Open Chronicles Obsidian War Council

[Azrakar]

Azrakar gathers his forces on the eastern edge of the spine. Orc tribes have been brought to heel, but more still resist of flee the Fiend. For now, he turns his attack to the path to the Ixchel North Stone.

A fort, manned by human and dwarven forces guards the path to the stone.

Activites:

[IMG size="597x124"]https://chroniclesrp.net/attachments/council-png.2103/[/IMG]

Azrakar plans their next move with his war council, aiming to lay siege and take the fort.

[IMG size="597x124"]https://chroniclesrp.net/attachments/feast-png.2101/[/IMG]

Meanwhile orcs from many times have come together. A feast is being prepared. Different tribes set out friendly competitions: archery, armed and unarmed combat.

 

[Azrakar]

---

The tents had been raised in ordered silence at the foot of the Spine, their dark hides snapping in the mountain wind like restrained beasts. Beyond them, the jagged peaks loomed. The sun was starting its slow descent towards the peaks.

Azrakar stood at the center of the largest pavilion.

The interior was lit not by torches but by braziers of banked coals. Gartz stood to his right, broad and blood-scarred, still carrying the scent of the mountain passes. Azrakar assumed that Urzak Iron-Hold would join them after his leadership in the field.

On the central table lay a stretched hide marked with charcoal and ink. The great rivers of the delta forked like veins, enclosing fertile land and trade roads between them. At the narrowest choke point stood the fort human stone layered atop dwarven craft, ugly and efficient. Beyond it, through the guarded pass, lay the portal stone.

Trade. Tribute. Control.

Azrakar rested both hands upon the table.

"The tribes of themountains are quiet. Hroth is ash. The orcs will not threaten our rear."

He traced a claw along the inked lines of the rivers.

"East lies wealth. The delta feeds kingdoms. And beyond this pass…” His finger tapped the marked position of the portal stone. “…freedom of movement.”

His gaze lifted to the council.

"The humans and dwarves believe the fort unassailable. They believe stone and height make them untouchable. They believe we will waste ourselves upon the walls."

"I need options."

He straightened, towering over the map.

 

[Gartz]

Gartz planted a hand on the hide map. “We don’t hit the walls when we have such a long march ahead. We must preserve our forces.”

His finger traced the rivers feeding the delta. “Food keeps that fort standing. We cut it off. Sink the boats. Burn the storehouses. Nothing moves beyond the pass.”

A brief glance to Azrakar. “Fire handles what we cannot reach.”

He straightened.“They will ration, then panic, then the gates will open on their own.”

A pause. “This only fails if someone breaks the blockade.”

His eyes moved around the table. “Belgrath will not. The drow will keep them busy.”

He tapped the map once more.

“What other allies may come to aid the fort?”

Azrakar Urzak Iron-Hold

 

[Ugh'Lolghoth]

Spoiler: Music

Ugh'Lolghoth stirred, and their seat groaned in pain beneath the weight.

The two heads astride this revolting and strangely wide corpus had been preoccupied. The bald one, swimming in layers of abundant flesh and glinting, gold piercings, nuzzled up against the neck of his twin brother, a long tendril of drool ponderously dangling from his small tusks. The brother, meanwhile, wore a thick fur hood -- perhaps to cushion against his neighbor's sleeping spells -- small, cinder eyes aflame with righteous fury and zeal, bearded mouth chowing through a raw cow's leg. Blood, spittle and viscera marred his dark-grey beard -- the growth of which was a half-hearted attempt to cover up his quadruple chin.

After making short work of meat and marrow, Lolghoth (for that was his part of the name) wiped his filthy mouth with the back of a tattooed hand and burbled out:

"Sire. My King. Hollow chosen--" his thick, oleaginous voice brought to mind a massive slug cozying up to a living thunderstorm; each syllable near swallowing itself in mucus and spit, exuberant and ever-present awe mixed with a healthy dose of near-aroused fear. "If I may humbly speak and bask, for a moment, in your incandescent glow, oh, great Herald of Therg. We may have more allies than we might think. There are humans who have seen the right path to the Dark Ones. Few, yes, but enlightened indeed. Should they learn of your divine status, they would not hesitate to worship thee. As all measly earth-trotters should, Your Eminence, as they should . . ."

