwarf was here to report back to his people regarding the Scarlet Crusade.
"I greet you." you say, and you nod to each of them respectfully, "Though as Tirion did, I must correct you, I do not represent the Horde, I came of my own accord and while some have followed me for their own reasons, I represent only my clan."
The three are clearly well used to such discussions as their faces change only minutely as they receive the news, and it's Bolvar who speaks again, "And how does a Blademaster come to the land of Lordaeron?"
You smile a little, "I set myself and my blade against evil where I can find it. I've done so in my own land, and all know of the Scourge. The enemy and betrayer of my people was the Burning Legion, and I was unaware that they had in turn been betrayed by their former servitors among the Scourge so I came to join the war. I have done so, only a few days ago I led my forces to destroy the last concentration of Scourge forces in these Glades, and I intend to continue that fight against this enemy to all."
Whatever Bolvar's opinion of your people he seems to accept the explanation. "That is a worthy goal, yet it's a strange attitude for an orc to take."
You consider his words, mindful of the potential dangers of the conversation, "Perhaps." you concede, "Yet when Akinos Steelclaw took me as his pupil he taught me that without purpose a blade was useless."
While you were sure Bolvar had a strategy with a specific line of questioning to discern your character, you had time to consider your responses, and you'd known Akinos had visited Stormwind several times as a diplomat, gaining enough respect among them to be allowed to keep his sword in the capital of that kingdom.
"My teacher was murdered by a death knight and I've come to this land to find out why, and after that, to avenge him." you continue, and this time Bolvar's façade breaks, surprise and confusion flashing across his eyes.
The woman, Prestor, recovers before him. You don't know if she'd met with Akinos but apparently the humans segregated their genders in the old ways more familiar to the orcs of Draenor than of Azeroth, so no doubt she'd not spoken with the Blademaster as much, "Is the Horde then at war with the Scourge? Does Ner'zhul not command them? " she asks.
That was something you really had to find more about. Once again people who died before you were even born seem to still be influencing your affairs. However, it was irrelevant at the moment, the statement was a deliberate provocation.
"The Scourge is at war with all." you reply calmly, "It is at war with the Burning Blade, it is at war with me. Blademasters have always been at the forefront of battle and I do not intend to let this challenge go unanswered."
"Yet you claim that you aren't supported by the Horde. Does the Burning Blade not represent the rest of the Horde then?"
"Do the policies of Theramore represent those of the Alliance?"
The corner of Prestor's dark lips turn upward slightly as she appraises you. "Perhaps not." she allows, intelligence sparkling in her eyes, "But if you regard the Scourge with such hostility, why is your force not larger?"
You'd prepared for that question too, "I am an exile." you admit easily, and you begin to narrate the story, "I was ordered to fight the Centaur, a rapacious race native to Kalimdor, one of their tribes surrounded a stronghold of my clan, and put us to siege. They called up Forneus, Duke of the Inner Earth, an elemental of great power. He destroyed both my clan and the centaur and then marched on Orgrimmar, I and two others who survived pursued him and though I was able to delay him long enough for my father to lead the clan in defence of the city. The battle exacerbated tensions between my father, who is chief of the Burning Blade, and the Warchief Thrall so to prevent further strife I claimed the blame for the affair and was banished for it."
As your story continues the confusion on Bolvar's face, as well as the interest on Prestor's becomes even more apparent. There's no doubt several things he's grappling with, from the potential strategic weakness of the Horde after such an attack to how to perceive and treat you in the future.
"Orcs are skilled in and knowledgeable in their interactions with the Elements." Bronzebeard speaks, "And I know your Warchief is a shaman of power, why was it your father to oppose this 'Forneus' and not him?"
"The eruption of such a powerful Elemental disrupted the bonds between Shaman and the Spirits." you answer.
"Then how did you delay the Duke in his attack?" Prestor asks.
You felt yourself rather lucky there, you were worried they'd ask how your father had defeated the Elemental and you'd have to admit you were the son of the Elder Warlock of the Horde, but the question the woman asked was much easier, "I got in front of him and spoke to him." you reply, "I called out and spoke of the history of my people. He listened for a while, then struck me down."
Out of the corner of your eye you see Sorek restrain himself. He had been the first to shout out in the assembly above the chasm of Forneus' fall, and now he looks at you with outrage, no doubt over the Warchief's actions which he'd opposed so publically, yet also with great respect, making you wonder if your full part in the affair is widely known. You suppose not, after all it had only been you and Forneus there at the time, and your father had tried to shield you as best he could in the aftermath so wouldn't have gone around telling everyone about your actions.
"History!" Bolvar starts, finding a topic he can grasp, "What do you say of that? Perhaps Dathrohan accepts all the allies he can gain, yet what would you say to the unquiet dead of my kingdom, the thousands of victims of your rampages and murders? You may be here for a worthy cause, and I do not claim that all orcs are the same, yet there is much history between our people. Fordring has my respect, but his position is such because he protected an orc from justice, he claims your people are a misguided lot, that you have some history of peace and contentment on your native world. What do you say to this? Are you kin to your forebears or more alike to those who served Blackhand?"
You thought for a moment. The moment stretched on into a minute, but then you looked down, refocusing on Bolvar.
"If you teeter on a beam slipping slowly to one side you'll try to correct your fall, yet in casting yourself to the other side you may assure your downfall just as if you'd never moved at all." you say with a shrug. "'Eitrigg' was the name of the orc Fordring protected, and he has the Horde's gratitude for it, but he is old, he remembers the Horde as it once was, he remembers how we didn't have armies or armour, how our only tactics were those of the hunt, how our weapons had to be adapted and new ones invented for war, how our people changed when called on to fight as one…"
You pause, considering the matter.
"He remembers a past that never existed."
Slowly, so as not to alarm the guards who still stand with weapons drawn, you reach for your sword, offering it hilt first to Bolvar, who takes it warily.
"Examine it." you offer.
The general unsheathes the weapon, baring the blade. The Blackrock Iron gleams like smoky glass, the glaive seeming to undulate even in the weak light which scrapped through the clouds above the shore.
"Truly," Bolvar breathes, holding the sword up, "I've never seen it's like, who was its maker?"
"In the primordial era Draenor was full of life, full of chaos." you begin, the conversation reminding you somehow of that which you'd had with Forneus. "It was called the Evergrowth and it was akin to a family of great trees, their canopies covering the whole world, their roots reaching down through the earth. Yet even as they bore life and greenery, they thirsted for more, uncontested they grew and grew, till their threatened the world itself. Then the Forgers came, the star-travellers, they flew across the skies brining order and light to all they came across, and when they saw the Evergrowth they knew it would consume our world if left unchecked. The Forgers were too powerful to descend themselves, but the mightiest of them, their defender and champion, bore a son by breathing life into the mountains themselves. Grond rose and bellowed his challenge, he marched on the Evergroth and began to tear it up by the roots, he fought for centuries, till finally the last of the Evergrowth pooled its power into a single being and brought him down. But this wasn't the end, as his body fell parts broke away and the Breakers were born, the first of them were colossal, large enough that their skulls became our temples, then smaller as more fell in the final battles against the Evergrowth, each time a smaller piece would fall, and then a smaller from that, and the races of Magnaron and Gronn were born, then the Ogron, the Ogres, and finally us, the Orcs."
