NationStates Jolt Archive

When Manus awoke in his chamber, his bones ached. With eyes crusty, it took but a moment to clear them with his hands doused in saliva. It was dark inside, and Manus was still dressed in his Splint, as he could feel the armor pieces against his leather shirt. He sat up slowly, as not to disturb his concubine, whom still lay in silent hibernation beside him. He only kept one, and she was very loyal to him. She was less of a concubine and more of a wife, though Manus would never be the one to admit such a thing. He was meant to be the strongest, and a true relationship just softens the heart.

Pushing himself off of his bed, his nightvision, a natural talent held by his people, soon exposed his room once more to him. Much like traditional architecture, it was not very large, but quite efficiently built. It could withstand an assault and be easily fortified for a last stand offense. It was sparsely decorated with the Skells of His father and His Father's Father, as well as his own, before being passed the lineage weapon of the EnheilRas, and embossed over the shields and on the carpet was the Clan Sigil of the High Fist, Manus' Clan. Like all the other Sigils, it was simple and direct, and not hard to interpret. A Clenched Fist rising over a Red Sun. Manus never asked of whom thought of the Sigils, for much like History had been: whatever is, is, and whatever was, was. What was meant to be, will be. Manus Trebelium was a big believer in Fate, as in followed hand-in-hand with the Doctrine that overshadowed all the Clans, and those whom believed in it.

The EnheilRas opened his chamber door, stepping outside into the Hallway. The Grand Palace of Orca where he reigned, though rarely was he there unless sleeping in the Capitol, wasn't that extravagant. It was built for military purposes, save a single room that acted as a 'Throne Room' where Manus seldomly sat upon, for he was no King. Kings were for Men, Dwarves, and Elves. Lesser species which cared for petty things. Exuberant races which dwelled on dishonorable feats. They were so unworthy to wear their crowns. As Manus turned left, he noticed his friend and Father of the Knights, Teel Ikorum, headed his way. Teel was a rarity in the fact that he never went into the Hibernation. As such, he was on constant vigil, and mainly kept into the mountains with the High Step Clan, protecting the farmers and making sure the agriculture would be safely transported to the dozen other clans for grain and wheat intake.

"Welcome back, EnheilRas," Teel commented.

Manus nodded at his long-time friend, his orange tresses sliding off his long-pointed ear. "We have much work to do to raise the 13 Flags my friend. We have yet to complete our just task in ChumRas Orka. We've been forgotten and ignored. It's time to gather all our people as one, even if they fail to recognize the Doctrine. This Season will be that of assimilation. There will be no second chances."

The fires of the Capitol City of Orka, hidden within the dreadful Mists of Melkor's Realm in Arda, started up again. Hundreds of Millions of Orcs were woken, as the childer were born anew under the tens of thousands of their High Orcish Brethren. It was a time of celebration, and a time or preparation.

It took several hours for the mills of Orka to grind again. The Lesser Orcs wandered around searching for their tools and their miscellaneous equipment. Most of the High Orcs had yet to wake from their summer hibernation. It always seemed to close on them when the flowers entered full bloom, and they woke when the leaves began to turn colors. It was as if the High Orcs were cursed from the period of growth since Bal'raga.

Within the day, Dorin the Darkweaver of the Dark Circle and Trabian Riil of the High Fist reported to the Palace of Orka, meeting with Teel and Manus himself. Dressed in robes of deep blue and black for Dorin and Red and yellow for Trabian denoting their class, lineage, and power, the two magi were close advisors to the EnheilRas.

"Much has gone on during the Growth Period, EnheilRas," Dorin reported. "We may never know exactly what went on. The Ley Lines have seen major change, and entire histories have disappeared. There is much more chaos in this realm of Order. It will take much time to resettle, but I believe that our ignorance may be a blessing in disguise, as we needn't worry about what does not truly matter."

"A truly wise suggestion Dorin," Teel agreed. "We have our own matters at stake, and those that impact Orcs go ahead of issues that impact other races. If it affects ChumRas Orka, it affects us."

Manus turned around, it was still dark. None of the torches had been lit, and everything had a red hue in the black. He looked behind him at the three, "This dying season will be memorable. It will be a season of unity. We must know other Orc nations, and we must send delegates. They will follow our Flag, for it is the Flag of their Race. They will come to understand the Doctrine. Their nations will, in turn, make ours stronger. The more that respect the way of the True Orc, the more that will allow ChumRas Orka to be. It may come that many battles for Orcish Ascension shall follow."