He excitedly employed both their hands and rubbed fat fingers together, smacking his lips in anticipation. Whether in hopes of more meat or more worshippers, who could say?

Azrakar
Gartz

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Alak had come up to assist the expansion of the Drow allies on the surface, an alliance that was supposed to transcend or something along those lines. It was all a bit of blown smoke as far as he was concerned. He had found his spot in the Hounds, and the role suited him well: he could get the job done and he didn't have idiots looking over his shoulder all the time.

The fact that he had spent a considerable amount of time on the surface already was to his advantage for this campaign. It was just another day at the office where he was significantly smaller than everyone he was working with. What he lacked in size, though, he made up for in magical combat prowess.

Sieges take a long time. Can take months to run out of food, but magic can shatter a wall in an afternoon, he said. Of course, that was easier said than done. Shattering walls of a fortress meant bringing down its protective runes which was easier said than done.

If you can get a small team inside to weaken the runes protecting the walls before they know the attack is coming, then later roll on up and shatter the weakened section, he said. It required infiltrators, though, and that was not always easy to come by.

The fact that the two headed... guy(s?) were talking about traitorous humans made it all the more plausible that it might be possible.

Azrakar Gartz Ugh'Lolghoth

 

[Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher]

In the feasthall, countless orcs drank and ate, singing songs of war bands past and legendary acts as embellished as they were incredible. The plotting of the war council was a distant thing to able bodies of the green-skinned horde. All they cared to know was that the towering red demon had promised glory and showed power, wile speaking of conquest not far beyond.

“—and dats why an ork spirit master is better than any toothpick mage they got at that reading hole in Elbion!” A tipsy orc shouted through slurred words.

“Here, here!” Said another “even them mages that try and wrap themselves in tin. They’s got nothing on the strength a good ancestry brings!” The orcs all cheered when they heard this, and raised up mugs and mead horns in solute to the glory.

“Good ancestry!?” Called a powerful voice from outside the feast-hall. The orcs all went silent and turned, there was a strong presence to this voice. In then walked an orc, towering and old. Deep were his wrinkles and deeper yet were his scars. His beard was white and he wore no clothes above the waist, and from his belt hung a long curved blade in an elegant sheath.

“There is nothing good that can be said about the ancestry of an orc who bends their life like a thin tree to the whims of red-skinned devils!”

“Ey, no one asked you old man!” Said an especially burly looking orc. who strode close to the old man and planted a finger on his chest. “We’z got plenty of good fight in us and the Az boss doing more right than any two bit old geezer who don’t like da color red, who are you anyw—”

A solid punch then sent the burly orc flying across the room as old man began to chuckle. “I am Karskgorak fiend crusher, fool! Of all here I have drawn the most blood by far, and I have slayed many demons in my time and the time of my predecessors as well!” Karsk then flashed a toothy smile and flexed his muscles in an orcish manner.

“Leeping ancestors, it’s the Gorak-na!” Shouted one of the onlookers. “Is he here to kill the big Az?”

“Nae!” Said Karsk. “As a member of Noct Yaegir I have sworn myself away from politics! No, I am here to show you pathetic excuses of our mighty kind how feeble you are to be bested by a demon… by crushing you all so thoroughly in your feasting games that you shall all feel nothing but shame until the days that you die!”

Karskgorak laughed loudly and with great gusto. The orcs strengthened there resolve as they knew full well, that both nothing and everything was on the line.

 

[Ugh'Lolghoth]

Excessive flesh and jewelry wriggled and jiggled, as Ugh'Lolghoth turned. The head facing Karskgorak was still asleep; a frown of mild perturbation creasing his wide brow from an orc soaring through the air and the great shouting that followed.

The hooded head tried to glance over his brother's neck, to see the Gorak-na. The filthy angel-slayer who *dared* to intrude on his master's realm.

"By Therg's dark fist, it is the arch-blasphemer! He should not draw breath in the presence of the Hollow King!!"

Somehow, his voice managed to be croaking and shrill all at once, heaving from both effort and rage; outraged spittle flying from his mouth. But then, opportunity entered his eye, and a measure of glee entered his fury.

"Please, my Divine Master, say but the word, the tiniest word -- even a little nod will do -- and I shall *punish this old interloper* and wipe him clean from your magnificent presence, oh Walking Flame," he said as he turned for Azrakar, voice rolling like squelching waves, anger dousing before supplication.