All three of the diplomats are sitting forward, their great interest evident on their faces.
"We were birthed in battle and born for war. That blade is made from the spine of Grond himself. The first thing we did when we crawled from his mighty corpse was to forge his bones into weapons, to carve our fortresses in fastness of his flesh. We are of the stone and rock, and though Blackhand's ravagers are repulsive to me, to say that we are content when at peace would be just as much a lie. We are the Breakers, and I have come to this land to fulfil the destiny of my people."
You find yourself standing and you take back the blade as Bolvar offers it to you. You wait while he considers your words, meeting his eye when he raises his head again.
"That you are here, even after the strife between our peoples, is one thing. That Tirion Fordring and Akinos Steelclaw speak for you is another. That I know you've lost almost a fifth of your force since you came here, fighting a war that isn't yours to fight, and among those who have not and would not ask you to… I was sceptical when Tirion claimed to have begun your instruction in the Light, but I can discern the truth in your words, and the echo of his. You demonstrate respect in coming here to speak to us, in your honesty and advocacy where others might have simply claimed this Eitrigg's story of peaceful hunting on the plains of Draenor. You demonstrate tenacity in your steadfastness in the face of peril, whether in this meeting or in the strength of spirit necessary to bear the burdens you have, even when they were not yours to bear. You demonstrate compassion in joining a war which you have no duty toward, and in protecting even those who you receive nothing from, such as this Solliden which Tirion tells me of."
And Bolvar steps forward, his hand open.
"As a general and emissary, I must represent my nation and king, but as a paladin I recognise one in whom the virtues of the Light are clear. Time will tell what future there can be between our peoples, but for now I give you my hand and greet you as an ally. By blood and honour, welcome."
"So this is a murloc is it?"
Vark is holding a small amphibian creature by the leg as it flails and tries to turn to bite him while the big orc looks down at it sceptically.
"Why don't the sharks eat them, do you think?" he asks.
The waters of Durotar and the Echo Isles were hazardous for children, though less so for adults because of the plethora of creatures that lived around the coasts. The crabmen, the Makrura to use their proper name, were largely immune to the sharks' attacks but that was because of their shells, you can't imagine a creature such as the one Vark hold being able to survive in the same way.
"He had a spear." you reply, "Maybe they fight them?"
Vark looks even more sceptical, "They'd be taken in one bite!"
You think about it, probably, but it also occurs to you as you think that perhaps sharks of the sort back home simply don't inhabit the waters around Lordaeron. "Let it go, we'll follow it back."
It's been told to you that murlocs are difficult to actually eliminate, but that the destruction of their villages is often enough to make them move on. They're a pest, not an apocalypse, but they're enough of a distraction and a danger along the rivers that Tirion's noted them to you.
The creature sprints back through the brush, limbs flapping in a way that looks truly ridiculous, shouting a gurgling cry as it flees. Happily the call is loud enough for you and Vok'fon to hear and you find yourself amidst sandy dunes in the north of the province, crawling to the low summit of one rise and looking down.
Before you is a small collection of seaweed and driftwood huts, many more of the fish-folk are wandering about, some of them starting in alarm when their scared comrade rushes in.
"Can we stop them escaping somehow?" you murmur.
"They'll run into the sea when they see us." Vark replies.
"When dey see you maybey!" Vok'fon grins and you all laugh softly.
"I'll take Sorek in." you say, "They'll outnumber us, think themselves more secure. Split up, take each village in turn, hit them from three sides."
The plan is hatched and you slink back to the warband and give the orders.
murlocs, as it turns out, are exactly as you predicted them to be. They gesticulate and growl, one bearing a long kitchen knife like a broadsword, and eventually they charge you and the aspirants, only to be decimated as soon as they meet you in combat. You leap forward, the form of the serpent in your strike, cleaving through the front rank and their scavenging champion's eye widen before it's death. The murlocs burn at the Fireblade's touch, their oily skin igniting even as the aspirants follow you, each strike mortal.
And swiftly it's over, the longer legs of your warriors running the creatures down before they can reach the sea.
The scene is replicated across a long stretch of the shore and within a day there are none of the murlocs left. The strategy is broadly successful in all cases except Vark's assignment, with the murlocs fleeing at the sight of him before he's even able to reach them.
"What d'you make of this?" Scorn asks, beckoning you over once you've joined up with the others.
You find a knot of orcs looking over a grisly carcass.
"It's a goblin." you remark in surprise. Indeed, the green skin and pointed ears, the size of the body, as well as a few scraps of cloth left from the murloc's feast, all make the race of the creature apparent, but it doesn't get you any closer to knowing what it's doing there in the first place, certainly you can't imagine why a goblin would be in such a place.
But in the end you move on.
The next stronghold of difficulty to the Crusade's success is Garren's Haunt. There you battle gnolls, hunched undead creatures, their bodies visibly rotting as they cackle at you. These at least you're familiar with as a few have made their way to Kalimdor, though you've no idea where they come from originally. These are the Rot Hide clan and you put an end to their corpse snatching activities and service to the Scourge, but just like the murlocs they don't last long, falling beneath your blades.
You take losses though, three warriors dead, two to undead spellwork, another to a large animated scarecrow which lumbers across the fields, reeking of dark magic.
Keldran proves his worth in the battle, waving his hands and muttering dark words, undoing the magics of the gnolls and the scarecrow both, disrupting the later enough for you to set the Fireblade to it.
The burning follows, you make pyres for the fallen, piling the weapons of their enemies beneath them in tribute, pulling down the decrepit farmhouses for fuel.
Sorek finds his way to your side after the rites and you turn to him, "There's something between you and the Blademasters." you say, "Speak."
"We…" the Blackrock begins, "We are discontent."
You stay silent, gazing into the pyrelight.
"We joined this expedition willingly, and I don't complain about it. I know you wish to avenge Akinos and so do we, the honour of the blade demands it, in time I know you intend to go into Alterac, but I suppose we also hoped to hone our skills. We're stagnant and when we see you or the Blademasters in battle the gulf between us is clear, it shames us… I went to Ishi, asked him if he'd train us as he was you but he just laughed in my face."
You grunt in acknowledgement. Your mind working through the issue.
The Blademasters were acknowledged as the finest warriors in the Horde, better fighters than the most skilful Thunderlords or the most savage Warsong. You knew all too well the desire of orcs to emulate them and you knew you were privileged to be one yourself.
In training anyway…
There were two issues, the first, that Sesk and Ishi hadn't the interest in teaching and passing on their traditions that Akinos had. The later was unusual in that respect, as you'd found in your survey of the Blademasters, but that wasn't all. Sorek had committed one of the taboos of your people, trying to learn the secrets of another clan.
The Thunderlords had their battle language, the Bonechewers and Blackrock had the secrets of alchemy and steel respectively, the Burning Blade… the skill Sorek and the other sought.
When Blackhand reformed the Horde he'd deepened the segregations of ancient tradition, he'd set the smaller clans like your own to particular tasks, the Burning Blade having the commission and supplying of exceptional single warriors, magical fighters and mage-killers.
There'd always been close connections between particular clans, for example the one that existed between the Burning Blade and the Blackrock, but it simply wasn't done to ask to learn the secrets of others.
