A trail of blood trickled from the closed metal fist, and the solemn echo of obsidian boots reverberated through the halls. The Warlock placed his hand on the double doors and paused. Today was the day. Everything, the whole world, was about to change, and his words would spark it. Millions would die. Yet, he could find no remorse in his heart. How many had already fallen? How many more would fall if he did not speak? No, there could be no more room for doubt. It was time. He pushed open the doors and strode onto the balcony.

A stiff breeze whipped through his snowy hair. He turned his gaze down, where he beheld his creation. A hundred thousand warriors stood below, orcs, kobolds, and goblins, waiting on his word to bring death upon their enemies. A deep hush fell over the army when they saw him. He gripped his staff - it was now or never.

"We were great once."

His clear voice rang over the wind.

"Once upon a time, we were warriors, proud of our heritage, and glorious to our households. Our men and women brought great bounties of food to our tables, and our servants wrought wondrous works for their families. Our children played in the streets, bold and fearless as they grew into upstanding citizens of the nation."

"Look at us now. Men who call themselves 'heroes' slaughter us by the thousands, and with broad smiles they smear the blood of our kin upon every wall. Their 'champions of justice' raise the banner of 'democracy' and 'freedom' with one hand, and with the other they bring down the executioner's blade upon the innocent. But now, brothers and sisters, I have come to end it. No more shall the Chosen Champions shed your blood with poetry on their lips. No longer shall their holy iron sear your minds before the bloody sword. I, Druth Vanarys, will be your Advocate. This day, you shall have your voice. And this day, that voice shall say...ENOUGH!"

The earth shook with violent shouts of approval. The soldiers stamped their feet and rattled their weapons, invigorated and ready to fight. Seizing upon the moment, the Warlock poured out the blood in his hand upon the earth and bellowed:

"MARCH FORTH!"

With a mighty cry, the army turned and marched for Aetherion.

Kahl's eyes took in the dim amber haze that barely lighted what little could be seen inside the tent : warm, tangled bodies; torn blankets and clothes; weapons and armor haphazardly slung across and around the tired mess. This was how orcs slept, if and when they grew sibling bonds. Martial life often forebode against any closeness, but in Kahl's case...well, the new generation of Orcs were privileged to be together like this for one more night. Tohrban, his eldest brother, was the only exception. Even if he was almost double the size of his siblings, the Orc's want for personal space meant that he often slept in the corner and alone.

Kahl, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to be in his bunk with the rest of his warband. He had stolen himself away in the doldrums of a dying feast to lie to himself a night more that he wasn't a mere Hobgoblin, that he would never fight alongside his brethren. He would be on a different front, on a different field, under a different master.

At least they'd be fighting the same enemy.

Kahl poked his head out of the tent, and strained his ears to hear the sounds of a gentle breeze -- an uncommon phenomenon in the usually-harsh Fellmore. He should be early enough to return to his proper fold before anyone noticed, so Kahl quickly and quietly picked up his articles before stepping over the rest of the Orc's bodies. He was one of the stealthiest of his brood, in spite of being much larger than his Hobgoblin kin; Kahl would like to keep it that way.

By the time he reached the tents, several groups of goblins, kobolds, and bugbears were already packing up. The Warlock would be speaking once everyone was ready, and Kahl was prepared well in advance for this. His own rig of supplies, weapons, and armor were all waiting for him inside the tent.

---

After the speech, Kahl raised his sword high in the sky. Usually made for Orcs, it was comfortably balanced and heavy in the Hob's hands. He couldn't speak for his smaller compatriots in his chosen warband, but he couldn't help but wonder :

Who would be leading him into battle?

“War, movement. Change, can adapt to movement. New chase.”

Turning around the Female reptilian creature looked at her her current ‘patient’ who from the looks of it was coming along rather nicely. An Orc from what her paperwork said, or at least that’s what it was. Now it seemed to have new augmentations, most notably around the arms and legs.

“Sequences spun, brain matter removed to make room for thicker skin and natural weapons. Should prove interesting.”

The creature before her roared in pain, a sound she was use too for the most part. Still turning to look at the creature it had full view of her now. With this view came the blank eye sockets of the skull, even with all the light around them they still remained blacked out. Taking one step closer she smiled, unseen thanks to the hollowed out skull on her head. Opening her maw her lower jaw became visible, the muted color of dull gray and sight of her fangs bore ill will and for her friend no free pass.

