Turn 3 Results
Alright listen here you guys. This shit was 16 pages and 7,912 words. LOOK AT HOW i SUFFER FOR YOU
Military: Garrosh is largely listless these days but he's still an orc first and foremost. Even at his most mopey he is one of your better fighters. In this new world, you'll take what you can get. (Choose 1, Scouting South Locked In):
Defending the Skulls: The Laughing Skulls are the closest orcs you've got to the Boulderfists. They are also generally right next to the pathway into the risen Zangar Sea to the north. If anyone comes down that path and isn't friendly, Kaz's clan will be right in their path. Build a few new towers, some new walls, some better defenses for your new followers so that they don't fight undefended. Cost: 1000. Time: 1 Year. Reward: Laughing Skull village gains defenses against potential foes.
- You aren't about to let your new companions and subordinates go undefended. You have a responsibility to protect them as best you are able, especially since you sort of became the Laughing Skull Chieftain by killing Mogor. Technically, at least. You should speak to Kaz about that sometime. For now, however, you decide to show them just how dedicated you are to proving yourself a worthy leader and build some defenses for their village. Dranosh'ar suddenly gains walls, with walkways and such made out of hardened rock and bone, and even a few watch towers to boot. Even if the innards of the village aren't so great, they are certainly much better defended. A good thing too, as later on in the year Kaz reports to you covered in blood that it seems the Boulderfists have finally gotten it into their heads to smash things other than themselves. They sent a small raiding party down from their little mountain hold, only to run directly into your freshly built defenses. Though Kaz helped you execute Mogor, she never did get that one on one battle with him she desired. It seems that she has gotten to relieve her anger over that out on the Boulderfists by liberally cutting apart their little raid. One the one hand, it's a good thing you built those defenses as otherwise you surely would have lost orcs. On the other hand, the Boulderfist have finally decided that being aggressive is the way to go. Reward: Laughing Skull village gains defenses against potential foes.
Scouting South: The south of Nagrand is expansive, considering that you are part of the north. It encapsulates a lot of land that you know little about. Jorin did lead his clan away from far south east, but that was a year ago, so who knows what has changed since? It will take longer for your scouts to fully complete this job, but the information should and will most certainly be worth it. Time: 2 Years. Reward: Southern Nagrand surveyed for stuff. Will Complete This Year.
- The survey of Nagrand is complete. With the north covered, only the south remained unknown to you. No longer. First, the good news. There is a prime location for a new settlement. Sunspring Village is far to the west, generally, but with a few more days of travel than it would take to travel to Dranosh'ar you can make it. Much closer is a strange convolution of cliffs and bluffs overlooking several springs which well up and form a small lake of their own. Much of this water later trickles to Sunspring Lake itself. The center of the plateau is completely flat and unmarked, and is a great location. Easy to defend, hard to attack in large numbers, it looks nice indeed. To the west of Sunspring Village are some nice spreads of land. It is, at this point, that the good news promptly ends.
For as your scouts continued west…they were attacked. Not by Shadow Council, or Horde, or even angry Draenei. But by demons. There are demons in Nagrand, streaming thinly through the west! Alas, you have finally come under assault by the legacy of Ner'zhul! He opened up several Dimensional Gates when he attempted to perform whatever idiocy he desired, and in the process destroyed Draenor. However, despite his disappearance and fervently hoped for death…the Gates have remained open! Even now demons pour through the gates, and though they are carving out a small base in the western mountains and ridges which are right on the edge of tipping into the Twisting Nether, soon enough their strength will be marshalled enough to march. If you hadn't sent out your scouts…it is likely your only sign of the demons presence would be when they burned down Sunspring Village and advanced east. Your scouts report hearing the demons baying 'For The Master' as they marched east before being ambushed. You need to take care of this immediately. How, precisely, you are going to be able to do so…you have no idea. Then things get worse. You now know where the Shadow Council has been sending those infiltraitors from. As of yet they have not managed to get into Oshu'gun but the pressure has been increasing. Thankfully you now know of their base.
The Kil'Sorrow Clan has set up a fortress. These orcs, compiled of demon worshippers likely from plenty of other clans, have actually managed to put up stone and mortar with their dark fel magics. Already the ground beneath them has transformed from the usual blessed green grasses of Nagrand has become tainted. Watch Towers make up the connectors of walls created of rock and metal, and disturbing purple banners mark their entire base.
To the east of them is something that does worry you. Hallvalor, the home of the Burning Blade, is now simply ruins. However, your scouts tell you that it had been inhabited very recently. Which, unfortunately, can only mean that Kargath has been there. The thought of the supreme power and skill of the Burning Blade joining with the still demonically fueled Kargath…is not a welcoming one. Thankfully they seem to have disappeared entirely. None remain in there currently, but perhaps you could refurbish the place into a home for other orcs. It shouldn't be that hard, and it would be a good way to keep an eye on any foes coming from the east. You have yet to discover much beyond your eastern borders besides the fact that miraculously life does endure on this flying chunk of world the orcs now inhabit. There is a thick forest to the east, one that your people did not yet dare try to penetrate into.
Finally, there is not quite…good news. Well, it isn't bad either. Rather, it is largely just very uncomfortable. It seems that of the three major races inhabiting Draenor, what Nagrand has become is now confirmed to possess a settlement of each. There is Garadar, of course, for the orcs. The Boulderfist ogres have their hills to the far northwest. Now…there is…a settlement of Draenei.
Ancestors grant you mercy.
Greatmother Geyah told you of its name. It's actually probably the oldest town in Nagrand, older than Garadar at least. And really the hills were there before the ogres anyhow and they haven't done much to change them. The name of the Draenei city is Telaar. Now, it was never that big, as draenei cities go, but it was generally around the size of Garadar. Without the quadrupling up of housing due to the sick conditions of the populace, the draenei inhabiting that place could be anywhere between ten to thirty thousand. Which is great! For you, personally, as every living draenei is another life to spit in the eye of the Horde which tried so hard to exterminate them. Of course, that probably won't help you relation wise with them, as they do not see the difference between the orcs who attempted genocide and the orcs who were not a part of it at all whatsoever.
What's strange is that a very small number of the draenei looked…changed. Perhaps mutated is the better word. These draenei lived on the edges of Telaar, and were in fact the first ones your scouts saw. They immediately ran back to ring the bells of the small city, and your scouts were forced to retreat before the furious guards. Just as the wildlife seems to have tried slightly, so too have the draenei. Is nothing safe from the corruption of demons and the destruction of your world?
With that, the report is concluded. Demons in the far west trying their best to go east for some unknown reason, Shadow Council in the south east, and…Telaar. Things seem to have suddenly complicated themselves quite rapidly. Reward: Survey Complete. 1 of Ner'zhul's Dimensional Gates is open and spewing demons who are heading east for their 'Master'. Kil'Sorrow have fully set up a base in the south. Draenei live, which is good! But they really hate you! Which is…really quite understandable. Hmm. Faction Revealed to be (Draenei) Telaar – Extremely Hostile
Diplomacy: If there's anything that Greatmother Geyah has taught you, is that not all things can be conquered by a warriors strength. It was with words that the first shamans parlayed with the Furies, the sentient elementals of Draenor. It will be with words that you accomplish more than just a good axe. (Choose 1):
Green and Brown: The Mag'har heavily distrust the greenskin orcs. But now that the Laughing Skulls have sworn themselves to you, you cannot afford for any conflict between the two groups. You lead both, but what you need both sides to realize is that you aren't leading two groups of orcs, you're leading one. There is a stigma for the greenskins by the brown, and you will not allow this. The corruption is spread by the power of demons, it is not contagious. You are all orcs in the end! The only monstrous corrupted are the monstrous by their own continuing actions, like Kargath! Time: 2 Years. Reward: No conflict between green and brown orcs. Chance of Success: 75%. Required: 25. Rolled: 39.
- Though the Laughing Skulls have mainly remained in Dranosh'ar, and yes it is still weird to have a village named after you, some have trailed into Garadar for conversation, speaking with the shamans for spiritual advice, and the other sundry reasons that people want to be around other people. Tensions…are…high. Few in Garadar have forgotten what Ner'zhul and Gul'dan did, and what the rest of the Horde did as well. But you can't afford to have division. Not after all the thinking you've done on the subject. The skin color doesn't matter, it is only a marking and a reminder of the treachery of the warlocks and demons, and one that your people as a people will have to work past together. The demons have no hold over the Laughing Skulls, despite their skin, and they don't deserve to be treated as if they do. This is how you find yourself making many impassioned speeches on the subject to the elders of all the clans making up the Mag'har. You also speak to the youth, telling stories of Kaz and the Laughing Skulls, of how evil Gul'dan was at forcing them into it, and how they persevered underneath those shackles until they achieved freedom. At least that's the perspective you need the Mag'har to have. You make progress this year. Will Complete Next Year.