As Manus turned around, it became quite quiet. The three were quite humbled, as for centuries, Orcs had never fought each other. In their race to discover the lost histories of their homeworld Palladium, they were disgusted to find out how their Lesser Kin were enslaved and used for labor and cheap soldiers, pitted against each other at the whims of wizards and Kings. Orcish Slavery was a superior offense against the Clans. It required the harshest of punishments, unique to each cause.

"EnheilRas, if I may, there is something quite pressing," Trabian interjected. "Air Elementals report that there is a massive convergence in the Southern Island off the mainland. It may be quite instrumental to take notice. Something might have been organized within the Growth period. We are lucky that it hasn't happened yet. I advise that we prepare for leave."

Manus looked down for a second, "Has Ignex woke yet?"

Teel shook his head, "Nay. Neither has Delgon. Both slumber soundly."

"Let them sleep," Manus commanded. "They need to be strong this season."

Belca Bristleback, the Lesser Orc known as the Pointblade, burst into the Palace. "EnheilRas, the Druids need your immediate attention. There is a... creature that has been sent for you."

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There it was. A Dragon. A Dragon from Kalessin no doubt. The Orcish community hadn't seen a Dragon since the Age of Chaos. They were creatures that the Orcish Doctrine allows mutual respect of, which meant that as long as Dragons didn't mess with Orcs in the cases of slavery, domination, or cruelty, the Clans didn't mess with that dragon. Dragons were creatures of massive supernatural power, and could live millenia. That alone meant that, as the first offspring of the Old Ones, they should be respected, but that was pretty much the only Leeway given.

A small handful of Druids of the Golden Sky stood besides the Dragon to interpret its thoughts and motions. These were magical nurturers of all the world's animals, and felt a natural empathy to such things. Dragons, however, were quite intelligent, some species anyway. Volin Eloldur, a noted Beastspeaker, bowed toward Manus.

"He's an Escorter, EnheilRas. He's come from the seas in direction of the south, riding the winds with a mission to transport you and the council to a meeting of the regional alliance. He speaks with utmost importance that you arrive in due time."

Manus Trebelium stretched. "It begins, and I haven't had breakfast yet."

OOC: http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=6859491&postcount=113

IC:

As Belca saw the Dragon soar up and away with the EnheilRas, his gauntleted hand covering his eyes to protect from the sun, he looked around at the druids doing the same. The Pointblade took his hand away, and though he was nearly a foot shorter than the High Orc Druids, he growled out commandingly, "Don't just stand there; there's too much work to do. Get on it!"

Immediately the druids nodded and headed toward the Dorn stables of Orka. Belca, though a Lesser Orc, was the mightiest of all Lesser Orcs in the clans, and was very proud about his title. He would take any on comer with stride and flawlessly defeat them. Even Orcish Knights had been bested by Bristleback. But due to his race not being prestige, the Skell mastership was declined. It mattered not to Belca, for magic weaponry and rune weapons were his to collect, as most Knights were too proud to disband their Skells to pick up something else, even if it surged with power. Belca had a half dozen enchanted rune weapons, including two swords, an axe, and a shield. These were the ones he used openly, and it is unknown whether or not the Lesser Orc keeps a hidden cache of weapons he is unable to use.

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Within the tenebrous mountains of Angband were two of the most important sites rebuilt to mirror the previous ones in Palladium for and by the High Orcs. Many mountains had been hallowed out and filled with complex cave systems, most with magma canals, built flawlessly by the nocturnal Clan of Tunnel Crawlers whom lived completely underground in massive subterranean caverns unknown to more than 80% of existence, including Arda. Though the tops were covered with large agricultural fields (even though the rocky terrain and cold weather seem to make it a bad place to farm, the High Step Clan prefers no other place to grow crops, and they do it masterfully), the mountains were sprayed with Orcish villages loyal to the clans, even though their existence in Arda was never questioned due to their race and location. After all, who would question why a bunch of Orcs lived in Arda? Inside the crag, however, lay enormous mills and smiths with veins of metals, ore, and mithril overflowing. The steelworks had been a graveyard since the High Orcish Foremen, leaders of the Blazing Hammer Clan, went into hibernation, but the smoke would begin to billow once more.

