NationStates Jolt Archive

The effects of the death of the leader of the Galactic Empire had been felt on the other side of the galaxy. A red, savage world with a savage people had been alerted, in some sense, to the fact that there was a great enemy waiting for them near the core.

The heavy, green feet of a young orc strode tentatively towards the great golden building that was the Spirit Lodge. Drek'thar, High Shaman of the orcs and spiritual advisor to War Chief Doomhammer himself, had summoned him. The orc had only seen the hallowed building from a distance, never had he been allowed inside. Despite the fact that he was a journeyman shaman, only the masters were allowed within the golden halls. It was highly irregular for a single journeyman to be admitted, let alone invited by the High Shaman. What's more, this orc was the direct blood relative to the Betrayer, Aka'thoramar. The Earthen Ring council did not trust his family, and he'd had to work his green rear off to even be admitted to the order.

Eyes from all sides gazed upon the orc from all sides as he strode through the glimmering entranceway. Red and brown eyes of orcs, blue and green of trolls, grey of tauren, and the multicolored facets of the mor'ghull. He could not see their faces, but their eyes reflected the light from the building.

"Elder..." said the orc, prostrating himself before what appeared to be a pile of robes. Within the robes was an orc so old, he had been shrunk far smaller than any adult orc should have been. However, the aura of power this orc exuded banished any thoughts of weakness. "I am not worthy to be in your presence."

"Arise, Etar, son of Kotar. You are indeed worthy," rasped the orc. Etar rose, his head still pointed at the floor.

"You summoned me, great one."

"Yes..." said the wisened master, closing the doors of his chamber with a flick of his wrist. "You have felt the disturbance, yes?"

"I...do not know what you mean..."

Etar's left arm went numb suddenly.

"Do not lie to me, young one. You have felt it."

"I...did feel something, Master. I dismissed it as internal gas, however."

"Do not dismiss such feelings, young one. The spirits are in upheaval. A great evil stirs near the galactic core."

"The Legion..." hissed Etar.

"No. Not the Legion. The Legion has been dormant for over fifty years, this is not the time for them to return. When the Legion returns, your fellows shall know it as well. For now, however, only a handful know of this stirring."

"You mean..."

"I, yourself, and a few of my attendants are the only ones that have felt this disturbance." The High Shaman pulled out a scroll from his robes, handing it to Etar. "These orders come from the War Chief himself. You are to take one Wyvern shuttle towards the galactic core, along with a pair of grunts, and investigate."

Etar stumbled backwards in shock. Here he was, a simple learner of the shamanistic ways, and he was journeying out further than any explorer vessel had ever been.

"I am...honored...but I do not understand why."

At this, the High Shaman actually laughed.

((Will post more later, family emergency))

The heavens are big. No, that is an understatement. The heavens are very big. It is impossible for any mortal race to even begin to comprehend how big the heavens are. Imagine a pebble. Now, imagine ten. Now, one hundred. Now, try imagining a million pebbles. Not the number, one million individual pebbles. You cannot do it. You cannot even comprehend one million pebbles. There are millions of worlds within this galaxy, and billions of galaxies within all the heavens. When you comprehend this, then you shall be as mighty as an Aspect.
-Nozdormu the Bronze, Aspect of Time

A Wyvern shuttle is a simple thing, even if it is the smallest vessel ever designed by the Horde to be able to jump into Netherspace on its own. They were initially designed as cargo vessels and advanced shuttles dignitaries, but their high cost caused the project to be scrapped with only a hundred units ever constructed. They were continually updated over the years, and were faster than even a Hellscream-class cruiser. For one to be given to anyone was a big deal.

The Wyvern disengaged its Netherspace drive and dumped the small, bronze ship back into normal space.

"Shaman," rumbled one of the tauren grunts. "We have arrived at our last stop before hitting the core. It is a habitable planet from initial scans, and we should be able to take on supplies here..."

Etar raised his left hand for silence, his right hand firmly clasped around his energy axe.

"Something...is here," said the shaman. "Another being who communes with the spirits."

"Another shaman? How is that possible?"

Etar said nothing, but rose from his sleeping pad and hurried to the bridge. By the time he had entered the small, cone-shaped command station, his second grunt had already activated the proximity alarm.

"Report!" demanded Etar.

"Dere be ships by da planet, mon. Unknown class, unknown configuration," said the blue troll grunt at the controls. "Energy barriers been turned on, but I not be known how good dey be. Dis be an old ship."

"How are we on weapons?"

The tauren shifted his massive, 3 meter tall frame through the entrance and answered the shaman's question. One small plasma lance turret existed on the top of the vessel, and an old laser repeater could be extended from the ventral structure, designed for strafing runs. Nothing that could hold off a squadron of fighters.

Etar gazed down upon the blue-and-green world of Jurai, and felt the presence of another focusing on him.

The proximity warnings continued to blare, and there were no doubt fighters converging upon their position, but the shaman did not care.

There was another spirit caller down there. He would find it and, if necessary, kill it.

One does not enter the Capital of Coreworlds unannounced without very many weapons suddenly locking on to it. And the shuttle was no exception as hundreds of turbolasers, ion cannons, beamlasers, missiles, torpedoes and even a mini-superlaser or two locked on, ready to blow it to space dust and blow the space dust to atoms.

Then the Lord Patriarch Masaki, Regent of the High Council of Coreworlds sent his aged yet rich, booming voice out to the ship. "What is the meaning of suddenly barging in on us? We can very easily destroy you here and now with a word from me. Speak now or forever be one with the Force..."

The Coredian paranoia is understandable, for the Empire so dearly wishes to destroy it and so the Coredians have grown a sense of 'never again' mentality, ready to fight to the end with no more retreat or quarter given to the enemy. If it goes, the enemy goes too.

"How long until we can jump into Netherspace again?" hissed Etar.

"Not for another two hours, shaman. That last jump drained our reserve power."

"Pagh!" cursed Etar. They'd have to stall for time...a lot of time. He opened a channel to the source of the initial transmission.