Blackrock Loyalty: The Blackrock follow you…because you are technically a Blackrock because of your family lines. Even if you currently despise those family lines with a passion. But you need them to be loyal to Dranosh Saurfang, not Dranosh the Blackrock. They need to know and trust that you will lead them well. On one hand, you hate Blackhand, Rend, Maim, and a lot of the other prominent Blackrocks. On the other, sort of the point of becoming a Chieftain is pushing and being better than the previous Chieftains. Well, you aren't a mass murdering monster, so you're doing a pretty good job on that front, but they need to know you will be better for the Blackrock as well. Time: 2 Years. Reward: Blackrock grow actually loyal to Dranosh rather than to the ties of the Blackrock. Chance for Success: 100%. Will Complete This Turn.
- With your stunning defeat of Mogor, and the tales of the battle spreading through the streets of Sunspring Village and Garadar, your personal worth has jumped up leaps and bounds. You brought much honor to yourself for your actions, your words, and how you treated the Laughing Skulls. For gaining the personal oaths of loyalty, which are on their own already far more potent than a simple clan-wide oath of loyalty, of every single Laughing Skull, there are few who could reasonably stand up and disparage your abilities as a warrior or a leader. The Blackrocks tell you so, personally, and you do believe them. They wouldn't risk lying to you. Some try to poke at the Saurfang line being part of the Blackrock, but you shut that down quickly. You fought without the traditional weapon of the Saurfang, and without their personal battle cries. You fought with Kaz's blade, and as the Warchief of the Mag'har, not as a Saurfang of the Blackrock. It works, and works well. The Blackrock are loyal to Dranosh now, and will follow you into hell. Reward: Blackrocks fully loyal to Dranosh now, and not simply because of his Blackrock family ties.
Stewardship: Garadar simply cannot hold all of these people. Your supplies strain already, and as more and more orcs grow healthy once more the amount of food and housing required will far eclipse what the small city can hold. This must be attended to, and quickly. (Choose 2):
Garadar and Sunspring Boar Farms: Ah, boar meat. Delicious indeed, and a relatively staple food source for your people. Jorin believes that he and some of his extra fearless Bleeding Hollow could confront the horrendously vicious and brutish beasts and construct some holding pens for them. The boars don't have to like it, but so long as they can provide the bones, hides, and meat for your peoples usage then you have absolutely no problem with it. Cost: 500. Time: 1 Year. Reward: Small Boar Farms set up in Garadar and Sunspring, +1000 Farming Income per turn. Garadar less in danger of straining supplies.
- You need to set up some food production immediately. You've suddenly gained ten thousand orcs who are not sick with the red pox. They require food as quickly as possible and after suffering under Mogor for so long you are more than a little sympathetic to their plight. Posts are hammered into the ground while numerous boars are rounded up and broken for breeding and food. Meat soon fills many more bellies than had been fed before. Everyone is appreciative for some good food. Reward: Small Boar Farms set up in Garadar and Sunspring, +1000 Farming Income per turn. Garadar less in danger of straining supplies.
Feeding the Skulls: The Laughing Skulls are in dire need of food, and you have the ability to provide. As such, you will do so. Their village has sort of fallen apart, but that can be rebuilt. However, more important than that is food. Set up Talbuk and Boar farms for the Laughing Skull Village, which Kaz has rather embarrassingly renamed Dranosh'ar. She renamed her village after you. Jorin just sort of laughed, but he still won't tell you why. Regardless, with some set up farms they will be well fed this year if all goes well. Cost: 1000. Time: 1 Year. Reward: +1000 Farming Income, Food burden reduced. Laughing Skulls fed.
- You do not stop your efforts at providing food to just Garadar and Sunspring. You go ahead and set up talbuk and boar farms at Dranosh'ar. You're…relatively sure that there aren't much more potent oaths to be made after personal ones, but if there were Kaz tells you that the Laughing Skulls would. Glorious food fills the stomachs of the Laughing Skulls, while your hunting parties (on their own initiative) provide them with furs for clothing and homes. Your food burden has been reduced extensively by the many farms you build this day, and the Laughing Skulls are quite appreciative. Honestly, according to Jorin, Greatmother Geyah, and Kaz, they are probably the most loyal Clan in the Mag'har. More so even then the Blackrock. Reward: +1000 Farming Income, Food burden reduced. Laughing Skulls fed.
Learning: Not Unlocked Yet
Piety: The shamans despair. The orcs despair. The spirits of your ancestors do not speak. The Furies rage and roar with enough fury to crack the sinuses of any who attempt to speak with them. Their world has been torn from them, it is no wonder that the Furies are so, well, furious. Though you have so very many concerns, you have ordered that the shamans try and restore the connection that the bastard Gul'dan cut so gleefully in the now ravaged Shadowmoon Valley. Perhaps, in another time, you would be too busy with other concerns to deal with it, but your father left scrolls, and you have spoken to Greatmother Geyah a lot. Both have told you the same things. The orcs simply cannot survive as they should without the guidance of the ancestors, the spirits, and the help of the elements. [Every Turn the Shamans of the Mag'har will attempt to reconnect with the elements, this is what the upkeep is paying for. Current Chances at 65%. Will go up 10% in chance every unsuccessful turn]
Required: 35. Rolled: 100
- Bottom of Post
Intrigue: You aren't really sure if all the skulking about of the past is something you should have, but Jorin remains adamant that you need to keep an eye on such things. He seems to have appointed himself to this position. (Choose 1):
What Barrier: You've captured enough Shadow Council orcs and read enough messages. This barrier thing is starting to piss you off. You need to know what it is and where it is. All you know is that it is generally around Oshu'gun, but you'd really like to find it as soon as possible. With the sudden abundance of warriors you have this will be a far easier task than before. Time: 1 Year. Reward: Information on Oshu'gun 'Barrier'.
- If you could kill Gul'dan yourself a thousand times, it would be ten million times to few! With the extra bodies provided by the Laughing Skulls, you located the truth of the matter in no time. Fel. Runes. FEL MAGICS! Around Oshu'gun! Your most holy site is covered in a vast matrix of fel magic which is…doing something…something bad! There is no good when it comes to fel magic, but your complete dearth of knowledge in that realm has completely left you clueless. Small lode stones inscribed with fel runes have been placed for miles and miles around, a feat that must have taken beings of extreme power and cunning to put into place without anyone noticing i.e. demons and Gul'dan. You may not have any fel magic knowledge but you sure as hell can tell when something is extremely dangerous and powerful. They are also unmovable, for the moment, some magic anchoring to their spots.? Reward: Gul'dan put a big old fel magic barrier around Oshu'gun proper.
Personal Actions: You used to have free time. Now you are responsible for tens of thousands of people's lives. It is an amazingly heavy burden, but your back and legs are pretty strong and you aren't about to give up. But you can still make some time for yourself. (Choose 2):
Battling Grief – Acceptance: You've had numerous revelations recently about the orcish condition. About orcish culture. The concept of weakness and strength, and plenty of other things besides. But a weight remains on your heart and soul still! But you can't just let it fester within you forever. You must set aside some time to truly center yourself, to realize who and what you are…Time: 1 Year. Reward: Acceptance. Less stressed. Feel better. More self-control. Once you've helped yourself, only then can you help others.
- It doesn't matter.
You finally realize this, after a short spar with Kaz and Garrosh. It doesn't matter, because both of them are extremely skilled in combat, that so honored and integral part of orcish culture. The skin color doesn't matter. What you look like doesn't matter. It is your deeds, and your soul, which define who you are as an individual. Kargath willingly drank the blood of demons, and became a slaughterer of innocents. Before the Chieftains even willingly corrupted themselves through the demons blood, they corrupted their souls with their actions.
Blackhand had saved the clan, but when prompted he gladly began assaults against the innocent draenei. The other chieftains soon followed. Combat was and is meant to be a matter of honor, of personal control, and an exercise in one's own skill and strength. When did the honored and hallowed hunts for clefthoof and using all the parts and respecting the spirits turn into gleeful slaughter? Into killing children and elders? Attacking the defenseless and innocent is disgusting.
It doesn't prove your strength or skill. The only thing that such actions prove is that whoever perpetrates it cannot even call themselves a warrior. No warriors do such things. Only monsters do those things.
Orcs are not monsters.
You're ways are perhaps a bit primitive compared to the stories of the crystal homes and amazing technologies of the draenei. You could even accept being called savage. But you are not monsters. Orcs are many things. Shamans, hunters, warriors, farmers, weavers, crafters, artists, lovers, and a thousand other things…but you are not monsters.
Kaz…is not a monster. She willfully admits to participating in the Second War, of cutting through what can vaguely be understood as the Lorderon Clan and Kul Tiras Clan in over a dozen different battles. But she only ever fought their metal plated warriors, their four legged beast riders. Once, she tells you, she was given the opportunity to participate in the complete and utter destruction of a human village in some far off place called Hillsbrad. She refused, for though she was tainted green with exposure to warlock energies, her bloodlust did not dominate her because she fought against it at all times in defiance of Mogor.
Varok Saurfang is a monster. If there is anything worthy of the Saurfang name left in that green skinned carcass of a child killer, then surely that orc is still alive. This is not to his credit, for it means that his actions have found no consequences worth having. The Horde…is full of monsters. Perhaps, before he drank of Pit Lords blood and followed Blackhand across the Dark Portal, the one known as your father was truly the warrior his scrolls purport him to be. All those long speeches and stories written with a steady hand. One line, truly, still sticks out at you.