The Temple of Lopnel sat upon a large, grassy Hill, not barely tall enough to be a mountain, not more than 100 miles from Orka. It was a grand Citadel devoted to the Palladium deity Lopnel, the Red God of Conquest. The Temple sat on top of the Hill, its marble, painted a bloody ruby color, was filled with the Holy Warriors of one of the two recognized deities of the High Orcs (the other being the Spider Goddess Tark by the Dripping Fang Clan). Inside slept Riga, Grand Inquisitor, and leader of the Clan of the Red Blade. The stained glass gave the Citadel interior, which housed most of the large clan of Knights, Priests, Clerics, and Monks, an eerie red hue all around, as if doused with Lopnel’s celestial ichor. Riga headed the Juggernauts, an elite cadre of Paladins and powerful Warrior-Clerics, which were instrumental in mission-based battle. They were the Special Forces of the 13 Clans, and every one of them were middle-aged and the veterans of over three dozen vicious battles. They were all considered Heroes of the highest degrees.

The Hill’s twin housed a great artifact: The Dark Circle, a Stonehenge structure built by the clan of the same name, headed by Dorin the Darkweaver, the most powerful Orcish Mage in existence. Dorin instructed personally the construction of the ritual ground, as well as the hallowing of the earth, enriching it with supernatural Seepage. He mapped the area well, and the location was in the exact point of a quadruple Ley Line Nexus. The eruption of Ley Lines improved the incantations of the Wizards and Sorcerers of the Dark Circle, because they were instructed in how to manipulate these magical veins of the world to empower them and draw energy from them. The Dark Circle was a primary ritual ground for massive magical spells, such as dimensional rifting, or far-reaching teleportation, or even incredibly summoning and banishment spells. The actual physical libraries were the cadre of Dark Circle Magi, all of which were High Orcs (Lesser Orcs were let in only as servants and apprentices to the Clan, due to their lack of aptitude when regarding the intelligence required to master such abilities {one of the few discriminatory practices designating the differences in class held between the two species of the same Genus}), were held in most of the High Orcish cities, allowing the Clan to function in a region-wide guild form.

West across the High Steppes, over the mountains of the Blazing Hammer and about the cavernous cities of the Red-Eyed TUnnel Crawlers, lay bountiful forests, filled with deciduous and evergreen beauty. The forests spread for miles in all directions west of the ranges. Within them dwelled their masters, the Golden Sky. Much like the Dark Circle, all of the Golden Sky were practitioners of magic. However, all within the Golden Sky were deeply drawn into the natural world. The majority studied in-depth Druidism and learned how to tame animals and communicate with them. The minority of the Golden Sky, but much more reknown than their naturalistic brethren, were the Fierce Warlocks, able to tap into the base elements of Fire, Water, Earth, and Air, and control them like none other. The Warlocks werte the power behind the Elemental Intelligences, Alien Beings of Supreme Power, Would-be Gods of their Domain, which eisted in transdimensional planes that could co-exist in the world by fragmenting their essence and sending it through a rift. This allowed the Golden Sky Explicit ability to control regional weather, soil fertiligty, water purification, and natural distasters. Many of the Golden Sky were loners, so actual clan-based cities were rare to find in the Forest. Many Elementalist Warlocks prefered to study in the libraries like the Dark Circle, and return to the forest for duels and demonstrations of power, such as exercising their right to communicate with the Elements. When united and formed for battle, this quiet clan was respected for its utmost ferocity in war. Within the near center of the Forest, north across a Great Lake, was the actual Golden Grove, a site of natural beauty where the Golden Council met,the Oligarchy which ruled the Clan.

Further west were the Grand Grasslands and stretching Savanna. This is where the prime hunting grounds of several clans was located, yet was protected by the Golden Sky. Though the Orcs were many, they knew how to live in equilibrium with nature, so no species was ever over-hunted. They took what they needed, and were never left wanting. The Savanna was a playground for the Clans. It representing the commons where trade between clans took place and where meetings and convocations were located. There was a single outpost in the plans, which a legion of five clans served to protect the land from poachers and unnatural beasts. The outpost also served as a hallmark Bartertown. It was one of the more obvious habitats, and the easiest way to contact the Isolated and Mysterious High Orcish Clans. The Fort outpost was constructed mostly of Hardwood and metal sheeting for walls. It was Pentagonal, with each portion dedicated to the Five Clans that were instrumental in the Upkeep: Golden Grove, Blazing Hammer, High Step, Dorn Riders, and Raging Bear. Yet, the true defense of the Savanna lay in the most mobile of all the Clans, far to the West.