"Throm'ka! Me Etar, shaman dug uzgnaz. Me nub klomp uzg." Etar knew perfectly well what the Patriarch had said, and was more than capable of responding in semi-fluent, if heavily accented, Common. However, in order to stall for time, he used an older orcish dialect. He then turned to the troll, motioning to angle the thrusters in order to make evasive maneuvers if necessary.

Still...he couldn't help notice that he could feel the thoughts of all the men behind the guns that wanted nothing more to erase him from existence, and send him to the spirits. It was...disconcerting. He pushed out with his thoughts, probing the minds of the closest gunners. Perhaps he could gain a tactical advantage...

((Bump))

OOC: Care to translate that little bit? I got that he's Etar and he's a Shaman of sorts.

IC:
A few moments of tension passed as droid translators translated the words. Then the reply came, along with a bit of mental 'fencing' to make them break off their mental probing then a 'wall' erected by the Council was placed between Etar's probing and the gunners. "I see. Would you mind not probing the minds of my soldiers? They feel a little unsettled when that happens..."

OOC-It's an older dialect, mostly meant to confuse your translators. Roughly it means that he greets you with respect (Throm'ka!), he's a shaman, a member of the Earthen Ring (uzgnaz), and he's not going to "kill" (klomp) your "earth" (uzg).

IC

Etar actually fell out of his chair at this. This...being...knew of his probes? The pupils of the Earthen Ring took great pride in their being able to sense the intentions of other life forms without their knowledge, and some great shamans were even able to control others' actions. Etar thumbed the firing stud of his power axe nervously as he pondered what Drek'thar would want him to do next. Here he was, far from the Horde's front lines and the teachings of the Earthen Ring, and he had found another shamanistic culture! Whatever his next move was, he'd have to take great care with it...

The grunt at the helm didn't give him that chance.

"LOK'TAR OGAR!" screamed the grunt, an ancient battlecry used by the Horde, as he powered the shuttle's thrusters to full, and angled them to take the shuttle out of the system.

"You fool!" cried Etar as he struggled to his feet, the inertial dampeners straining to compensate for the sudden acceleration. "Take us back, now!"

The axe sprang to life, a violet force field encompassing the entirety of the arcanite head. The aggressive barrier was the Earthen Ring's primary technological achievement, allowing the shaman who wielded the weapon to cut through flesh, armor, and weaponry with the greatest of ease. Shamans who were skilled could also deflect weapons' fire with their handheld killing machines. At the sight of the feared weapon, the troll released his three-fingered hands from the helm. The ship instantly stalled, floating like a piece of debris where it had previously been accelerating at incredible speed.

It was only the word of the Patriarch that saved the fates of the crew aboard this newcomer ship. Even so, much flaring up of weapons occured, nearly firing a blast that would quickly end their lives. Not a good way to start diplomatic relations with a new, if eager race. "Be careful there, my unknown friend! My young troopers are a little trigger-happy today, if you get my drift. Now come, let us speak. I am Patriarch Alexander Masaki, leader of the Imperial Republic of Coreworlds. I understand you are Etar, but what race or nation are you of?"

Before he could answer, Etar grabbed the offending troll by its large tusks and threw him roughly from the helm, promptly taking the grunt's place. He then opened a channel to the Patriarch, clearing his throat and responding in the best Common he could muster.
"I am Etar, son of Kotar, orc shaman of the Earthen Ring and loyal member of the Horde. Power down your weapons, we are but three soldiers in search of answers."

"I see. You may come down. But only on the transponder path we will give you." Alex said. Moments later, most of the weapons were powered down and the path was illuminated on whatever they call sensors.

The ship would land in a space port some ways away from the Jedi Temple. Of course, any deviation from now on will be...painful.

The Wyvern did as it was bade, following the set path set down for it to the planet Jurai. The ship rumbled and bucked in the atmosphere, but Etar successfully angled the wing-mounted thrusters for a near-perfect vertical landing. As he disengaged the engines and let the power core cool, he motioned for the two grunts to take up positions by the rear primary hatch. Each of the grunts was armed with an arcanite axe and a disruptor rifle, but there were still only two of them. The loading ramp for the old shuttle lowered, revealing only Etar with his energy axe engaged.

This was still a strange and potentially hostile world, and they'd fight their way out if necessary.

"'Away put you weapons. I mean you no harm.'" An old man quoted when Etar stepped down from the landing pad. "I am the ruler of this planet of Jurai, Patriarch Alex Masaki. Call me Alex."

The old man had white hair, regal yet simple dark clothing, and what appears to be a curved hilt on his belt and he leans on a cane. (Think Count Dooku, only nicer)

Surrounding him was a squad of crack Marines in brownish body armor and prepared to defend their Lord with their lives if necessary. But he doesn't actually need the Marines, for Etar can sense a great power emanating from the old one, ensuring that it would be folly to think him weak and easy to defeat.

Obliging the old man, the orc deactivated his axe and slid the hilt between two leather hoops on his back. The power he had sensed from orbit...could this man be it? He didn't completely trust these...what were they called? They were small, and pink. By the spirits, he was more muscular than any of the marines, and he had barely made it past the ranks of the peons! He stood half a head taller as well, having to look down into the face of this "Masaki".

"Lok'nar!" he barked. "Osh!"

The first being to appear was the troll grunt, taller than Etar but a lot thinner. His face was pointed and his red hair was done up in a tall mohawk. His skin was blue and tatooed, save for a growing purple blotch over his right eye. His hawk-like eyes were fixed on the nearest marine, his features accented by two massive tusks.
His companion was taller than all of them, and a hell of a lot thicker. The bull-like creature stepped forward on two cloven hooves, snorting and shaking his thick mane. One horn was snapped in half, the other blackened at the tip. Both the beings held large plasma rifles at parade-rest, and flanked Etar.

The shaman himself bowed to Masaki, his hands seemingly attatched to his sides. He opened his lips, revealing a pair of tusks. These were far smaller than his blue-skinned comrade, and seemed more like oversized and misplaced canine teeth.
"Throm'ka...Alex. I must say, I am impressed. Not even the Earthen Ring knew that there were shamans out here, or that the concept could even be grasped by lesser races! Har!"