Of all his mutated exterior, his voice was equally warped with heavy lisps and pushing the words through his mass. Like a frothing, boiling soup sprinkled with the powder of courtly speech.

Azrakar

@Karskgorak

 

[Azrakar]

“What other allies may come to aid the fort?”

Gartz made good sense. He did not have enough troops beneath his banner to throw them at stone. Moral would falter. The alliance could fracture.

"There is a portal stone with Belgrath," Azrakar muttered. "Even under threat they may send forces. Allirians too. The only way they can get numbers to lift the siege is through the Ixchel portal stone."

Should they learn of your divine status, they would not hesitate to worship thee. As all measly earth-trotters should, Your Eminence, as they should . . ."

Azrakar tilted his head towards Ugh'lolghoth. He was not above flattery. He was made to consume the world with fire and to be worshipped.

"Do you believe we could convince any humans to infiltrate the fort?" he asked. "Even as traders, they could cause chaos at the gatehouse."

If you can get a small team inside to weaken the runes protecting the walls before they know the attack is coming, then later roll on up and shatter the weakened section, he said. It required infiltrators, though, and that was not always easy to come by.

"I like this," Azrakar admitted. "I want an option beyond waiting them out on the table."

"Please, my Divine Master, say but the word, the tiniest word -- even a little nod will do -- and I shall *punish this old interloper* and wipe him clean from your magnificent presence, oh Walking Flame,"

Azrakar looked beyond the entrance to his tent. He laughed.

"I like your fire, but leave him," Azrakar said. "If he wants to challenge at the games then so be it. We have war to make."

 

[Gartz]

Sieges take a long time. Can take months to run out of food, but magic can shatter a wall in an afternoon, he said. Of course, that was easier said than done. Shattering walls of a fortress meant bringing down its protective runes which was easier said than done.

Gartz frowned. He preferred sieges and steel to subtleties and mysticism, but this was not a council for preferences.

“That fort has not been tested in a very long time,” he rumbled. “They will be complacent. They’re rotational garrison troops, not an army built to move.”

His gaze shifted to the drow. “Drow are feared in those regions. Rarely seen.”

He looked to Azrakar. “I mislike putting you at risk, but I have a measure of confidence in this, Your Grace. If you arrived as a river scout claiming to have caught one near the perimeter, it would be enough to gain entry and an audience with the master of the fort. A single prisoner. A simple story.” Gartz knew his King was eloquent enough to talk his way into almost anything.

Then to Alak. “You play the captive.”

Gartz’s jaw tightened. “Inside, their defenses will be facing outward. Runes meant to keep things out, not contain what’s already through the gate.”

A pause. “If presented with an opportunity in the chaos, I can storm the fortress with my men.”

He scanned the council. “It is a high-risk plan, but so is any plan that chooses speed over siege.”

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Alak watched as he wondered if a fight was going to break out, although Azrakar seemed unperturbed. In truth, so long as Alak wasn't the target of the attempted fight, what did he care? Well, the answer was that he cared because he didn't want to fight with an army that was going to rip itself apart, but that wasn't gonna happen. It'd be fine!

Lucky me, he muttered as the other orc suggested that he play the prisoner. He couldn't believe they were planning to play the oldest con in the book, GET HELP.

He'd have loved to say he had another brilliant plan for getting them inside the city, but he didn't. He thought about suggesting killing a patrol and using illusory magic to disguise themselves, but he didn't know what kind of pass phrases or other threats they may encounter on the way that could undercut that.

 

[Urzak Iron-Hold]

​

Urzak Iron-Hold had been standing in the shadows just beyond the reach of the brazier's glow silent as an anvil between hammer strikes.

Broad as a gate tower, beard braided in iron rings, mail dark with old soot and newer blood, he seemed less a guest in the pavilion than a weight set into its foundation. The hear from the coals bent around him as though the forge-fire in his blood answered them in kind.

He listened.

To Gartz speak of rivers and ration lines.
To the two-headed zealot babble of worship and treachery.
To the drow's suggestion of breaking stone with subtlety rather than strength.
To Azrakar weighing fire against patience.

When at last he stepped forward the hide map creaked beneath the weight of his gauntlet.