Across the Savanna lead to a Grand Forest, though mostly Redwoods and Sequoia, harbored against the mountainsides to the South and the Ocean to the West, known as the Dorn Forest. These beasts, looking like the cross between a wolf and a horse (http://groups.msn.com/_Secure/0TAD*AjsYBL0QHbbmYj8CSSgcKfxAMukGt80QH4T5AKOsh3qcTA3o8RuDzXWdRe!wOuIDqU7h2ydn7synx8b61I!Xq6MLOacd4nX AH9lyCBeunXLenfe7vw/Dorn.jpg), were carnivourous animals, and were beginning to dominate over Wogs as Chief Predator in Arda. They were brought over from Palladium and cradled their existence inthe forest. These was a mutual understanding between the animals and the Orcs, and the clans sought to make the most out of this relationship. The Clan of Dorn Riders was founded on the basis to seek the possibilities the Dorns could offer. THe Clan was instructed with the taming and domestication of Dorns for specialized purposes. To this day, the Clan has trained Dorns as mounts, laborers, tillers, food and livestock, clothing, decoration, and, of course, pets. What set the clan apart was the fascinating ability to train the Dorns for War, and the Dorn Rider Clan is the only one with specialized Calvalry Units. The Dorn Calvalry are vicious in war, usually charging into assaults with their custom-made lance-Skells for Orcish Knights. Yet, much of the focus isn't on war, as the clan is usually very gentle as they raise and tend to their animals.

Tag

Between the two Forests, against the mountains, laid a single passage i9nto the deathly Swamps. The Clans called this the Swamp of Deception, but was sure it had some 'other' official name. This was a veryous swamp, capable of swallowing an entire dorn if it didn't keep moving. These were thick marshes, filled with all kinds of predatorial animals who made their home in the foggy swamplands. Yet, this environment served as a back path, as far to the East was a mountainous back passage to the capital of Orca. Yet, this region was home to the Dripping Fang Clan in a cave far to the west against the mountains. The Dripping Fang was a very small clan, second only to the Dark Circle. They were a wide variety of classes, but what unified them was an avid worship to the Goddess Tark, symbolized in a Giant Spider, whom had domain over the power of Treachery and Deception. The Clan was mostly specializing in theives, assassins, and illusionists. They centered themselves around the Orcs' disdain for other races. They glorified themselves as the poison that would destroy the world. Yet, these Orcs had within them members of a single race, ousted from Palladium as vicious enemies of creation. These were known as Changelings, creatures whom had the power to morph into any being they've seen, regardless of size. Due to the races fear over what the changelings could do, they were wiped out. They were perfect for the Dripping Fang, but forced to stay in Orcish forms, their identities hidden.

However, far across the mountain ranges, towards the Golden Lake, and past the Great Savanna to the Northeast was the Forests belonging to the Raging Bear Clan; the 13th Clan, and the Cursed Clan. The Raging Bear was perhaps the largest clan with a miiltary purpose. Most of the dregs that came from the natural Ardans joined the Raging Bear, for they revered physical strength more than all other clans. THey had a very open attitude on Clan membership, and cared not for the mount of Trolls, Ogres, other Orc-Species (including Uruk-Hai), Giants, and Hob-Goblins. Unlike the other dozen, the Raging Bear was prohibited a Chieftain to direct them, due to the curse of Xersus, the foul Troll whose name was a pox in the Orcish language. Teel Ikorum of the High Fist, the Father of the Orcish Knighthood, was personally responsible for the direction of the Raging Bear, and treated the entire Clan as his ragtag army. In the Council of Chieftains, the Raging Bear was sometimes referred to as "The Sword of Ikorum."

The Raging Bear, however, constructed the largest fortress of all the Clans, most visibile through orbital reconnaissance. This was the Fortress City of Ursa, where millions made their home. It was built along a river, and the north-side was built for Giant Creatures, including Ardan Trolls, Nimro, Jinto, Cyclopses, and Titans, and the South for humanoid creatures such as the Orcs, Hob-Goblins, Uruak-Hai, and Palladium Trolls and Ogres. The Raging Bear Clan was a front-line force, massed with tough creatures that could withstand all but a direct hit from a siege weapon. Yet, within the boundries of Ursa, these monstrous supernatural creatures had an easy harmony together, though of words were light in conversation.