He threw his black-haired head back and laughed. It was a deep, almost beastial laugh. He reached out and clapped the Patriarch on the shoulder...hard.

A little telekinetic cushion was used to soften the blow although Alex did stumble foreward a bit. "Ah. Shamans you say. A word not normally used when describing us. Wizards, more likely. In any case, those who have strong abilities around here are known as Jedi. Ah. I have an idea. Would you like to tour our Temple as we talk business?"

Etar cocked an eyebrow at this. On any orc-controlled world, they would've been detained, questioned, mind probed, and then finally released into the custody of one of the local Generals. The Masaki obviously had some manner of power over the "skinnies".

"You are an honorable skinnie, Alex. Unfortunately, my ship must leave soon. I am under instructions from Drek'thar himself to investigate a disturbance in the spirit world near the galactic core. The High Shaman believes a great evil grows there, and if so, the Horde must be ready for it."

"Ah. You must mean Empress Nightshade." Alex sighed. Something about her seemed to pain him. Having your granddaughter betray you can do that. "She rules a Galactic Empire now, with a mighty army at her beck and call. You will not be able to survive her wrath."

Etar halted and held out his arm to Masaki's chest, motioning for him to stop as well.
"Pagh!" he cursed, and turned to the human. "You mean this darkness spreads from beings like you? SKINNIES?!" He spun and barked to one of his grunts. The tauren trotted over, bending over to listen to the shaman. "Signal Outland. Tell them...Neltharion's Brood lives."
The tauren seemed taken aback, but bowed to the orc and trotted off in the direction of the shuttle.
"You are sure of this? That the disturbance could not come from some other source? That mortals can once again control the dark forces?"

"Oh yes. mortals have always had the capability to control the dark forces." Alex solemnly answered with a nod. "Some, like the Dark Lady, have learned to tap into those forces for their own purposes. Now, as we humans like to say, the cat is out of the bag."

Etar did not know what a 'cat' was, or why one would put one in a bag, but he got the gist of the phrase.
"By Alexstraza...the Aspects failed! Neltharion's taint has not been contained! You!" He turned back to the Patriarch. "You are shaman...er, Jedi. Tell me, you combat these dark ones, do you not? Where is your army? Where are your sha- Jedi legions? Why do you not pursue them? Have you forgotten the teachings of She Who is Life?"
Etar had a wild look in his eyes, gripping the old man's shoulders with ferocity. He had no idea that Masaki probably had no idea what the hell he was talking about.
"Pagh!" he swore again, turning from Masaki. "If this is true, then the Horde is in more trouble than we believed. If Neltharion's taint has seeped beyond the Rodinan sector...then the Legion itself poses a smaller threat."
He continued to ramble on to himself about darkness, and legions, and names of beings that only a shaman would know.

"We have fought them for many years. So far, neither Jedi nor Sith -our sworn enemies- see a clear victory, and it would perhaps remain so for many more years to come." Alex sighed, his age clearly showing. "It's a stalemate, a deadlock as far as I can see."

"Siiiith..." hissed Etar, and then began to roll the name around on his tongue. It sounded familiar, and yet it sent a cold feeling down the shaman's spine. Something about the word itself seemed inherently wrong.

"What you need, then, is a force that knows how to combat dark armies. One that has already defeated something very akin to the Sith. Tell me, how many worlds do these 'Sith' control? And, do you have metals like these?"

He pulled from his clothes two lumps of refined metal. One was bluish-green and almost seemed to emit a glow. The other was silvery-grey, and very cold to the touch.

"Hundreds of worlds." Alex simply said, then he noticed the stones. "Oh dear. These are Force-imbued crystals...where did you get them?"

"They are the resources from which we build our warships. This is thorium," he said, presenting the blue metal. "And this, is indurium," he presented the grey metal. "Alone, they are weak. However, they are combined to make the powerful alloy, arcanite. It is arcanite that has forged this axe head."
He pulled forth his power axe and ignited it, the purple energy flowing over the weapon like liquid. He then switched it off and handed the axe to the old Jedi. "If you had these metals...then perhaps my people could intervene."

"They are used to make our lightsaber hilts, yes." Alex nodded, inspecting the axe. "Ah, very unique design."

"It is the weapon used by those of the shaman order. No other weapon can harm it, not even the energy weapons used by our grunts," he said, taking back the axe. "I am afraid that it is partially our fault that you now deal with these Sith. The Horde must have failed to contain Neltharion's Brood when the Legion enslaved our people. It must have been them who taught your kind of the dark magics, just as it was the Aspects who taught you of the light force."
Lightning danced across the shaman's fingertips idly, and he levitated a piece of fruit from a nearby tree down to his outstretched palm.
"I cannot speak for my Order, nor my government, but I shall aid you what I can." He turned and stared Masaki in the eye. "Should you wish for an opportunity to defeat this threat once and for all, you must contact my Warchief."

"But of course." Alex nodded. "Just one question. How would we contact you?"

The young orc's head lifted to the sky, and he said a quick oath. He knew that the information he gave could, in the wrong hands, lead to the Horde's death. Or worse, it's re-enslavement. Still, what choice did he have. If what both the Masaki and Drek'thar said were true, then all the fleets and legions of the Horde could not hold back the darkness alone. And yet, they could do nothing either. If Drek'thar had sensed the disturbance, then perhaps others not so trustworthy had as well.
Etar let out a heavy sigh. He had just met the Masaki, and now he was telling him the Horde's greatest secret.

"By the edge of this galaxy, there is a field of thousands of asteroids and balls of ice. This is said to be the birthplace of Malygos the Blue, Aspect of the Magicks. Within the center of this field lies the staging point for all Horde military movements. We call this the Outland. Have your ships follow my shuttle back there...and pray. Pray that the Warchief hears your story and acknowleges the threat that we now all face."

Etar turned his back to the old man and strode quickly away without another word, his black braids flapping in the wind.
"And pray that we are not too late..." he whispered to himself.