"The fort is not only human." Urzak said, voice low and measured. "You see the out curtain and the battlements and think of men but the bones of it are dwarven."

He tapped the drawn walls once, knuckle striking the inked stone.

"Dwarves do not trust surface mortar. They sink their walls into bedrock. They carve channels for water and air. They bind their gates with counterweights hidden in shafts no human mason understands."

His gaze moved to Alak.

"Runes will not sit only upon the face of the wall. They will be anchored. Likely tied into keystones deep within the inner gatehouse or beneath the western tower. Break the surface glyph and the deeper ones will flare."

Then to Gartz.

"You con has merit. Pride makes guards foolish. A captured drow would buy entry." His eyes shifted to Azrakar. "But once inside you will not have long. If alarm is raised the portcullises will drop in sequence. Courtyards become cages." He straightened. "If you go this road you must know where to strike."

Urzak reached to his belt and unhooked a small iron spike. It was worn, squared at the top and etched faintly with dwarven script.

"I have fought in halls like these. There will be a heart."

He pressed the spike into the hide map at the base of the inner gate.

"Here. Beneath the main winch chamber. Dwarven habit. They build redundancy into stone but they centralize control." His jaw tightened faintly. "Pride again."

He let out a slow breath.

"Give me a small team. Not for infiltration." His eyes flicked briefly toward Alak. "For the mountain."

He traced along the Spine above the fort.

"The pass walls are steep but not sheer. There will be old quarry cuts. Drain tunnels. Vent shafts for the lower storerooms. Dwarves cannot help themselves. They carve even when they need not."

His finger stopped above the western face.

"I can find a seam. A weakness in the rock the fort leans upon. Not to topple the wall outright, that would take time, but to crack the foundation."

His gaze lifted to Azrakar.

"Enter with the prisoner. Cause confusion. Strike the rune anchors from within."

He shifted his weight, iron rings in his beard chiming softly.

"And when their inner gates slam and they think themselves safe..." A faint humorless smile. "...the stone beneath them answers to me."

Silence followed for a heartbeat broken only by the hiss of coals.

"We do not choose between siege and speed." Urzak finished. "We make them think it is one while it is both."

He withdrew his gauntlet from the map.

"Let Gartz choke their food. Let the drow weaken their wards. Let worshippers open small doors if they can." His eyes flicked once toward the two-headed one. "But give me the mountain."

He inclined his head, not deeply but with deliberate weight, toward Azrakar.

"Stone remembers who shaped it first."

Azrakar Gartz Alak Rasivrein Ugh'Lolghoth

 

[Azrakar]

---

He scanned the council. “It is a high-risk plan, but so is any plan that chooses speed over siege.”

Azrakar grinned. High risk and high reward. The plan relied on his own cleverness to pull off. That allowed him to take even more credit for their conquest. He was only dissapointed that Gartz had thought of it first.

"Give me a small team. Not for infiltration." His eyes flicked briefly toward Alak. "For the mountain."

"Timing will be key then," Azrakar said.

A slow nod was all it took to express his pride in Urzak's taken for leadership.

"If you are discovered in the mountains they will slow you down. If we set the siege they will be too suspicious of my attempts."

"How many days march from where we will cross their scouts? How many days to set the siege forces and dig in?"

 

[Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher]

Back over in the feast-hall, over two dozen orcs were crowded around a heavy wooden table, where Karskgorak and a famed berserker of the horde were locked in a heated arm wrestle. “Come on, Vobal!” Shouted another berserker. “Show that Old kook that we ain’t a bunch of elf arms!”

Vobal was sweating hard, straining his arm further than he knew he could. Each time he managed to squeeze out a bit more strength, the old man across from him would just put out even more with no sign of letting up. It made Vobal wonder then, why the old man was smiling like they had only just started.

“Your muscles are quite fine, whelp.” Karsk chuckled. “In another life they might have earned you my respect.” The pressure spiked and Vobal’s position relented, before pulling back in to match Karsk’s arm. “How… bout we just settle… for this life then?” Vobal said through the strain. “I ain’t got no interest in what big Az is, me and plenty others are just here for the fightin…and that makes us strong!”

