[H-RP] Orcs of the Red Blade – Now Old Enough to Drive and Vote!

Scharda-argent-dawn · January 6, 2021, 12:20pm

<3 Happy New year <3

Razaron-argent-dawn · January 6, 2021, 3:11pm

We’re currently at the Argent Tournament freezing our orcish butts off!

Why can’t the undead house themselves in nice warm green jungles? My Bleeding Hollow is sick of the sight of snow!

Chaveyo-argent-dawn · January 7, 2021, 8:43am

This is a great guild, used to RP with them. Congrats on your amazing celebration, and I hope for many years to come.

From the Tauren society, and the Tauwahe Tribe <3

Gulrok-argent-dawn · January 11, 2021, 1:29am

It’s cold. We face certain death or worse… No it is not my turn to cook breakfast! Its our guild campaign in the frozen north!.. yaay.

Nakobú-argent-dawn · January 23, 2021, 1:06pm

We’ve recently wrapped up our pre-Shadowlands campaign, leading us to our (potentially one way) ticket to the afterlife! Rrosh-tul in training Verzan Skywise has once again blessed us with her reports of our events, which I shall be posting over the coming days! To start, here is her report detailing our travel from Thunder Bluff to the Frozen North!

Travel Report: All the way back to Northrend.

We gathered at the Spirits Rise, every orc who had not already travelled North to aid the Ebon Watch. Even if fighting the Scourge was swiftly becoming a daily event for many of us, heeding the call to arms from the Den Mother Akala must swiftly become our focus. The clans spirits are in peril, it is worth the return journey to Northrend.

Travel had been secured for the clan, trust placed in the Forsaken who make their roost under the Spirits’ rise. I have questions about how dated their coordinates are for the former location of Dalaran in Crystal Song forest. Even they seemed to know in advance we would be thrown out of the portal up in the sky.
Many orcs received an impromptu lesson in how to fly mounted on wolf back and hurtling toward the ground ‘gently’ and as a Wind Rider, I can only assure some that your first flight training usually isn’t quite as chaotic.
The orcs made it to the ground, no casualties nor dips in the small river winding through Crystal Song. It was the closest we could get to the Argent Tournament grounds.

The Tournament grounds are one of the better secure locations in Northrend even though they are placed precariously upon the edge of Icecrown itself. They are also closest to where we can get access to the broken sky - if we are to aid our spirit wolves that is the best place to go.
Contact was also made over the spirit link with the group of Red Blade who departed a week earlier, fortunately they too had found themselves at the Tournament ground ahead of us and that settled the matter.

What came next was an ice frozen march through Argent Vanguard, the Breach and on through Scourgeholme. We were met on the road by a group of Crusaders and their Troll Captain Zaba’zin agreed to travel with us and show us the safest route through the perils of Icecrown. I cannot ever say I have walked this route. Only navigate it from above where the worst thing you can encounter is a stray sky terror or chill wind trying to blow you off course.
It’s much worse on the ground.

Our journey for the most part was tense and, ancestors blessed, quiet. The Scourge seemed to have taken their assaults elsewhere upon the shields of some other poor souls.
When finally trouble did find us and our convoy was ambushed just south of Scourgeholme, the Crusaders were caught in webs and it fell to us to handle the trouble. We battled down two groups of Nerubians seeming to act opportunistically upon any travellers leaving the Breach, it was swift and brutal and we suffered only very minor injury despite the suddenness of the attack.
However the wellbeing of Tahara Beastgrin is concerning. Several times during the altercation the orc was snarling like a wild animal, these sounds poured into the spirit link. It may be worth a Spiritual mender among the clan observing her until we know the nature of this affliction.

Arrival and Reunion at the Argent Tournament ground came quickly after the defeated ambush. We are whole again as a clan and I recommend that orcs save their strength where they can, we do not yet know how long matters will take here in Northrend.
We could be here for some time.

– Verzan Skywise –
Nag’Ogar Elite, Red Blade Clan.

Nakobú-argent-dawn · January 23, 2021, 1:11pm

Report of our second event, which involved aiding the defence of the Argent Grounds!

Battle Report: Sky Terrors at the Tournament Grounds

The day had been calm, you might have thought it normal for Icecrown if not for the gaping hole in the sky above, an oppressive ever-present blister that for the most part did nothing but glare at you.
Seemed like the clan took the opportunity of quiet time to gather about the small fires around the Horde Pavillion, meagre wood keeping a constant blaze going that could for the most part drive back chilly fingers and frost bite from your nose.

The dangerous word ‘Quiet’ might have been uttered by but one orc.
When in the distance a winged creature brought down a charge of Necromantic energy. If I had not caught vague sight of it myself, I wouldn’t have understood what was to come next. Corpses. Dozens and dozens of corpses that burrowed out from the ground, a seething mass of lesser undead.
Individually none were a match for any combatant from the clan and yet when they were together in groups it was easy to find yourself swarmed.

The Clan held ground at the Horde Pavillion, freeing up defenders there to hold off this new threat elsewhere at the Tournament site. Scourge attacked on all sides and it was difficult to see any place where there was not fighting from the skies above.

Skywise Rykana saw him first, the rider upon the Hippogryph. Flying hell for leather back to the Tournament ramparts. Sliding in on his wing to relay a report - the ground attack was only the start of our troubles. We had incoming Gargoyles.

Troll Captain Zaba’zin ran to join us. We had moments before the swarm of flying sky terrors descended upon the Tournament grounds. ‘Get to the West tower’ was the order ‘Man the gunnery’
But those cannons would need supplying ammunition. With stocks being controlled and secured, the main magazine for the Argents was held securely at the coliseum. Orcs had mere moments to separate themselves into cannon crews and ammunition runners as they ran through the undead-infested tournament grounds.

Gargoyles swept down from the skies, snatching at orcs and attempting to lift them before they could reach the tower but were unable to halt their advance. Orcs scrambled up the tower steps while others peeled off to collect more ammunition. Then the cannons sounded, striking down the airborne enemies. For a time it was enough to hold them off with the gunnery towers.
Suddenly both wind riders peeled away from the defence of those running for ammunition, it was a signal to know the battle was about to change, and then the call came in. An immense flying statue was approaching. Bearing the features of the monstrosities of Uldum, the creature was marshalling the Gargoyles that attacked.

Reports from both Skywise Wind Riders suggested it was coming directly for the Tournament grounds and using the last remaining munitions from Zaxzil they took fire at what was believed to be the main weapon of the incoming giant.
The Grenade hit and cracked the obsidian weapon of the monster but did little more than gain its attention. It was now heading for the western tower defence. Upon arrival, a brilliant green and blue energy burst from the weapons it clutched in its carved stone hands - this Necromantic energy leached out to the Gargoyles wounded and fighting, seeming to both mend and empower them.
Gunners in the towers fired upon it but their shots also seemed to have little effect beyond cracking the obsidian surface. More was needed to fetch it down or the battle for control of the skies above the Tournament Ground would surely be lost.

Captain Zaba’Zin fighting alongside the Red Blade rallied once again, calling the ammunition runners to divert into the Chapel, where Priest William was standing waiting to do his part in the battle beyond. With the holy magics of the Light, the Forsaken empowered one cannonball into a light enchanted doom for the monster controlling the Gargoyles.

As the ammunition runners gave the glowing ball of holy energy secure escort to the western tower, a crackle of magical thunder surrounded the tower. An explosion of lightning erupted outwards. Vezara Wolfheart had enchanted a cannon ball with the powers of the elements and Drastal Halfbuk had lined up the shot.
The Thunder ball zoomed across the skies and thumped with a flash like summer lightning into the hide of the flying statue commanding the gargoyle, tearing a great crack in its surface but it wasn’t enough to bring the construct down. The creatures in the sky were still a very real threat and now the Red Blade were pushed to take down that flying beast with their last chance Holy Cannon ball before it could fix its dwindling Gargoyle forces.

Karak Stormsong and those in the tower loaded the holy ball into the cannon. They had but one shot, there was no room for error. Karak Stromsong stepped up to take aim. With little more ceremony. BANG. A loud explosion of light turned the darkened icecrown night into brilliant almost day light, as bright as it was the shot seemed distinctly average - but average was all we needed as the elemental winds guided the projectile of golden light and it struck our enemy.

It exploded in brilliant golden light, exploiting the fracture from previous shots and the heavy stone construct shattered. As it fell from the skies to the snows below, many of its controlled gargoyles broke from its control. Soaring away from the Tournament grounds in defeat.
We had won the night, the Tournament Ground had been held and the Argent and Ebon Knights gave a ragged cheer, the sea of undead that had torn from the earth somehow beaten back.

– Verzan Skywise –
Nag’Ogar Elite of the Red Blade Clan

Nakobú-argent-dawn · January 23, 2021, 1:18pm

A couple days after the defence against the flying terrors and risen dead, the orcs were sent a missive calling for the aid of their healers…

‘Orcs of the Red Blade,

After the recent assault from the Sky Terrors the Argent Crusade finds itself with an extremely understaffed Shift at the Argent Chapel. With the Scourge attacks continuing we can only assume the field hospital will be as busy again as it has been for several nights.

We need urgent assistance between the hours of 8.30pm and 10pm (OC: server time).

Any able bodies orc who can attend would be greatly appreciated, there will be ample beds provided, however if there is a rush of patients you may have to improvise.
The finest medical supplies are already in situe and it is of course a Chapel should any last rights need to be spoken.

Captain Tilly,
Argent Crusade Field Hospital’

Here is Verzan’s report of the orcs’ efforts in aiding the injured at the Argent infirmary during our third event!

A big thanks to those of the Ashen Pact, Anchors Away and others guilds, whom blessed us with their NPC performances of all the injured!

Hospital Records: Red Blade A&E

We’ve been stuck in Northrend now for about a week, fighting has waxed and waned like an ocean tide coming in. Scourge attack and those within the Tournament grounds push them back. That is the way of things here, there is no set rota or time table, these things just happen and happen and happen. It never ends.
On one of these unscheduled busy days the Argent Chapel hospital seemed to become short staffed. For reasons unknown there just weren’t enough people to stand ready by the beds.
In very short notice the clan became called on by the Tournament grounds, to step in and cover an otherwise exceptionally understaffed two hours at the hospital. Into the frey the Red Blade orcs went. While not everyone is a mender, it didn’t seem necessary, there would be plenty of tasks to handle. Not every problem the menders face comes from an injury caused by the Scourge.

A good number of Red Blade attended to help out Nakobu Shadowbreaker, Za’karah Sporefang, Rhonya Steelheart, Karak Stormsong, Drastal Halfbuk…
And Targnar Windsong, mute and without hands. It was unclear what he could do but he certainly gave it his best. The friend of the clan Luciouz Dalton also attended to offer his assistance.

The handover came just after the eighth drum beat and no sooner had it happened the first patients already began to fall in through the front door, rapidly filling up the beds. Though most seemed in good spirits the constant sounds of fighting beyond the tent canvas suggested that things were going to get busy.

Among the first patients a very serious gut injury held one orc moments from death and Karak Stormsong entirely out of his depth. Conditions went from bad to worse for this orc and help was needed from the others to stop the critical condition patient from expiring.