But perhaps you had a solution, "I cannot order him to teach you." you reply, and Sorek's face is tight, "Nor would I even if I could. It would be a disgrace to share the secrets of the clan in such a way. However… However…"
And you unsheathe the Fireblade.
"This is Blackrock Iron is it not?" you ask, and naturally Sorek nods, "Our clans are as brothers, you forged for us, and we went into battle with your weapons. We rose from Grond's might corpse, we took secrets from his bones. My father claims this is made from our progenitor's spine, and I've no reason to doubt him."
You flourish the weapon slowly, running through one of the more basic motions of your clan's technique.
"I will not permit you to be taught. I cannot. However, it has always been my wish to rebuild the Blademasters, make them once again the force they were, the swords that cleaved fortresses open. I will be chief one day, in fact I suspect my father may step aside should I prove myself worthy enough, he has little patience for the duties he must fulfil. Here and now though it is my place to set policies, to guide and lead those of my clan in this land. You and the others wish to be Blademasters? You have the desire I know, you have the courage. Join me. Join us. I will welcome you all in under my banner and rather than being like brothers we'll be kin in truth."
Sorek's eager grin as he takes your hand is all the answer you need, and he's followed by every one of the aspirants. It's isn't too unusual for orcs to change clans for various reasons, but as you conduct the necessary rites for the transfer you're surprised at the sheer enthusiasm of them all. They cut up their Blackrock tunics, sewing the orange fabric into your own banner, the flaming sabre held high, and after that they march with pride as your guards. They train with you each night and you smile each time you teach them a new technique, and when they fight there's a tangible excitement which you see running through them.
After Garren's Haunt you march north and west, heading toward the Agamand Mills. One night you stop for rest at a ruined tower by a pond, black and still. The hills and fields you see from the tower stretch out to the north before running into cliffs and the cold sea between the Eastern Kingdoms and Northrend.
You call Keldran to you and the necrolyte comes quickly.
"We'll face more spellcasters at the Mills, at least three of some power, or so I've been informed." you tell him, "We took losses mainly because of them at the farm and I want defences, what are your thoughts?"
The orc nods, "It depends on the type." he replies, "The gnolls were part of a whole tribe which had been infected with the Plague and reanimated by a powerful necromancer. Like many of their sort, the centaur, the quillboar, and others, they used some minor magics commonly, but had no spellcasters of strength. I'm not nearly at the level of the Shadowmoon shaman who formed the first necrolytes but even I could undo the gnolls' spells with little effort."
"Very well." you say, "Where does that lead us?"
"Groups of civilisation and power use magic more exclusively, it's a tendency I've observed in my studies, this means humans and elves mostly. Of the kingdoms of the Alliance there was only one which routinely practiced magic, the Kirin Tor of Dalaran, and they sent their mages out to the other kingdoms. A human spellcaster is rarer than a gnoll or a quillboar one… There were what, fifty shaman in the centaur you fought at Dreadmist Peak?"
"So Kartha told me."
"Well then, the centaur maintain that many shaman for a whole tribe, thousands strong. The humans maintain perhaps a single mage for every thousand others."
"So human mages are twenty times stronger than centaur ones?"
Keldran shrugs, "Not quite but essentially yes, stronger but less common."
That was both good and bad. On one hand you had only two within the warband who could match mages, yourself and Keldran himself and you'd been concerned about widespread magical opposition from magical undead.
"Your advice then?"
"Any magic users among them will either have learnt in life, or after death. They'll be mages, likely frost mages, or they'll be necromancers. The former will be more dangerous directly, they'll throw magical missiles, great lances of ice and rime, bring down icicle daggers from the sky in a blizzard and other sorts of things, but they're essentially the same as things we've faced before. Shields up, advance as one, dodge if it looks like something big is coming. Necromancers are more difficult. If they use shadow magic it's much like the mages, they'll throw a spell and it'll be like they've throw three spears at you at once, if they're more advanced though they'll use curses, rotting magics, plagues and other sorcery. I can undo these as I did the gnoll work, but it'll take time."
You speak a while more on the capabilities of the enemy, but the conversation turns to the nature of shadow magic itself.
"It's intimate, personal, the opposite of the Fel in that respect." Keldran explains. "There's evil in the Fel but it's broader, you have to hold onto the rage, but it needn't be directed as closely. That wickerman at the farm? Someone had specifically set an evil spirit in it, they'd trapped it in a spell and nurtured it, raised the evil, tortured it and made it remember hatred and fear… You can mould the Fel but you the Shadow needs greater effort. Whoever set that curse did it with an evil joy, not just to create a weapon but specifically to punish someone, perhaps an enemy, by making them destroy everything they loved, then stand over the ruins forever as a witness."
You thought back to Dreadmist. The elder shaman of the peak didn't have any specific animosity toward the centaur they'd sacrificed to summon the Ur'zuhl, they'd set themselves to the task and achieved it, the torture of the centaurs being secondary to the effort.
"It's something I think the Cult of the Damned and the Scourge understood better than Gul'dan ever did." Keldran continues, "He could never grasp the hatred necessary."
That makes you frown, "Gul'dan purposefully mutilated the survivors of Arak." you say, "He ordered the Arakkoa thrown into the Pools of Sethe and laughed as they that cursed place twisted them and their wings withered. What do you mean he 'could never grasp the hatred'?"
"Spite." Keldran corrects, "Gul'dan had enough spite to fill a lake, but it wasn't hatred, it wasn't personal. He was from the north, it was the southern clans who destroyed Arak and its people, they were the ones who'd always fought against the birdmen, not clans from Gorgrond."
You disagree, but you suppose Keldran actually learnt from Shadow Council, though only for a short time… In the end you dismiss him, giving orders to your officers on the necrolyte's advice. Vark in particular decides he needs a shield and tears the tower's ironbound door off its hinges, his size making it like a tower shield, heavy and thick enough to resist the attacks of the enemy.
In the morning you march out, but you find an unexpected escort on the road.
"Mirador!" the orcs behind you cry, many of them retaining the name Tirion had given in your first meeting with him. You'd been moderately worried about any residual cultural hatred against humans and the Knights of the Silver Hand in particular, but quite the opposite has occurred. The orcs of your warband regard the paladin with great respect, treating him as a shaman.
The paladin rides up. "Hail. I'm bound for the north, I've letters to take to our admiral, but I thought I'd join you in the attack."
"You're most welcome to." you reply, "Have you any advice? I've prepared as best I can but you're more familiar with the foe."
Tirion nods and you speak as you march, "The Mills are the largest and strongest concentration of undead left in the Glades." he relates, "But the Scourge are different than other enemies. They won't break, you'll have noticed that before, but they do crumble, the enchantments holding them together can be disrupted, firstly by the destruction of their masters, but also by simply killing enough of them. I've less knowledge on it than some but there's a mage back at the camp who's been studying the phenomena, Castillian, he made me this," and Tirion fingers a weighty gem around his neck, "The Crusade has managed to turn the enemy's weapons against them, and though I'd rather trust the Light over any magic, these are powerful nevertheless."
The eponymous mills of the region start to come into sight, still in the unnatural weather, dark shapes against the overcast sky.