Honor. No matter how dire the battle…never forsake it.
But he did. He forsook it and drank the blood of demons, and from the tales of the Horde that Kaz speaks of so darkly, honor fled from the bodies of the orcs essentially at the exact moment that tainted blood slipped down their gullets.
Orcs begin weapon training at six, and are capable of hunting and full scale combat at twelve. Kaz entered the Second War through its latter half, and so saw the steady collapse of the Horde. You haven't spoken to her particularly much on the subject, she seems haunted by the things she's seen even if she can thankfully say that she did not participate in the darker dealings. She was too focused on sharpening her own skills on worthy foes.
She swears she saw him, once. Second in command of Doomhammer, who you actually knew about. He was pretty much as famous as Blackhand. It was actually when Doomhammer fell, that she saw him. Your father, cutting his way through the ranks of human soldiers while a human Paladin summoned some sort of power to burn away the dark that is the Horde. Hah, good on the human.
You may never forgive the Horde for their transgressions, but you need not let them weigh down upon you forever. Their chains are not your chains. Their crimes are not your crimes. You can feel as responsible as you want, but the truth of the matter is that you were a babe when your father finally crossed the Portal for the last time and left you behind at Garadar. You could do nothing, and so you can stand tall and free from them.
A weight lifts from your heart, and your soul. Because for all the monstrousness of the Horde…the Mag'har aren't them. The Horde was slammed together from anger and rage, sadism and fury, all swirled together into a single tainted mix with the aid of demon blood and warlocks. It was a moving mass of horrible power and death…and you had and will never have any part in that.
You are Dranosh Saurfang, and you fight for the Mag'har. Though the word itself means uncorrupted, you believe that a secondary meaning can be made.
The Free. Kaz. Garrosh. Greatmother Geyah. Jorin. You. And others. The demons shall never again have a hold on your hearts, on your minds, on your souls.
You are free…because you were never chained down to begin with. And those that are? You will liberate them as well. This does not mean you cannot feel responsible for the actions the Horde has taken, and if you are honest with yourself you want to make amends with those the orcs have harmed. And you will.
But for now, you will rest, and dream of the better tomorrows that are on the way.
Reward: Acceptance. Less stressed. Feel better. More self-control. Once you've helped yourself, only then can you help others.
Jorin's Request: Jorin has requested to muddle through the Laughing Skull village in an effort to discover whether or not Mogor left behind any notes or information on his arcane knowledge. After you finished laughing, he thumped you on the head. If there's one thing that Gul'dan did right, and by the ancestors that makes your spine chill to say, its giving them ogre mages the ability to accurate write about what knowledge they gained for recording. Who knows, maybe a small spark of these 'arcane' abilities can be manifested in the Mag'har? You could use some power that isn't related to the horrific corruption of demons. Reward: Mogors notes on Arcane…stuff.
- Mogor, by nature of his giant hands, understandably wrote his notes on the arcane very big. It's disturbing however to see that the transformation that Gul'dan enacted on so many ogres did in fact have some concrete results. Though he may have spoken like a complete and utter brute, for some reason when it comes to the arcane Mogor's words read like a relatively accomplished scholar with an amazing penchant for simplifying and easily explaining concepts and requirements. It's an astonishing boon really, to have so many tomes of knowledge. Even better, Mogor, the thieving fat fellow, had apparently had his agents steal many things over the years of war or had at least bargained for them. A large pile of books fit enough to provide much reading material for a being with two heads was discovered, and many of them were from beyond the Dark Portal! Unfortunately Mogor also slept on this pile, and the concept of taking care of his books never seemed to enter his mind. As such, the vast majority of the pile is useless, save for the ogre mage's most prized notes and a few valuable primers on the language of the 'humans' who apparently even have a giant city populated almost solely by masters of the arcane called 'Da-la-rn'. Your prizes are thus…are quite explanatory. Jorin believes that with some intensive and dedicated study that you could have the beginnings of the first orc 'mages' in just a few years! Reward: Mogor's notes on Arcane…stuff, with a heavy tilt towards Frost Magic. Also, some primers on 'human' languages. What kind of people calls their language 'Common'?
For a long time, years even, the ancestors and the elements had refused to appear before shamans. Of course, now all knew why. At least they did in his clan. There was little time or interest for secrets for those who fought to live and lived to die. At least that was how it was now. No doubt the internal struggles and politics of the warlocks had killed plenty of orcs besides those who fell in battle against their purported enemies.
The demonically fueled and induced slaughter of the draenei had been what had turned the faces of the ancestors away in shame. What turned the Furies relatively symbiotic relationship with the orcs into disgusted abandonment. The honor of the orcs had been drained away in a tide of unwanted, unneeded, and unjustified tide of blood. The respect and interest of the elements had been washed away as well.
As the small single seat boat drifted closer and closer to the throne, he contemplated what had become of everything. Mostly, it was depressing, but if Dranosh had anything to say about it the hearts of the people would rise once more. Which was nice, but the current issue of speaking to the Furies was slow going. All the former shamans available left to the Mag'har had been completely unsuccessful including Greatmother Geyah. She was the spiritual leader of Garadar, and if they wouldn't talk to her…
Well, at least they'd only given her an enormous nose bleed and a terrible headache from their wails of pain and fury. Others were still catatonic. It was understandable, after all, considering the destruction of Draenor. More and more orcs were realizing every year that they could not reasonably call this flying chunk of rock that they lived on by the same name of their old world, but he had realized it early. All you have to do is gaze over the edge and down into the Abyss to realize that you can't anymore. A lot of orcs had done that and had sort of gone a bit strange in the head, whimpering and muttering to themselves, but not him. He couldn't find it in himself to be afraid anymore.
But it had been years since the apocalypse, and after learning of the desecration of Oshu'gun, the battle against Mogor, and the general sorry state of the world, a single conclusion had been reached in his mind. A conclusion that restated itself verbally as the small boat knocked against the shore.
"Enough. Is. Enough."
The Throne of Elements was not created by simple mortal hands. Not alone. The Furies themselves had assisted in the construction of this place. Bits and pieces of rock from across Draenor had been crafted and melded into its stone pillars. So, in turn, all of Draenor could be said to be spoken to at once. At a single point during every year all the cardinal winds redirected subtly to caress each of the pillars individually. At another point the stones would grow so very hot and burning with an energy unseen elsewhere in the world.
The moment that his bare brown foot touched those stones, his body and mind was assailed by a cacophony of screaming. It would be enough to scare the wits out of most, and cripple others with plenty other pain besides. Most other shamans, beseechers, shamans in training, and everyone else who had tried collapsed at this point.
Jorin Deadeye was not most. He took another step.
Through the screaming in pain…came the chorus of rage. The thin shell of pain had faded away under the sheer hatred and anger which burned and roared and drowned and stomped. As a warrior born and trained, the Mag'har had long ago learned of the interesting truth that under enough anger pain was meaningless and arbitrary. Rage was, for some of the most furious of fighters, one hell of an anesthetic.
Evidenced by one Dranosh Saurfang killing an ogre mage while his rib cage was quite literally collapsing inside of him.
He took another step.
Behind the pain, and behind the rage, came the grief. An ocean of sadness, a storm of sobbing, a firestorm of guttering flames, an earthquake of trembling. So many were dead. Gone. Forever. Torn from hand and hand and womb from womb. Sure there was pain, and there was anger, but a thin fingernail of the wondrous and harmonious body that had been once called Draenor by those who had walked it was all that remained, and so the chorus of life had been shattered.
Jorin continued to walk, as the world itself did its best to overwhelm him. But his mind did not crumble. His body did not quake. His soul was inviolable for his will was cast of more than iron, of more than steel, and of more than adamantite. There did not exist a metal or alloy in the universe to match the strength of his will, and there never would be.
So it was that the son of Kilrogg Deadeye found himself directly at the center of the Throne. Though any other, even the vaunted young Saurfang, would have found themselves thrown back into the water or collapsed, the eldest descendant of a Chieftain amongst the Mag'har put his plan in motion.
He lay down in the center, one leg propped up slightly, and popped open a book on arcane lore that had been stolen by what was called an 'Archmage' of Dalaran. It had been torn from the dead humans hands in the final battle of Blackrock Spire, a final casualty before the Horde fully began its retreat towards the Swamp of Sorrows. Then he casually pulled out a small flask of alcohol, and took a small swig, before placing it next to the ground.
It is one thing, to go to the Throne of Elements and desperately try to speak to the spirits once more. To beg, to grovel, to plead, and to sorrowfully depart as the Furies remain unyielding in their nearly insane fury, pain, and grief. It is entirely another to arrive and go farther past any others who had tried, and not try to speak to them at all. Compounded, of course, on the fact that Jorin was blatantly reading a book of knowledge on a different dimension of power. A different dimension of power, that, for an instant, could appear similar to a warlocks power to the uninitiated.
A bolt of flame was a bolt of flame, though the colors and prices might be different.
It was a level of incredible audacity that in the history of the Furies could be counted as having been matched less than a half dozen times. The complete and stark disrespect in their place of communion and power was so mighty, so powerful, so jaw-breakingly unbelievable that the literal constant tremors and rages of the Furies was halted in that single instant.