Meanwhile elsewhere a Zandalari paladin was afflicted with sickness. Vomiting over the boards of the hospital and into their helm and at the same time a blood elf came in with a very serious head injury, Dr Dalton had no choice but to operate and release the pressure on the brain with a drill. Saving the patient.

A dispute boiled up between one orc Brogar and an forsaken Poporazzi, both having been brought in together from the battlefield. The orc couldn’t see anything but scourge when he looked upon the Forsaken and loudly announced his opinions to the busy ward. It’s clear those two will never be allies but they were kept apart by the quick work of Targnar Windsong and Rhonya Steelheart.

Through the open doors of the Hospital no patient would be turned away and many more came. An orc stumbled within, agony tore at him from within and he collapsed upon the decking. When brought to a bed mender after mender looked him over there seemed to be no visible wounds, no sign of poison or sickness. He was just screaming in agony.

At the same time a troll woman arrived, she too had complaints. Many of them occupied the time of Nakobu. Seemingly with small complaints and few actual ailments, the Mag’har expertly accepted her complaints and convinced her away from the wards with ‘medicine’ she was an absolute time waster.

Though other patents within were far from that. An injured Tauren. Mansu Greatforest had arrived with a heavy wound to his shoulder and throat. It needed immediate attention, he was fading fast. A flurry of healer surrounded his bed and got to work but at a crucial moment one of them was called away.
Mansu was moments from death. Dr. Dalton stepped in to stem the bleeding before Mansu died. It was touch and go and the Tauren would remain bed ridden for many more nights to come.

The screaming agonized orcs torment continued. Finding a diagnosis was difficult.
Until a breakthrough came when the orcs checked his blood. It appeared to contain ghosts. This orcs blood was haunted and required immediate exorcism - but he had to wait Nakobu was still helping handle Mansu’s bloody wound.

Elsewhere a seemingly drunken orc lay sprawled across the middle of the floor, a Paladin Sin’dorei had a dislocated shoulder but refused to allow menders to take her armour off and Drastal Halfbuk was making every effort to try and maintain the cleanliness of the ward.

In the end ghosts were cast away from the blood of the orc patient. Time wasting drunks were tossed in the snow by Za’karah Sporefang, Mansu was made comfortable and less armoured than before and all patients found themselves treated.

It was just a few hours for the busy Infirmary, a night like every other night for the dedicated menders of the Argent Tournament but the Red Blade treated ten or more patients and had no fatalities on their watch.
As the Infirmary Matron would say ‘A night with no fatalities is a good night’

-Anon-

Nakobu-argent-dawn · January 31, 2021, 11:50pm

Report for the fourth event, written by Verzan Skywise!

Ritual Report: Peering through Death’s Door

I am told these moments of connection with the other side of things are rare and that if it had not been for the Den Mother Akala coming to the clan a mere few weeks ago this would never have been considered possible at all.

The rallying call came with the Death Walker Enrah approaching the Elders of the clan. A call across the spirit link that all oathed members of the clan are able to hear, they seemed to have an idea about something. It was more than just the clan Elders that answered the call. The Ebon Knight spoke about a need for action regarding the Den Mothers warning. We had been in Northrend now a week - it wasn’t the only orc getting itchy feet, this place is cold hell but not every orc could Necromancy away the problems here.

A detailed ritual was explained, something about attempting to peer beyond the veil to find Sharguul, the clan patron spirit of death. By focusing on his suffering on the other side while under the broken skies to the realms beyond. It seemed easy enough, using the items, bonds and stories that connected members of the clan to this wolf and through them they would reach out and locate him perhaps even see what all this trouble was about - except it came with a hitch. Death walkers, as we are all well aware, use Souls for most of their ‘powerful’ magic.
That breaks the clan code, regardless of the portion of soul used.

While they might have been willing in the end to sacrifice part of their soul for the purposes of this ritual alongside other volunteers such as Ragnar Whiteclaw, the clan had not explored any other avenues. Self sacrifice seemed a little premature on this occasion.
The offer while allowed was firmly refused.

Many orcs present at this impromptu gathering offered their alternative attempts, some like Drazhul Dusklight who offered his talents using the void were refused. The Void after all is known to speak in lies and it could potentially lead to confusion over the direction needed right now. Others like Bashul Starsong a talented Astronomancer and Nakobu who uses only the Light could potentially have located the truth in that but again the powers employed would have potentially been costly, when we needed both to be fighting ready.

There were also concerns about involving the elementals when shaman spoke of potentially feeding the Death Walker some of that power to fuel their ritual, uncertainty over this made it an overlooked option. And of course, Kogra Windwatcher’s own limitations when calling upon the spirits powers for the clan, nobody wanted to pay to invoke those costs.

Instead an unproven New Blood who barely knew of the clan’s spirit wolves. Drastal Halfbuk volunteered and was chosen, a Mag’har from a Seer’s lineage from Alternate Draenor seeming to choose to deploy a similar technique to the Death Walker. The young seer knew the bonds the clan had to the Blackfur would be the best way of locating the spirit beyond the veil.
Mustering those gathered who could help and all those who would watch on either guarding the ritualists or simply the curious who needed to know what the fate of the spirits was, the group moved to the outer edges of the Tournament grounds.

The spirits understood the severity of the request, lending their strength to the ritual and reaching up into the darkness as requested and yet it did not seem to work. Something was stopping them crossing into the world beyond - the same thing that had prevented Akala herself crossing the veil it seemed.
Orcs tried to empower them but it was limited in its success - the ritual was upon the brink of failure when one of the more powerful entity’s aiding the clan leapt into the body of Drastal Halfbuk and used his mouth to speak.

A bridge was needed.
An orc would be required to become a bridge between here and the realms of the dead.
The spirit spoke these exact words when referring to this bridge ‘One who knows both sides of the coin of life at their very core’
Eyes fell upon the Death walker Enrah, while among the Varog’gor Razaron Madeye’s own experiences of life and death became apparent. The orc had died once before to rescue Sharguul many moons ago, only to be brought back from the dead.

One orc the literally living dead and the other an orc who had died and lived again. There would only be one chance at this and to get it wrong would have been to court disaster. Both stepped up to play their part.

Using her talents to step through the veil to the Shadowlands, Enrah called upon the magic of the Ebon Knights and stepped into the realms upon the other side, there she would wait for Madeye to reach forward.
He would grasp her hand through the veil - pull her back through and in this act create the bridge needed to hurl all of the orcs present into a series of turbulent visions of things no living members of the clan had ever been witness to before.

In the first vision the snow parted to share images of a distant place. A golden impossible structure floating in an unknown sky, shaped much like a Winter’s Veil cracker. A steam of bright lucid shapes. That orcs who were witness to this whispered ‘souls’ upon seeing it. The numbers were uncountable beyond measure and from seemingly all places.

You watched them in awe as they swarmed through the floating structure and directly down into the ominous imposing blood red and ash black clouds below, as if drifting down into a terrible furnace hungry to consume them.
At the floating structure itself there are further flows of energy but much smaller, faint and four in total. Each leading off far into the sky were clouded swirls of different colours smaller than the ominous furnace mark their destination.

It seemed many of the spiritualists among our number felt without question that this was a place connected to the soul, before our visions turned again. Seemingly peering closer and within the grand architecture of the floating structure.
A huge chamber with a hole at its heart is illuminated by the stream of brightest souls pouring down and down through it and beyond into the depths below. Unknown armoured beings stand guard over a multitude of doorways leading to places unknown.

Robed beings float to and fro, busy about their purpose. While ethereal people whose body looks clothed in spiritual flame and mechanical limb walk in groups with opportunistic determination.

This seems to be more than some machine or grand device, it seems to be a city?
At sight of this place those bonded to Sharguul reported having felt that he was once here - but not if his current suffering was linked to this place? Questions remained unanswered as a stout being, wearing dark plate and tattered furs steps into vision. It was a dwarf. A dead one and from the colour of his tabard and runic axe another death walker of Enrah’s Order.
Following his short stride he leads us through the hall and passes the enormous armoured beings that guard the passages here. The cold gaze of undeath falls upon the entering figure as he looks to a strange man, seemingly with a cracked hide of flame among them. There seem to be many Ebon Knights here.

As the vision falls away into bleak and phantomless snows, ‘High lord Fordragon’ Our Death walker Enrah would utter referring to the strange fire touched man. Surprised perhaps to see him in that distant place.

As vision returns to those involved things are different, the glittering city of souls and the dead with its alien vaulted hallways and streams of countless souls are gone. Things are more turbulent as if the vision itself is shaken…

The grand visage of the Blackfur himself stands out in the blizzard arms length from the orcs, none can reach him. He is exhausted and a great many wounds are visible across his body. The great spirit’s essence weeps front these open wounds as the weight from each cut stacks upon the might of the last. It is taking its toll.
In other visions he was more intangible… here things are different, he is material. His eyes glare at something unseen and his blackened fangs are bared. Facing off against a foe unseen. As if ready to make a final stand.

Some orcs try to see more, to push their will to aid him to action but it is impossible, nothing more can be seen and once again the snows return simply to flow around the clouded minds of the orcs enduring this spectacle.

Eventually like a light in a dark and windy night, something begins to approach. Many feel they have experienced the present but in this fresh fall of snow, there is a feeling of something other. Perhaps of things yet to come…

A soft scene of an orcish soul walking across a field of flowing grass. The skies above are an unimaginable kaleidoscope of colours as the sun sets gently. His attire is generic by orcish standards, perhaps yielding from a time before the opening of the Dark Portal but the crest upon his shield. That can only be the mark of the Red Blade. The scene of calm is pierced by a sudden burst of blue energy before him, a portal opens before the orc and through the ripples of magic a hulking monstrosity tears its way through.

Though the Red Blade orc spirit is brave, charging with axe and shield to cleave chunks out of the horror. He is ultimately defeated. As he lay in the long grass the creature siphons the energy of the fallen orc bringing him closer and closer to a second death.

Sharguul, the one whose role to protect the Red Blade in the next life, is nowhere to be seen. No aid comes to the orc. He faces his final death. Only oblivion awaits.

In sober silence the orcs stare at the scene. But their gaze is met by only further visions through a blizzard of snow that present to them another orc. This time she holds something more recognisable to those orcs who have passed their New Blood tasks. Three marks stained in blood.
When she lived or whom she is, is something of a mystery but she is a Red Blade for certain.This orc seems floating through a dark abyss. Following toward a thread of energy to a light that awaits her. Hopes are raised, could this be the Eternal Hunting Grounds?

No answer comes. Nor does Sharguul, he is not there to guide her to a place of rest instead hands reach from inside the darkness. Grasping the orc. Their fingers twist and yank pulling at her spiritual form and wrench it struggling to be torn to pieces.
Dark hands collect what remains and retreat back into the shadows.

No help came for either orc lost out there in the darkness, they faced oblivion alone and none came for those who faced horrific demises without Sharguul’s guidance and protection. All that they were winked out before our eyes. It was unbearable and to many unimaginable.
At this the connection wavered.
Spirits who had shared such a fate had reached their limit, this would be all the clan could witness for now and left many with more questions than answers.

A grim procession marched away from that snow-clad hillside under the broken skies of Icecrown, orcs questioning quietly what had happened and their place in the world now, was damnation all that remained?
Was it really true that the clan now faced oblivion should they fall in battle?