Vobal pushed every bit of strength into his arm but Karsk’s barely moved an inch. Instead, he only laughed. “Your words prove the falsehood of your strength! An orc to you is nothing but an animal, a beast that yearns for conflict with no sense or honor! You degrade yourself, whelp, and have forsaken the strength we have as thinking creatures! Learning creatures! Teaching creatures!”

Something in the stalemate snapped then, and Vobal the berserker had his arm bested with such force, that the whole of his body followed suit. The orc flipped out of his seat and onto the floor. Karskgorak rose victorious and the piled around orcs let out cries and wails of bitter defeat.

“That was only the beginning!” Said Karsk “let us drink and eat a fill and I shall beat you yet more as I am an orc of orcs, and you all are but slaves to a demon!”

 

[Gartz]

For a moment, he wondered, without expression, why a siege was needed at all. A twelve-foot demon and a battle-mage drow loose inside complacent walls would be enough to turn a loose garrison into charred meat before dawn.

But there were more voices at the table now.

None of that reached his face.

“The order then,” he said at last. His gauntleted hand pressed into the hide map, higher along the Spine.

“Urzak moves first. He takes the mountain before the fort knows it is threatened.”

His hand slid lower, toward the pass. “You follow after, Your Grace,” he continued, eyes shifting to Azrakar, then Alak. “No banners. No siege lines. You enter while they still think in terms of routine patrols.”

A pause. “As soon as you are inside, I bring the siege into the open.”

He straightened.

“My forces mobilize at once. We stage out of sight, cut nothing yet. Once revealed, two days to put the siege fully in place.”

Another pause, shorter this time.

“By then, the stone will already be cracking, and the fort compromised.”

His gaze flicked briefly to Urzak.

“You and I move first.”

Azrakar Alak Rasivrein Urzak Iron-Hold

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Alak was silent as the others spoke. It was a heck of a lot of split work from everyone and he didn't know any of these people. He didn't trust that any of them would get their job done, but hopefully. All he could say was he was glad he wasn't the on in charge.

Looks like it's you and me, then, big boss, he said to Azrakar. He wouldn't be able to carry a weapon for the fight as a prisoner which would mean having to take one off the dead, but none of the enemies would know he was a mage. He could kill without a weapon.

 

[Urzak Iron-Hold]

​

Urzak studied the map while the others spoke, measuring distance not in inked lines but in elevation, in slope, in how the sound would carry through a pass when steel first rang against steel.

Gartz's hand pressed high along the Spine.

“You and I move first.”

At that Urzak lifted his eyes.

For a heartbeat he regarded the other Orc across the hide map. No flourish, no rivalry. Only the quiet understanding of soldiers who preferred plans that required movement over those that required waiting.

Urzak gave him a single, deliberate nod. Recognition. Agreement. Respect.

Then he turned his attention to Azrakar.

"How many days march from where we will cross their scouts? How many days to set the siege forces and dig in?"

Urzak considered before answering, voice measured as a surveyor's rod.

"From our current encampment, two days to the outer ridgeline if we move light and at dusk. Three if the mountain gives us trouble." His jaw tightened faintly. "It will not."

He traced a line along the Spine with one thick finger.

"My team will need no banners and no fires. We climb at night. Rest in stone shadow by day. If their scouts are competent they will watch the roads and the riverbanks."

A faint, humorless curl touched his beard.

"They will not watch the rock above their heads."

He shifted his gaze briefly to Gartz again.

"If we move first we should reach the quarry seams and ventilation cuts within two nights. One more to study their anchors. Four days total before I am in position to break foundation."

Then back to Azrakar.

"I suggest crossing their outer patrol lines on the third day. Too soon and they tighten. Too late and they begin to smell smoke."

His hand rested on the marked gatehouse.

"When you are inside I will not need long. The first crack will be small. Enough to unsettle their confidence. Enough that when Gartz reveals the siege lines they will think the mountain itself has betrayed them." He straighten full now, broad shoulders catching the brazier light. "There will be no grand collapse. Not at first."

A slow breath filled his chest.

"By the time they understand what is happening their inner gate will already be compromised."

His eyes settled once more on Azrakar, steady and unflinching.

"It will be done, my Lord."

No oath shouted to the tent roof, just iron certainty.

"Give me twelve climbers who know silence... and leave the mountain to me."