Only a loud crack followed by the Shaman walking outside, her skulls upper jaw sporting a new splotch of crimson.

“Stands still too weak. Change almost complete, more Material is required.”

For a few moments, Erjak stared at two of his fellow orcs, one of the orcs before him picked up one of his books and mocked him openly despite Erjak's size and reputation within the orcish hordes, he only assumed that the two orc before him probably thought that they would be safe as long as there would be two of them, they clearly did not know who he was.

"Place the book down and you'll leave this place alive!" he warned the two, he did not charge as he was afraid of damaging the book the orc had in his hands, the last memento that his elven friend had left behind before her death, he did not wish it destroyed.

However, the orc only grinned at the threat and looked at the book for a few moments, before grabbing a few pages and ripping them out. Erjak simply snapped upon seeing him do that and threw the two-handed axe at him at full force, the axe burying itself in the orc's chest. While his friend hurried to pull his weapon out, Erjak simply jumped at him barehanded and started to bash his fists in his skull for a few minutes before all that remained of his head were only blood and a few bits of scattered brain.

Leaving the two dead orcs, he grabbed the damaged book and sighed in regret as he stared at it, he had yet to learn the elven language to read the book and already, a few pages had been torn from it. He placed the book and the torn pages back in his satchel along with his remaining books and looked around to see if any other creature had a problem with it, but most had simply ignored the situation or feigned ignorance to what had happened... sometimes he liked the fear his reputation instilled, but that alone did not allow him too many friends.

As the orcs began to cheer to the Warlocks speech, he only stared at the figure momentarily to register his appearance so that he may remember who had to kill in the future for the leadership of this horde before thinking to himself.

"I think my captain was called Gorman, now to go find him and my future comrade-at-arms." With those thoughts directing him, he retrieved his axe from the dead orc and went to search for anyone that might fit the description of his to be captain.

The goblin whose name was Nuggle, leaned against his ebony staff upon a broken rock amidst the fields below the tower. The Warlock spoke of many grand things but Nuggle did not care about them. For Nuggle had never known a time where Fellmore was great, and where the little gobs could run and play freely without being eaten... or worse. Others around Nuggle were cheering when the Warlock finished, but Nuggle showed no emotion where he stood. Nuggle's world was going to change, and change fast. Those who did not see this, were already dead, but that wasn't such a bad thing.

Nuggle found that killing was necessary. Nuggle could use it to prove a point, tighten Nuggle's hold upon the world and strike fear into the hearts of Nuggle's enemies. Nuggle might not have been a very good with a weapon, but magic came to Nuggle naturally. Nuggle hopped off the rock, and down into a stream of creatures. It seemed to Nuggle that the whole of Fellmore was here, ready to strike back at the heart of the so called enemy. However, Nuggle would not be joining these creatures, and instead wandered off to find his own company. Why Nuggle was in it, Nuggle did not know.

Nuggle did know one thing though, that he is a simple creature, only craving that which might elevate his position further. And Nuggle smiled as the crowd swallowed him up.

Quite a dramatic speech, too bad Sen couldn't care less about what the Warlock said. All she knew was there was people to kill and she was gonna be one of the first to see blood. Halfway through the speech, Sen was already moving out, she wasn't about to be swallowed up in some orc and goblin army. Call it claustrophobia, Sen just saw it as doing her bloody job, scouting ahead, getting a few kills, and then reporting back before heading out to get more kills.

It was all the same for her, she couldn't care less about Fellmore. Sure it was hard, but she was never a surface dweller to begin with, that yellow orb in the sky was annoying enough without all these bloodthirsty, ravenous orcs and goblins running about. In the end though, Sen knew one thing was for certain, her dull red leather armor was gonna be a deep shade of crimson after all this is said and done.

The past few days had been confusing for Morkus. After that brush with the 1 eyed human, the orc had been swept in many directions by the winds of fate. Eventually, the orc found himself standing at the edges of a massive crowd despite not being sure why. Morkus was about to ask why everyone was standing around in a massive crowd, but the others fell into silence before he could. Morkus looked around for a reason to all this silence, only realizing to look up when the Warlock began speaking. Morkus cheered along with the rest of the army when the speech was done, despite not understanding half of it. But Morkus knew an order when he heard it being yelled at him. So when the orc army turned and began marching, so did Morkus.