Soon after, the shuttle left orbit and made for the outer part of the system.

"Sergeant. Ready my shuttle." Alex ordered a soldier. "I have a trip to make."

"Aye sir." The soldier replied and made orders to that effect.

So...it appears we'll have a new ally soon. The old man disappeared in a blink of an eye and reappeared at his shuttle, which was just being warmed up. With a couple of Royal Guards on his side, the ancient Jedi Master hobbled his way up the shuttle and sat down in his seat. Soon, the shuttle lifted off and sped after Etar's ship.

Outland was a testament to Horde (and by Horde, it is meant the technicians of the Horde - the mor'ghull) engineering. This massive deadzone had long served as a barrier between the Rodinan sector and the rest of the galaxy. Somehow, before the first humans took to the stars, an Oort cloud had become tangled up in an asteroid field. The result was thousands of ice-encrusted asteroids smashing into each other, sending out brilliant shards of frozen water. The resulting navigational hazard made other nations steer clear of this area, and going around it was just too much work for what they believed to be a barren stretch of space beyond.
However, some asteroids on collision courses suddenly and without warning veered away from their random targets. Only a slight shimmer of energy hinted that these 'targets' were in fact defensive platforms converted by the Horde military. Within the center of the field was a single, massive, hollowed out asteroid nearly the size of a moon. Squadrons of jet-black fighters darted around the immense capital ships that patrolled the wastes.

And, on the edge of the chaos, two shuttles emerged. One was golden and looked like a cross between an insect and a bird. The other was white and triangular ((Lambada-class, right?)), and suddenly targetted by countless weapons.

"SKAH!" came the thousands of messages to the Patriarch's shuttle. "Kara'gh nub bin mozg cha! BIN MOZG CHA!" The meaning was obviously going to be a mystery even to their protocol droids, but the fact that Etar's shuttle moved in front of them showed that whoever was broadcasting was pissed. The fact that no less than three black-and-purple cruisers, each more than a kilometer and a half long, were now bearing down on the shuttle.

"Power down the ship. Make no threatening moves." Alex ordered his pilots quietly. Then he reached out into the Force, to translate the language that was otherwise garbled as the protocal droid C-9PO nearly burst his CPU trying to translate...

OOC: Since he's using the Force to translate, you don't need to keep it in the language.

"HERETIC! Your entrails shall hang from our battlements! Your heads shall make chalices for our wine! Your flesh shall sear and your eyes-"

The message suddenly cut off. If he bothered to check, Masaki would notice that Etar was violently cursing out the transmitter and demanding permission to dock with the asteroid base.

Debate raged between the platforms, the capital ships, and the tiny golden shuttle. An asteroid suddenly swiveled and a single violent burst of purple light flew past the Patriarch's shuttle, making the shields flare and the paint actually burn off. The asteroid was instantly vaporized by the combined firepower of two of the cruisers, leaving only a few chunks of rock in the wake of the firestorm. A new channel opened to the human ship, this time the voice was calmer but no less brutish.
"This is General Mark'torogh of the Kilgarr battlegroup, Kilgarr One. You are to follow the nav points being transmitted to you now. Do not deviate from this course. You shall dock with the Outland Relay Station and await further instructions. Failure to do so will result in termination."

The heavens are big. No, that is an understatement. The heavens are very big. It is impossible for any mortal race to even begin to comprehend how big the heavens are. Imagine a pebble. Now, imagine ten. Now, one hundred. Now, try imagining a million pebbles. Not the number, one million individual pebbles. You cannot do it. You cannot even comprehend one million pebbles. There are millions of worlds within this galaxy, and billions of galaxies within all the heavens. When you comprehend this, then you shall be as mighty as an Aspect.
-Nozdormu the Bronze, Aspect of Time

((OC- Sorry for intruding, but I just saw this, and thought.. 'why didn't I have access to this when starting my own 'Accord' thread. =<>=;;; ))

The Patriarch could feel the nervousness of his young pilots as they carefully followed the General's orders to the letter. Soon, they docked at the relay station.

As the docking clamps secured the Jedi's shuttle, the Wyvern cruised in and parked just overhead. As the barrier field re-engaged and the room was pressurized, dozens of marines spilled in and aimed their massive guns at the shuttle. These marines were of all races - the green orcs, the blue trolls, and the bovine tauren. Small shadows darted between the feet of the larger creatures, finally revealing themselves to be some sort of cross between fish, frogs, and small men. They padded their way to the white shuttle and began crawling all over it, poking the armor and using their suction cupped limbs to climb on the viewport. One, a blue one, stuck his faceted and bulging eye up against the viewport and peered in, gurgling. An orc marine barked, and the fish creature motioned for the occupants to climb out.

The young shaman was already clamoring down the gangplanks, ordering the guards to lower their weapons. He was responded to with a gun shoved in his own face.

"Come out, heathens! Show yourselves and bow before the Horde!"

Alex Masaki calmly stepped out of the ramp and made a deep bow to the Horde. He had the droid translate. "I am called Alexander Masaki. I mean you all no harm. I have come to speak."

"Then speak, young one."
The crowd suddenly turned and, in a moment of shock, dropped to their knees.
"For, if that is indeed what you have come to do, why do you dawdle?"
An old orc, nearly invisible in his robes and holding a gnarled wooden staff, stepped forward. Power radiated from him, as if space itself warped to allow him passage.

Etar had made it to Masaki by now, but he too had dropped to his knee.
"Drek'thar..." he whispered.

Interesting that one nearing a hundred years old would be considered young... Alex glanced at his equal in political terms. He bowed in respect. "Lord Drek'thar. I have come to speak to you of evil portends. A entity known as the Galactic Empire has arisen, ruled by 'shamans' known as the Dark Lords of the Sith. Indeed, this evil entity you call Neltharion's Brood has returned to cast darkness over all the galaxy..." He didn't exactly know what this brood is, but from Etar's actions, they would probably be equal to the ancient Sith race that ruled the galaxy for a time.