It only made the matter of Sharguul’s rescue seem even more imperative. If nothing was done, perhaps all would be lost. It would seem the clans’ fate would be left to ponder the pathways that could take them into the breach, to the realms of death themselves. To the Shadowlands.

And perhaps a path none would have considered before.
A Death gate through to the other side. But at what cost?

-Anon-

Nakobu-argent-dawn · January 31, 2021, 11:54pm

A report of the orcs’ meeting with the Great Wolf Akashok, this time penned by Rykana Skywise!

A meeting with the Den Father - Akashok

We gathered around the meagre fires of the Tournament Grounds, a solemn crowd of Red Blade with troubled hearts and worry on their minds. The weight of vision that had been witnessed a few days previous and the dark implication of what we saw rested heavily, the fear that if we did not act to save Sharguul soon then the entire Clan would be risking the darkness of oblivion.

The decision had been made to seek the guidance and wisdom of Akashok, the greatest of the Clan’s spirit patrons. And so the quiet procession made their way up onto the snow-blasted hills overlooking the pavilion to where Bashul Starsong had prepared a circle of ritual. She called out to the Den Father, her timid voice echoing from the blanket wastes around her, the ritual short as she entreated Akashok to visit his wisdom upon us in this time of dire need.

It did not take long for her to receive her answer, a flurry of snow kicking up on an unnatural wind and blinding the orcs but when the white cleared, he was there. Paws impossibly light upon the snow as he rested across from Starsong, firelight flickering over his pale fur as he regarded the rest of the gathered clan with a piercing gaze.

Words were exchanged, others from the Clan speaking up as the great wolf seemed uncertain what we hoped to gain from him that we did not already know ourselves. He was not the Traveller, this duty had been passed to us. The Death Walker, Enrah, stepped forwards, seeking permission from Starsong before speaking, addressing the Den Father with respectfully bended knee.

She spoke of the training her Order was giving her in transport across the veil of death, of the dark cost such power came with, and of her desire to find another way to carry the Clan to the aid of the Blackfur. She spoke of places known to house broken souls, fragments worn down by forgotten time and asked if this was enough.

Akashok responded with no uncertainty. Any attempt to use whole souls, even in the aid of the Blackfur, would be denied. He then drew attention to the Clan’s efforts to escape the ocean floor several months ago, and the elemental duke who had wielded worn fragments of soul in aid of the Clan. He spoke of how we did not raise blades against it despite the protestations of several Clan members that the path had been just as undesirable back then.

He reminded us that if we had accepted the use of whole souls, even in service of our cause, then he would have had to visit us to ask where his pack had gone so astray. Such a thing was not to be countenanced. It was at this point that Karak Stormsong made his thoughts known, defiantly addressing the great wolf that ‘We need options, not reprimand.’

Stormsong was angry at the suggestion that the Code was flexible, accusing the Den Father of speaking only platitudes and bending the Code only when it served his whims. Other Clan orcs growled and demanded his silence, trying to offer reason in the face of his discontent, but it took a flat-edged blow from the bladefist of Targnar Windsong, a New Blood of the Clan, to silence the defiant True Blood.

Stromsong was warned by Akashok that if he spoke another word in disrespect, then he would be dismissed from the gathering entirely. This quietened the True Blood but instead he seethed quietly, storing up his thoughts that would become the final argument of his title.

The Den Father then clarified his judgement on the Code, to make it clear to all what options they had available. The fragments of lost souls could be permitted only under the most dire of circumstances, granting that the plight of the Blackfur constituted such. But that we must ensure that no trace of a being remained within the soul, only mere energy reduced to such a point that there is nothing remaining of who it once was.

Deeming the matter settled, the great wolf invited further questions. Several in the Clan spoke up and we learned that it was unclear how long the Blackfur would last without aid but that it would be unwise to delay and that it was unlikely we could lend him our strength until we had crossed the veil to the other side.

Akashok’s parting words were directed to Kyrazha Throatrender, entrusting that she knew what actions to take for those who could not hold their tongue, nodding his head to those who bid him respect before standing and walking into another flurry of blinding snow, leaving the orcs with their own company once more.

It was then that Stormsong chose his moment. A tirade of complaints and sour words issued from the True Blood the moment the Den Father had taken his leave, offering disrespect to Varog’Gor Throatrender even as she warned him of consequences to his actions. She responded by stripping him of his title, removing his status as True Blood of the Clan and leaving him a Nag’Ogar only.

As the discussion continued, Enrah informed those gathered that she was attending a meeting with one of her Order later that evening in the hopes of learning where the Clan might locate the kind of soul energy Akashok had granted his permission to use. She invited any Clan’s orc to attend alongside her, asking for them to witness the exchange.

The gathering departed, orcs wandering off to face their own thoughts or seeking warmth in the pavilion. We had learned what we set out to find, we knew the path ahead of us. There were still many that felt strongly against it, and it is certain many consider it only out of grim necessity, but at least we would not be breaking our Code. Dire times indeed if the Den Father would grant such permission.

Regardless of our feelings, we must prepare to do what is necessary to save the Blackfur. To ensure that when each of us, our children, those descendants we have not even conceived, when all who hold to the Red Blade oath should meet their end that they can find their rest in safety beneath Sharguul’s gaze.

These are dark times with dark deeds but we hold together and march strong for the salvation of all we hold dear. For the safety of the Clan, we bear this burden.

– Rykana Skywise –
Nag’Ogar of the Red Blade Clan

Nakobu-argent-dawn · January 31, 2021, 11:58pm

Another report by Verzan Skywise, covering the fifth core event in our pre-Shadowlands campaign!

Battle Report: The Valley of Icy Doom

Sitting on the steps of the Horde Pavilion, peering over meticulous papers and maps detailing where we were to depart. I had to wonder just what was in it for the Ebon Knight to ‘help’ us like this. We had information of a goat path that headed out the rear of the Argent Tournament grounds, used these days by a good number of Crusaders heading an alternate route to engage in more subtle deployments against the Scourge.
The path wouldn’t take too much climbing and our target was a largish ice canyon so close to the tournament grounds that we wouldn’t even need to fetch our mounts. It was quickly labelled ‘The ditch’

Plan was simple. Get into the ditch and find the mostly not dubious relics we needed for the ritual that would take us to the Shadowlands to rescue Sharguul.

Getting to the ditch was without incident but our quiet journey ended there. It was not long before ice elementals rose up from the ground, disturbed by the relatively large group of Red Blade orcs crossing past where they had been left abandoned - and fel tainted.
They must have been relics from the conflict that wracked Azeroth when the Legion came, they could even have been down there longer. It was difficult to know.

When ten feet of ice monster burning from the inside with Fel torment emerges from the snow and approaches you, alongside three of its friends, the normal response is to fight such a creature - The shaman of our clan however were quick to identify what had happened to these poor tainted creatures.
They called back our blades. Pacifying the raging ice monsters for a short time while we formulated a plan that might just see them cleased of the Fel torment.

Kogra Windwatcher, Rhonya Steelheart, Eliff Watersong and Drastal Halfbuk. Would use their powers to purge the fel taint from the elementals - which of course would be unpleasant for all involved.
The shaman felt certain that this would cause the elementals to thrash and become violent. So those who were not directly purging an elemental would have to grapple with them somehow. These ten foot tall ice monsters filled with fel magic – this was certainly not what anyone had been expecting to find themselves doing and a titanic ‘hug’-out ensued as the Red Blade separated into four groups.

Huge orcs like Thronk and Gul’rok Ragehowl ‘hugged’ the elementals into behaving, others tangled them in ropes and wrestled with giant icey limbs. The effort was not wasted. Orbs of Fel magic were drawn out of the elementals and they were freed from their torment.

Speaking only in the language of elementals, they approached the clan orcs questioning why they had come to this forgotten place. The orcs explained that we were searching for relics and objects that may have been left behind. The elementals shook their ice bound heads, the legion came here and picked the icy valley clean of anything valuable.
However there was one place, a tainted hole deep in the earth where the great worms once made their burrows where things might not have been touched. With a polite request from Rhonya Steelheart - the elementals led the way.

True to their word. The ice elementals led the Red Blade orcs through glittering canyons of ice and snow. Bitterly cold and eerily quiet, locked in the eternal colds of this barren landscape.
After a time a huge cavernous hole in the ice appeared before the orcs. Vast it was, as if something mighty had punched a hole through the sheer cliff surface. Shines of weak light glittered from the deep blue canyon walls, small flecks of snow sprinkled down from above into the sheltered cavern which rapidly plunged into darkness before the orcs.

Yet at the caverns mouth sat a small plump ‘thing’ for a long moment we all just peered at it, uncertain what it could be. Half buried and motionless it appeared soft and almost out of place. Karak Stormsong stepped forward boldly, moving to examine the ‘thing’ and then discovering it was the larvae of one of the great ice worms found here in Northrend.
Except it was quite stone dead. It wasn’t clear what took its life, only that it was dead and frozen solid in the ice.

Suddenly from above a winged creature could be seen again. Dark feathery wings and ominous armour marked it out against turbulent skies. It flew toward our location from the gaping hole in the skies above, sweeping in even as we attempted to shoot it down.
A large ball of necromantic energy burst from its fingers and plunged deep into the ground sending orcs scattering for cover at the mouth of the cavern.

But the winged figure did not descend, instead it channeled its dark powers into the frozen corpse of the worm larvae, filling it with Necromantic energies as it sprouted spikes of ice and bone. It had been reanimated by the flying fiend and seemingly in an effort to thwart our efforts in the valley below.
The fight came immediately as the worm charged the Red Blade.

The cut and thrust of blade and spell smashed into its hide but the unliving monster seemed to know no pain. Nag’Ogar hurriedly climbed to the back of the monster, Gul’rok Ragehowl getting there first being able to grab the creatures enormous facial spines and yank, just in time to rescue Targnar Windsong from a spray of necrotic acid from the creatures withered bile sacks.
The fighting continued forcing Kogra Windwatcher to defend her battle sister with a wall of ice and Karak Stormsong to land a few precious hits with his crossbow.

By now I had joined Ragehowl on the back of the beast and we hacked at it with great weapons, the creature’s whole body quivered as it was preparing to dive. Neither orc on its back seemed to take the hint to dive off. Plunging our blades deep into its dead hide, we braced for the ride to come. While other orcs at ground level continued to slash and cut at the monster.
It roared a harrowing hollow cry and then dove for the earth carrying Skywise and Ragehowl with it. Muffled voices could be heard through the spirit link as the two clung on for all their worth.

Above them the ground trembled and ice broke from the cliff edges in the narrow valley. Orcs braced, waiting for the creature to reemerge out into the open air. When suddenly with a loud booming cry of ‘RROSH!’ the worm was forced to the surface by those on its back and into the clear firing line of the orcs above.
Drastal Halfbuk sent his wolves in for the kill, Steelheart enchanted a magical arrow nocked to Rykana Skywise’s bow as the arrow struck the head of the giant worm. The orcs riding its back leapt clear.
The worm’s head exploded with a colossal crash and a liberal spraying of gore.
It fell to the ground defeated and, among the remains, still wrapped in the rows of broken teeth, Thronk plucked three gore spattered keys.

The puzzle of where these keys went at least was not a mystery for long, as the orcs found themselves drawn to investigate the abandoned worm lair within the cavern. Old death lurked locked in the walls, trapped and twitching in the dark ice all about them and bathed in the stench of fel magic. Yet here before them rested three chests.