Jorin snapped the book shut, even as he felt the world itself coming to bear down on him. Just as calmly as he had begun, he took another small sip of the alcohol which burned its way down his throat, and stood. The book was securely placed back into the small bag at his side, while the Mag'har planted his feet firmly and crossed his arms beneath his back.
The world screamed in rage.
For the first time in over a decade, since the genocide of the draenei and the introduction of fel magics into the populace of the orcs, a Fury manifested at the Throne of Elements. Many orcs had, admittedly, turned to warlocks for guidance and training when the Elements had so refused the call of the shamans. It was an intrinsic part of their life and culture! The blessings and supposed ancestral readings had simply…switched power sources.
How easy it was to justify things.
Jorin had a theory, actually. He believed that some crimes were so incredible, so inorcish, so terribly wrong that the mortal and civilized mind simply could not comprehend it in totality. How could they have been so easily fooled to slaughter the draenei and crush the ogres and tear at the arrakoa? They couldn't have been, because that would mean that their race was so easily controlled and manipulated. Unconscionable to the 'mighty' orcs. The Elements had turned away, to be certain, but surely it can't be because of these warlocks. It can't be that the ancestors are ashamed of us. No…surely not. Not us. Not 'me', as it went.
How pathetic.
Indeed, as the massive moving hillock of rock and stone that was a Fury of Earth formed in front of him, this was Jorin's only thought. As a barely contained maelstrom coalesced into a sort of body, bracers of unknowable material forming around its wrists, Jorin realized he found those deniers and self-delusionary fools which seemed to make up the majority of the elder orcs pathetic. When a portion of the Throne inlaid stone cracked to let forth a plume of fire and lava which crafted itself into an amalgamation of a body, he contemplated on how he found such bloodthirsty and insane monsters as Kargath Bladefist and yes his own father pathetic. From the very air came droplets of water in a greater stream from sources unseen, and suddenly there was the body of a Fury of Water. Jorin's eyes passed over this momentous occasion with all the interest that a man might possess at seeing an interesting shape in the clouds.
They surrounded him, and yet he knew no fear.
After all, he knew precisely when and how he would die. It would not be here, or for a good while. Time enough.
There were no words, at least none that a mortal could comprehend. For the Furies spoke in the word of the eminent building blocks of creation. In the breath, blood, energy, and bones of the universe. Only one such as they, or one who had been in such communion with them to become nearly entwined completely could understand. A symphony was composed and performed by each 'voice' towards one another and to the one who even now stood with his single eye unblinking.
To Jorin it just sounded like a bunch of wordless yelling. The volume was incredible, that was undeniable. Especially considering how his eardrums had quite viscerally exploded a mere second ago to leave blood trailing down the sides of his head. But they would not speak to him in a language he could comprehend or respond in, and so he decided to take another drink.
A benefit of knowing precisely when and how one dies is knowing whether or not it is drinking which does you in. In Jorin's case, it was not.
Again, the tremendous display of uncaring disrespect forced the attention of the Furies on him. A mounting wave of exasperation and stunned disbelief was performing that supposedly impossible task of conquering their anger and pain. Grief guttered out, pain washed away, and anger turned to dust before that most simple of emotions. One spoke, and Jorin merely pointed at his ears and shrugged before drinking again.
As the Furies conversed above him, Jorin raised his eyebrow in annoyance that the flask seemed to be close to emptying. He was removed from his thoughts however when a splash of water cascaded over his head. A bubble, in fact, of contained water. Many orcs would have panicked at having their head enveloped in an orb of water, at perhaps drowning while standing on dry land. Alas, Jorin Deadeye was not destined to die by drowning. Instead, he stood calmly and accepted the soothing away of his pain and the abrupt healing of his ears by the ministrations of water.
"WHO. ARE. YOU?" came a paradoxically loud voice of bubbles and small streams trickling in the grasslands.
Though dwarfed by the Furies, the orc stood firm. He did, in fact, look directly into the 'eyes' of the Water Fury.
"I am Jorin Deadeye, and I have but a single question. Are you over yourselves yet?"
The outrage of the Furies should have turned his bones to jelly and his blood to ice. As it was, when the large giant of rock and earth leaned in close to roar into his face, Jorin did something later even he would admit was probably a remarkably reckless thing to do. And that was saying something.
He slapped the Earth Furies face.
"I'm not done talking. For over two years now we have been oh so desperately trying to speak to you, to apologize, to beg, to grovel. Well, we don't have time for that anymore. The world is ended, yes. The vast majority of the Furies likely went with it."
Jorin's hands found their way around the Earth Furies face and dragged it forward.
"Well guess what, the same thing happened with everyone else!"
It was a rare thing to see an emotional Jorin Deadeye. There was a reason for that.
"All I hear from anyone is how in pain you are! WELL SO ARE WE! Gul'dan ripped us away from you, and we both let him!"
Letting go of the Earth Fury who began swelling in size, Jorin turned to the Air Fury.
"When the demons stole their way into the dreams and minds of the shamans, where were you!?"
His gaze burned a hole into the Water Fury who shifted imperceptibly backwards.
"Let us say that it was not your fault. The demons were too strong! The Burning Legion was too mighty for you, and you could not speak! Out of fear? Out of weakness?"
The Fire Fury's flickering form threatened to explode as Jorin stomped close enough to feel the heat on his skin.
"Well sorry! But when those who accepted the help of the demons offered their dark powers to those who remained faithful, who could have thought that their offers would be accepted!? And why is that…ah, because even those who had participated not at all in any of the actions of those bloodthirsty monsters should be punished!"
"UNWORTHY!" the Air Fury finally spoke with the crackling of lightning and thunder.
Jorin rounded, a blaze in his single eye that only Greatmother Geyah had seen before.
"YES! So the few must be punished for the crimes of the many! Those who knew not at all of the slow corruption of their race by the forces of demons and madmen must be punished! Of course! Their naiveté is the true crime! Believing that their brothers and sisters would not lie and cheat them, would not damn their souls for power!
He was yelling at this point. He knew he was.
"The sick and the dying who lay in darkness should wake up to a world where all they knew refuses to even speak to them! Yes! Those who sold their soul and everyone else's that they could should continue to receive the benefits and accolades of their fel masters while those who only want to talk and beg and apologize should be snubbed! After all, if they knew what was good for them they would have stopped it, stopped all of it! Right!?"
"YES!" The Furies said in unison.
Jorin spun on his heel and thrust an accusing finger forth.
"That. Is. CLEFTHOOF SHIT!"
He had escalated from yelling to bellowing, and a tiny corner of his mind saw the boats of the Mag'har frantically approaching from across the small lake. Why, he didn't know. To be rescued perhaps from his own angry folly?
"How could we, how can we stand against the demons and the corrupted without you? You who turned away and refused the call of those who would have stood against Ner'zhul and Gul'dan!"
"FOOLISH," the Earth Fury roared back.
"DAMN YOU, YOU SHOULD ALL HAVE FADED AWAY WHEN THE WORLD ENDED THEN!" Jorin screamed back.
The Furies were struck silent.
"All I hear from you is insults and accusations and all of a manner of ridiculous vagueness!" he screamed.
"Is that what you wanted?! To take us to task!? To insult us and tell us how it all went wrong and how it is all our fault!?"
For a wonder, the Furies remained silent. Jorin's chest heaved, and he pointed a finger at the landed boats on the shore, from which dozens of frantic orcs wearing all manner of ritual clothing and slathered with sacred oils came running. The Furies slowly tracked them as they came close, some shouting for Jorin to run while they did…whatever it was they planned to do.
"Then tell us. Let. Us. Speak. Let there be dialogue, so that perhaps one day in the future once you've gotten over yourselves and realized that everyone is hurting and in pain over the world ending…we can try to fix things. Let us sooth the earth, refill the fuels for the fires, and help the winds sing once more. Let us cleanse the rivers and lakes, and preserve them."
Jorin spoke, his voice quiet once more, all the rage and energy filling his frame from before gone as if it had never been. He turned away and walked back towards the lake, ignoring the voices and questions of those who would be shamans and those who had been. As he reached the waters edge, he turned towards the Furies once more who gazed at him silently. Then, with one hand, he withdrew his book of arcane lore. He turned, only slightly, and spoke in a murmur.
Wind carried it to the ears of the Furies and the Furies alone.
"And if you don't want to help us do it, we'll find another way."
Then, with a burst of will and drawing on a well of energy that no orc had ever drawn on before…the water before him froze into a walkway. It was an exhaustive effort to wield the energies of the arcane in such a manner, but the point had to be made.
Jorin Deadeye walked back to Garadar on a walkway of ice formed through the powers of the arcane.
Behind him, the Furies remained, surrounded by dozens of orcs desperate to hear their voices even if the only words spoken were blandishments.
It was a tenuous and dangerously fragile connection, but a connection all the same. From that point forward, it would be up to the shamans to sooth the literally world shaking pains of the elements.
The First Orc Mage had no time for them.
Reward: Furies present at Throne, willing to speak to shamans.