((Pardon the slight god modding. If it's a problem I'll remove it))

"First of all, your 'Galactic Empire' is not made of shamans. No shaman deals with darkness."
Drek'thar limped towards the Jedi, sizing him up. While even young orcs would have to crouch to look a man in the eye, Drek'thar actually had to look slightly up into the Jedi's face.
"Very well...Jedi. Yes, I know what you are. It is not important. In order to gain my trust, you must complete one task."

Drek'thar's pupil-less, unseeing-yet-seeing-all eyes stared into Masaki's.
"Touch your tongue to mine, young one."

The old shaman watched the confusion on the Jedi's face, and held his tongue out expectantly. The orc's tongue was dry and riddled with warts. Just as Masaki's lips parted, Drek'thar threw back his head and laughed. It was a airy, raspy laugh.

"HA! You are indeed serious. Come! You are worthy of my audience. Tell me everything. Etar! You must come as well! Hurry now, come before I keel over."

The shaman tottled away, laughing, as the Horde host stood at parade rest.

Etar turned to Alex and grinned.
"He is the most powerful shaman alive, of any race." He then bent forward and whispered into Alex's ear. "Most think he's a tad insane as well." Etar stepped forward and began after the High Shaman.

A very strange being indeed. Was Alex's assessment of the old leader. I'm glad I didn't send anyone but myself. Wouldn't go over very well...

Glad not to have to touch tongues, Alex followed the High Shaman.

The Outland relay station had been built just after the second Legion War. In the fifty years since then, it had become a sprawling military metropolis all its own. Drek'thar led the Jedi, his guards, and Etar towards an upper level of the asteroid. Here was a golden shamanistic temple, not as grand as the great Spirit Lodge of Draenor or the Voodoo Lounge of Lordaeron, but grand enough to suit the High Shaman.

The golden hallways they passed through depicted epic battle scenes. One was of a young orc, obviously a shaman, wielding what appeared to be a magic sword against a great black leviathan and shooting lightning from his hand. Another showed an orc, bathed in golden light, pointing towards a group of huddled figures in dark robes and scowling. As they progressed, scenes of young tauren males hunting massive lizards began appearing, as did scenes of the blue trolls casting away disembodied dark spirits with a flick of their wrist.

A great, golden door stood before them. Upon it was by far the grandest carving yet. It showed a young orc, clad in black platemail and wielding a massive sword, leading a charge of soldiers against a charge of horrific creatures. Amid the tauren, orcs, and trolls in the scene were two figures that stood out. One was a tauren, halberd in hand, cleaving a demon twice its size in two. The other was an orc, two hammers in hand, fighting against overwhelming odds. Both the tauren and the orc looked up in almost reverence of the younger leader despite the battle around them. Beneath the carving were the orcish symbols that read
-The Final Charge of Durotan-

Before any further study of the magnificent door could be done, however, it whoosed open to reveal a small square room. On each of the three walls (barring the one with the door) was the visage of a lizard-like leviathan, each one a different color. One had its eyes closed and radiated green energy, much like the color of its scales. Another was surrounded by ice, which illuminated its blue scales. The third was bronze and almost seemed to not even be there, but yet it was. Behind it were more scenes from epic battles, ranging from a few orcs with sticks to great galactic vessels firing their weapons at one another.

And on the ceiling was the greatest visage of all. This leviathan, larger than the rest, was red. It almost seemed to smile upon all in the room, the artist having portrayed various alien flora and fauna almost sprouting from its wings.

Drek'thar took a seat in a great stone chair, motioning for Alex and Etar to do the same.

"Now, tell me what you know about the Brood of Neltharion and the darkness that spreads from your end of the galaxy. Make me care."

"I only have learned of the Brood from Etar here. However, I do know of the Sith, which may be linked in some way." Alex conceeded.

He proceeded to tell of a bit of the history of the Sith, going back to the Sith race itself, how several Dark Jedi found them after the Great Schism, how for many thousands of years, wars have raged on and off between the Jedi/Republic and the Sith Empire. He mentioned notable Dark Lords like Exar Kun and Revan, as well as Bane. Then he moved to Palpatine, how he manipulated things to conduct the Clone Wars as Chancellor and proclaim himself Emperor while beginning the Jedi Purges. He mentioned Luke Skywalker and his Praxeum (he was a child when he met the Master) and then moved on to more recent events. Palpatine's unexpected return and seduction of his granddaughter to the Dark Side.

"And now..." Alex sighed heavily, his age and pain showing clearly on his face. "Lady Nightshade, formerly Fiona Masaki, is the current Sith Lord. Well, Lady. She rules the Empire now. And we, the Jedi, resist her power and evil..."

Family feuds writ large describe the situation well.

Drek'thar's withered hand stroked his white, scraggly beard as Alex relayed his story. The silence that followed was deafening.
"This 'Sith' you speak of. They use weapons of spirit that cause death and suffering, yes? It would appear as if we have the same enemy." The old shaman sighed and began telling his story.
"In the time before life, the Five Aspects of Existance existed. It is they who shaped this universe, according to our legends, and is they who are responsible for the Spirit World...the 'Force' in your tongue. Alexstaza the Life Giver, Nozdormu the Timeless, Ysera the Dreaming, Malygos of Magicks, and Neltharion the Earth Warder. As they descended upon Draenor, they created the orcish race. We were to be their grandest creation - a being pure of form and essence. However, the Earth Warder had other plans. He turned on the Aspects, corrupting the heart of the orcish race and bending them to his dark will. He sought power for himself and his children, and did anything to attain it. As the orcs too turned upon each other, half following the teachings of the Aspects and half following Neltharion's dark will, a great war waged amongst those who protected us."
He sighed and look to the carvings on the wall before continuing.
"As Neltharion, eventually defeated, fled, he vowed that his children would be the end of all existence - that they would undo that which the Aspects had created - and rule over the universe. Alexstraza and Ysera, before departing to chase after their fallen brother, bestowed the orcish race with the power to see the spirit realm. Malygos and Nozdormu, the two brothers still remaining true to the light, also bestowed upon us the ability to use those spirits against all who would oppose us. Then, they left Draenor to spread their gifts in the hope that, one day, the mortal races could stand against Neltharion's brood."
His sightless eyes gazed deep into Alex's.
"It would appear the Brood escaped the wrath of the Aspects, and is now responsible for these Sith. That is what I believe. Regardless, we now face a grave threat. I must advise the Warchief of these matters. I am but a shaman, a follower of the spirits. It is the Warchief who must hear your plea. Without his approval, all I can promise is a few shamans to aid you. Whilst I make my plea, I recommend you leave this place for your home. We now know the coordinates of your world from Etar's navigational logs, and you shall have our response in due time. In a show of goodwill, however, I assign Etar to be my personal confidant to you."
Etar's eyes shot open in shock. However, he bowed to the High Shaman as he rose and beckoned for the humans to follow.
"Please, hurry while you can. Without word from the Warchief, I have no doubt that few of our people will trust you. The Horde has faced many hardships in our time, and our people are highly xenophobic," said Drek'thar before disappearing beneath his robes in meditation.