In the first were fel armaments, not to be used by the orcs they were quickly scooped up into a crate by the orcs, to be purged of their corruption by the Crusaders. In the second chest were reliquaries, though none could be sure of their contents these seemed more of what the orcs came looking for. They would warrant more investigation. In the final chest, nested over soft decaying cushions, a great number of purple soul crystals - all of which were taken and given to the Thur’ruk Windwatcher. Though abominable for what they were, they could not be abandoned.

Cavern plundered, the orcs made a quick retreat.
Perhaps quicker than they had anticipated - the Ice elementals they had removed the taint from ‘offered’ a quicker alternative that seemed to manifest in the form of an ice slide. Some orcs who spoke elemental knew it was coming, others slipped on their backsides and rode it out back to the Tournament Ground.

Exhausted from their battles and with a great deal of salvage to sort orcs took their rest. The task at hand had been completed and none had suffered any great injury.

For now orcs recover ahead of a second expedition to something we are told by Enrah is of reverence to the Vrykul and their god of death. The Tomb of Trials awaits.

–Verzan Skywise–
Elite Nag’Ogar, Red Blade Clan

Nakobú-argent-dawn · February 1, 2021, 6:09pm

Verzan’s report of the sixth event in the campaign! \o/

Battle Report – The Tomb of Trials

The skies were stormy as the Argent Hippogryphs took flight, rain lashed our faces and winds buffeted the armoured birds. The weather gave us the best chance of getting into the Vrykul village undetected but it was a bumpy ride for unseasoned fliers.
Tucking in among the cliffs before parting from the birds. The Orcs quickly found themselves with a choice, break into the village through a barricaded main gate or scale the walls. Under the leadership of Bloodrider Blackfeather we scaled the walls. Some orcs made easy work of it, others who were too large or burdened by heavier armours were aided by the magic of Drazhul Dusklight.

On the other side of the wall things seemed quiet. The village under populated. With the use of the Warlock Gatran Felhammer’s conjured eye of kilrogg we were able to scout the village without detection. It seemed a large war party of the village’s warriors were away.

This gave us chance to sneak through the edges of the inside wall undetected and without incident. We were heading to a cavern at the back, barred by thick wooden doors there was only one set of guards between us and our goal.
The struggle was brief. The Ebon Knight dragged one guarding Vrykul down from his post and he was quickly dealt with by the warriors close by and the other was handled by killing blasts of evil magic from both Felhammer and Dusklight.
The bodies were quickly disposed of by Targnar and Dusklight and we moved on. There was not time to linger, the war party of Vrykul could return at any moment.

The rain continued to soak the orcs through as they stood before the huge thick timbered doors of the tomb complex. In time with the thunder overhead, Takkat Warwolf assaulted the door attempting to break through.
When the timbers mysteriously put up resistance greater than expected a tussle broke out among the orcs as Felhammer attempted to cast a warlock gate to fetch the whole group past the barrier through the small opening Warwolf had made. This did not go down well and he was smacked out of the way by Targnar Windsong.
In the end, a combined effort of many orcs shoving got the doors to buckle. The orcs gaining access to a darkened chamber beyond.

The chamber itself held very little and they found themselves with limited light. Some quickly claimed torches, others relied upon their own magical conjourations or runes etched upon their weapons.
Through the dim light a corpse emerged. The body long dead wearing the colours of the Ebon Order, in its hands it clutched at a vessel. These were the sorts of objects the clan had come to claim.
The corpse seemed to catch the attention of Enrah the Death Knight, as if there was something shared between the two. She spoke the warnings of her order, in hollow echoed notes. Describing how many Acolytes sought to claim the bounty of soul energy held within this place for themselves, to ease their guilt at what they had to do to survive as Death Knights.
The Tomb of Trials, it was called by the Vrykul who worshipped the gods of death here.
The dead Acolytes body they had found must have been trying to claim the souls within for themselves and failed in the effort and though orcs searched, no Runeblade could be found nearby.

They pressed on, time still being against them. At the back of the cavern a spiral stairwell crept down further into the mountain side and yet even more darkness. It was the only way forward.

Quiet and still. Dry and disused the corridor was broad and made of stone. Tall struts of thick ancient timber propped up the roof as the orcs reached the bottom of the stairway and finally found themselves in the tomb itself.
Nothing moved but them.

Like thieves stepping upon forbidden ground the orcs edged forward.
When suddenly through the very walls of the tomb around them emerged giant, bellowing Vrykul ghosts. Warriors long lost and lingering from the fights to the death to appease the death gods of their people.
Though orcs swung for them as they ambushed the group, initially none could hurt them, their regular blades not enough to cut through ghostly forms. From the front of the group Enrah the Death Knight called upon Unholy magics and targeted the warriors to bring their incorporeal forms into the physical where the others could hit them.
This left the Knight exposed and the ghost Vrykul took advantage of this, hitting her many times before the rest of the group could bring about their end. Several waves of furious Vrykul ghosts emerged to fight the party boasting of their deeds and glories as if seeing the Red Blade in their tomb as a final chance to prove themselves.

Soon as the Vrykul ghosts were made physical those chances faded fast the orcs cut them down and moved on deeper into the tomb.

A vast chamber opened out before them, at its heart a runic pillar etched with Vryul meaning, prayers and worship of death. Adorned with these markings and runes it was easy almost to ignore the bounty of shattered Death Knight runeblades propped against the pillar. Like testament to how many had come here before and failed.
At the dim edges of the room in the shadows tucked away were vessels containing souls. As the orcs went to retrieve them, a huge ghost emerged from the runic pillar, Jovald the Jormungar – he bellowed his name. An enormous looming figure of a Vrykul atop his spectral Proto Drake.

Boastful and proud, the Vrykul mocked the orcs for coming to challenge his might. Keen to add their souls to the collection he had gathered about the room. They charged him and as they did the Drake he was riding opened its mouth and let rip with a burst of blue spirit flame that washed over any not quick enough to evade it.
Once more Enrah brought the Drake into the physical world allowing for the others to lay into the beast. Some like Bamm cut at it with screwdrivers and the tools of their trade, while others took a more traditional approach and hacked at its hide with axes and blades. Many orcs took injury in the deadly melee as the Vrykul did not just sit and allow his spirit beast to be cut down. He hurled axes from his saddle at the orcs below, some fell to their knees from the relentless assault.
Targnar Windsong knelt among the melee and seemingly with prayer mended one of the orcs being hit. While Karnna Blackfeather and Thronk pressed the attack.

In the end the Drakes ghostly shape was ripped to shreds by the orcs, unseating its rider as he hit the ground with a heavy thud. He immediately turned his blades into a spinning pinion of doom, whirling between the orcs that sought to end him.
With only a few remaining standing, Jovald began to fling fire from the ends of his axe. His voice cut short by Unholy magic, his crotch bit by Boomer, back raked by Karnna Blackfeathers knives and chest cleaved by Takkat Warwolf’s axe. It was an effort from all to bring him down.

Bloodied and combat weary, the orcs found no more fighting in the tomb from then onwards. They made quick work of emptying the area of the vessels needed to aid the clan ritual and the Death Knight claimed the broken pieces of her peoples Runeblades.
Escape came through a hidden passage that took the orcs on a lengthy walk that would eventually emerge out in the howling winds and pouring rain once again. Their hippogryphs swooping in to the ledges of the ancient structure to ferry them away. Mission complete.

–Anon–

Nakobú-argent-dawn · February 1, 2021, 6:17pm

Not long after the orcs’ success in the vrykul tomb, they receive word from the leader of a particular group of deathwalkers…

A notice is placed where the orcs can see it, passed to them directly or slipped into the front of tents when they can be found. The missive is also announced clearly where many might hear:

Orcs of the Red Blade,

Many have fallen victim in recent weeks to the terrors soaring down from the broken skies above, the Argent Crusade are stretched thinly across the ruined landscape. They are fighting fires but the time has come to take direct action.
The Ebon Blade will be attempting an ambush upon these winged intruders.

They believe themselves without threat in the skies above Icecrown, untouchable in their efforts to raise further troops against us from the frigid ground. We must strike so that they hesitate to increase their strength further.
The Ashen Pact have laid a trap for one of these intruders. The corpse of a rotting giant has been placed at the foot of a tower at Icecrown citadel directly below the great hole in the sky and we will await their keen eyes to spot it and attempt to raise it.
The target is too good for them to ignore.

We will use our powers of death to drag the flying intruder to the tower where we can fight it and bring one of these enemies to death and help turn the tide of this war.

While we will face this threat alone if needed, more fighters would make our victory a certainty. We have cooperated in the past and so if you wish to lend your strength, it will be accepted.
We do battle with what some are calling a ‘Herald of the Maw’ and it will be no simple task.

Greirath,
Knight-Captain of the Ashen Pact

And here is Verzan’s report on the finale of our pre-Shadowlands intro events!

Battle Report - Ambush in the Shadow of the Citadel

The Ashen Pact were always going to ride out to battle the creature we have been told they call ‘Herald of the Maw’ but a gesture was made, the Ebon Knights sent word through Enrah that the Red Blade would be welcome to join them in this fight.

After weeks of encountering these winged creatures, like Valkyr soaring down from the shattered skies they would come, ignoring us as if we were little more than critters scurrying for cover when their dark magic raised even further unliving threats into Icecrown’s landscape. It did not take much to convince us to make our mark and join the fight against one of their kind.

The storms of recent nights had passed and yet the ice chilled wind still howled about us as we rode flying mounts gifted by the Crusade outwards into the gale. Our mounts heading for the base of Icecrown Citadel itself, directly under the heart of the shattered skies.
Captain Greirath led the mission, while Gul’rok Ragehowl stood as Alpha for the Red Blade clan. The Captain’s plan had been simple - the Ashen Pact had prepared the body of one of the great frost giants that litter the ancient graveyards of the north. Its hulking mass too tempting of a target for the Herald to ignore. The winged creature would see the giant and fly down to resurrect the corpse, before it could achieve its goal the Ebon Knights would use their powers over death to grasp the Herald and drag it over to where an ambush of Knights and Red Blade waited ready to pin it with hooks, magic and chains so it would not escape.
From there it would be a ‘simple’ fight.

And that was the plan but the fight itself was anything but simple.

For a long time we waited, crouching upon a ledge of the ominous citadel as ice chilled our bones. It felt as if the Herald would never come when suddenly orcs spotted two of the creatures sweeping down from the yawning hole in the skies above - they parted company and our target took up the bait.
It was lured in and as planned, hoisted onto our ledge. A rapid skirmish of orcs quickly deployed tentacles of the void, chains and bindings to keep it with us. Allowing only for a small amount of flight as the length of chains might stretch.

Then flash! A dazzling surge of magic blinded those closest as the magic of the Red Blade spell casters was hurled at the creature. Moon light, elemental flame and brilliant arcane. It took the blast directly, there was no chance to avoid it – and yet the creature survived!
Our eyes cleared in time to meet a swift return of hostility, sweeping wings pushed the orcs all around the platform back before lances of dark, black static energy were hurled toward them.
Some fell prone, pinned by these strange black lances to the cold stone of the citadel. While others raced back into the fray to take down this terrifying enemy. Karak Stormsong rescued Rhonya Steelheart from the binding of the cruel magic lance. Enrah too found herself rescued by Nakobu’s light magic - though that perhaps was less pain free in its execution.