3 AA
Turn 3 Results
Turn 3 Results
Military: Garrosh is largely listless these days but he's still an orc first and foremost. Even at his most mopey he is one of your better fighters. In this new world, you'll take what you can get. (Choose 1, Scouting South Locked In):
Defending the Skulls: The Laughing Skulls are the closest orcs you've got to the Boulderfists. They are also generally right next to the pathway into the risen Zangar Sea to the north. If anyone comes down that path and isn't friendly, Kaz's clan will be right in their path. Build a few new towers, some new walls, some better defenses for your new followers so that they don't fight undefended. Cost: 1000. Time: 1 Year. Reward: Laughing Skull village gains defenses against potential foes.
- You aren't about to let your new companions and subordinates go undefended. You have a responsibility to protect them as best you are able, especially since you sort of became the Laughing Skull Chieftain by killing Mogor. Technically, at least. You should speak to Kaz about that sometime. For now, however, you decide to show them just how dedicated you are to proving yourself a worthy leader and build some defenses for their village. Dranosh'ar suddenly gains walls, with walkways and such made out of hardened rock and bone, and even a few watch towers to boot. Even if the innards of the village aren't so great, they are certainly much better defended. A good thing too, as later on in the year Kaz reports to you covered in blood that it seems the Boulderfists have finally gotten it into their heads to smash things other than themselves. They sent a small raiding party down from their little mountain hold, only to run directly into your freshly built defenses. Though Kaz helped you execute Mogor, she never did get that one on one battle with him she desired. It seems that she has gotten to relieve her anger over that out on the Boulderfists by liberally cutting apart their little raid. One the one hand, it's a good thing you built those defenses as otherwise you surely would have lost orcs. On the other hand, the Boulderfist have finally decided that being aggressive is the way to go. Reward: Laughing Skull village gains defenses against potential foes.
Scouting South: The south of Nagrand is expansive, considering that you are part of the north. It encapsulates a lot of land that you know little about. Jorin did lead his clan away from far south east, but that was a year ago, so who knows what has changed since? It will take longer for your scouts to fully complete this job, but the information should and will most certainly be worth it. Time: 2 Years. Reward: Southern Nagrand surveyed for stuff. Will Complete This Year.
- The survey of Nagrand is complete. With the north covered, only the south remained unknown to you. No longer. First, the good news. There is a prime location for a new settlement. Sunspring Village is far to the west, generally, but with a few more days of travel than it would take to travel to Dranosh'ar you can make it. Much closer is a strange convolution of cliffs and bluffs overlooking several springs which well up and form a small lake of their own. Much of this water later trickles to Sunspring Lake itself. The center of the plateau is completely flat and unmarked, and is a great location. Easy to defend, hard to attack in large numbers, it looks nice indeed. To the west of Sunspring Village are some nice spreads of land. It is, at this point, that the good news promptly ends.
For as your scouts continued west…they were attacked. Not by Shadow Council, or Horde, or even angry Draenei. But by demons. There are demons in Nagrand, streaming thinly through the west! Alas, you have finally come under assault by the legacy of Ner'zhul! He opened up several Dimensional Gates when he attempted to perform whatever idiocy he desired, and in the process destroyed Draenor. However, despite his disappearance and fervently hoped for death…the Gates have remained open! Even now demons pour through the gates, and though they are carving out a small base in the western mountains and ridges which are right on the edge of tipping into the Twisting Nether, soon enough their strength will be marshalled enough to march. If you hadn't sent out your scouts…it is likely your only sign of the demons presence would be when they burned down Sunspring Village and advanced east. Your scouts report hearing the demons baying 'For The Master' as they marched east before being ambushed. You need to take care of this immediately. How, precisely, you are going to be able to do so…you have no idea. Then things get worse. You now know where the Shadow Council has been sending those infiltraitors from. As of yet they have not managed to get into Oshu'gun but the pressure has been increasing. Thankfully you now know of their base.
The Kil'Sorrow Clan has set up a fortress. These orcs, compiled of demon worshippers likely from plenty of other clans, have actually managed to put up stone and mortar with their dark fel magics. Already the ground beneath them has transformed from the usual blessed green grasses of Nagrand has become tainted. Watch Towers make up the connectors of walls created of rock and metal, and disturbing purple banners mark their entire base.
To the east of them is something that does worry you. Hallvalor, the home of the Burning Blade, is now simply ruins. However, your scouts tell you that it had been inhabited very recently. Which, unfortunately, can only mean that Kargath has been there. The thought of the supreme power and skill of the Burning Blade joining with the still demonically fueled Kargath…is not a welcoming one. Thankfully they seem to have disappeared entirely. None remain in there currently, but perhaps you could refurbish the place into a home for other orcs. It shouldn't be that hard, and it would be a good way to keep an eye on any foes coming from the east. You have yet to discover much beyond your eastern borders besides the fact that miraculously life does endure on this flying chunk of world the orcs now inhabit. There is a thick forest to the east, one that your people did not yet dare try to penetrate into.
Finally, there is not quite…good news. Well, it isn't bad either. Rather, it is largely just very uncomfortable. It seems that of the three major races inhabiting Draenor, what Nagrand has become is now confirmed to possess a settlement of each. There is Garadar, of course, for the orcs. The Boulderfist ogres have their hills to the far northwest. Now…there is…a settlement of Draenei.
Ancestors grant you mercy.
Greatmother Geyah told you of its name. It's actually probably the oldest town in Nagrand, older than Garadar at least. And really the hills were there before the ogres anyhow and they haven't done much to change them. The name of the Draenei city is Telaar. Now, it was never that big, as draenei cities go, but it was generally around the size of Garadar. Without the quadrupling up of housing due to the sick conditions of the populace, the draenei inhabiting that place could be anywhere between ten to thirty thousand. Which is great! For you, personally, as every living draenei is another life to spit in the eye of the Horde which tried so hard to exterminate them. Of course, that probably won't help you relation wise with them, as they do not see the difference between the orcs who attempted genocide and the orcs who were not a part of it at all whatsoever.
What's strange is that a very small number of the draenei looked…changed. Perhaps mutated is the better word. These draenei lived on the edges of Telaar, and were in fact the first ones your scouts saw. They immediately ran back to ring the bells of the small city, and your scouts were forced to retreat before the furious guards. Just as the wildlife seems to have tried slightly, so too have the draenei. Is nothing safe from the corruption of demons and the destruction of your world?
With that, the report is concluded. Demons in the far west trying their best to go east for some unknown reason, Shadow Council in the south east, and…Telaar. Things seem to have suddenly complicated themselves quite rapidly. Reward: Survey Complete. 1 of Ner'zhul's Dimensional Gates is open and spewing demons who are heading east for their 'Master'. Kil'Sorrow have fully set up a base in the south. Draenei live, which is good! But they really hate you! Which is…really quite understandable. Hmm. Faction Revealed to be (Draenei) Telaar – Extremely Hostile
Diplomacy: If there's anything that Greatmother Geyah has taught you, is that not all things can be conquered by a warriors strength. It was with words that the first shamans parlayed with the Furies, the sentient elementals of Draenor. It will be with words that you accomplish more than just a good axe. (Choose 1):
Green and Brown: The Mag'har heavily distrust the greenskin orcs. But now that the Laughing Skulls have sworn themselves to you, you cannot afford for any conflict between the two groups. You lead both, but what you need both sides to realize is that you aren't leading two groups of orcs, you're leading one. There is a stigma for the greenskins by the brown, and you will not allow this. The corruption is spread by the power of demons, it is not contagious. You are all orcs in the end! The only monstrous corrupted are the monstrous by their own continuing actions, like Kargath! Time: 2 Years. Reward: No conflict between green and brown orcs. Chance of Success: 75%. Required: 25. Rolled: 39.
- Though the Laughing Skulls have mainly remained in Dranosh'ar, and yes it is still weird to have a village named after you, some have trailed into Garadar for conversation, speaking with the shamans for spiritual advice, and the other sundry reasons that people want to be around other people. Tensions…are…high. Few in Garadar have forgotten what Ner'zhul and Gul'dan did, and what the rest of the Horde did as well. But you can't afford to have division. Not after all the thinking you've done on the subject. The skin color doesn't matter, it is only a marking and a reminder of the treachery of the warlocks and demons, and one that your people as a people will have to work past together. The demons have no hold over the Laughing Skulls, despite their skin, and they don't deserve to be treated as if they do. This is how you find yourself making many impassioned speeches on the subject to the elders of all the clans making up the Mag'har. You also speak to the youth, telling stories of Kaz and the Laughing Skulls, of how evil Gul'dan was at forcing them into it, and how they persevered underneath those shackles until they achieved freedom. At least that's the perspective you need the Mag'har to have. You make progress this year. Will Complete Next Year.
Blackrock Loyalty: The Blackrock follow you…because you are technically a Blackrock because of your family lines. Even if you currently despise those family lines with a passion. But you need them to be loyal to Dranosh Saurfang, not Dranosh the Blackrock. They need to know and trust that you will lead them well. On one hand, you hate Blackhand, Rend, Maim, and a lot of the other prominent Blackrocks. On the other, sort of the point of becoming a Chieftain is pushing and being better than the previous Chieftains. Well, you aren't a mass murdering monster, so you're doing a pretty good job on that front, but they need to know you will be better for the Blackrock as well. Time: 2 Years. Reward: Blackrock grow actually loyal to Dranosh rather than to the ties of the Blackrock. Chance for Success: 100%. Will Complete This Turn.