"There's more though." Tirion continues, "The Scourge have no care whatsoever for their minions. They don't fear desertion, morale, the population's support for wars, or any of the other usual strategic considerations. One of the problems we had in the early years was trying to win battles rather the war, we'd slaughter legions of skeletons but then the necromancers and lichs would escape during the fighting. Since then we've learnt to target them first, and in turn they've realised they need to throw everything they have at us soon and then retreat."
"So we strike the necromancers directly? We can cut a way through." you ask.
"Yes and no." Tirion replies. "This is a large estate, days march from one end to the other. You have to hit each of their leaders at once over such a large region, you can't go from one to the other knocking them all down. Divide your force into three…"
And Tirion relates to you the specifics of the Agamands, the family who had previously controlled the Mills and wide estates in the north of the Glades. In the end you send Vark off to slay two of the more martially powerful undead, Keldran to take on the traitor who let the Scourge through the Agamand defences, while you decide to strike the deep into the Mills to kill a banshee haunting the old family house.
"And where will you be?"
"I'll ride ahead, get as far as I can ahorse, then proceed on foot to the crypts, we have intelligence of agents of the Scourge, perhaps a coven's worth, raising the ancient corpses of that place. Hundreds of years' worth of bodies, perhaps thousands of potential soldiers for the Scourge." Tirion looks down from his mount, "It's a task unsuited to any you have here, you're all too big, we don't build them with orcs in mind."
You're stunned at that. It seems such a simple thing but you'd completely missed it, "What about me?" you ask.
Tirion just looks at your sword.
You catch his meaning immediately and a wave of embarrassment sweeps over you as you imagine yourself making some heroic strike against a necromancer only to embed the Fireblade in a wall or low ceiling.
"What about that?" you ask, looking to Tirion's warhammer.
He merely pats the libram on his hip.
You try to move on, you'll just have to remember to seek out some alternate weapons and means of fighting, lest your whole warband be nullified because an enemy hides in a cave. Akinos had sometimes worn a claw, indeed he'd occasionally been known as 'Akinos Steelclaw' for it, perhaps you could do the same?
But such thoughts were irrelevant for now. Tirion sets spurs to his horse and rides, hammer high, into the fray, the heads of undead he passes exploding as he brings the weapon down.
There's an uncomfortable amount of risk, more than you'd like, you reflect as you lead your guard forward. You could proceed more warily, in a larger formation, but from Tirion's intelligence you might only succeed in routing the necromancers, only to have them return and rebuild their armies.
You'd assumed that the difference in numbers for your warband and the thousands of undead in the area would make the necromancers more willing to give you battle, indeed that had been your strategy, but no matter, your sword rose and fell among the dead as you pressed forward.
While going to and fro in the Mills might have taken days, by splitting up you can reach your objectives more swiftly, and you do, coming up on your target as the sun sets.
The undead have been less numerous than you'd expected, you'd only faced a few hundred of them, and universally they were of the lower orders, the shambling zombies and clanking skeletons, but do their necromancer masters even suspect disparate warbands of orcs to be attacking rather than a large army of humans? You lead about twenty, Vark and Keldran have thirty or so each, and in such small numbers you've been able to slip between most of the patrols.
"Move around the sides." you instruct the aspirants, "Your swords will do nothing against that."
Over the years the undergrowth and small trees have taken root in what was once a large clearing, a well-built farmhouse at the centre. All around there are various outbuildings which have fallen into disrepair, but in the centre of the clearing, swaying to unheard music, floats a spirit.
You don't have the awareness to know what creates a banshee, but here one is, the matriarch of the Agamand household, forced by sorrow and horror into an existence of pain, half-trapped in memories of the past. She looks straight as you as you vault over the farm's fence, Fireblade ready and blazing in your hand, springing forward.
Shadows and death fly from her hands in a wave of darkness, a low moan sounding in the clearing as you see your warriors setting against a disparate assortment of undead all around the farmhouse.
The Fireblade burns the darkness away, you cut through, the marrow of Grond far weightier than the darkness the banshee wields. You bear forward, bringing the burning blade down across the matriarch.
And at once you're back at Dreadmist. The evil wind is all around you, the screams of the dying centaur, maimed and bleeding as you step over a wall of corpses to slay again. The dreadful crying of the Ur'zuhl above you, the-
Your heart thunders but you raise your head, muscles tight, the half of your blade in your hand.
"You are nothing." you growl.
The Fireblade sweeps up, a dozen cuts in one. The creature wails as the ancient sword passes through her, fire covering her, warring with her deathly resilience.
And with a final cry the banshee fades for existence, only leaving an evil aura which seems to sink into the world, but others are less fortunate and you see a dozen ghouls tearing at one of the aspirants. Your blade ends them, but already you see the orc dead, as well as several others who were slain while they struggled with the banshee's wail.
Sorek is up though, as are others, and in short order you dispose of the other enemies around.
"Bear them to their pyre." you order, motioning toward the farmhouse, and you look out across the hills and see one of the windmills burning too.
You rendezvous at the crypts near the northern cliffs, and you've no need to ask the question.
"Four dead." Vark reports, his door-shield missing.
"Five." Keldran says.
A grimace is clear on your face as you approach the mausoleum on the edge of the rise. There are burnt bodies lying around the entrance and your fingers twitch as you sense the magic within the structure.
You feel shadow and fire in bursts, a malevolent radiance which lingers, even as you feel it's origin dying. Then a figure comes forth, still half-wreathed in shadow.
Fordring steps out, the inner strength he bore now bowed, but while his limbs seem heavy the light in his eyes is undimmed, "Dargol is slain." he says, "And with him the last remnants of the Scourge in Tirasfal Glades. I congratulate you, and thank you. What you did here would have taken hundreds to do otherwise. Now this land will see the Light again, and a righteous rain follow."
"A blade!" Sorek calls, "A blade!"
"A Burning Blade!"
You warriors stand straighter, pride is in their eyes.
"Come, I saw Kul Tiran ships out to see and the Alliance delegation may be here already. There's a stream nearby, let us cleanse ourselves of this evil place." Tirion continues, and you follow him to the waterway.
After bathing you're marching again, this time at a slower pace, an almost leisurely walk.
"How are relations between the Crusade and the rest of the Alliance?" you enquire, looking to Tirion, who's resting his horse and walking alongside you.
"Complicated." Tirion smiles, "I'm sure you've noticed the sigils?"
"Fairbanks' guards wore blue 'L's, Dathrohan's wore red."
"That's the basis of it I suppose." Tirion continues, "I would be counted among former for this," and his taps his own chest with the silver hand of his order plain to see, "For your people the Third War was fought in Kalimdor, for us it was here in our homes. The Alliance had always been shaky, partly because of the expense of the wars against your people, but not entirely. Once it was merely the Council of Seven Nations, then Terenas took the masterstroke of binding us closer together, supporting the Silver Hand, encouraging commerce between kingdoms, and many other things. Despite the failings of his old age he was perhaps the greatest leader in the history of our people, though he never fought in any battles to my knowledge. But I'm getting lost in the past." and he grins.
"I trust there's some long and convoluted explanation regarding it? I've found as such myself in the political issues of my own people."