Before the orcs stood the Herald, clear for all to see. She was as tall as the largest orc with a wingspan bigger yet, dark feathers shimmered with ghostly hue across their surface. While her armour was pitted with black steel reminiscent of the plate the Ebon Knights wore and yet different, as if of older design. Her face was obscured by a cruel helm in the shape of a skeletal death mask.
And voice, hollow and filled with spite that spoke only of Darkness and of a Masters plan.

The battle against the Herald raged for the greatest of time. It might have been but one enemy but it fought like twenty and when it was clear it could not break the chains that bound it nor the orcs that hacked and cleaved into its ancient armour, it raised its hands to call upon Unholy energies, just like we had seen many times before. It raised the corpse of the giant below that had drawn it here in the first place.
The whole tower shuddered as the behemoth scaled the outer rampart below where we stood, hauling its ruined corpse up and up to aid the Herald against us. When suddenly orcs began rushing over to the ledge, bracing and throwing their shoulder into pushing the giant back down.
Knight Drugosh and Enrah physically shoved. Bamm launched a Grenade that missed the orcs and smashed the giant’s arm. While others threw magical might at it, Gashuk Bloodmoon calling upon a great force of astral magic to dislodge the giants grasp upon the platform.

The giant teetered on the edge, it wasn’t quite enough to make it tip. It just needed one more shove when suddenly a vivid burst of fel magic leapt from Gatran Felhammer’s hands and careered into the monstrous shoulder of the giant. Striking a direct hit and hurling it over the edge. Down to the icy plateau below.

This was the turning point in the fight and yet the Herald did not show fear for their demise to come, in cruel strikes they made every effort they could to leave their mark and attempt to claim the lives of those in the fight.
The mechanical hound that Bamm had crafted bit at the foot of the Herald and dragged her down into several powerful strikes from the Runeblades of the Ebon Knights. There is a -THUNK- as finally the orcs smash through the thick armour of the creature. Surprised perhaps to find that there is flesh beneath the armour that can be cut to bleed darkly the same energies as the lances they had hurled at the orcs.

The Herald screams out, defiantly pouring its final energies into one final strike against those who had been fighting it. It takes several acts of out right heroism from the Red Blade to see many of their number not torn to pieces by the sweeping attack from the creature.

It is not given a second chance to swing another attack like that again as each orc and Ebon Knight launches one final devastating flurry of attacks against it. Void tendrils, Arcane blasts, Astral energies, Boomers bite, Runic magic and blue flames surround the Herald. It raises its arms to call upon dark magic once again but no answer comes.
The creature falls in defeat and as it falls the corpse appears to discorporialate. Eaten piece by piece as armour and flesh filtered upwards toward the broken portal above. The hollow eyes of its helm glaring hatred before vanishing away to little more than ash.

The Herald of the Maw had been defeated.

It had taken a great number of Red Blade orcs both warrior and spell caster and a clutch of Ebon Knights to defeat the Herald. Neither side seemed to have brought such powers to bear against any foe like it in many moons.
The dark magic the creature used was like nothing else we had experienced either. It left some with the same sensations of dread, just what was the Herald and who exactly was the master it served? We found only more questions the more we thought on the matter and it left unsettling notions of what could be happening to Sharguul on the other side of the veil.

–Anon–

Kozgugore-argent-dawn · February 3, 2021, 11:12am

Our newest adventure has begun! With the Clan’s patron spirits in peril, we set out to meddle in affairs that might just be beyond our ken. There’ll undoubtedly be another report with all the nitty gritty up soon, but here’s an early impression in advance!

Nakobú-argent-dawn · February 5, 2021, 5:19pm

To go along with those lovely screenshots, here is the first report in our Maldraxxus campaign, written by Verzan!

Campaign Report: Arrival in the Shadowlands

The solemn beat of a single drum brought the clan to the place known as Sindragosa’s Fall, a clutch of Argents waited and watched sentries to the clan’s departure from this world. All around us flickered candles, one for each clan member, placed around the circle and waiting for us to gather.

The Deathwalker Enrah took the middle of the circle and began to cast their magic, drawing the power from the reliquaries recovered by the Clan and deemed fit for this purpose. The light around the clan faded to the illumination of Death Knight rune glow and the air grew chill and biting. Some orcs reported witnessing dozens of shadowy figures watching from beyond the circle, were these the same spirits who had aided us when trying to locate Sharguul several weeks ago? We found no answers to that question as they silently peered at our actions.

As the circle darkened, the death walker’s hand began to bleed some strange dark liquid. It had no scent and seemed not to be blood but part of the invocation we had all now become bound to. A method they said of marking the orcs so that they could easier guide so many to the Shadowlands, more than a few orcs were dubious but none refused the gesture - more fool the Death walker if they tried a trick on this many Red Blade orcs.
Had it been a trap it would not have ended well for them.

It however seemed not to be a trap and was exactly as explained. Only causing upset when Keshrakk, the youngest orc among the clan, Karak Stormsong’s son enthusiastically stood forward against his father’s wishes to be painted. The child would go to the Shadowlands to rescue Sharguul.
I can recall Chieftain Kozgugore Fereleye’s words. ‘I have been ready to venture to the afterlife a long time already, I just did not think it would be like this. So be it.’

Some orcs spoke of glory. Others of honour, soft gestures exchanged between those with close bonds. Wolves snarled and whined. The ritual continued forward at a pace, the wait was almost painful.
When the magic was thickest in the air Enrah paused ‘’Remember our purpose in this act, remember why you travel to the place where the dead walk. Do not forget yourselves…’’ she said, using her runeblade to seemingly slice open a death gate through to the unknown.
‘’I will see you on the other side. It has been an honour Orcs of the Red Blade’’ were the last words spoken by our navigator into death as she stepped through the gateway.

Through the gateway senses rapidly found themselves warped of colour and shape, dark grey mute tones expanded to a dazzling light of radiant blue swirling around them. A feeling of being pulled along on threads while all the time buffeted by the strongest of gales that consumed all sound to the roar of winds.
A horizon painted itself in the distance of this cosmic journey the clan undertook. Closer and closer toward this destination they were pulled, when suddenly the energy shifted. Difficult to understand at first and only recognisable by the distinct change in the ‘air’

This change began to manifest with purpose, becoming the large shape of a giant spectral hand. Seeming of an irritable demeanor the hand swung at the travelling clan with a backhand gesture as one might swat insects buzzing about them on a hot evening.
It hit each orc with enough force to wind them and send them spiralling away from the distant exitway upon the horizon.

Outwards and away from the streams of energy that had previously guided all of us. The orcs scattered, all around the flow of energy was broken, a stormy and seemingly never ending abyss. It becomes difficult to sense time how long we were floating, falling or twisting in that other place - none know.
Finally we see more than just the storm all about us, finally a different slither of colour beyond that grows larger and larger before the eyes until it becomes clear that we are all tumbling toward it.

It is only when the green colours of the storm about us take hold do orcs finally feel themselves return to the stability this journey had originally been. The ebb and flow of magic restored the tug of thread that kept us on our way, dragged us toward a similar exit point on the edge of sight.

And we are allowed to pass beyond this gateway.

The landing was clean, it took time for senses to refocus having fallen a few feet and landed upon the spongy wet ground. It seemed all had arrived bar Razaron Madeye, the elder was missing. As was the Chieftains wolf Shrewd.

There was a feeling of shock among the clan orcs as they peered out at a landscape not too dissimilar to the plaguelands of Azeroth, they had been expecting many things but this? This seemed beyond the pale for many.
Recovering their wits quickly the orcs were swiftly confronted by a group of the shambling horrors of this plagued landscape as they came to investigate the sudden crowd and, as expected, the Red Blade defended themselves. Hurriedly mustering a battle line and cutting down the enemies before them. These creatures were horrible, their bodies made of many different pieces of people. Bones and grafted skin, bolted together to make a whole.

When they are cut down, in the distance heavier footsteps can be made out approaching, the orcs rally once again. Rykana Skywise shoots into the fog and lands a hit into the obscure distance but it does not halt the steady progress of step. Whatever it is merely grunts and then approaches.

The creature might have once been a Tauren, he is tall for his kind and seemingly grafted together from the bodies of many other creatures. A reinforced spine bears spikes that might have been horns and his right hand seemingly replaced with a vicious looking scythe-like blade larger than a swine.
The Tauren monstrosity approached and raised his hand in a gesture of peace to halt the aggression. He seemed to look over the bodies of the fallen and some orcs recognised the ethereal shapes of spirits lingering about the fallen corpses, he seemed disgruntled to see such a mess.
‘Please…lower your weapons mortals…’ the Tauren speaks in orcish common. There is a sense he is not familiar with the term and a tense exchange of words begins.

Many orcs simply do not trust the creature, while others seem curious to know more of the alien landscape they now find themselves within. There is a surge of questions thrown at this stranger. Who introduces himself as Torm Sagewind, a shaman who died in the time the orcs came to Kalimdor. He does his best to answer the orcs.
Explaining that they now find themselves in a place known as Maldraxxus. One of the many different realms that make up the Shadowlands themselves. He confirms to the orcs that he is not Scourge though some seem to find it difficult to believe this, convinced it could be a trick.
He seems certain that his purpose here is to protect spirits and the Shadowlands themselves. Building bodies for those who are too weak to manifest their own and making them stronger.

The conversation is cut short when an enemy patrol is sighted just on the edge of the gully where the orcs arrived. He offers to take the Red Blade back with him to the House of Constructs, where he explains more of this strange land. The House of constructs is one of five great houses.
Some have fallen to ruin, others have not and there are enemies here. Necrolords they call themselves, he and many like him are fighting against them.

We were taken to an even stranger place than the wilderness that met our arrival. A town constructed of bone, with piles of fleshy pieces both old and fresh. Where abysmal creatures wretched in their design sort through the piles to build together an endless work line of fleshy constructs. Oozing pus and great vats of ominous liquids stood all about us and next to butchers tables more fitting of the Azeroth Scourge factories than any settlement the orcs had ever discovered.

It is made clear that the orcs are not welcome but they are not unwelcome either, they are allowed to remain for now until those in charge have spoken with the clan. Sagewind also offered to ‘lie’ on our behalf by suggesting that the group the Red Blade had butchered were taken by the enemy patrols and none seem to speak out against the idea.

Too much hangs in uncertainty with there being war in this place for us to depart out on our own and we are far from our intended destination, the city of doorways Sagewind had called ‘Oribos’. Maybe Sagewind is good to his word. That we can find allies here and those allies can help us get to the city?
Right now the clan face different challenges - we are reliant on our rations for both food and water, our shaman face the challenge of forging a bond with the new elements of this place. We are in a hostile landscape and we have few friends here. Sharguul is still in danger and it feels like he is still so very distant from us.

-Anon-

Razaron-argent-dawn · February 13, 2021, 10:53am

You’re a dab hand at taking them pictures Kozzy!

Nakobú-argent-dawn · February 20, 2021, 3:52pm

Shadowlands Report: Flesh, Bone and Logistics

If you just sit and watch them for a few hours you can see the whole thing come together like a creepy work of art. A little one will chop things with the precision of a butcher and a hauler will fetch the thread to a surgeon. They stitch them together much like you might the wounded except these creatures were never actually alive. Then tubes of stuff go in - like we discovered and anima animates it with a spirit hopping in, they say there is a drought so they must be spending big for something important.