Azrakar Gartz Alak Rasivrein

 

[Borr]

There was one orc who did not yell and boast, he did not quaff and stuff his face. He was perhaps not the largest or the strongest. Some might even call him stout but he sat among them no the lesser and in that hall he noted that the Fiend Slayer perhaps more than any, knew what was going on.

Borr had seen men and orc and dwarf and elf made to fight in the pits and had learned the hard lesson that honour was a word used to make those eager for approval die for those whose path to power was over hills of corpses.

So it was gently that he approached the fiend-slayer and clapped a hand on his shoulder in comradery that he might speak in his ear.

"I do not trust the demon either but it would be a shame to watch you die because you spoke too loudly."

Pulling away he let the others hear his words.
"An orc among orcs? Are we not all?"

The laughter he got was loud and raucous. Orc humour was often direct and sometimes dry as old bones.

"But let others try, all would fail against you, where is the sport in that and I think you've earned another drink friend!"

Arm about him he pulled the fiend-slayer with him to the edge of the hall where the eyes were seldom and the ears still rung with cries and boasts.

"You wish to stop this?"
Borr gestured to the war party about them and spoke softly, just enough to be heard by his companion.

Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher

 

[Ugh'Lolghoth]

Ugh'Loghoth wheezed with indignation at the ruckus in the feast hall, caused by Gorak'na. But his patron remained unmoved.

So Ugh'Loghoth would be unmoved. Focusing on this map and all these plans of conquest.

This he didn't like either. Their great divine godling on this earth, playing at disguise, at common trickery?

But Azrakar seemed near excited by this idea. So he dared not speak against it. Instead, he rubbed fat hands together, beseeching:

"I do not mean to question this ingenius stratagem of yours, oh mighty Fire of Pandemonium, great Horned One, clearly your cunning mind operates far beyond our mortal grasps, but . . ." he swallowed, jewelry of his sleeping twin brother rattling. "But it does seem a risky affair . . . we do not know what wicked crafts of sorcery the dwarves or humans might possess. Could we, at least, bring in more to guard His Blazing Eminence upon this disguised infiltration . . ? More than the drow?"

His small eyes swimming in wrinkles and excess flesh narrowed further, barely visible as anything but the tiniest slits -- glaring at Alak with mistrust. Then, hands writhed with nervous energy, and Ugh'Loghoth swallowed before daring to tread on a thorny issue . . .

"After all, our Hollow King has history with these . . . these under elves, and their tricky ways, and ahhh . . ."

He wasn't sure if he could mention Azrakar's previous imprisonment. So he could only imply it, while near disappearing into his seat, hoping his lord and master took the cue . . .

Alak Rasivrein
Azrakar

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar’s gaze remained fixed on the map, his fingers splayed against the parchment as though he could feel the pulse of the land through the ink.

He did not look up when Urzak and Gartz finished speaking, but the slow, rhythmic pulsing of the crimson runes on his forearms signalled his approval.

"See it done. "Discipline is the key. The tribes are used to the slaughter. They are not used to working together. Not yet. We will need to keep them in line and organised with out leadership split."

It would not go perfectly. He knew that now. When they had laid siege to twenty towns, the orcs would remember want they were capable of together.

Azrakar narrowed his gaze at Ugh'Lolghoth briefly.

"I appreciate your concern," he said slowly. He took his time over every word.

"Remember that I have outlived the empires that tried to forget my name. Do you truly believe a few under elves and their 'tricky ways' are the thing that will finally break me?"

"I am the Hollow King. If I venture into the dark it is because I chose to visit the void. I return because nothing in the darkness concerns me."

"Finalise the plans. I should attend the feast and be seen."

 

[Ugh'Lolghoth]

"Of course, of course, my liege, our chieftain among orc kind. It shall be as you will it!"

 

[Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher]

"You wish to stop this?"
Borr gestured to the war party about them and spoke softly, just enough to be heard by his companion.

Karskgorak turned to face the Borr and flashed a toothy smile. “Hah! I can tell by your words friend that you are no stranger to the hardships of this world.” The old orc then put a hand on Borr’s shoulder to mimic the previous gesture. “But know that such cynicism is but a gentle poultice! The true strength of Orckind is an enduring flame of passion that shall not be quenched! Though my thirst IS something different.”

Karsk laughed and patted Borr on the shoulder before striding over to the drinks counter where he grabbed the largest tankard of meed he could see. He then drank of it greedily as many of the orcs watching in growing astonishment.