West of the Forest of the Bear collided with the plains, yet settled against the northern mountainside was a very large cave opening. Cave openings were rather numerous, as they served into entrances into the massive and complex inter-regional highway dug meticulously by the Clan of Tunnel Crawlers. The Clan of Tunnel Crawlers were the only derivation of the Orcs in Palladium due to natural selection. The Clan rarely saw sunlight, so their nightvision was far more advanced than any other creature in any clan. Many of the Tolkienite Goblins, whom themselves strayed genetically due to the same circumstances, found their home in this clan working with Palladium Orcs, digging the Tunnels and Living in Massive Cavern Cities unbeknowst to most of the world. They were protected from any kind of assault on the land, as they dug deep into the earth. They weren't all workers, as most, if not all, had high military potential. The Clan of Tunnel Crawlers were specialized in Anti-Dwarven Warfare. Within the Elf-Dwarf War of Palladium, the Clan would emphasize a very deadly tactic of burrowing underneath the Great Dwarven Citadels and Fortresses to mount a deadly surprise attack from under them, spilling forth in thousands, bypassing all defenses. They were a bane to Dwarfdom, and were the direct cause of most of the victories against them in their slavery.

However, since the exile from Palladium, Dorin the Darkweaver, through a dark pact, has traveled back on the homeworld, and strongly benefitted the Clan. Tens of thousands of Minotaurs, Tall Bull-headed Humanoids that were alienated from Palladium and hide from all the races and reproduce at an alarming rate unknown to the rest of the world (though there are theories that the Minotaur population is a sign of Doomsday), were drafted into the High Orcish Legion, all joining the Clan of Tunnel Crawlers, boosting their numbers and battle capacity beyond comprehension or knowledge. The Minotaurs were even more highly skilled at digging underground mazes, and knew of specialized ways to create traps and intricate designs. They were masters of the Night and knew of powerful magics that infused Chaos within them.

Yet, this cave is unlike the ones interconnected to the Tunnel System. It is a Crystal Cave, covered in Blue Gems. This is the Blue Cave. The Walls are all a deep azure blue, a coloring which comes from the rocks buried and discovered deep within it. It is also the home of the Blue Hair Clan, a fierce, yet madly inventive Clan of Warriors. They had been known for many unexpected victories, and were a home for the smartest of Orcish Knights and Soldiers who relied more on tactics and ability than numbers and weapons. They were named that, not due to their age, as many were under their 40's in Palladium Years, a Calender much longer than the Earth's, but due to the Clan Initiation Ritual which the member would use the Blue Crystals to make a dye, and permanently wash his hair in it, turning it a deep azure blue. They were easy to seek out, due to the natural orange color of a High Orcs' hair, and the blackness of a lesser Orcs'. The Blue Cave System spread for miles in all directions, imbedded against rock, containing passages to Ursa, the Mines of the Blazing Hammer, and the Undergrowth of the Tunnel Crawlers. It housed the majority of the Blue Hairs, the rest usually lived in Ursa or in nomadic tribes across the Great Savanna.

Yet, the final, and farthest Clan was far to the West at the very edge of the Northern Mountains. They were the third smallest clan, and the smallest of all the Warrior Orcs. They were incredibly secretive in their works, and were known as the Clan of the Flaming Skull. They secluded themselves in their endeavors. The Cave of the Flaming Skull, once excavated by the Clan, was found to be a former fortress of Dwarves, buried deep within the Mountains. The Dwarves had abandoned it for fear of the Demons that were rumored to dwell within it. Fearless, the Clan, made up of the most elite Orcish Warriors, nearly unstoppable in battle and unequaled in their skill and finesse in close quarter combat (some were even incredibly skilled marksmen with the Longbow, or experts in using siege engines), uncovered all the lost Dwarven remanents and molds, shipping them to the Hall of the Blazing Hammer, and deep down into the Earth, miles under the mountain lay a huge cavern with a pit with a bright orange flame in it that blazes eternally. It is this flame that the Flaming Skull dedicated themselves to in Cult worship. The Dogma of the clan proclaims that the Spirits of All Blazing Skull clansmen would return to this pit upon their deaths, and it is said that they reforge all their weapons and armor with this mysterious, ethereal flame, infusing them with nefarious magics of the souls of their ancestors.

The Capitol of the Clans, the largest military Fortress and the Gateway to the West from Angbang into the High Orcish Lands in the very Heart of Arda, was Orca. Orca housed all the Political Leaders of all 13 Clans, and was a base for Council Meetings between Chieftains. It housed a sizable force, a Bunker and Barracks from each clan served in Orca to make the City-Fortress more of a working Conglomeration. Orca is not very large by comparison to what would normally be called a city, but it is the epitome of Orcish architecture and was built very efficiently, and is capable of housing a very large population. Orca itself is the location of two entire Clans.