And then comes the letter from Seaworth, the dead Kul Tiran seems very keen to use our strengths to benefit the House of Constructs and with the letter informs us that we’ve caused a shortage of eyes and other bits in the Stitchyard thanks to our construct building efforts a night ago.
But he told us not to worry as reports had made their way to him about scouts being on the nearby ridges peeping into the House of Constructs business. He wanted us to go and take them out and let the parts be claimed by the bodybuilders in the yard.

The feeling we’re being used is pretty rampant among the orcs and the action of dismembering enemies seems to touch a little close to some orcs personal honour. I cannot say I am best pleased about it - except we have to keep these constructs on our side as much as we can for the moment. We don’t have anything else to go on right now that can get us closer to rescuing Sharguul.
So we take up Seaworths job - it’s not too difficult to put a few enemies on the deck and we cannot entirely be certain what happens when you cut the corpses down here, seems like they have some never ending battle going on.

The clan orcs head out in a large enough group and the ridges where the enemy scouts are rumoured to be are not actually far from our own location. Which begs the question of what the Necrolords are actually up to so close to hostile turf.
There is a general consensus that we need to ask these enemies some questions of our own and the thought to take prisoners is a strong one at the front of many orcs minds as Karak Stormsong notices the first hint of where the scouts might be.

We make our efforts to try and sneak up on them but such a large group of orcs with very varied skills and abilities was never going to actually get the drop on these foes. We are spotted and a hail of arrows spills down in our direction. The fight started before we could even ask a question or take command of the situation.

I quickly run into the melee, getting into the fighting with my bow and regret every moment of not fetching the sword on this mission. Thronk is quick to join me alongside Karak Stormsong’s pets and Bamm who seemed cheerful even when deadly arrows are being sent his way - can’t tell if he’s mad or just genuinely having a good time.
The archer who had no doubt spotted us was taken down swiftly, Rykana Skywise taking it down with a well aimed shot to the face that cut through their helm. At the same time Nakobu Shadowbreaker called upon the powers of the light igniting one of the nearby mushrooms in a blast of holy flame.

It was odd to behold as it caused a blinding flash that made the undead pull away from it. The light seemed to cause trouble to the unliving here in the shadowlands as much as it might those back on Azeroth - it was a good lesson to learn. Though it caused Shadowbreaker to become the target of one of the enemies attacks, he was lucky at least that I could get over and using a discarded enemy helmet parry the incoming shot before it caused the light user injury.

The fighting became a tangled melee of arrow shots and grapples. Karak Stormsong’s dinosaur Tyrri clamped her jaws about one of the surviving undead scouts and began to thrash while Thronk wrapped his arms around it and then I threw a scavenged helmet at its face. Subduing it from the rest of the fighting.
The final Necrolord would not go down easily and the skeletal warrior clad in tarnished plate gave the larger group of Red Blade orcs quite the scrap as they held their ground for what seemed a very long time.
But it was a decisive crack to the back of the skull from Rykana Skywise that finished the combat. She was quick to bind the scout and Thronk was ready to scoop them up.

It was at this point I will add that many orcs noticed Drastal Halfbuk had fallen in their second or possibly third hole of the evening. Though they had been contributing to the violence we saw them in the hole and only had more questions about how they were unfortunately finding every single one in Maldraxxus.

The Camp on the Ridge was empty by the time we had found it, hurried tracks suggested that the enemies seemed to know the jig was up and had time to get all of their material and supplies out.
Drastal Halfbuk from within a hole noticed the sound of voices just around the corner and we quickly discovered that it was the last of the scouting group getting away on the backs of giant bone construct birds. The first two got themselves airborne even as Bamm attempted to bring them down using a power flashbang device, turns out undead birds don’t need to see to fly but it was a worthy effort.

The last rider threw themselves at us. Hollering ‘For Krexus!’ and ‘For Maldraxus!’ as they furiously charged our waiting blades. Their bird might have gotten away but they were very quickly overpowered and captured by the orcs.

And this is where things took a turn that I cannot say I am content about.
We had three ‘live’ prisoners, two were unconscious and one was kicking and fighting though restrained. Hauling them back to the Stitchyard felt dubious as many could paint in their own minds what might happen to these scouts under House of Construct interrogation. Especially as here and there we saw the little nimble chopper constructs peeking out from under tables ready to come claim the corpse parts.

We did not have long and aimed to ask a few questions of our own. A little way out of the yard a number of us clustered around the one conscious captive and sought to strike a deal. They were resentful of us. Leaving us in no uncertain terms that they would never break and never tell us anything of what they had been doing here.
Stormsong explained our situation, offering up that we genuinely were new to this land and knew nothing of the battles here. This actually seemed to open the scout to sharing one small tidbit of information with us, except we would have to give our word that we would take their life and end things before the choppers got hold of them.

Deal made and word given. The scout chuckled cruelly about the fact the Necrolords had a person on the inside who had been helping them and that if we didn’t know who they were already we never possibly would. When asked who? The scout laughed and asked us to pay up our side of the deal.

Perhaps we took too long in following through on the matter - perhaps they didn’t trust us to hold to our word. The Scout lunged for Thronk and I grabbed for an arrow stuck through their chest to finish them off while at the same time my sister Rykana Skywise shot the scout in the back of the head. They died.
And then the haulers came to claim them all. Dragging them off to wherever the House of Constructs takes their captured. I advise orcs not to think on it too much. This was a grim task but we must stay focused on our task, we can hope it buys us some favor in getting closer to Sharguul.

– Verzan Skywise –
Nag’Ogar Elite, Red Blade Clan.

Nakobú-argent-dawn · February 20, 2021, 3:59pm

Shadowlands Report: A Change of Camp

They interrogated the prisoners we had captured last night. I didn’t watch but some orcs did and reported that they had set the little corpse cleavers to work on taking them apart, the captured ones told their tormentors nothing and died. If you can say that is what happens to those who fall here?
There is discontent among the clan orcs. What sort of a place is this? Every fresh new day it tests our honour and the limits of what we consider decent in the face of this strange alien war. It is a war that we are not part of and should not become part of but what choices do we have? It feels like the petty squabbles of the clans of Draenor and an endless conflict where the souls of those who fall do not seem to ever die.
How else are we supposed to get to this ‘Oribos’ we have been told about, how else can we save Sharguul but continue to earn ourselves allies here who can get us there. It’s challenging. I keep trying to reassure others that we will get out of here soon but there is no clear sign of when we will leave. Things cannot go on as they are right now - if nothing else we will run out of supplies here soon and the food and water are not good.

There is a strange atmosphere in the camp tonight, has the clan orcs discontent at the treatment of the prisoners been heard? Did our new hosts notice our scorn for their necromancy or the mishap the Ebon Knight had while handling their anima. I cannot be sure what has caused this but whatever it is - there is a clear change in the air as though we are overstaying our welcome.
Maybe that Kultiran construct did have a grudge against the orcs after all?

We are approached by the Constructs and offered new lodings for the clan. We are to move to the other gate of the Stitchworks. I called it North but I am reliably informed the new camp’s position lies in the East, direction here is difficult to find as we cannot see the stars. There has been no obvious sign of day nor night yet either, just an endless half twilight.
Regardless with the growing tensions in the air it’s time to move. Collecting the supplies we can and every wolf, child, orc and other associated Red Blade person and thing we depart.

The Stitchyard is a busy place, the dead do not seem to ever sleep and there are always more bodies and bones to be put together. Things seem to be on a war footing however and after a short walk you do not need to be a veteran of any wars to notice the forms the constructs are crafting. Many are bulky heavy shapes with spikes and scythe like arms, made entirely for battle.

Some of the smaller chopper creatures and the twine carriers seem to whistle as they work, it is an awful tune and it lingers in your ears like bad bird song. The ‘music’ is a near relentless stream of sea shanties in a dock yard as each different group seems to have their own work tune. None of them are worth remembering, it is all bad.
We pass a necromantic looking pillar and the vats of green, orange and purple liquid. The same stuff we saw poured into the constructs to give their new bodys life. While the fumes from these are acrid they at least are not toxic to the orcs who need to breath, I still would not advise anyone jumping in the strange liquids.

Across this part of the yard we drop down a long set of stairs and are presented with a different area of the House of Constructs. The created warriors seem to gather here, tended by Surgeons nursing any splits and tears in their new forms. They seem to be idling and waiting for something - a battle to come maybe?
Regardless we can already see the gate we are heading towards but it is the other side of the yard. Trouble is these giant bulbous war formed constructs aren’t the best at seeing who or what is around them, even just watching into the yard we were witness to one surgeon getting knocked over by an inconsiderate bump.

There was no alternative pathway to be taken, it was a matter of waiting for the constructs to part and make a dash for it and for many orcs that was a simple feat. Myself and Targnar Windsong made the first dash without incident, for an old orc he practically danced past the constructs.
For others it was a little rough. Thronk and Bamm took a bit of a jostle from inconsiderate constructs who seemed more than a little focused on the glory of the battle to come.

But it was Karak Stormsong who was due to have quite the terrible night of crossing this yard, he quickly found himself stepped on by one of the constructs and knocked down, expecting perhaps some level of notice and decency to let him through. He tried to get up but was quickly swatted a second time.
These were not planned attacks but rather just unthinking or unseeing ‘accidents’ but their accidents were more than a small strike when something bigger than a Kodo is excitedly bimbling around and has hatchets for arms.
Rykana Skywise was quick to leap to Stormsongs rescue, dragging him clear of a further flattening and helping the older orc to regroup with the rest of us but we had only made it as far as the corner of the yard. Recovering as best we could it would be another dash before we could get to the gates at the front of the House of Constructs.

I shall confess, having seen Stormsong struggle once we let him take the lead on the charge ahead toward the gate, just in case something came up. He at least would have two Skywise carers and most of the assembled orcs watching his back but -surely- his luck wouldn’t be so bad and he wouldn’t get stomped by these inconsiderate hosts twice–
Well. Seems his luck dislikes him immensely as yet another construct swatted him once again and he went down flat across the stones. Keshrakk his son seeming to stick with his father for a moment before I scampered over to try and help. Getting the boy first to run on ahead might have been the right idea but it was a costly delay and another construct backed up, broadsiding both myself and Stormsong.

It was like being a ball here in this cresh for constructs only here to be kicked about as meaty walls of flesh and knives jaggedly wobbled about in all directions. I scrambled across the floor. Rolling to dodge blades and feet to find Stormsong now unconscious in a heap but at least the other orcs had made it to the far side of the yard.
Getting to the unconscious orc was difficult and much of his equipment had been smashed but I got there and being a little shorter than most, I picked him up by the boot and dragged. If not for the quick thinking of Targnar Windsong who distracted one hulky construct and Bamm who directed Ragnar Whiteclaws wolf while her rider was also unconscious in his saddle who knows what might have happened.

It wasn’t the tidiest escape from unwitting peril we had bimbled into but we got clear - that’s all I care for and we won’t be returning across that death trap again if I have anything to say about it.