- With your stunning defeat of Mogor, and the tales of the battle spreading through the streets of Sunspring Village and Garadar, your personal worth has jumped up leaps and bounds. You brought much honor to yourself for your actions, your words, and how you treated the Laughing Skulls. For gaining the personal oaths of loyalty, which are on their own already far more potent than a simple clan-wide oath of loyalty, of every single Laughing Skull, there are few who could reasonably stand up and disparage your abilities as a warrior or a leader. The Blackrocks tell you so, personally, and you do believe them. They wouldn't risk lying to you. Some try to poke at the Saurfang line being part of the Blackrock, but you shut that down quickly. You fought without the traditional weapon of the Saurfang, and without their personal battle cries. You fought with Kaz's blade, and as the Warchief of the Mag'har, not as a Saurfang of the Blackrock. It works, and works well. The Blackrock are loyal to Dranosh now, and will follow you into hell. Reward: Blackrocks fully loyal to Dranosh now, and not simply because of his Blackrock family ties.
Stewardship: Garadar simply cannot hold all of these people. Your supplies strain already, and as more and more orcs grow healthy once more the amount of food and housing required will far eclipse what the small city can hold. This must be attended to, and quickly. (Choose 2):
Garadar and Sunspring Boar Farms: Ah, boar meat. Delicious indeed, and a relatively staple food source for your people. Jorin believes that he and some of his extra fearless Bleeding Hollow could confront the horrendously vicious and brutish beasts and construct some holding pens for them. The boars don't have to like it, but so long as they can provide the bones, hides, and meat for your peoples usage then you have absolutely no problem with it. Cost: 500. Time: 1 Year. Reward: Small Boar Farms set up in Garadar and Sunspring, +1000 Farming Income per turn. Garadar less in danger of straining supplies.
- You need to set up some food production immediately. You've suddenly gained ten thousand orcs who are not sick with the red pox. They require food as quickly as possible and after suffering under Mogor for so long you are more than a little sympathetic to their plight. Posts are hammered into the ground while numerous boars are rounded up and broken for breeding and food. Meat soon fills many more bellies than had been fed before. Everyone is appreciative for some good food. Reward: Small Boar Farms set up in Garadar and Sunspring, +1000 Farming Income per turn. Garadar less in danger of straining supplies.
Feeding the Skulls: The Laughing Skulls are in dire need of food, and you have the ability to provide. As such, you will do so. Their village has sort of fallen apart, but that can be rebuilt. However, more important than that is food. Set up Talbuk and Boar farms for the Laughing Skull Village, which Kaz has rather embarrassingly renamed Dranosh'ar. She renamed her village after you. Jorin just sort of laughed, but he still won't tell you why. Regardless, with some set up farms they will be well fed this year if all goes well. Cost: 1000. Time: 1 Year. Reward: +1000 Farming Income, Food burden reduced. Laughing Skulls fed.
- You do not stop your efforts at providing food to just Garadar and Sunspring. You go ahead and set up talbuk and boar farms at Dranosh'ar. You're…relatively sure that there aren't much more potent oaths to be made after personal ones, but if there were Kaz tells you that the Laughing Skulls would. Glorious food fills the stomachs of the Laughing Skulls, while your hunting parties (on their own initiative) provide them with furs for clothing and homes. Your food burden has been reduced extensively by the many farms you build this day, and the Laughing Skulls are quite appreciative. Honestly, according to Jorin, Greatmother Geyah, and Kaz, they are probably the most loyal Clan in the Mag'har. More so even then the Blackrock. Reward: +1000 Farming Income, Food burden reduced. Laughing Skulls fed.
Learning: Not Unlocked Yet
Piety: The shamans despair. The orcs despair. The spirits of your ancestors do not speak. The Furies rage and roar with enough fury to crack the sinuses of any who attempt to speak with them. Their world has been torn from them, it is no wonder that the Furies are so, well, furious. Though you have so very many concerns, you have ordered that the shamans try and restore the connection that the bastard Gul'dan cut so gleefully in the now ravaged Shadowmoon Valley. Perhaps, in another time, you would be too busy with other concerns to deal with it, but your father left scrolls, and you have spoken to Greatmother Geyah a lot. Both have told you the same things. The orcs simply cannot survive as they should without the guidance of the ancestors, the spirits, and the help of the elements. [Every Turn the Shamans of the Mag'har will attempt to reconnect with the elements, this is what the upkeep is paying for. Current Chances at 65%. Will go up 10% in chance every unsuccessful turn]
Required: 35. Rolled: 100
- Bottom of Post
Intrigue: You aren't really sure if all the skulking about of the past is something you should have, but Jorin remains adamant that you need to keep an eye on such things. He seems to have appointed himself to this position. (Choose 1):
What Barrier: You've captured enough Shadow Council orcs and read enough messages. This barrier thing is starting to piss you off. You need to know what it is and where it is. All you know is that it is generally around Oshu'gun, but you'd really like to find it as soon as possible. With the sudden abundance of warriors you have this will be a far easier task than before. Time: 1 Year. Reward: Information on Oshu'gun 'Barrier'.
- If you could kill Gul'dan yourself a thousand times, it would be ten million times to few! With the extra bodies provided by the Laughing Skulls, you located the truth of the matter in no time. Fel. Runes. FEL MAGICS! Around Oshu'gun! Your most holy site is covered in a vast matrix of fel magic which is…doing something…something bad! There is no good when it comes to fel magic, but your complete dearth of knowledge in that realm has completely left you clueless. Small lode stones inscribed with fel runes have been placed for miles and miles around, a feat that must have taken beings of extreme power and cunning to put into place without anyone noticing i.e. demons and Gul'dan. You may not have any fel magic knowledge but you sure as hell can tell when something is extremely dangerous and powerful. They are also unmovable, for the moment, some magic anchoring to their spots.? Reward: Gul'dan put a big old fel magic barrier around Oshu'gun proper.
Personal Actions: You used to have free time. Now you are responsible for tens of thousands of people's lives. It is an amazingly heavy burden, but your back and legs are pretty strong and you aren't about to give up. But you can still make some time for yourself. (Choose 2):
Battling Grief – Acceptance: You've had numerous revelations recently about the orcish condition. About orcish culture. The concept of weakness and strength, and plenty of other things besides. But a weight remains on your heart and soul still! But you can't just let it fester within you forever. You must set aside some time to truly center yourself, to realize who and what you are…Time: 1 Year. Reward: Acceptance. Less stressed. Feel better. More self-control. Once you've helped yourself, only then can you help others.
- It doesn't matter.
You finally realize this, after a short spar with Kaz and Garrosh. It doesn't matter, because both of them are extremely skilled in combat, that so honored and integral part of orcish culture. The skin color doesn't matter. What you look like doesn't matter. It is your deeds, and your soul, which define who you are as an individual. Kargath willingly drank the blood of demons, and became a slaughterer of innocents. Before the Chieftains even willingly corrupted themselves through the demons blood, they corrupted their souls with their actions.
Blackhand had saved the clan, but when prompted he gladly began assaults against the innocent draenei. The other chieftains soon followed. Combat was and is meant to be a matter of honor, of personal control, and an exercise in one's own skill and strength. When did the honored and hallowed hunts for clefthoof and using all the parts and respecting the spirits turn into gleeful slaughter? Into killing children and elders? Attacking the defenseless and innocent is disgusting.
It doesn't prove your strength or skill. The only thing that such actions prove is that whoever perpetrates it cannot even call themselves a warrior. No warriors do such things. Only monsters do those things.
Orcs are not monsters.
You're ways are perhaps a bit primitive compared to the stories of the crystal homes and amazing technologies of the draenei. You could even accept being called savage. But you are not monsters. Orcs are many things. Shamans, hunters, warriors, farmers, weavers, crafters, artists, lovers, and a thousand other things…but you are not monsters.
Kaz…is not a monster. She willfully admits to participating in the Second War, of cutting through what can vaguely be understood as the Lorderon Clan and Kul Tiras Clan in over a dozen different battles. But she only ever fought their metal plated warriors, their four legged beast riders. Once, she tells you, she was given the opportunity to participate in the complete and utter destruction of a human village in some far off place called Hillsbrad. She refused, for though she was tainted green with exposure to warlock energies, her bloodlust did not dominate her because she fought against it at all times in defiance of Mogor.
Varok Saurfang is a monster. If there is anything worthy of the Saurfang name left in that green skinned carcass of a child killer, then surely that orc is still alive. This is not to his credit, for it means that his actions have found no consequences worth having. The Horde…is full of monsters. Perhaps, before he drank of Pit Lords blood and followed Blackhand across the Dark Portal, the one known as your father was truly the warrior his scrolls purport him to be. All those long speeches and stories written with a steady hand. One line, truly, still sticks out at you.
Honor. No matter how dire the battle…never forsake it.
But he did. He forsook it and drank the blood of demons, and from the tales of the Horde that Kaz speaks of so darkly, honor fled from the bodies of the orcs essentially at the exact moment that tainted blood slipped down their gullets.