"...we'd best move. What the High Shaman said is true, Masaki. Your world is the safest place for you now."

"I understand. Let us make haste for my ship." Alex nodded and wasted little time to head back to his shuttle and lift off from the planet. Then at an opportune moment, the pilot pulled back the lever and made the jump to hyperspace.

((Should I just go with that Etar went on your shuttle?))

OOC: Sure.

Etar moved his bulk through the comparatively cramped compartments of the Lambada shuttle, examining the cockpit.
"Interesting. This technology is in some ways inferior to ours, yet in other ways superior. Tell me, if you are indeed the leader of your people, why not just destroy the Sith once and for all? Do you not have allies?"

Etar moved his bulk through the comparatively cramped compartments of the Lambada shuttle, examining the cockpit.
"Interesting. This technology is in some ways inferior to ours, yet in other ways superior. Tell me, if you are indeed the leader of your people, why not just destroy the Sith once and for all? Do you not have allies?"
"Indeed, we have allies. But so did the Sith." Alex nodded. "They have a weapon capable of destroying a world in one shot known as the Death Star. In one fell swoop, they used that to turn our powerful nation into nothing more than an angry and armed rebellion. Then we found Jurai and when we made it our new capital, we made sure that we placed enough defenses to make sure that not even the Death Star itself can destroy it this time around. From there, we make our strikes against the Empire."

"An entire world..." hissed Etar. He could not believe it. All life was sacred, even that of Neltharion's Brood...to a point. A fleet of Hellscream cruisers could not even hope to match that sort of firepower.
Etar banished such thoughts. Fear was the path of the Shadow Council, of the Warlocks. A shaman had no fear. He instead turned to C-9P0.
"And what is this? Why does this creature wear metal? Is he a soldier? Was he injured in battle?"

"Oh no. He's a droid. An artificial intelligence, or AI." Alex explained. "This one is a protocol droid, used as translators and for diplomacy."

"A fake man?! Astounding! Truly astounding! However, Alex Masaki pinkling, where are your other shamans? Your, uh, 'Jedi', as you say? Surely you must have more. When my shuttle began orbiting your world, I sensed only a single presence...which I assumed to be you. Are they all fighting on the front lines? Why would you not have more defending your homeworld?"
Etar tried to shift himself into a seat, failing and decidng instead to crouch.

"Remember when I referred to a Jedi Temple? Many of the Jedi (who are unfortunately young) train and work there." Alex answered. "I still wish to give you a tour."

"It would be my honor to tour your training facility. Just as I wish to show you, one day, the training fields of Hellfire Plateau and the Echo Isles. About how fast does this vessel travel? Are we almost to your homeworld?"

"It would be my honor to tour your training facility. Just as I wish to show you, one day, the training fields of Hellfire Plateau and the Echo Isles. About how fast does this vessel travel? Are we almost to your homeworld?"
"Pilot Henis?" Alex asked his pilot.

"Another hour, sir." The pilot answered.

"There's your answer." Alex smiled.

Etar sighed and rested his back against the inner hull. How in Alexstraza's name could they stand it in these cramped quarters? No room to move, no room to fight if it came to that.
"So, tell me of the strategies you have used against the Empire thus far. Where, if the Warchief agrees to an alliance, can my brothers be expect to be sent?"

"Right now, we mainly go after supply routes, playing pirate on the Empire. Mostly to keep the crews sharp." Alex said. "But if there's a major war brewing, you'll be sure to be called."

Etar's eyes narrowed at the old man. 'You'll be sure to be called', Masaki had said.
"You...don't trust us, do you?"

"I may have worded it wrong." Alex replied. "We are currently simply biding our time for an offensive on the Empire. Gathering allies, making small attacks, things like that. The Empire's too strong for an immediate attack, but we know that with time, it can be defeated. I mean no offense."

"Ha!" laughed Etar. "A strong opponent is one most vulnerable! Arrogance shall be the greatest warrior's downfall. That is what we are taught as young whelps."
Etar's attention turned to Masaki's lightsaber.
"Your weapon...it is similar to mine, yes?"

Alex lit his lightsaber, a deep blue hue. "The crystals are what produces the blade. To build one's first lightsaber is a mark of tradition in the Jedi ways, for it requires patience and knowledge in the Force."

"We are issued our weapons," sighed Etar. "The metalwork is far too delicate for the hands of a novice. If created wrong, the weapon will explode when activated, or slice the user's hand off. The color of the field is not even our own choice."
Etar drew his axe and examined it for the millionth time.
"I have wondered...if your weapon and mine would oppose one another..."

It was ignited in a flash. Purple energy eminated from the axe as an almost liquid field surrounded it. In a blink of an eye, a great flash lit the cockpit. When the sparks settled, Etar's axe was firmly pressed against the energy blade of the lightsaber, as if the Jedi weapon were made of steel.

"That answeres that question."

"Of course." Alex extinguished his blade. "Ah, we are coming up to Jurai now."