Tirion nods, "That's the case lad! I suppose now isn't the time to go through it all but I'll try to be brief. First, certain elements of Lordaeron's military were collected by Alexandros Mograine, the Ashbringer, the first Highlord of the Crusade. He told us that the strength to save our land lay within, and some like Dathrohan began to say we should not plead to faithless 'allies', by which he mainly meant the elves. That's the foundation of the true 'Scarlets' as it were, The blues but comparison are those who have some faith in the old order, the central tenet of the Alliance, that each kingdom would aid the others. A couple of years ago we went on the offensive and we've taken ground, the Glades for example, but this has really only exacerbated the debate. We have Kirin Tor mages in the Crusade, Quel'dorei rangers, Wildhammer gryphon riders, Dathrohan doesn't particuarly like any of them but he recognises their worth. The delegation approaching will have emissaries from Kul Tiras, Stormwind and Ironforge. They'll meet with Dathrohan and there's the potential the Alliance will be reformed from the atrophy of the Third War."
"That would be a worthy thing." you remark. You're actually somewhat glad you don't have the Horde's support in your endeavours, otherwise you might feel somehow obliged to sabotage the talks. A reborn Alliance which controlled significant portions of the Eastern Kingdoms would be far stronger than anything the Horde could rally.
"Indeed, yet old wounds still weep, and in the years that have passed many have found their own ways of tending them." Tirion reminds you grimly.
You crest the last hills and look out. In a small bay several large ships are anchored and a stream of little boats winds its way between them, taking supplies and men ashore. You see stocky dwarven warriors with orange beards tucked into their belts, knights bearing the blue on white of Stormwind, the stoic lion of the Wrynns.
"Trust in the Light, and all will be well." the paladin assures you, even as the delegation sees your party, near enough a hundred orcs with bright banners and ready blades. They scurry about, rushing to make a formation around a large tent just past where the sand turns to grass, shouting alarms and blowing bugles.
You come within a few hundred yards and Tirion bids you stop and wait, and approach with a few only on his signal, which he gives shortly after approaching the shieldwall himself to speak with those behind.
"Vok'fon!" you call, "Come forward and listen where I can't, you speak the human tongue too so see what you can find out. Sorek, bear my banner and keep your eyes open. Scorn, keep hold of the warriors here."
"And what if they prove treacherous?" the gruff orc asks, nodding toward the Alliance forces.
"Then Sesk and Ishi will be able to help me far more than you will." you remark. The two Blademasters thought the fights at Agamand beneath them, but you've caught sight of them a few times, following you from the treetops.
You go forward, a troll and an orc flanking you, head held high, your stride confident, your sword the symbol of your office.
There's no great hall, no corridor but the steely forms of the knights, their eyes hard between the slits of their helms. You're escorted but a few paces to the tent you saw where three figures wait. The first stands, hand ready on his swordhilt, yet undrawn for now. He's a middle aged human, brown haired, his armour rich with enamel and gold, apparently finding it necessary to wear such garb even when surrounded by his warriors. A soldier then?
The second also stands, a dwarf, stocky like all of his race, his beard in two thick forks running down his chest over a silk black doublet, an incongruous ratty brown hat on his head. You have no idea who he might be, but Vok'fon clearly does as he seems to share a familiar look and a tilt of the head with the dwarf, who also seems to recognise him. How strange!
The third does not stand, indeed she seems quite at ease. A richly dressed woman lies on a low couch before a lower table, apparently having discarded her flute of wine to receive you. From the looks of the humans around you it seems she must be very beautiful, yet you find it much similar to your interactions with troll women back at Sen'jin Village, and the most you can judge from her is that she's a healthy specimen of her kind.
"Lord Tirion," the man says suspiciously, "Who is your escort?"
"I am Grok'mash of the Burning Blade." you reply in Tirasian, taking momentary amusement at the minor widening of the eyes among the Alliance delegation. "I have learnt this tongue recently and we may converse in it."
Though you've overheard various things from the ignorance of others regarding your ability to understand the humans, they are your allies and it wounds your honour to continue to deceive them in such a way.
"And as you know Lord Bolvar, I am no longer a lord, my son has ruled Mardenholde for many years." Tirion remarks to the silence. "In any case, the Grand Crusader welcomes you to these shores and desires that you be conveyed to him. The Burning Blade have offered to escort you to his camp north of the capital. As it seems I'm no longer required here I'll continue with my own duties, is the Admiral still aboard his ship?"
Bolvar, Bolvar Fordragon you assume, a knight you've heard mentioned once or twice, turns to a subordinate.
"Admirals Waycrest and Westwind both remain at sea aboard the Sinner's Folly, sir." the captain replies.
"Then I must beg passage to them." Tirion continues, "I've letters to be delivered."
Yet again Fordring mentions the letters and yet again you're intrigued as to what they might contain to have one of the Knights of the Silver Hand acting as their bearer, but it seems you'll be doomed to wondering as Bolvar offers a boat and says farewell, ignoring Fordring's words regarding his title and inclining his head in respect to 'Lord Tirion'.
Bolvar looks at you for a few seconds and you look back, but apparently making his decision he calls for chairs and refreshments. Sorek remains standing behind you with your banner and you hand him your sword to hold, it being too big to wear while you're sitting. Vok'fon declines a seat, only squatting in the peculiar manner of the trolls.
"I had not expected to greet the Horde here." Bolvar remarks. "But if a Knight of the Silver Hand thinks you good company then as a brother paladin I can do no less. I am Bolvar Fordragon, knight and general of Stormwind. This is the Lady Katrana Prestor, an advisor to King Varian Wrynn, as well as Prince Brann Bronzebeard of Ironforge."
The woman you didn't know, but you were aware of the name of the ruling family of the dwarves. Clearly the dwarf was here to report back to his people regarding the Scarlet Crusade.
"I greet you." you say, and you nod to each of them respectfully, "Though as Tirion did, I must correct you, I do not represent the Horde, I came of my own accord and while some have followed me for their own reasons, I represent only my clan."
The three are clearly well used to such discussions as their faces change only minutely as they receive the news, and it's Bolvar who speaks again, "And how does a Blademaster come to the land of Lordaeron?"
You smile a little, "I set myself and my blade against evil where I can find it. I've done so in my own land, and all know of the Scourge. The enemy and betrayer of my people was the Burning Legion, and I was unaware that they had in turn been betrayed by their former servitors among the Scourge so I came to join the war. I have done so, only a few days ago I led my forces to destroy the last concentration of Scourge forces in these Glades, and I intend to continue that fight against this enemy to all."
Whatever Bolvar's opinion of your people he seems to accept the explanation. "That is a worthy goal, yet it's a strange attitude for an orc to take."
You consider his words, mindful of the potential dangers of the conversation, "Perhaps." you concede, "Yet when Akinos Steelclaw took me as his pupil he taught me that without purpose a blade was useless."
While you were sure Bolvar had a strategy with a specific line of questioning to discern your character, you had time to consider your responses, and you'd known Akinos had visited Stormwind several times as a diplomat, gaining enough respect among them to be allowed to keep his sword in the capital of that kingdom.
"My teacher was murdered by a death knight and I've come to this land to find out why, and after that, to avenge him." you continue, and this time Bolvar's façade breaks, surprise and confusion flashing across his eyes.
