Open Chronicles Obsidian War Council

[Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher]

"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.

“Weak minded fools!” Karskgorak shouted, out into the crowd. “Balak Kotir, White snake, Gol’fen’fen, Myrry the sly! In even recent decades there are plenty of orcs to follow and conquer with, and yet these whelps all flock to devil! A devil!” The old orc then looked at Borr with deep anger in his eyes. “I shan’t ever have a stomach for it yet for my oath I shall stay my blade and take leave of this shame. Known then my pitiable friend, that the flames of pandaemonium are no worthy master, and that I pray you see truth well before you are burnt to cinders!”

Orcs were pushed aside as Karsk made back for the door. He knew that to stay in the same room as Azrakar would be to test his Noct Yaegir oath in a losing battle.

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar strode down the centre of the largest tent. He walked with a slow, deliberate pace. He wanted to be seen.

The tent was alive with the rough clamor of orcs: laughter like rolling boulders, the crash of tankards, the wet tear of meat from bone

Known then my pitiable friend, that the flames of pandaemonium are no worthy master, and that I pray you see truth well before you are burnt to cinders!

"Bring me ale!" Azrakar cried out.

He took up a seat at the head of the tent so he could watch the feast.

He reached for a tankard, lifted it in a single smooth motion, and drank deeply. Foam spilled down his chin; he wiped it with the back of his hand and set the tankard down with a deliberate thud that echoed through the tent.

He looked out over them. They were his orcs, his warriors, the ones who had stormed a dark elf sanctum, who had fought to maintain a fraction of his territory and who had never once doubted he would return to his strength.

"The humans thought to bind me with curses."

He paused.

"Sorcerors have tried to steal my fire."

A ripple of growls and snarls answered him.
He leaned forward, eyes sweeping the crowd.

"None will stop me."

He lifted the tankard again, this time raising it high.

"To the ones who fought for me," he said. "To the ones who haven't yet, but will!"

A roar rose. It was deep and guttural, shaking the tent poles.

"Tomorrow we march. And for years to come Arethil will look back. This moment when our fire burned again!"

 

[Borr]

Borr downed his drink and filled it again then hoisted his scabbard over his back and began to push his way to the front of the crowd.

"GREAT ONE, HOLLOW KING!"
He called, addressing the demon as he emerged from the masses but went no further which prompted a bit of a slow hush and quiet murmuring. Clearly this was unusual.

"My Lord, you speak of victory, of loyalty but many of us are new, fresh faces here."

Turning he addressed the crowd.
"AND WE ARE HUNGRY FOR BLOOD RIGHT, RIGHT?"
The crowd behind him cheered at his prompting. Many were eager to prove themselves.

"I ASK WHERE WE ARE GOING..."
The cheers died down as he continued.

"I ask, what is our goal?"
The quiet took as his questions prompted deeper thinking.

"And I ask why are you worth following, for you are mighty My Lord I have no doubt but why should your cause be ours?"
Many did not know exactly what was up. The Hollow King was gathering Orcs and Ogres to him but few knew little more than that. Borr hoped to get the measure of the Hollow King from his probing without giving too much offence... hopefully.

Then again, that was what his cleaver was for.

Azrakar Ugh'Lolghoth