At the command to march, captains everywhere turned to gather soldiers under their banners. Of course, they all wanted the strong, obedient ones. But Gorman wanted the rejects. There was greater glory in weakness, he believed, and the weaker they were when they started, the more glorious would be their end. The first one was the hobgoblin. Nobody paid attention to the spindly goblins, even the smarter kind.

@Verdaux
"You. You're with me."

@Darkwatck01
Not far off, a kobold came out of a tent dripping blood from its mouth. Gorman swallowed his disgust and looked it over. The kobold was female, and a reject, given that everyone else gave her wide berth.
"You're on my team now. Come."

@Lord Zee
He nearly bumped into a goblin weaving through the crowd. Gorman almost passed him by were it not for his unique mage raiment. He reached out and took the goblin by the shoulder.
"My warband. Come."

@rush99999
One particularly tall orc caught his eye. Someone needs to be my muscle, I suppose. And who else would want a tall guy on their team? He looks imposing enough to threaten a leader.
"Join my warband. This way."

@Claw2k11
It was then that Erjak spotted an old, burly orc leading four other troops behind him. The orc was huge, ripped as an orc can get, and bore the scars of many battles. It had to be Gorman.

@NecroKnight
@Delta44

Kahl sheathes his blade, and shoves and kicks his way through a swarm of smaller goblins and hobgoblins to get closer to Gorman. A careful glance gleaned Kahl a short description of his warlord to-be : older and weaker. But both of these brought wisdom and caution, much needed qualities that helped him get past the brute strength of the Orcs. If he was going to be able to maximize his own performance in the field, he needed a leader that could see the way he saw, or else he'd be working under a banner only in name.

He doesn't verbalize his allegiance, though; after all, the much larger Orc had chosen him. Bragging would only bring suffering far earlier than needed.

The orc looked strong, maybe even stronger than him, however Erjak would not willingly follow someone unless that person had earned his respect, strength was not everything when it came to Erjak. He furrowed his brows and went towards Gorman, half-prepared to swing his axe if it came to blows, though he hoped it would not come to this.

"Hello, fellow orc, I assume you are Gorman?" Erjak asked standing in front of the large orc. "I am Erjak, you may know of me as the Erjak the Savage, I hope you do not mind me discussing a few things with you while we march towards our target?"

As he continued to march, Morkus heard someone call out to him. "Join my warband" the voice commanded. Morkus turned towards the voice to see an Gorman as the source. "This way" he said as he continued on with a few other following him.

Morkus could have easily ignored Gorman. He could have simply just not followed the captain. Morkus was easily strong enough to thwart coercion attempts Gorman could have made to get him in line. Morkus might have even been able to wrest Gorman's captaincy away from him and claim it for his own. But if Morkus were capable of such ambitious thoughts, he would have been much higher up the ladder by now. "...Ok" Morkus said simply after a moment and began following Gorman, ignoring the sound in his head that had started up again.

TROJAN was translating the Warlock's speech for those who could not understand, recording it word for word in a rather large book at the same time, even by Bugbear standards. Books were a rare piece in Fellmore, so it held a religious-like value to him, its pages never to be tarnished with the scribbles of incomplete tactics or non-sensible junk. No, TROJAN's book only contained the most important tactics, memories, and notes for the Bugbear's success in the wild lands of Fellmore.

He also took great offence to people calling it a "diary".

As the order to march was given, TROJAN closed his book and followed suit compliantly. However, he quickly came to a realisation.

There wasn't as much order as he would have liked. Many warbands were in the process of forming, and many more leftover soldiers were simply moving ahead without much direction. It left the bugbear confused, startled. Looking around aimlessly and without guidance, he may be spotted among the crowd by a certain Gorman, looking for the inept.

@Delta44
As the newly-recruited orcs formed into warbands, Gorman spotted a bugbear struggling to find his place. He tapped the creature on the shoulder. "You. You're with me."

He turned around to find another orc standing in front of him. "Hello, fellow orc! I assume you are Gorman?" it said.
Gorman folded his arms and shifted his jaw. "Fellow orc? You speak as if we're a rarity. You-" He stopped when he realized that this orc had his axe slung free, as if he was itching for a fight. Perhaps some more tact was in order. "-are hilarious." Given that they stood in the middle of an army of orcs, perhaps the orc really meant to be funny by implying uniqueness.