The woman, Prestor, recovers before him. You don't know if she'd met with Akinos but apparently the humans segregated their genders in the old ways more familiar to the orcs of Draenor than of Azeroth, so no doubt she'd not spoken with the Blademaster as much, "Is the Horde then at war with the Scourge? Does Ner'zhul not command them? " she asks.
That was something you really had to find more about. Once again people who died before you were even born seem to still be influencing your affairs. However, it was irrelevant at the moment, the statement was a deliberate provocation.
"The Scourge is at war with all." you reply calmly, "It is at war with the Burning Blade, it is at war with me. Blademasters have always been at the forefront of battle and I do not intend to let this challenge go unanswered."
"Yet you claim that you aren't supported by the Horde. Does the Burning Blade not represent the rest of the Horde then?"
"Do the policies of Theramore represent those of the Alliance?"
The corner of Prestor's dark lips turn upward slightly as she appraises you. "Perhaps not." she allows, intelligence sparkling in her eyes, "But if you regard the Scourge with such hostility, why is your force not larger?"
You'd prepared for that question too, "I am an exile." you admit easily, and you begin to narrate the story, "I was ordered to fight the Centaur, a rapacious race native to Kalimdor, one of their tribes surrounded a stronghold of my clan, and put us to siege. They called up Forneus, Duke of the Inner Earth, an elemental of great power. He destroyed both my clan and the centaur and then marched on Orgrimmar, I and two others who survived pursued him and though I was able to delay him long enough for my father to lead the clan in defence of the city. The battle exacerbated tensions between my father, who is chief of the Burning Blade, and the Warchief Thrall so to prevent further strife I claimed the blame for the affair and was banished for it."
As your story continues the confusion on Bolvar's face, as well as the interest on Prestor's becomes even more apparent. There's no doubt several things he's grappling with, from the potential strategic weakness of the Horde after such an attack to how to perceive and treat you in the future.
"Orcs are skilled in and knowledgeable in their interactions with the Elements." Bronzebeard speaks, "And I know your Warchief is a shaman of power, why was it your father to oppose this 'Forneus' and not him?"
"The eruption of such a powerful Elemental disrupted the bonds between Shaman and the Spirits." you answer.
"Then how did you delay the Duke in his attack?" Prestor asks.
You felt yourself rather lucky there, you were worried they'd ask how your father had defeated the Elemental and you'd have to admit you were the son of the Elder Warlock of the Horde, but the question the woman asked was much easier, "I got in front of him and spoke to him." you reply, "I called out and spoke of the history of my people. He listened for a while, then struck me down."
Out of the corner of your eye you see Sorek restrain himself. He had been the first to shout out in the assembly above the chasm of Forneus' fall, and now he looks at you with outrage, no doubt over the Warchief's actions which he'd opposed so publically, yet also with great respect, making you wonder if your full part in the affair is widely known. You suppose not, after all it had only been you and Forneus there at the time, and your father had tried to shield you as best he could in the aftermath so wouldn't have gone around telling everyone about your actions.
"History!" Bolvar starts, finding a topic he can grasp, "What do you say of that? Perhaps Dathrohan accepts all the allies he can gain, yet what would you say to the unquiet dead of my kingdom, the thousands of victims of your rampages and murders? You may be here for a worthy cause, and I do not claim that all orcs are the same, yet there is much history between our people. Fordring has my respect, but his position is such because he protected an orc from justice, he claims your people are a misguided lot, that you have some history of peace and contentment on your native world. What do you say to this? Are you kin to your forebears or more alike to those who served Blackhand?"
You thought for a moment. The moment stretched on into a minute, but then you looked down, refocusing on Bolvar.
"If you teeter on a beam slipping slowly to one side you'll try to correct your fall, yet in casting yourself to the other side you may assure your downfall just as if you'd never moved at all." you say with a shrug. "'Eitrigg' was the name of the orc Fordring protected, and he has the Horde's gratitude for it, but he is old, he remembers the Horde as it once was, he remembers how we didn't have armies or armour, how our only tactics were those of the hunt, how our weapons had to be adapted and new ones invented for war, how our people changed when called on to fight as one…"
You pause, considering the matter.
"He remembers a past that never existed."
Slowly, so as not to alarm the guards who still stand with weapons drawn, you reach for your sword, offering it hilt first to Bolvar, who takes it warily.
"Examine it." you offer.
The general unsheathes the weapon, baring the blade. The Blackrock Iron gleams like smoky glass, the glaive seeming to undulate even in the weak light which scrapped through the clouds above the shore.
"Truly," Bolvar breathes, holding the sword up, "I've never seen it's like, who was its maker?"
"In the primordial era Draenor was full of life, full of chaos." you begin, the conversation reminding you somehow of that which you'd had with Forneus. "It was called the Evergrowth and it was akin to a family of great trees, their canopies covering the whole world, their roots reaching down through the earth. Yet even as they bore life and greenery, they thirsted for more, uncontested they grew and grew, till their threatened the world itself. Then the Forgers came, the star-travellers, they flew across the skies brining order and light to all they came across, and when they saw the Evergrowth they knew it would consume our world if left unchecked. The Forgers were too powerful to descend themselves, but the mightiest of them, their defender and champion, bore a son by breathing life into the mountains themselves. Grond rose and bellowed his challenge, he marched on the Evergroth and began to tear it up by the roots, he fought for centuries, till finally the last of the Evergrowth pooled its power into a single being and brought him down. But this wasn't the end, as his body fell parts broke away and the Breakers were born, the first of them were colossal, large enough that their skulls became our temples, then smaller as more fell in the final battles against the Evergrowth, each time a smaller piece would fall, and then a smaller from that, and the races of Magnaron and Gronn were born, then the Ogron, the Ogres, and finally us, the Orcs."
All three of the diplomats are sitting forward, their great interest evident on their faces.
"We were birthed in battle and born for war. That blade is made from the spine of Grond himself. The first thing we did when we crawled from his mighty corpse was to forge his bones into weapons, to carve our fortresses in fastness of his flesh. We are of the stone and rock, and though Blackhand's ravagers are repulsive to me, to say that we are content when at peace would be just as much a lie. We are the Breakers, and I have come to this land to fulfil the destiny of my people."
You find yourself standing and you take back the blade as Bolvar offers it to you. You wait while he considers your words, meeting his eye when he raises his head again.
"That you are here, even after the strife between our peoples, is one thing. That Tirion Fordring and Akinos Steelclaw speak for you is another. That I know you've lost almost a fifth of your force since you came here, fighting a war that isn't yours to fight, and among those who have not and would not ask you to… I was sceptical when Tirion claimed to have begun your instruction in the Light, but I can discern the truth in your words, and the echo of his. You demonstrate respect in coming here to speak to us, in your honesty and advocacy where others might have simply claimed this Eitrigg's story of peaceful hunting on the plains of Draenor. You demonstrate tenacity in your steadfastness in the face of peril, whether in this meeting or in the strength of spirit necessary to bear the burdens you have, even when they were not yours to bear. You demonstrate compassion in joining a war which you have no duty toward, and in protecting even those who you receive nothing from, such as this Solliden which Tirion tells me of."
And Bolvar steps forward, his hand open.