Without further ado, the ship reverted to realspace at Jurai and began descending immediately to the Jedi Temple.

"Har! Finally. Nothing against you, Alex, but your engineers designed these things too damned small!"

He once again peered out at the lush world of Jurai, thinking how incredibly opposite it was to the barren, strom-stripped wastland that Draenor was. He pitied these people. They would only have their enemies to fight against; they'd never feel the satisfaction of achieving oneness with their world through combat.

In nearly no time flat, the ship landed and everyone disembarked the shuttle.

"Welcome...to the Jedi Temple." Alex smiled.

It was carved into the side of a mountain in a very defense-minded way, while remaining true to the balance of nature and technology. Towns grow up around it as many Jedi tend to have families, producing more Jedi and increasing the Order's numbers far more than the Old Order ever could. Income is based on a combination of taxes and income-generating missions (mercenary economy, in other words), from D level for the kid Jedi to A or (highest) S level for the Knights and Masters.

Jedi Temple (http://galeria.tolkienianos.com/data/media/23/TN-Minas_Tirith_at_Dawn.jpg)

The Temple is also home to the executive seat of government, the High Council. Alex leads the Council as Patriarch of Jurai.

In the distance, there are herds of dinosaurs lowing and honking as they make their way through the area.

"Impressive," was all the shaman could say. "Most impressive."

Alex led Etar into the Temple proper. There are many Jedi of all species and wearing everything from traditional dress for some of the Masters to casual wear for the majority of youngsters. Some of them wore the homespun brown cloaks and some of them did not. But one thing was clear. Each and every one of them had lightsabers on their belts. And sometimes additional weapons in holsters. And all of them had varying levels of power, some untrained but potent and some powerful to the point of being capable of wiping out armies...or cities...

http://www.rebelshaven.com/RebelsHaven/Images/Worlds/JediTemple03.jpg

"One of the first things you see upon entrance into the Temple..." Alex said, looking up at pictures of legendary persons, Jedi and otherwise. "Are these people. Jedi, Sith, heroes, villains, legends all. They remind us all of what had transpired in the past so that we learn of our own heritage and history as Jedi Knights."

"Similar to our temple carvings. They remind us of our history, of those whom we fight for. I notice that there are many species besides you pinklings within these halls. You are allied, I assume?"

He couldn't help but notice that he was getting odd glances from many of the Jedi. Here they were in thier cloth vestments with extinguished hilts on their belts, and he was clad in ancestral leathers and animal hides with a massive battleaxe on his back.

If the Warchief did agree to an alliance, then the hard part would definately not be defeating the Sith.

"Not so much allied as a very close society." Alex corrected. "We've too long gotten used to each other."

"But you have seperate government, yes? No race could go without its own sense of identity for long. The factions would splinter!"
The very idea of a unified society was preposterous to Etar. Even though the races of the Horde were allied, intermingled, and fought together, they each had their own government. That way, no one race would become dissatisfied and blame another race.

"But you have seperate government, yes? No race could go without its own sense of identity for long. The factions would splinter!"
The very idea of a unified society was preposterous to Etar. Even though the races of the Horde were allied, intermingled, and fought together, they each had their own government. That way, no one race would become dissatisfied and blame another race.
"Oh yes. Each of the races have their own homeworlds. The Wookiees for example." Alex said as a large brown-haired Wookiee Jedi passed by. "They have their world of Kashyyyk. Each and every Jedi comes from all over the galaxy, from all ages and walks of life. But at the same time, the races have representation in the Galactic Senate, which has fled here after the Empire clamped down on us all. The galaxy been ruled by the Republic and protected by the Jedi Knights for a thousand generations before the Empire took that away...and we still are, even if only in spirit."

"And shall be again, if I have anything to say about it," growled the orc. He admired the wookiee. It had the warrior's spirit within it. Not to say that the other Jedi did not, but there was something special about the wookiee. It knew the thrill of the hunt, the terror of having to survive without assurance of safety, the sweet smell of the wilderness.
"This is quite interesting, but where are your combat training facilities? I wish to study the fighting techniques of your warriors and compare them to the teachings of Nozdormu."

"Ah. Come with me." Alex walked on, heading towards the Training Floor.

The Training Floor was actually several separate rooms. One room was a No-holds-barred room, where Jedi can execute all-out duels if they so wished. Off-limits to younger students unless under supervision of a Master. Then there are three large dueling rooms, where students test their sword skills against other students. On a large rack on one side of each dueling room, there were all sorts of weapons, powered down to stinging status, for the young ones to test their growing skills with. And a final room was a Holographic Scenario Room, where the most realistic training possible is conducted, complete with classic duels against legendary Sith Lords and war games. When Jedi train, they train hard.

And the lightsaber wasn't the only weapon found in the rooms. Today's Jedi are taught to be able to use any object in their surroundings as weapons, kudos to influence from the Shinobi, a subsect of the Order. And also from the Shinobi, they learned to develop additional skills, like stealth tactics, teleportation and elemental attacks. And deadly hand-to-hand (called taijutsu around here) skills.

Etar observed a pair of young Jedi dueling with the powered down lightsabers, half amused and half alarmed when one of the padawans was struck, yet suffered no visible harm.

"I can only assume your energy weapons have much more kick than the ones those whelps are using. Why do you not give them real weapons? Every young one in the Horde is taught to take their life into their own hands. We occasionally lose one, but the majority come out far stonger for it."

Etar observed a pair of young Jedi dueling with the powered down lightsabers, half amused and half alarmed when one of the padawans was struck, yet suffered no visible harm.

"I can only assume your energy weapons have much more kick than the ones those whelps are using. Why do you not give them real weapons? Every young one in the Horde is taught to take their life into their own hands. We occasionally lose one, but the majority come out far stonger for it."
"Well, they first must have the training and maturity to learn how to use the weapons safely." Alex replied, feeling that the orc race is a little barbaric for his tastes. "Training is tough enough for the apprentices without having to suffer if they accidently hurt their friends."