The gates were as tall as Orgrimmar city’s walls. Huge and flanked in places by twitching quivering structures of bone that moved seemingly of their own will. High above a Necropolis floated in the air casting its shadow over the gates and whatever jelly-like treacle it was tipping out from a skull shaped sculpture in its side - this of course hit some of the orcs passing below it. A seeming parting gift from the Stitchyard.

After a brief walk through the gates it was easy for the Red Blade to find their future encampment. Corpses from the scouts we had located lay in various piles, some already chopped to pieces by the smaller constructs and others waiting their turn. There was a project being built for certain and we were to be camped close by.

Weary and injured, the orcs took to camp building if anything to avoid peering at the butchery on the lawn or spending too much time peering out at the constructs continuing to mass for battle. When camp was made mending took place and others began to investigate a strange stone pillar close by the stonework seeming different to the overall feel of Maldraxxus. It seems anywhere we go leaves us only with more questions.

– Verzan Skywise –
Nag’Ogar Elite, Red Blade Clan

Nakobú-argent-dawn · February 20, 2021, 4:02pm

Another report from our series of Maldraxxus campaign events - written by Verzan!

Shadowlands Report: Literacy, Magic and Empowerment

It would be a long night - perhaps we should have known this when the Lich approached with their chittering gaggle of robed ritualists to deploy us on yet another task.
The ritualists had forced their way into a nearby tower, getting past the main door but they seemed reluctant to enter themselves, rather they would sooner we went in their place. This wasn’t an easy sell for them and the Red Blade orcs present made it clear that they were more than just skivvies for doing this sort of partially suicidal busy work for these creatures. However after a heated debate with the lich, the orcs had been reassured they would get their passage to Oribos and things would be ‘fine’

With the temptation of forbidden knowledge in some ancient Necromancers tower and a potential chance to learn more about the Shadowlands the orcs had their own reasons for agreeing to go.
We had been tasked with the recovery of three orbs of ‘Anima’

The Journey to the tower was uneventful, the landscape beyond the House of Constructs continuing to be a bleak mixture of slime covered rocks, fungus and bone. The skies were still a harsh twilight that refused to be greeted by dawn. Lurid pools of toxic green sludge littered the fields before the tower that was as described open at the front doors but little explored within.
The air that leaked from the open door smelt musty and of old papers. Like I would expect particularly old mages and conjurers to scent if you got close to sniff one. The untouched place did not lack for movement as at the middle of the dark room beyond books floated upon enchanted magics, sorting and resorting themselves. But never in height order - that is an illogical aesthetic done only to make librarians scream in misery.

Orcs ventured in past the seal of the door that had been so rudely torn open by the Ritualists, I have no idea what they did to it but it must have been powerful. We stepped in expecting there to be traps, as our eyes adjusted to the dim light of green flame nothing seemed to move but the books.
Books that flapped their pages at us and attacked.
With the magic from Enrah and Dusklight on our side some of the attacking papers were disenchanted, sucked dry of their unholy and shadow magics before they could really do damage. While others cast spells of Fel flame, ice bolts and thorny vines. One even turned Torm Sagewind into a polymorphed sheep.
These books found themselves cut down by axes from some and arrows from the Chieftain and Naroda. As soon as Takkat Warwolf had cleaved her axe through the final floating angry book a warding seemed to drop at the far side of the room that granted us access to a staircase.

The stairs led upwards and onto another level of the tower. Gingerly the orcs stepped forwards, not trusting the steps they placed their boots upon. They could have been trapped or worse. Mages and Necromancers alike are not known for wanting to share their spells nor knowledge with anyone.
Dusklight was the last to head upwards, the scholar seeming invested in scouring the shelves for forbidden knowledge he might learn but the ground floor seemed to hold only the least interesting of books.
Upon the next level ghostly hands floated between the shelves. Anima constructs seemingly tasked with the never ending duty of sorting the shelves, some orcs swatted them and they appeared to reset back to a particular font in the room before attempting to return to their duties.

High above the orcs several fragments of key hung and a mould. It wasn’t clear why they were up there but if you are a master mage I would expect that you can float your way up to retrieve them to access the higher levels of your tower. Several plans were enacted, the Ebon Knight moving books and chairs to pile up a sort of launch pad of sorts orcs could climb while hands moved to try and resort things.
It was precarious at best but Dusklight had a better plan. Using Levitation the orcs would send someone up to collect the keys for them. The youngling Naroda bluntly refused and many of the orcs seemed quite heavily armoured for flying - Takkat Warwolf eventually volunteered to go up.
And quickly recovered the key fragments, pushing them into the mold with Dusklights expert handling of the floaty magics.

Meanwhile those below raided bookshelves and stood guard expecting more trouble to happen when the key was created. Thankfully none came and upon opening the locked door that would take them further up the tower the orcs found another winding staircase that would allow them to reach what appeared to be the top of the tower.

At this unusual tower top rested a Cauldron in the middle of the room, an ominous purple liquid bubbling within. There was no scent to be concerned about though none were keen to touch the liquid and find out if it were anything truly harmful.
Examining the rest of the room the orcs found three basins marked with runic script, the Ebon Knight could read this and explained ‘Do not fill above marked line’

With that knowledge, it became clear something would happen when the orcs filled the three basins with the purple liquid. At first the orcs mused over what to use as a scoop, some suggested Pauldrons on their armour and others removed gloves. Then finally Sagewind and Chieftain Feraleye seemed to have a better plan - to move the Cauldron itself from the middle. With Soulwalker acting as look out making sure the orcs did not overflow each basin.
It was a tricky feat at first but as the cauldron became lighter the task became a little more trivial until completed - though it still took almost every orc and construct in the room with the exception of Dusklight and Soulwalker to haul.

As soon as the three basins were filled with purple, a strange gas began to emerge. Thick and heavy it clung to the ground like ominous fog, moving with a will of its own to one corner of the room where it congealed. As those who breathe hurriedly covered their faces, the gas coalesced, shifting and changing before becoming a more solid form - a secret doorway leading to stairs and a hidden room above.

Treading lightly we approached the hidden chamber, which appeared to be something of a forgotten bed room. Discarded cushions, a bed and signs of habitation long ago dressed the room before us. When suddenly the Ebon Knight who had been poking around trying to detect the presence of magics grabbed something in the air, her plated mit wrapped around a ghostly spectre and dragged it into the visible world.
The apparition seemed to shimmer and flicker, an after image of the lich that once lived in residence here. Soulwalker described it as not rea,l a construct of Anima, and no sooner had she spoken than suddenly the fight was on.
The apparition shot spells of magic out at the orcs who fought back in kind against the displeased home owner. Thorny roots attempted to bind them. Spells of fel fire and ice merged and exploded about them and still the orcs fought on.

Orcs simply devastated the apparition image of the lich, it was barely stable after such intense fighting from the orcs. As its power seemed to wane from damage and the draining effects of a hungry Runeblade keen in its taste for Anima. The apparition held one last magical trick in its array of spells – it distorted the very ‘time’ in the room.
For five seconds the orcs feel able to see all possible actions and outcomes, failures and successes. Overwhelming to some and impossible to comprehend to others the youngest Naroda seems quick of her heels to slide across the icey stones of the room and fires a shot into the face of the apparition - taking it down with nothing more than a simple arrow.

As the apparition dies, vanishing for the most part and yet magic from the construct pours a way outside. Flinging itself outward from the window balcony of the tower.

Sagewind seems convinced that the way forward isn’t a sheer drop down the length of the very tall tower but a hidden portal. To prove this the construct throws himself off the tower and upon reaching about half way down vanishes - nobody seems entirely convinced.

As Chieftain Feraleye put it ‘If I am to do something as stupid as this. I have no desire to overthink it. WITNESS!’ he would say before hurling himself from the balcony. Alongside all orcs present for this tower assault.

With a rush of wind and a turning stomach each found the portal and were swiftly transported to the inner sanctum of the spell casters home. Lofty and quiet, bathed in the green glow of Maldraxxi anima the room contained three huge glowing orbs at its center among the many bookcases and other unusual items you might expect to find in a mage’s lair. The most notable of these things being strange chains.
The orcs approached the orbs with uncertainty, while some bickered in the background about whether the Ebon Knight should ever be allowed to touch them - it seemed to make its own mind up to collect chains. Alongside Sagewind and Warwolf.
It was the young orc Naroda who handled the anima orbs first. Followed by the Chieftain and then Warwolf. Encouraged of course by Sagewind to do so and bid words of caution about the volume of anima they were handling. As soon as the orcs would leave this place there would be other powerful beings able to sense the anima’s presence and hold nothing back in their desire to have it.

Point made. The orcs did not dawdle. They left the tower with their treasures of orbs, chains and books. Sharing cautionary words about the dangers of forbidden knowledge.

A single chittering ritualist and its skeletal cronies waited for our return expectantly back at the camp. Its beady eyes peered at the orbs as if we carried in our arms the purest gold and it was at this point our Chieftain reminded these Constructs that our willingness to offer our aid in tasks was not to be abused.
He reminded them by threatening to withhold the anima we had just found and the exchange became somewhat more heated than the Ritualist had anticipated. After all with this much rare Anima in the clan’s control, they could likely find an alternative route to Oribos.
The skeletal figures warned the belligerent Chieftain not to test them and Feraleye reminded them in no uncertain terms that our clan were not to be trifled with, after all we win our battles and anyone here in this land had already died once. With a stern reminder that we expected results for this, he rolled the orb over to the creatures to be deposited in the chest, shortly followed by the others.
With much grumbling, the skeletal creatures took their chest of anima and scuttled back towards the House of Constructs, seemingly berating Sagewind for the terse response they had received from the orcs tonight.

–Anon–

Nakobu-argent-dawn · February 26, 2021, 7:52pm

Shadowlands Battle Report: Siege of the Seat

Even before Torm Sagewind approached our camp the constructs were rowdy, there was movement behind the main gate that you could feel through the ground, it came with a sort of energy of its own. Orcs began to gather suspecting that now was the time of the mentioned battle we would aid them with and discussing their options. Skywise had a map suggesting bolt holes to the Chieftain when Sagewind arrived to inform us of the coming siege. Candidly asking us not to do anything foolish - this statement became a theme for the construct as he continued to mention that we should only do what we needed to do.

As the orcs mustered, the usual warnings were issued, stay together and spare your strength after all sieges rarely are over in a night and those that are-- nobody much wanted to talk about what happened with those ones when not enough people face an impossible army.

In the courtyard the Constructs mustered around the ‘monster’ we had helped build.
It stood seven meters tall, in the form of an undead chimera, pieces of flayed wings made up the vast majority of its shape twisted about it to give it not two but six wings in total. When we first approached the monster was dormant, its wings wrapped about it like a huge bone stitched bat, yet to be given life by the ritualists.
Seaworth was standing up front and center giving speeches among the other leaders of the Houses, whipping up their forces ready for the battle to come. His words were bold and strike many orcs as not entirely what they had signed up for. When we had been assured we would be part of a defence of Maldraxxus against Rebels, he spoke of Conquest and when they mentioned the creature we had aided them building. It was referred to as a ‘Doomsday weapon’, something did not ring true.