"As a general and emissary, I must represent my nation and king, but as a paladin I recognise one in whom the virtues of the Light are clear. Time will tell what future there can be between our peoples, but for now I give you my hand and greet you as an ally. By blood and honour, welcome."
I'm not sure how 6 actions turned into 12k words, that seems rather excessive to me. I think it's just a matter of bloat really, there's lots of things I wanted to slot in various places and it sort of got out of hand. Comments welcome on this. I might go through and check for errors tomorrow but if you feel like pointing some out I'd be grateful, no doubt there are a few but I've just written this 7k and I'm tired.
You'll be getting some 'You go to X place and do Y and then leave' in future I think given the length of this one.
You'll notice I've not included any rolls in this, there were indeed rolls previously but as I've mentioned before I've never really been big on them, so while I'll certainly still use them to discern things, I don't think I'll be including them in future chapters. Possibly in a spoiler at the start but not in the body of the text.
Skills:
+15% to Tactics for several new tactical situations.
+25% to Slaying for specific information regarding the disposition of undead creatures and their magics.
+15% to Leadership for navigating a potentially dangerous situation regarding clan taboos.
+10% to Scholarship for learning about new things to do with magic and the undead.
+25% to Persuasion for converting Sorek and an excellent navigation of diplomatic issues with Bolvar Fordragon.
You'll be getting some 'You go to X place and do Y and then leave' in future I think given the length of this one.
You'll notice I've not included any rolls in this, there were indeed rolls previously but as I've mentioned before I've never really been big on them, so while I'll certainly still use them to discern things, I don't think I'll be including them in future chapters. Possibly in a spoiler at the start but not in the body of the text.
Skills:
+15% to Tactics for several new tactical situations.
+25% to Slaying for specific information regarding the disposition of undead creatures and their magics.
+15% to Leadership for navigating a potentially dangerous situation regarding clan taboos.
+10% to Scholarship for learning about new things to do with magic and the undead.
+25% to Persuasion for converting Sorek and an excellent navigation of diplomatic issues with Bolvar Fordragon.
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A goblin slayer reference?
Learning more about shadow magic proved fruitful but next turn throw Wombat a bone and see what a double down on light will do. I want to see what two actions will do.
No more other magic until this is done and other opportunities present itself.
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- Location
- United Kingdom
Not specifically, as I recall it happened in Attack the Block too.
I never watched it.
Was the tower shield a hint of my idea on professionalising the warband?
SneakyWalrus
Is the Water Free?
Well now, I can picture Brann's interest being extremely perked by this explanation of the Orc's past history. Considering the state of his adventures with the Titans and Uldaman's excavation probably having either recently occurred or him being on the way to uncovering it, I have no doubt that an inquisitive mind like his would no doubt slot down this knowledge under 'Further investigate' for the future, especially if he makes the connection between the Titans and their roles in fostering life on other planets.
Hell, it might go a further way to get the Explorers League to not be such destructive dickheads in their exploration of Kalimdor, although that'd be a pretty massive change considering what they've gotten up to previously.
What did they do? Curious expedition like blood magpie giftings going on?
@FractiousDay the warband aside from some specialists (blademasters, stealth shattered hand, troll and shadow magic user) have no ranged troops with throwable weapons and is equipped for melee? The orcs that joined are like warcraft grunts?
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SneakyWalrus
Is the Water Free?
Exterminating a Tauren Tribes in order to claim their land for the underlying Titan Relics, tearing up some pretty spiritually important territory belonging to the Tauren despite warnings from Baine that they'll get murked by the Elementals for doing so, letting loose a bunch of troggs and Golems from Titan ruins along the coast, accidentally digging up a Sithilid hive in the Shimmering Flats, accidentally getting mobbed by a bunch of dinosaurs, etc.
They haven't had a very good success rate in Kalimdor canon-wise.
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- United Kingdom
Pretty ordinary 18/19th century type stuff, lots of digging and blasting that the Tauren in particular didn't like.
And onyxia. She is after all a sort of cousin to Grond
Orcs are big on hunting, so there'll be a few of them with bows or javelins, but no, it won't be a matter of routine. The Aspirants have swords but the rest have axe and shield, indeed like grunts.
Curious expedition things then. How "fun".
They must be the kind of people that nicks idols from a ominous temple despite the warning signs of bad effects by removing this treasure from the temple.
The feeling is mutual.
Oh yeah the earth element right?
That sounds both good and bad. Grok gets the attention of a dragon but it's the attention of Deathwing's children.
Thanks. I'm not really sure about what to exactly requisition to upgrade the warband with.
You said the aspirants have swords so the swords issue is handwaved away.
Armor well.... the battles must have made the warband more favorable to get some armor. Whether it's the cheaper one or the more expensive one is hard to say.
Ranged weapons... well.... I'm not sure. There's only a few who use them.
There's a lot of fun things to try out by combining the strength of an orc with human military ideas.
They do need at least a healer to reduce casualties.
Following that is a military advisor to straighten out what the warband could do with their current setup.
Some support units would help. Allied ranged troops or mages who can also teach the shadow magic orc.
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SneakyWalrus
Is the Water Free?
I mean, there is a Horde Quest that explicitly references Dwarf Fortress in burning down the entirety of that fortress, so it's entirely fitting.
- Location
- United States of America
Our boy Grokmash really coming into his own here. Lots of great leadership, butt-kicking, great diplomacy, and past decisions following us with beneficial results. It's nice to see the past ~4 updates worth of updates start to pay off in Grok's personal self-development/will/confidence, the respect of his peers, and the burgeoning loyalty of his followers. When he shook off the banshee and especially when he declared his people as the breakers was an awesome statement of self.
Really stinks about those casualties though. We might need to reconsider our doctrine and/or recruit more support troops vis healers, archers, etc. otherwise all the members of our clan-in-exile might just continue to die off.
I had a good chuckle when he completely dismissed random sexy lady with a "she's a healthy human I guess. Not sure what all the fuss is about". Our orcy lad certainly isn't Thrall xD I also appreciated the "you guys are too swole to go with me on my special underground mission" moment.
Really stinks about those casualties though. We might need to reconsider our doctrine and/or recruit more support troops vis healers, archers, etc. otherwise all the members of our clan-in-exile might just continue to die off.
I had a good chuckle when he completely dismissed random sexy lady with a "she's a healthy human I guess. Not sure what all the fuss is about". Our orcy lad certainly isn't Thrall xD I also appreciated the "you guys are too swole to go with me on my special underground mission" moment.
I think it's ok to take time off to retrain and get more meat bodies to fill the gaps.
Are you talking about Onyxia?
Which one was that? I forgot.
- Location
- Italy
I think there's a "with" missing here
Also it was a long update but I don't think any part of it was redundant, it's just that a lot of concepts,places and characters needed to be introduced, sure you could make it shorter by assuming we are familiar with the setting to cut down on some details but I think the narrative would suffer for it (also it'd be easier for confusion to arise) and IMHO the trade-off wouldn't be worth it.