Orcs begin weapon training at six, and are capable of hunting and full scale combat at twelve. Kaz entered the Second War through its latter half, and so saw the steady collapse of the Horde. You haven't spoken to her particularly much on the subject, she seems haunted by the things she's seen even if she can thankfully say that she did not participate in the darker dealings. She was too focused on sharpening her own skills on worthy foes.
She swears she saw him, once. Second in command of Doomhammer, who you actually knew about. He was pretty much as famous as Blackhand. It was actually when Doomhammer fell, that she saw him. Your father, cutting his way through the ranks of human soldiers while a human Paladin summoned some sort of power to burn away the dark that is the Horde. Hah, good on the human.
You may never forgive the Horde for their transgressions, but you need not let them weigh down upon you forever. Their chains are not your chains. Their crimes are not your crimes. You can feel as responsible as you want, but the truth of the matter is that you were a babe when your father finally crossed the Portal for the last time and left you behind at Garadar. You could do nothing, and so you can stand tall and free from them.
A weight lifts from your heart, and your soul. Because for all the monstrousness of the Horde…the Mag'har aren't them. The Horde was slammed together from anger and rage, sadism and fury, all swirled together into a single tainted mix with the aid of demon blood and warlocks. It was a moving mass of horrible power and death…and you had and will never have any part in that.
You are Dranosh Saurfang, and you fight for the Mag'har. Though the word itself means uncorrupted, you believe that a secondary meaning can be made.
The Free. Kaz. Garrosh. Greatmother Geyah. Jorin. You. And others. The demons shall never again have a hold on your hearts, on your minds, on your souls.
You are free…because you were never chained down to begin with. And those that are? You will liberate them as well. This does not mean you cannot feel responsible for the actions the Horde has taken, and if you are honest with yourself you want to make amends with those the orcs have harmed. And you will.
But for now, you will rest, and dream of the better tomorrows that are on the way.
Reward: Acceptance. Less stressed. Feel better. More self-control. Once you've helped yourself, only then can you help others.
Jorin's Request: Jorin has requested to muddle through the Laughing Skull village in an effort to discover whether or not Mogor left behind any notes or information on his arcane knowledge. After you finished laughing, he thumped you on the head. If there's one thing that Gul'dan did right, and by the ancestors that makes your spine chill to say, its giving them ogre mages the ability to accurate write about what knowledge they gained for recording. Who knows, maybe a small spark of these 'arcane' abilities can be manifested in the Mag'har? You could use some power that isn't related to the horrific corruption of demons. Reward: Mogors notes on Arcane…stuff.
- Mogor, by nature of his giant hands, understandably wrote his notes on the arcane very big. It's disturbing however to see that the transformation that Gul'dan enacted on so many ogres did in fact have some concrete results. Though he may have spoken like a complete and utter brute, for some reason when it comes to the arcane Mogor's words read like a relatively accomplished scholar with an amazing penchant for simplifying and easily explaining concepts and requirements. It's an astonishing boon really, to have so many tomes of knowledge. Even better, Mogor, the thieving fat fellow, had apparently had his agents steal many things over the years of war or had at least bargained for them. A large pile of books fit enough to provide much reading material for a being with two heads was discovered, and many of them were from beyond the Dark Portal! Unfortunately Mogor also slept on this pile, and the concept of taking care of his books never seemed to enter his mind. As such, the vast majority of the pile is useless, save for the ogre mage's most prized notes and a few valuable primers on the language of the 'humans' who apparently even have a giant city populated almost solely by masters of the arcane called 'Da-la-rn'. Your prizes are thus…are quite explanatory. Jorin believes that with some intensive and dedicated study that you could have the beginnings of the first orc 'mages' in just a few years! Reward: Mogor's notes on Arcane…stuff, with a heavy tilt towards Frost Magic. Also, some primers on 'human' languages. What kind of people calls their language 'Common'?
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Fearless
It was dangerous. It was foolish, but no one was going to tell him he couldn't go despite everything. The Furies had nearly slain every single shaman that had tried to commune with them at the Throne of the Elements, though not quite. Many were still in comas, while others wept and gave up. That was why he had decided to come here. He could not bear watching the collapse of the dearest hopes and dreams of the shamans, of those who had been in training when Gul'dan had made the cut and had fully separated the rest of his race from the elements seemingly forever.Fearless
For a long time, years even, the ancestors and the elements had refused to appear before shamans. Of course, now all knew why. At least they did in his clan. There was little time or interest for secrets for those who fought to live and lived to die. At least that was how it was now. No doubt the internal struggles and politics of the warlocks had killed plenty of orcs besides those who fell in battle against their purported enemies.
The demonically fueled and induced slaughter of the draenei had been what had turned the faces of the ancestors away in shame. What turned the Furies relatively symbiotic relationship with the orcs into disgusted abandonment. The honor of the orcs had been drained away in a tide of unwanted, unneeded, and unjustified tide of blood. The respect and interest of the elements had been washed away as well.
As the small single seat boat drifted closer and closer to the throne, he contemplated what had become of everything. Mostly, it was depressing, but if Dranosh had anything to say about it the hearts of the people would rise once more. Which was nice, but the current issue of speaking to the Furies was slow going. All the former shamans available left to the Mag'har had been completely unsuccessful including Greatmother Geyah. She was the spiritual leader of Garadar, and if they wouldn't talk to her…
Well, at least they'd only given her an enormous nose bleed and a terrible headache from their wails of pain and fury. Others were still catatonic. It was understandable, after all, considering the destruction of Draenor. More and more orcs were realizing every year that they could not reasonably call this flying chunk of rock that they lived on by the same name of their old world, but he had realized it early. All you have to do is gaze over the edge and down into the Abyss to realize that you can't anymore. A lot of orcs had done that and had sort of gone a bit strange in the head, whimpering and muttering to themselves, but not him. He couldn't find it in himself to be afraid anymore.
But it had been years since the apocalypse, and after learning of the desecration of Oshu'gun, the battle against Mogor, and the general sorry state of the world, a single conclusion had been reached in his mind. A conclusion that restated itself verbally as the small boat knocked against the shore.
"Enough. Is. Enough."
The Throne of Elements was not created by simple mortal hands. Not alone. The Furies themselves had assisted in the construction of this place. Bits and pieces of rock from across Draenor had been crafted and melded into its stone pillars. So, in turn, all of Draenor could be said to be spoken to at once. At a single point during every year all the cardinal winds redirected subtly to caress each of the pillars individually. At another point the stones would grow so very hot and burning with an energy unseen elsewhere in the world.
The moment that his bare brown foot touched those stones, his body and mind was assailed by a cacophony of screaming. It would be enough to scare the wits out of most, and cripple others with plenty other pain besides. Most other shamans, beseechers, shamans in training, and everyone else who had tried collapsed at this point.
Jorin Deadeye was not most. He took another step.
Through the screaming in pain…came the chorus of rage. The thin shell of pain had faded away under the sheer hatred and anger which burned and roared and drowned and stomped. As a warrior born and trained, the Mag'har had long ago learned of the interesting truth that under enough anger pain was meaningless and arbitrary. Rage was, for some of the most furious of fighters, one hell of an anesthetic.
Evidenced by one Dranosh Saurfang killing an ogre mage while his rib cage was quite literally collapsing inside of him.
He took another step.
Behind the pain, and behind the rage, came the grief. An ocean of sadness, a storm of sobbing, a firestorm of guttering flames, an earthquake of trembling. So many were dead. Gone. Forever. Torn from hand and hand and womb from womb. Sure there was pain, and there was anger, but a thin fingernail of the wondrous and harmonious body that had been once called Draenor by those who had walked it was all that remained, and so the chorus of life had been shattered.
Jorin continued to walk, as the world itself did its best to overwhelm him. But his mind did not crumble. His body did not quake. His soul was inviolable for his will was cast of more than iron, of more than steel, and of more than adamantite. There did not exist a metal or alloy in the universe to match the strength of his will, and there never would be.
So it was that the son of Kilrogg Deadeye found himself directly at the center of the Throne. Though any other, even the vaunted young Saurfang, would have found themselves thrown back into the water or collapsed, the eldest descendant of a Chieftain amongst the Mag'har put his plan in motion.
He lay down in the center, one leg propped up slightly, and popped open a book on arcane lore that had been stolen by what was called an 'Archmage' of Dalaran. It had been torn from the dead humans hands in the final battle of Blackrock Spire, a final casualty before the Horde fully began its retreat towards the Swamp of Sorrows. Then he casually pulled out a small flask of alcohol, and took a small swig, before placing it next to the ground.
It is one thing, to go to the Throne of Elements and desperately try to speak to the spirits once more. To beg, to grovel, to plead, and to sorrowfully depart as the Furies remain unyielding in their nearly insane fury, pain, and grief. It is entirely another to arrive and go farther past any others who had tried, and not try to speak to them at all. Compounded, of course, on the fact that Jorin was blatantly reading a book of knowledge on a different dimension of power. A different dimension of power, that, for an instant, could appear similar to a warlocks power to the uninitiated.
A bolt of flame was a bolt of flame, though the colors and prices might be different.