The Foremost Clan was that of the Jagged Crown, headed by the DanRas, Ignex Max. The members of the Jagged Crown were the Oldest and Noblest Blood of the other Clans. They were veterans of 60 years or more of combat, and this clan served as their retirement in respect of their elder experience. They served as the traditional and hierarchical leaders of the Clans, and many served in other cities as political mayors and advisors. The Culture of the clans revered them, and anyone allowed within the sacred sigil deserved the utmost respect and priviledge granted.

The Final Clan, and most important of the Orcish Culture, was the High Fist Clan. The leader of the High Fist was dubbed EnheilRas, and presided over all other Orcs as First Leader, of which Manus Trebelium has the title. The High Fist recruited from all other clans based on experience and knowledge of strategy, tactics, and manuevers in the military field. The Greatest Leaders were allowed within, and became the Generals of the Armies of the Clans. Tactical Geniuses like Teel Ikorum and Trabian Riil were part of this clan (From the Raging Bear and Golden Sky Clans, respectively), and they presided over all that was theirs.

This was where Belca Bristtleback, whom held the Title of Pointblade which signified him as the Mightiest of Lesser Orcs, whom relished in his responsibility of always leading in charge assaults, coming unscathed every time he leads in first (something that several of the High Fist Generals are incredibly suspicious of). Belca sighed, and headed back to the High Fist Council to prepare for the Re-awakening.

"Greetings, Lord Belca," said one of the Lesser Orc 'Keepers' of the High Fist Council room.

Though they were of the same species, Belca snarled a bit at the dreg. "Stop with the pleasentries and keep word to the Shrine and wake Riga's lazy ass up. The Shrimp's been sleeping too long. Far too long."

The Lesser Orc nodded, and rushed off out of the Council room. The room itself was circulate, with 13 Pilliars holding up the domed ceiling. The Wall was made of purposely cracked marble, and gleamed of shining smoothness of ivory. Decorated around the walls were the Sigils of the 13 Clans. There was a table, which constituted 13 Sections, and 13 Chairs. It was a room meant only for Clan Leaders. Belca usually was privy to having presnece, but was never allowed to sit, for he held no such pestige.

In his life, Belca had been through many Clans. He started in the High Step like all the other children, learning how to grow culture, being educated in history, astronomy, tactics, linguistic arts, and mathematics. He was restricted from learning mystic arts due to his species, but did take the apprenticeship course that Non-High Orcs are able to for initiation into Dark Circle submission. This was what taught Belca a large part in how magical weapons are made and how to tap their essence. He had drifted from the Blue Hair Clan, which taught him the majority of his swordsmanship skills and allowed him to rise the ranks due to his leadership qualities, which have been compared to those of High Fist Generals, and natural ability at war manuevers in-field. Upon the rank of Pointblade, Bristtleback was gifted with initiation into the Flaming Skull. It took nearly a decade to get all that dye out of his hair. . .

"That your voice I hear Belca?"

Belca turned around sharply, his right hand immediately reaching for the pommel of his blade, but relaxed his grip upon the familiar face of Delgon, the PunRas. Delgon was in the High Fist, like his Father, and was assumed to take control of the Clan after Manus' retirement to the Jagged Crown. Belca slightly feared Delgon becoming EnheilRas, because Delgon was quiet, and Delgon had secrets. Secrets were dangerous, and Belca knew this on a very personal level; he had a few on his own.

"Yes, Lord Delgon. Tis I," Belca replied. He always spoke to the High Orcs as Lords and Ladies. Whether this was due to respect or heritage, Belca had long forgotten. He wasn't the only one whom did it, but tradition was not set in stone, it was set in diamond.

"To where did Manus go?" Delgon asked. Delgon never called Manus 'father,' because Manus wasn't Delgon's father. Delgon's true father died in Balraga, but Delgon had already been given up by then.

"He has gone to a conference of regional affair. Trabian and Teel accompanied him, and that miscreant Dorin went too, to throw his thoughts around to those whom really had nothing but objections to his aberrancy," Belca explained. "They have been airlifted by Dragon to the Isle of South-Winds, where the Chaos grows."

"You think they'll be gone long?"