- Location
- United Kingdom
kind of, not specifically. It's a broad comment on the limitations of the band. Indeed, while orcs are still strong they have limitations which you're slowly seeing
y'all have got blazegrease, that's would do. Also not sure off I gave you a 'group flame buff' ability at dreadmist or it wasn't just poetic language, I'll have to check
i like the idea her social buff magic is just calibrated to humans and therefore just slides off from, the conversation is more intimate with bolvar, he gets his first name in the narration whereas ony stays as 'Prestor'
yes, but still difficult to write, eg I wanted to bring in the issue of how the scourge work and the tactics required, but there's not really a way of doing that without just exposition. I also dislike 'and Bob was there too' stuff, but yea glad it came across well
Had a bit of a thought, part of the problem our clan is having is that we're split between an old purpose that's fallen out of favor, and a new purpose that the warchief doesn't much care for, also we're hitting the limits of how specialized a clan our size can be with our current infrastructure, or becoming reliant on allied clans for essentials, and don't have the political and social security to allow ourselves that.
Ok, we want to reinvigorate the blade master tradition, but tossing aside our warlocks and shadow users and such would be a major dick move, and gut a lot of our magical support.
What if we use that to our advantage? Basically reinvent the clan as the horde's premier anti-fuckery force. Use out knowledge of 'dark' magics or whatever as well as a variety of traditions from all over and basically take up a role somewhere between that of the demon hunters and the spell breakers. The blade masters expand their tradition to include other magics such as the light, either as a possible alternative for some of the shaman training or as a supplement to break into the higher ranks, and the warlocks and shadow users act as trainers/researchers as well as offering their extant magical support role, but they fold in some shaman and light users to the mix to not only balance out the corruption, but also to help us maintain traditions that are fading but still have value like the pyremasters, seems like those are important with all these undead murking about.
Basically try to adapt what we want and need to preserve so it works in our current context.
Ok, we want to reinvigorate the blade master tradition, but tossing aside our warlocks and shadow users and such would be a major dick move, and gut a lot of our magical support.
What if we use that to our advantage? Basically reinvent the clan as the horde's premier anti-fuckery force. Use out knowledge of 'dark' magics or whatever as well as a variety of traditions from all over and basically take up a role somewhere between that of the demon hunters and the spell breakers. The blade masters expand their tradition to include other magics such as the light, either as a possible alternative for some of the shaman training or as a supplement to break into the higher ranks, and the warlocks and shadow users act as trainers/researchers as well as offering their extant magical support role, but they fold in some shaman and light users to the mix to not only balance out the corruption, but also to help us maintain traditions that are fading but still have value like the pyremasters, seems like those are important with all these undead murking about.
Basically try to adapt what we want and need to preserve so it works in our current context.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Wincing once more at the casualties.
Hopefully our dudes are getting more veteran as this goes on, but we're going to need to replenish our casulties or find a way of ameliorating them soon. Hopefully we can get a healer...
Brann is an unexpected, but pleasant face to see. I'd be quite interested to see if he and Vok'fon could rekindle their "friendship" I suppose. I dunno it seems like a strange friendship, but Brann's a good man. Maybe if Brann can get time off the two can go do Troll investigations together? And I'd certainly like to get in good with Brann as far as defending Azeroth from greater scope threats are concerned he's one of the best.
Also had a major oh shit moment relating to Onyxia, as I imagine fel blasting a duke of the earth, while Death Wing is currently in the elemental plain of earth and is absolutely a hostile entity is not a good thing.
Still good convo with Fordragon.
Need to add crunches to next training round.
We're meant to be the people deployed to deal with such fuckery, it was just ****ed from the start by the fact 90-99% of the clan are still burning legion supporters.
If we can fix that we shall see.
Hopefully our dudes are getting more veteran as this goes on, but we're going to need to replenish our casulties or find a way of ameliorating them soon. Hopefully we can get a healer...
Brann is an unexpected, but pleasant face to see. I'd be quite interested to see if he and Vok'fon could rekindle their "friendship" I suppose. I dunno it seems like a strange friendship, but Brann's a good man. Maybe if Brann can get time off the two can go do Troll investigations together? And I'd certainly like to get in good with Brann as far as defending Azeroth from greater scope threats are concerned he's one of the best.
Also had a major oh shit moment relating to Onyxia, as I imagine fel blasting a duke of the earth, while Death Wing is currently in the elemental plain of earth and is absolutely a hostile entity is not a good thing.
Still good convo with Fordragon.
Grumbles.
Need to add crunches to next training round.
As I understand it that is what the burning blade is trying to do now, hence things like daemon hunting being amongst our skills.
We're meant to be the people deployed to deal with such fuckery, it was just ****ed from the start by the fact 90-99% of the clan are still burning legion supporters.
If we can fix that we shall see.
What about other elements?
Ok, then let's get into some details as to how.
1. Blade masters: Pushing this will continue to be useful, but if we can re-establish and expand our shaman powers while incorporating some light or fell magic we might be able to take it up a notch, not to mention either would be good for comping for our physical disadvantage. Bit of a gamble since it means splitting our training even further though.
2. Pyremasters: Their services seem to be morale building for the horde, but they're still petering out. Did we ever figure out the exact issues? We might be able to ignite interest if it turns out they help people not get necromancy'd by unauthorized magic users, and it'd be a native light/light adjacent using tradition to build from.
3. Getting our warlocks and such to play nice with the shamans and light users and the reverse. Honestly not sure how, probably need to talk to them all a bit more before we can start getting that sorted out. Hopefully we can figure out an approach that lets the clan be general purpose mage breakers.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Planning for next turn a bit.
1. Number 1 priority we need to do something about the casulties we're taking, this is unsustainable and only going to get worse as we advance into scourge territory. A requisition action might help there, but we'll see. A healer of the light might be a good move, but anyone got suggestions? Good armour is likely a non starter, orcs be big thick lads. Javelins were suggested earlier.
2. Number 2 combined training, we need to work with the scarlets so lets see if we can do some combined arms so miscommunications and prejudice don't cause **** ups.
3. Number 3 Crunches we need em otherwise we continue stalling in yet another area.
4. Number 4. Meditation, we've just seen the light's good and bad side, as well as a bunch of other things so we need to get that in our heads.
5. Number 5. Light keep on going, at this point I feel obligated a bit cause Tirion's announced he's training us on an international level, which is freaking me out.
6. Number 6. I imagine we advance into the plague lands with what feels like the Crusade's push.
7. Number 7. Not sure still want to do the lights, but social is also important. If we get an action for training the aspirants that would also be good.
1. Number 1 priority we need to do something about the casulties we're taking, this is unsustainable and only going to get worse as we advance into scourge territory. A requisition action might help there, but we'll see. A healer of the light might be a good move, but anyone got suggestions? Good armour is likely a non starter, orcs be big thick lads. Javelins were suggested earlier.
2. Number 2 combined training, we need to work with the scarlets so lets see if we can do some combined arms so miscommunications and prejudice don't cause **** ups.
3. Number 3 Crunches we need em otherwise we continue stalling in yet another area.
4. Number 4. Meditation, we've just seen the light's good and bad side, as well as a bunch of other things so we need to get that in our heads.
5. Number 5. Light keep on going, at this point I feel obligated a bit cause Tirion's announced he's training us on an international level, which is freaking me out.
6. Number 6. I imagine we advance into the plague lands with what feels like the Crusade's push.
7. Number 7. Not sure still want to do the lights, but social is also important. If we get an action for training the aspirants that would also be good.
Likely not in the burning blade's wheelhouse.