The orcs found themselves with more questions than answers at Seaworths battle speech.
Sagewind who stood alongside them had little to say on the matter, he was not as motivated by those speakers as the rest merely murmuring ‘Bear in mind the words I spoke before’

Loud cheers continue as the green Necromantic energies swirl and glow above them, pouring down in a show of otherworldly magic that with the aid of ritualists brought the dormant construct to life. The monstrous creature flapped its huge wings and sent many sprawling to the deck. Its roar was louder than summer thunder.
As the monster took to the skies, it was time for the Horde of Constructs and ritualists to depart. Their leaders gave them a buoyant command to ‘March!’ and they were all too keen to obey.
That was our call to leave alongside them. Sagewind secured for us mounts, great Tauralus. Undead bull-like monsters with saddles. tall as Kodo and much less placid but they would do.

Riding out among the crowds the orcs were paid little heed by their fellows. The Constructs surged along the road keen for glory and to make their names upon the battlefield ahead. Maldraxxus skies boiled and twisted as the winds picked up making flying for the wind riders troublesome but not impossible.
Upon the journey the clan passed by an immense fighting arena, curious eyes drawn to peer between the arches of the immense halls. This arena was larger than some towns in Durotar but seemed quiet on the eve of the battle, the hollow halls echoed with the boot steps of the armies marching past it. There was no time to investigate it further.

Chieftain Feraleye, riding atop a particularly huge Tauralus, marshalled the orcs ever onwards, keeping the pack together as best he could. While Skywise above reported the marching army’s progress. All roads seemed to funnel the warriors toward a vast bridge on the other side of the Arena and beyond to the feet of a great skeletal statue sitting down among the hills themselves - this must be the seat of the Primus that the speakers had mentioned.
Ahead of the army, Necropolis had begun firing salvo of green magical energy at the defenders who mustered along the ramparts ready to give their life for their cause. This was no mere rebel faction it seemed but quite a formidable army in its own right, who were doggedly hunkered down in their fortress-like encampment.

It was not long before the orcs found themselves at the foot of the bridge. Formed up on mounts and peering down the void of empty space between the armies. Larger constructs occasionally jostled for position, eager for the charge and desperate almost to be the first into the melee. The air was tense, filled with anticipation bordering on excitement for the battle to come. Mounts whine, construct blades shine and leaders exchange harsh words over the void of no man’s land.

Seaworth was keen to berate an orcish leader on the Necrolord side.
Though few of the orcs could make out the detail of the orc that he spoke so bitterly at.

Then something changed, weapons were raised. A Cheer went up and the charge began. Both sides screaming ‘For Maldraxxus’ as they run forwards. The orcs charge too, buffeted along in the first surge of the battle.
As the charge rushes forward, the defenders launch the first salvo of green flamed shot from catapults and ballista on their battlements. The shots erupt in flame among the front ranks, shrapnel and flames even striking some of the Red Blade from their mounts but it does not halt the charge. There is barely a dent made in the advancing armies ranks.

Orcs are quick to spread along the frontline as the Necrolords become almost indistinguishable from Constructs and others among the brutal melee. Dozens of the undead were cut down before the orcs, while Rhonya Steelheart hauled Karak Stormsong and his son onto her wolf to rejoin the others. Only then to have him save Takkat Warwolf the moment he reached the melee.
High above them a terrible shrill cry could be heard, the winged monster made for this battle swooped down and fired a great green ray of fiery doom into the back ranks of the defenders. Almost immediately as they scream and wail in flames, the attacking constructs cheer on their monster. Revelling in the sight of such a champion.
‘Witness the sight of the enemy falling before our might!’ One attacker called but they seemed to be given little heed as the orcs continued to forge their own path in the chaos of the battle engulfing them.
Drastal Halfbuk raged with the fury of a forge, losing himself in the scrum to bloodfury. Other orcs were less fortunate, the blind seer Kogra Windwatcher became victim to several blows, one attacker leaping onto the shaman with axe in hand to plant it into their shoulder before they could be torn away by Skywise.

It is only in these moments do the orcs become aware of the hostile skies whipping up about them. A soulstorm seemed to be blowing in across the bridge, while it seemed not to hinder the great monstrosity terrorizing the skies above. It begins to be felt by those upon the ground, touching the edges of the bridge and pulling some warriors up and into the winds ‘Ride the wind!’ they call as if seeming to know what the Soulstorm is. Others are smashed against each other violently.

Another wave of defenders surged into the front lines and that is when the air darkened and the full force of the Soulstorm was felt. Ripping the smaller orcs from their feet, Keshrakk and some of the animal companions of the orcs are lifted. Some intentional, Skywise throwing Windwatcher into the saddle and getting in the skies to fly them both to safety.
Debris and violent attackers take their toll as the wind buffets across the battlefield. Keshrakk the child is plucked out of the air along with Tyranni the dinosaur and brought to ground. Told to hide and keep from the fighting - who brings a child to a siege anyways?

The storm passed leaving attacker and defender bruised in its wake.
Maldraxxi picked themselves up from the ground and continued to wage their wars against each other. The orcs for the most part do the same, cutting down the last few defenders before another wave can launch itself into them.
It is at this point the Necrolords are losing ground, focusing fire on the monstrosity owning the skies above them. It paid off for the defenders as several expert shots connected with the flying beast, clipping its wings and bringing it to ground several meters ahead of the frontlines. The bolts fired contained chains and these chains stopped the monster getting back in the skies above.

Sagewind seemed to defend Thronk from the debris kicked up as the monster crashed to the floor but the Construct had other plans - suddenly rushing across the lines. He made it through safely as if the enemy defenders parted for him and joined in the swarm of Necrolords hacking at the monster. With chains gained from the Necromancers tower several nights ago he headed directly to the heart of the monster, wrapping them about it and using their power to seemingly drain the anima from the creature.
Whatever he was doing it seemed to have worked, the creature seemed to lose control. It reared its two heads with a violent yank and tore itself free of the defenders. Green billowed in its throat and it fired a burst of green flame onto those in front of it, defender or attacker. Before charging for the armies fighting on the bridge and seemingly also the Red Blade.

There was nowhere to hide as debris and flame came for the orcs, heroic saves were made across the lines, the orcs were looking tired now. Many were on the floor bleeding with Steelheart doing her best to mend and keep them stable. It is at this point that Verzan Skywise utters the words ‘I have a plan’ and the remaining fighting orcs listen as the Elite explains.
Take the rope we have and attach it to the biggest fallen constructs and lasso the other end around the winged monstrosity. It was a long shot but it couldn’t fly, kicking the corpses off the bridge would hopefully drag the creature away before it could crash into the clan.

Chieftain Feraleye and Thronk attempted to secure lines to construct bodies, Skywise and Warwolf attempted the messy business of getting rope on the monster end of things. While Bamm who had been doggedly fighting his way through the conflict, lay wounded blasting away one of the monstrous constructs heads and made it actually easier to rope.
It was Warwolf who heroically threw herself at the creature to secure the line but the orcs couldn’t stop the beast charging one last time. Even as the young Naroda woundedly joined Chieftain, Skywise, wyvern and Thronk on the floor pushing corpses. It wasn’t enough.

There was almost relief as the corpses tipped over the bridge, the rope snapping tense and then sharply dragging its hostile form over the edge with them. Disposed of and defeated.

The constructs and their allies were however now sounding out the withdrawal from the bridge. The defenders had won the hour as fighting morale slipped away from the bridge like their destroyed monster so did any support the clan shared with their ‘allies’
Too many Red Blade were on the floor.
The Elite called the Nag’Ogar to make a stand, to buy the orcs a chance to get clear but it was in vain the forces they faced were too numerous and the orcs themselves more than a little battle weary. Steelheart stood over Stormsong seemingly able to wield strange green flames at her palms in defence, she held ground before trying desperately to carry Stormsong from the bridge.
While others like Naroda, Bamm and Felhammer were too injured to give much fight at the incoming surge of victorious defenders.

There was simply no choice, the Necrolords were keen to take some captives even as the orcs were witness to them executing Constructs around them. Some were simply too injured to stop themselves being taken while others fought until they could not hold a sword any longer. Even keshrakk was found and hauled like a sack of violent wheat into the custody of the Necrolords.

The clan were captured. The Siege at the Seat lost.

–Verzan Skywise–
Nag’Ogar Elite, Red Blade Clan.

Nakobu-argent-dawn · February 26, 2021, 7:53pm

Shadowlands Report - Captured Under the Seat

I can remember the last moments of the battle, standing next to Takkat Warwolf swinging blades to hold up as many rushing Necrolord defenders as we could to buy the orcs behind us time to get away but they were too hurt and we were too few. I did not entirely know what happened to us next.
I wake after a time, below what I suspect is the bridge or some adjoining place. Green flame illuminates the roof, I can hear other orcs shuffling. Some sound to be in pain while others are subjecting their captors to prickly harsh words of protest and bile.

We are captured then.
Peering around a brief count of the orcs that I can see suggests that all have been found who set foot onto the battlefield, with the exception of Halfbuk. I do not see him for now. The Chieftain is standing already and Karak Stormsong is beating the guards with pointed words to match his own misery from injury and the near loss of his only child.
Others are not yet conscious, the youngling Naroda seems to be down, Felhammer too hasn’t moved though I can see his breath he seems soaked in his own blood. He did not fare well this battle. The liches among Necrolords however appear to have mended those who could have died if left untreated.

Torm Sagewind stands across from us. If it was not certain before, It is clear he was never on our side. He was not part of the House of Constructs but instead a sleeper agent working for the Necrolords hidden among the ranks of the enemy. Warwolf spits blood in his direction and calls him traitor - there are no kind words for the former Tauren from many.
‘Do not do anything foolish’ His words at least made sense now but we could never have known before the battle quite what he meant. Nor expect him to understand the oath of the clan orcs when they refused surrender.

–

Sagewind attempts a dialogue with the clan, aiming his words at the Chieftain but finding even Feraleyes diplomatic turn of phrase somewhat damning.
An Orc commander joins Sagewind in the discussion, as tall as he is wide this monster of an orc seems ancient and has been able to keep his original shape for the most part. His body was littered with scars from battles fought and won in the past. It was this orc that Seaworth had been calling out across the battlefield. He expresses disappointment at our attempt to battle his forces.
The orc ‘Kargesh Spinebreaker’ who had recognised the Red Blade clan symbol reacts in his own scornful way and mentions Githya. Githya being an orc of his time. Though it seems in life he did not have the best experiences with Githya Redblade, the namesake of our clan. He says little more to the clan, rather drinks in a good look at us and departs.

It is Torm Sagewind who once again attempts to sit down and explain what is going on, with mixed results. He speaks to us of the conflict in the Shadowlands of how the other Houses of Maldraxxus have begun invading the other realms and claiming anima from them for themselves subverting the purpose of the Maldraxxi as defenders of the Shadowlands.
He speaks of the souls destined for the Maw, those endless countless people thrown into the worst of places because something has fundamentally broken here and it seems like there is little we as clan orcs can do about it but survive and not join their number.
Perhaps in some ways this break in the order of things here in the Shadowlands could explain the troubles facing Sharguul - Sagewind did not know and upon finding himself unwelcome in our company he left us.

–

It was clear much is happening beyond our control.
More so now we are trapped in a cage waiting to see what these Necrolords will do with us. Many orcs are preparing themselves for a fight, should these undead come to execute us like they did the prisoners back within the House of Constructs. We have small weapons and we are resting, it is all we can do for now.

–Verzan Skywise–
Nag’Ogar Elite, Red Blade Clan