Belca grinned, stifling a laugh. As if Delgon needed paternal love! Arana was still around if he wanted a teet to suckle. Though the 'Deadly Kiss,' as they called her, was about the same degree of mother as she was a wife. It's a good thing she was neither. Just a concubine to the EnheilRas, albeit the only one he had. It was an easy way to have a serious relationship while others wouldn't consider it such. Though as seductive as Arana was, she was of surprising use due to her incredibly high status in the Dripping Fang Clan, and Belca treated her as a Mistress MacBeth. "Within a week, you shall see his reappearance, I am positive Lord Delgon."

"I surely hope so," Delgon was quick to say. "The Clans will be expecting his words when they all wake up. It is quite important that he address the nation and his words be carried through the air to the leaders, then trickled down to every ear of every one of our brothers."

Belca rolled his eyes. This was quite too much. "Why don't you do it while he's gone? Might be worthy practice," he said with a facetious tone.

Yet, it must have fell silently against the PunRas's sharply pointed ears, for he seemed to take the suggestion with the utmost of seriousness. "I suppose that could be arranged."

Belca went wide-eyed. He'd have to cover for this one. "If you do dare such a thing, I sincerely advise you to not take such a task by yourself, and keep the DanRas close to your side. There is no better teacher than experience, and that's a reason why the EnheilRas still clings to him. You should too, before he enters the eternal conquest."

"I suppose you're right Belca. You're awfully bright for an Orc. I think you must have been miscreated. You're truly worthy of being a High Orc. You would have made a fine General in the High Fist," he complimented.

Belca grinned, "It would be something I would have to deny, Lord Delgon. My place is with the Flaming Skull. Even if I were Knighted, I would remain with them."

"As it is, make it so," Delgon said. "I will return to my chamber and ready myself." The High Orc Leader-to-be stepped back out of the chamber and slid back into the corridors.

Belca relaxed a bit, and sighed. He then realized that Delgon's evacuated presence left him with a severe headache. His mind felt devirginized. He closed his eyes and pressed on his temple hard. Something would have to be done. . .

Wake up....

Waaaaaaaaake uuuuuuuuuup . . . .

WAKE UP!


"...Bloody Hell," groaned Riga, Grand Inquisitor of Lopnel, as he regained a somewhat loose consciousness. The abnormally statured Riga rolled to his left, his right hand reaching out for the bed table to find something with to wipe his crust-covered face. As his hand fiddled through the top of the table blindly (he hadn't yet tried to open his eyes), more than half a dozen bottles crashed to the ground, a few shattering. They were all empty, and the contents had been gone months ago. Not finding anything useful, Riga just stuck his fingers in his mouth, dry and parched was his tongue, and covered them with saliva from the edges of his cheeks. He then rubbed his eyes with his spit-coated digits to wipe the eye-crust away. His eyes immediately focused in the dim room as he tried to sit up. He groaned again, his back popping as the angle increased. His joints all hurt, and he couldn't feel his ass. Riga hated having a dead ass.

"Ugh... What time is it?" was his first question. It went unanswered as he realized no one else was in the room. But he had heard someone's voice, right? Someone woke him up. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't pin down who's it was. Then again, Riga was waking up with a four-month hangover. That never helped. He was bound to hear, and probably see, strange things that didn't exist. He turned around, placing his feet, still encased in leather and chain boots, on the floor. Riga was fairly well dressed, but couldn't see why he would do that before the Hibernation. He must have blacked out what had happened. His room was indeed a mess though, and it would allow some explaining on what happened the night before the big sleep.

Stepping out, he found that he wasn't the only one awake. Most of the others actually had been, and seemed to be in the process of cleaning the shrine. The whole place stank of blood and vomit, covered over with the lovely scent of spring lemons. Mmm... Citrus. There were Knights dressed in sweaty rags with mops and large, wide-brimmed dust brooms, moving and manipulating sawdust-flavored substances. Hundreds were wiping down walls and using pulleys to clean the ceiling. There were solemn looks on their faces, perhaps from embarrassment, and Riga's presence left them undeterred in their work.

Etorekath Brelavudd, a Lord Inquisitor of the Red God, member of the Juggernauts, and close friend of Riga, noticed him and approached. "Hail Riga, it's good to see you awake and well."

Riga nodded at Etorek (for short), and in a matter of Clan greeting, raised his fist, and slammed it against the middle of his chest: the Red Organ. "Hail Etorek. It seems I missed out on a hell of a time."