Etar huffed, sensing the distaste from Masaki. He couldn't imagine living with these...barbarians. They were nice enough, sure, but didn't they care for their students? To Etar, this method of training created soft warriors. Strong warriors were ones that had seen death, met it, and understood it. Soft warriors died, strong warriors lived. That was the natural way.

"Your record halls...you keep them here, yes? I wish to study your history. Perhaps we can learn from each other. I am fascinated to see how shamanism could've evolved into this...Jedi-ism?"

In the skies above Jurai, motes of light began appearing. These motes doubled, then doubled again, almost like cells undergoing mitosis. Space imploded as wormholes to the chaotic dimension that was the Twisting Nether, or Netherspace, ripped open the fabric of reality as if it were an old robe.

Two yellow-ish craft slid sillently out of these wormholes, the terrible chaos of nothingness closing behind them. They were long and thin, almost as if someone had stapled a bridge, engines, and weapons onto a massive log. A pair of dual-turrets swiveled as the ships took tally of each and every Coredian vessel.

A signal was sent back into the Nether. More motes began appearing.

"Your record halls...you keep them here, yes? I wish to study your history. Perhaps we can learn from each other. I am fascinated to see how shamanism could've evolved into this...Jedi-ism?"

"Yes. Our Archives are here." Alex nodded and he lead the orc to the Archives.

Then as they looked over some of the history, an apprentice came running to the Patriarch.

"Sir! Something's happening! Two ships just entered Jurai space."

"What?" Alex frowned.

"Sensors are a little fuzzy right now, but they're long and thin, yellow, and looks like logs!" The apprentice reported.

"Etar, do you know anything about those?" Alex asked.

"Long...thin...AH! Vul'jins!"

Etar stretched out and touched the minds of the ships' crew. After a bit of communicating, he opened his eyes in shock.

"You..may wish...to get to...a landing pad. He's...he's here. He never leaves the Homeworld...but...he's here..."

His voice was panicked and he hastily closed the record.



In Jurai space, hundreds of wormholes began opening up. Vessels akin to the yellow logs, greenish vessels with long necks that almost seemed to look like predatory birds, and the gargantuan purple-and-black cruisers all slid out of the wormholes. However, they all got out of the way of one particular cruiser, escorted by six other cruisers and a veritable beehive of fighters. They ignored the hails of the surrounding rebel vessels, merely staying on course as the escorted cruiser made its way towards the planet.

The fighters swarmed around a ventral hatchway of the cruiser, forming a solid wall of metal and energy around some sort of small craft. They made a beeline to the atmosphere, simultaneously demanding landing coordinates.

Alex immediately whipped out his comlink and switched to military channels. "Do not fire, repeat do not fire! Have them land at Coordinates G-384!"

Alex sighed. "Come with me, Etar." Despite his advanced age, he moved swiftly through the Temple and to the landing pads to meet with the newcomers. He wasn't happy. Not at all. Barging in on a capital system like that! Could have been shot down...and sparked a war.

The fighters peeled off from what was revealed to be a shuttle much like Etar's, only far more grand. It was plated in what appeared to be solid gold with runes etched into its very surface. The shimmering of the air around it hinted at the enormously powerful shield that protected both the ornamented craft and those within it.

The shuttle touched down, and immediately six tall orcs rushed out of it. They held massive swords within their hands, each one seemingly burning as a forcefield encased it. Etar, who had been following Masaki, immediately pushed his way forward and...fell to the ground. He prostrated himself so completely that it was if he had been pushed over. For, in the shadows of the transport, loomed one of the biggest orcs ever to be concieved on the soils of Draenor. The orc nearly dwarfed the two tauren bodyguards that stood on either side of him. He was clad in black armor, trimmed in gold. His dark green skin was covered in scars, most noticeably the one that went straight through his left eye. His black hair showed signs of greying, but not much as the only hair he had was braided in two long tails down his head. He held aloft a hammer nearly as big as himself, but wielded it as if it were as light as a leaf.

"So," the orc said, his voice booming and yet quiet. "This is my political equal. The 'shaman' they would have me honor. Ha! I have seen more threatening dig rats." He strode down the metal plank, each step reverberating even through the landing pad. He stood a whole head taller than even Etar (who was, of course, a head taller than any human), and so he was forced to look down into the eyes of the old Jedi.
"Alex Masaki..." he said, the words rolling on his tongue as if they were some foreign food that he had not grown accustomed to. "I am Orgrimm Doomhammer, former lieutennant of the great Durotan himself, slayer of Blackhand the betrayer, Warchief of the Horde; and I have come to offer my hand in alliance."

Well, this turns out well. Alex thought, then he smiled. "You scared my poor soldiers for a moment there. But nevertheless, I accept your offer of alliance."

"Good! Now, we can let the diplomats handle all the legal shit," he said, his face brightening ever so slightly. "Come! Share a barrel of mos'ogg with me. One-oh-six-five-eight. Very good year."

The Warchief merely flicked his head, and a dozen mor'ghull and six tauren snapped into action, hefting two massive barrels of liquid and carrying them after the giant orc.
"Oh, and Samuro..." he turned to one of the tall, thin orcs with the blazing swords.

"Yes, emminence," said Samuro, kneeling before the Warchief.

"See that this," Doomhammer prodded the prone Etar with his greaved foot, "is rewarded...somehow."

Alex waved his hand and a flask fit for alcoholic drinks appeared, seemingly by magic, but really a teleportation trick the old man has long since known. after getting a fill...

"Shall we toast to a long and prosperous alliance?" Alex asked.

Doomhammer cocked an eyebrow at the use of the word, but hefted a barrel of the thick liquid.
"For the glory of the Horde!"
He ripped a chunk of the barrel away and poured the alcoholic mos'ogg down his gullet. Wiping the red liquid from his mouth, he thumped his chest and laughed heartily.

"We begin immediately! Our scouts are already searching for this 'empire'. Any information you can give us will speed our progress!"
He thumped Alex hard on his shoulder and laughed again. This Doomhammer was obviously much more boistrous than the soft-spoken Etar or the somewhat insane Drek'thar.

"Our enemy shall soon fall!"