So he grinned. "Yes, you assumed correctly. Who're you?"
"I am Erjak. You may know of me as the Erjak the Savage. I hope you do not mind me discussing a few things with you while we march towards our target?"
"Well-met, never heard of you, and no, I don't mind. Walk with me."

Gorman motioned for everyone to follow him and fell in step with the rest of the army. As they marched, he glanced back. "Dunno if the rest of you heard, so I'm Captain Gorman. I reckon you all are here 'cause the Warlock brought you here. Fantastic. Tell me your names and a little about yourselves. Might as well get some use out of this droll marching time. We'll start with you, Savage."
@rush99999
@Verdaux
@NecroKnight
@Claw2k11
@Delta44
@Darkmoon Angel
@Darkwatck01
@Lord Zee

Erjak smiled, even though combat was probably unlikely at this point, he still kept his axe ready, orcs weren't exactly known for their patience and what he was about to propose was something that could be misinterpreted as treason by less reasonable orc. Upon hearing that Gorman had not heard of him, he shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe I'm only known in my home area..." he shook his head however and got to the point. "I understand that you may hate other species and to be truthful, I don't care about most other species either, not even orcs like me and you, however-" he took a deep breath and made sure to choose his words carefully "- if we capture any elf in the future, I want them to translate an elven book I have from a deceased elven friend of mine." he realized as soon as he said the words that Gorman might react badly to those words, however, he was not about to betray her memory by speaking of her as a slave.

"And another thing, though you may have been assigned as my commander, I listen only to the orders of those I respect, but since I do not know you at all-" he stopped and analyzed the man before him and continued to speak. "- I need to know what you think of both orcs and other species as well... though this inquiry may have already been answered." he looked on the Gorman and waited for his response, still alert in case combat was about to break out, Gorman was a bit bigger than him, so he needed to be very careful.

“Names, unimportant. Look forward for change, only change important.”

With no other words the woman walked up to Gorman, silent as ever among the loud march of warrior’s around them. She pulled out a small metal needle, as well as a bottle with a labeled piece of paper that said ‘cleaner’. Taking the cap off she dripped a little over the needles edge.

“Current leader, can improve make better. Need sample of sequences for potential change.”

Though not sounding like a question it was implied as one, still she simply kept pace with the Orc, despite her slight limp. For a large bipedal lizard with what looked like a limp she was moving at a brisk pace. Not for a lack of trying she was more intent on starting the processes of understanding her new ‘squads’ current abilities and working to improve them, but it required samples, samples she was going to get one way or another.

The Present Day, 2751 AD

Gwen let out a low "oof" as she dropped the last obsidian piece of the Northaven Tower ruins. Only a few pieces could be accounted for, and many were lost to time or scavenging. The locals referred to the structure with a mixture of reverence and horror, and only bribing them with titanium trinkets loosened their tongues. By all indications, the structure was little more than an older model S9 particle emitter, the kind used during the early Colonization period. Its serial number could still be found on the cornerstone. Imperial records indicated that the unit was lost during the Daemon Invasion of 2120, and black box data showed that it performed admirably. So why all the hatred?

The citizens of the nearby town Yoit offered some answers. Some of the older citizens said that their grandparents told stories about how they survived an orc invasion, and some of them even fought in the resultant war. Supposedly, an entire orc army was bred and trained underneath the tower, and then marched south into Aetherion, starting their campaign at Yoit. Gwen retraced their steps. Her feet followed the footsteps of Gorman and his warband as they fought over every inch of the bloodsoaked streets...

The Attack on Yoit, 2650 AD

Gorman's ears roared with the wild battle cries of his brethren. On either side of him, thousands of orcs charged in unison toward the beleaguered defenders of the elven town. Sweat poured down his skin, and clouds of dirt kicked up from his boots. The Warlock himself led the charge, mounted on his midnight horse with his obsidian blade pointed forward. Bomb arrows exploded at their feet, and dozens of Fellmoran catapults hurled great stones back in reply. The wall ahead shattered, giving them the opening they needed to charge through.