“Ah! That is perhaps the worst mead I have ever had!” Karsk slammed the tankard back onto the counter looking back at Borr with a taunting expression. “You asked of my wish, but Know that my wish is not what you surmise. If unbound by honor I would wrestle the horns off of that accursed devil and cast him back down to the deepest pit of pandaemonium! But, such conjecture is meaningless, and so I stand here as an elder—to speak the glory of our people to those at risk to forget it in infernal employ!”

 

[Gartz]

"After all, our Hollow King has history with these . . . these under elves, and their tricky ways, and ahhh . . ."

Gartz bristled.

He waited until Azrakar was gone, until the noise of the hall rose again. Then he stepped close to Ugh’Loghoth.

“It would only take one, clean stroke,” he said quietly. “Across that soft neck.”

His eyes shifted, assessing angles like a butcher judging a cut of meat. “The gap cauterized immediately.” A pause. “And I would leave intact only the head that knows to hold its tongue.”

He let the words settle, cold and final.

Then he turned away.

“Urzak,” Gartz said, already moving. “We’re done here.”

The feast hall, the noise, the revelry, he left it behind without a backward glance. They had work to do.

Urzak Iron-Hold

 

[Borr]

Borr sniffed, the drink was the least of it.

"Of course it's terrible it's watered down with yak piss to last."
He took a drink and kept going there was more important things to speak of than the flavour of piss.

"So yes but you can't. Good to know."
Looking out at Ugh'Lolghoth he drank again and tried to look invested in what was going on about him. Someone was calling for bets on the latest wrestlers. Then the Hollow King himself entered and That got everyone's attention and not just because of his impressive size but he worked the crowd like a pro.

"Well he's here now, still want to try and rip his horns off? I'll bet on you but..."
The smile was wry and cruel in equal measure. The host cheered for their king, many of whom had not seen him before. Much were from new clans, distant companies or loners like Borr who heard the drums in their heart and followed them. All cheered and clapped and reached out to him in welcome.

"Something tells me the odds will be against you friend!"
Steadily he refilled his tankard and took another drink.

Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher Azrakar Ugh'Lolghoth

 

[Ugh'Lolghoth]

“It would only take one, clean stroke,” he said quietly. “Across that soft neck.”

His eyes shifted, assessing angles like a butcher judging a cut of meat. “The gap cauterized immediately.” A pause. “And I would leave intact only the head that knows to hold its tongue.”

The slippery smile that sprung forth from the talkaktive head spread like a wound. Lolghoth twisted his head as much as his fat neck allowed him to, squinting back up into the deadly gaze of Gartz. His brother, meanwhile, was busy blowing a bubble of snot out of his nostril in his muted snore; indeed holding his tongue.

He was used to threats from orcs that knew no better. But he was no longer the weakened cripple scorned by his tribe. He was Therg's chosen, and advisor to Azrakar, the Hollow King.

And he had taught many an orc before to remember that.

"Ah, the meat-cutter." A fat finger teased and circled around Gartz' visage. "I shall be sure to remember you, common tusk."

When Gartz left him, Lolghoth's whisper trailed his shoulder preternaturally:

"But I would watch my back -- if I were you."

Gartz
Urzak Iron-Hold
Azrakar

 

[Urzak Iron-Hold]

Urzak dipped his head the moment Azrakar gave the order.

"It will be done, my Lord."

That was all.

When the King left and Gartz stepped in close to the two-headed thing, Urzak stayed where he was, arms folded across his chest.

He listened. A clean stroke. Good.

When Ugh'lolghoth answered with that wet little whisper Urzak's lip pulled back just slightly in disgust.

He turned his head toward the creature slowly, eyes dragging over the drooling face, the glinting jewelry, the soft folds of flesh.

"Gartz is right." Urzak said bluntly.

His voice wasn't grand. It wasn't poetic. It was simple.

"You talk too much."

He looked at the sneering head.

"If you've got something to say, say it straight. Don't hiss at our backs."

His jaw tightened.

"We've got humans and dwarves to kill. Save the venom for them."

That was it.

He turned from the grotesque creature and fell in beside Gartz.

"We move before dawn."

A brief nod to Gartz.

"Let's get out of this stink."

Gartz Ugh'Lolghoth