It was a level of incredible audacity that in the history of the Furies could be counted as having been matched less than a half dozen times. The complete and stark disrespect in their place of communion and power was so mighty, so powerful, so jaw-breakingly unbelievable that the literal constant tremors and rages of the Furies was halted in that single instant.
Jorin snapped the book shut, even as he felt the world itself coming to bear down on him. Just as calmly as he had begun, he took another small sip of the alcohol which burned its way down his throat, and stood. The book was securely placed back into the small bag at his side, while the Mag'har planted his feet firmly and crossed his arms beneath his back.
The world screamed in rage.
For the first time in over a decade, since the genocide of the draenei and the introduction of fel magics into the populace of the orcs, a Fury manifested at the Throne of Elements. Many orcs had, admittedly, turned to warlocks for guidance and training when the Elements had so refused the call of the shamans. It was an intrinsic part of their life and culture! The blessings and supposed ancestral readings had simply…switched power sources.
How easy it was to justify things.
Jorin had a theory, actually. He believed that some crimes were so incredible, so inorcish, so terribly wrong that the mortal and civilized mind simply could not comprehend it in totality. How could they have been so easily fooled to slaughter the draenei and crush the ogres and tear at the arrakoa? They couldn't have been, because that would mean that their race was so easily controlled and manipulated. Unconscionable to the 'mighty' orcs. The Elements had turned away, to be certain, but surely it can't be because of these warlocks. It can't be that the ancestors are ashamed of us. No…surely not. Not us. Not 'me', as it went.
How pathetic.
Indeed, as the massive moving hillock of rock and stone that was a Fury of Earth formed in front of him, this was Jorin's only thought. As a barely contained maelstrom coalesced into a sort of body, bracers of unknowable material forming around its wrists, Jorin realized he found those deniers and self-delusionary fools which seemed to make up the majority of the elder orcs pathetic. When a portion of the Throne inlaid stone cracked to let forth a plume of fire and lava which crafted itself into an amalgamation of a body, he contemplated on how he found such bloodthirsty and insane monsters as Kargath Bladefist and yes his own father pathetic. From the very air came droplets of water in a greater stream from sources unseen, and suddenly there was the body of a Fury of Water. Jorin's eyes passed over this momentous occasion with all the interest that a man might possess at seeing an interesting shape in the clouds.
They surrounded him, and yet he knew no fear.
After all, he knew precisely when and how he would die. It would not be here, or for a good while. Time enough.
There were no words, at least none that a mortal could comprehend. For the Furies spoke in the word of the eminent building blocks of creation. In the breath, blood, energy, and bones of the universe. Only one such as they, or one who had been in such communion with them to become nearly entwined completely could understand. A symphony was composed and performed by each 'voice' towards one another and to the one who even now stood with his single eye unblinking.
To Jorin it just sounded like a bunch of wordless yelling. The volume was incredible, that was undeniable. Especially considering how his eardrums had quite viscerally exploded a mere second ago to leave blood trailing down the sides of his head. But they would not speak to him in a language he could comprehend or respond in, and so he decided to take another drink.
A benefit of knowing precisely when and how one dies is knowing whether or not it is drinking which does you in. In Jorin's case, it was not.
Again, the tremendous display of uncaring disrespect forced the attention of the Furies on him. A mounting wave of exasperation and stunned disbelief was performing that supposedly impossible task of conquering their anger and pain. Grief guttered out, pain washed away, and anger turned to dust before that most simple of emotions. One spoke, and Jorin merely pointed at his ears and shrugged before drinking again.
As the Furies conversed above him, Jorin raised his eyebrow in annoyance that the flask seemed to be close to emptying. He was removed from his thoughts however when a splash of water cascaded over his head. A bubble, in fact, of contained water. Many orcs would have panicked at having their head enveloped in an orb of water, at perhaps drowning while standing on dry land. Alas, Jorin Deadeye was not destined to die by drowning. Instead, he stood calmly and accepted the soothing away of his pain and the abrupt healing of his ears by the ministrations of water.
"WHO. ARE. YOU?" came a paradoxically loud voice of bubbles and small streams trickling in the grasslands.
Though dwarfed by the Furies, the orc stood firm. He did, in fact, look directly into the 'eyes' of the Water Fury.
"I am Jorin Deadeye, and I have but a single question. Are you over yourselves yet?"
The outrage of the Furies should have turned his bones to jelly and his blood to ice. As it was, when the large giant of rock and earth leaned in close to roar into his face, Jorin did something later even he would admit was probably a remarkably reckless thing to do. And that was saying something.
He slapped the Earth Furies face.
"I'm not done talking. For over two years now we have been oh so desperately trying to speak to you, to apologize, to beg, to grovel. Well, we don't have time for that anymore. The world is ended, yes. The vast majority of the Furies likely went with it."
Jorin's hands found their way around the Earth Furies face and dragged it forward.
"Well guess what, the same thing happened with everyone else!"
It was a rare thing to see an emotional Jorin Deadeye. There was a reason for that.
"All I hear from anyone is how in pain you are! WELL SO ARE WE! Gul'dan ripped us away from you, and we both let him!"
Letting go of the Earth Fury who began swelling in size, Jorin turned to the Air Fury.
"When the demons stole their way into the dreams and minds of the shamans, where were you!?"
His gaze burned a hole into the Water Fury who shifted imperceptibly backwards.
"Let us say that it was not your fault. The demons were too strong! The Burning Legion was too mighty for you, and you could not speak! Out of fear? Out of weakness?"
The Fire Fury's flickering form threatened to explode as Jorin stomped close enough to feel the heat on his skin.
"Well sorry! But when those who accepted the help of the demons offered their dark powers to those who remained faithful, who could have thought that their offers would be accepted!? And why is that…ah, because even those who had participated not at all in any of the actions of those bloodthirsty monsters should be punished!"
"UNWORTHY!" the Air Fury finally spoke with the crackling of lightning and thunder.
Jorin rounded, a blaze in his single eye that only Greatmother Geyah had seen before.
"YES! So the few must be punished for the crimes of the many! Those who knew not at all of the slow corruption of their race by the forces of demons and madmen must be punished! Of course! Their naiveté is the true crime! Believing that their brothers and sisters would not lie and cheat them, would not damn their souls for power!
He was yelling at this point. He knew he was.
"The sick and the dying who lay in darkness should wake up to a world where all they knew refuses to even speak to them! Yes! Those who sold their soul and everyone else's that they could should continue to receive the benefits and accolades of their fel masters while those who only want to talk and beg and apologize should be snubbed! After all, if they knew what was good for them they would have stopped it, stopped all of it! Right!?"
"YES!" The Furies said in unison.
Jorin spun on his heel and thrust an accusing finger forth.
"That. Is. CLEFTHOOF SHIT!"
He had escalated from yelling to bellowing, and a tiny corner of his mind saw the boats of the Mag'har frantically approaching from across the small lake. Why, he didn't know. To be rescued perhaps from his own angry folly?
"How could we, how can we stand against the demons and the corrupted without you? You who turned away and refused the call of those who would have stood against Ner'zhul and Gul'dan!"
"FOOLISH," the Earth Fury roared back.
"DAMN YOU, YOU SHOULD ALL HAVE FADED AWAY WHEN THE WORLD ENDED THEN!" Jorin screamed back.
The Furies were struck silent.
"All I hear from you is insults and accusations and all of a manner of ridiculous vagueness!" he screamed.
"Is that what you wanted?! To take us to task!? To insult us and tell us how it all went wrong and how it is all our fault!?"
For a wonder, the Furies remained silent. Jorin's chest heaved, and he pointed a finger at the landed boats on the shore, from which dozens of frantic orcs wearing all manner of ritual clothing and slathered with sacred oils came running. The Furies slowly tracked them as they came close, some shouting for Jorin to run while they did…whatever it was they planned to do.
"Then tell us. Let. Us. Speak. Let there be dialogue, so that perhaps one day in the future once you've gotten over yourselves and realized that everyone is hurting and in pain over the world ending…we can try to fix things. Let us sooth the earth, refill the fuels for the fires, and help the winds sing once more. Let us cleanse the rivers and lakes, and preserve them."
Jorin spoke, his voice quiet once more, all the rage and energy filling his frame from before gone as if it had never been. He turned away and walked back towards the lake, ignoring the voices and questions of those who would be shamans and those who had been. As he reached the waters edge, he turned towards the Furies once more who gazed at him silently. Then, with one hand, he withdrew his book of arcane lore. He turned, only slightly, and spoke in a murmur.
Wind carried it to the ears of the Furies and the Furies alone.
"And if you don't want to help us do it, we'll find another way."
Then, with a burst of will and drawing on a well of energy that no orc had ever drawn on before…the water before him froze into a walkway. It was an exhaustive effort to wield the energies of the arcane in such a manner, but the point had to be made.
Jorin Deadeye walked back to Garadar on a walkway of ice formed through the powers of the arcane.
Behind him, the Furies remained, surrounded by dozens of orcs desperate to hear their voices even if the only words spoken were blandishments.
It was a tenuous and dangerously fragile connection, but a connection all the same. From that point forward, it would be up to the shamans to sooth the literally world shaking pains of the elements.
The First Orc Mage had no time for them.
Reward: Furies present at Throne, willing to speak to shamans.
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