Etorek returned the salute, then scratched the back of his red-orange mane. He appeared unshaven, and a bit more rugged than usual. "Well, you could say that; though I personally wouldn't. Most of the outside has been cleared, and we'll be done with the interior by dusk. We've got it taken care of, and the shipments have already been negotiated to the High Step and Blazing Hammer for grain and arms."

Riga nodded in acknowledgement as he was led, unrealized, towards the main gate, by Etorek. "All good to hear. The Red Blade will be running strong by dinner. Speaking of which, what's to be had?"

Etorek gave Riga the strangest look for several seconds, then wetted his lips before answering, "Its been taken care of, and there's plenty of meat for everyone. Will you be joining with Dorin to venture to Orca?"

Riga noticed the pause, and the quick change-of-subject. Something went wrong and Riga was ignorant of it. He would play along, deeper into this dimentia. "No, I don't think my presence is required. Let that wand-waver do as he wishes. I don't need to be there. This is where I belong; so is Lopnel's Will."

"Yes. Seviraloth and Zaliseth have been ordered on special missions on foreign policy commands, direct from Manus. It seems that the EnheilRas thinks only the highest of those inducted to be your Juggernauts," Etorek commended.

"As he should. Not even Flaming Skulls can match Lopnel's chosen. However, those two are members of my personal coterie Etorek, you know that. They're my flankmen. What of Voerd and Zigokor? Surely Trebelium wouldn't strip me of my best to use in unauthorized campaigns!" Riga roared.

"No. Voerd is busy... preparing dinner and Priest Zigokor's in the Eastern fields. We have a thousand warriors working on Fortifications towards the Foglands (OOC: Angband). The faux-orcs are aggressive creatures and there have been rogue escapees that seek sanctuary across the mountains. The Shrine is the First Contact from the lands the refugees call Angband. They have a fear and reverence towards their loatheful creator."

"Please, spare me the drama of their plight. They are not orcs, they are a mixture of Elf-Shit and God-Spit. If they weren't controlled by Scarface over there, then we'd have slaughtered tens of thousands a day just to thin them and keep our blades red. They are the epitome of weak. Let none pity them," Riga ordered.

The two turned towards the shrine room. A Giant meeting room that could seat over 10,000. It was the Grand Chamber to which the Idol of Lopnel stood, much like a Greek Polytheist Temple would be like. The Red God was crafted of marble and ivory, and stood menacingly with axe and shield, awaiting its next fight in everlasting Conquest. Riga slid his hands along the normally red walls, discovering black patches on them, as if something had burned them, or tossed ash upon them. The Shrine room was the courtyard of thw Citadel, and it brought Riga and Etorek outside. There were small cluttered piles of broken armor and shattered weapons. Riga's eyes squinted as he searched the shrine, looking like an armory, but it was forbidden to use as such unless in cases of emergency. As such, Riga didn't question it, but it made sure his notice was obvious.

"Etorek, where did you say Zigokor and Voerd were?"

Etorek sighed, and repeated himself, "Voerd is preparing dinner, and Zigokor is in the Eastern Fields."

"Zaliseth is no cook. Why would he be in the kitchen?" Riga inquired.

"He is not in the kitchen, Lord Riga. He's outside the outer walls."

"But you just said he was preparing dinner!"

Sensing Riga's temper, Etorek suggested that he be shown personally. Etorek opened the gates to the outer courtyard. Riga was made witness to the atrocity. Voerd stood on the top of a well carved-out corpse of an adult Great Horn Dragon, one of three, measuring over 150 feet from head to tail, with a dozen others, slicing off meat to be tossed in long slabs onto barrows to be moved to a meat freezer. These creatures were dead; killed by multiple stab wounds and hundreds of holes before they fell. It suddenly made sense to Riga. He had just wondered how he slept through it.

As Riga stared, silent, Zigokor approached, doused in sweat and wearing ceremonial robes, ruined by perspiration.

"How many Zigokor?" Riga asked monotonously.

"Three Hundred Eighty-Seven of Lopnel's chosen slain in Defense of his Chapel, Lord Riga. These three were adults, and snuck into the Citadel transformed. They were from Palladium, and somehow tracked us down. I can't say who ordered them, but they may have confused us with Orca. This was an assassination from powers unknown," Zigokor informed.

"It's all falling down Sir. Our past is coming back," Etorek suggested.

Riga sneered, "It seems Palladium has come back to reclaim her lost children. We may need to go back to see what she wants. Someone, or something, knows we survived Balraga, and they're not too happy."