With a shout, Gorman leaped onto the wall, crushed an elf archer's head under his foot, and seized his bow. He tossed it to Sen. "Your intel was spot-on! Now go kill something." With that, he punched another elf defender in the face and took his spear and shield.

The town is fairly small, with under a hundred clay houses behind the walls and a temple in the center. A few hundred elven archers and a couple hundred fighters are defending. Despite the town's small size, however, it won't be a walk in the park. The citizens and their ancestors have lived here for generations, and they've endured minor orc invasions before. They all know how to fight, so be on your guard.

Your orders are to search every house and kill every living thing you find.

@NecroKnight@Darkmoon Angel Archers are still shooting at you from turrets along the walls. Take them out before switching to targets in the town.
@rush99999 When Morkus entered a house, his opponent turned out to be a swordsman, a skilled one, if his stance was any indication. His family was huddled in a corner of the room. His wife was holding a frying pan, and she looked like she knew how to use it.
@Verdaux Kahl entered a tavern. Half the people there were inebriated. All of them had weapons drawn, but not all of those weapons were the stabby/pokey kind.
@Claw2k11 Erjak entered the tavern with Kahl. Feel free to make an agreement with Kahl to split up the work.
@Delta44 Trojan crashed into a house occupied by a female elf blacksmith. Her weapon was a battlehammer. Enjoy.
@Darkwatck01 Alarus entered a house whose sole occupant was a young boy. On the back of his hand was a strange X-shaped tattoo. He wielded a dagger and shield. Instinct said this boy was important.
@Lord Zee Nuggle didn't make it to a house because an elven mage blocked his path with a wall of earth. Take her out.
@Lunar Oreth entered a house occupied by a lone swordsman. He seemed competent, but he was no swordmaster.

Thanks to her little scouting mission, the orc forces were better prepared to take down the elven town that stood before them. Of course, with the Warlock here their victory was already assured, but a little intel can go a long way. Sen climbed up to her feet at the wall and turned when Gorman tossed her the bow of a poor elven archer he just crushed. "Your intel was spot-on! Now go kill something." No need to tell her twice, it's what she was trained to do.

A lone arrow shot down at her and grazed her cheek, she turned and narrowed her eyes at the archer that had shot her from the turret on the wall. Without hesitation, Sen let loose an arrow that met it's mark in the archer's head. Putting her newly acquired bow around her shoulder she climbed up the turret and proceeded to deal with any other archers that were firing down from it. Her blood was pumping now, no one could stop the coming bloodshed.

TROJAN's introduction was simple, and went through the usual process of roaring out his name as loudly as possible, before calmly and a lot more quietly apologising for the fact that he was raised to announce his presence as such. His old 'mentor', as he put it, taught him the values of pride in ones name, and so he often roared his name out of respect for her. He didn't offer much more of an explanation than that, seeing as they had a march to do.

TROJAN had read all about Yolt, and was genuinely curious as to how it had managed to avoid large-scale invasion by bandits. Clay wasn't necessarily the hardiest of materials, so it wasn't like orc bandits couldn't demolish the place quickly. He suspected that the most fortified aspect of the town would be its temple in the center, and made sure to mention it to those who would listen as a passing thought. Before that news could pass far, however, they had arrived.

TROJAN wasn't quite at the head of the charge as the wall came down, but was not far behind. He could see that the archers would easily be overwhelmed by the present force, so unlike those that broke off to challenge the archers, he continued into the town of Yolt to do what was to be done. His instincts were beginning to kick in, nostrils flaring up as he felt his muscles begin to tense. He was nervous, however that anxiety kept the bugbear on his toes, and consequently out of a savage state. He chose his house to invade carefully - he wouldn't choose someone who could potentially have a family, as Trojan's aim was to spare any villagers he could. He also decided to find a house further from the invasion force to increase an occupant's chance of escape. With that in mind, his eyes scanned for a potential target, before his eyes found themselves on a blacksmith's home, the forge outside a dead giveaway. Body and mind filled with adrenaline, TROJAN charged towards his mark...

Due to his sheer size, the force of his charge not only broke down the door, but also part of the wall which came with it. It was... quite the surprise for him, because he didn't think he was big enough to take down a wall, even one made of clay. However he chose to focus before he became too distracted by the accomplishment - he had work to do.

His spear was angled diagonally in front of him, so to cover a broader area. The pointed tip was directed towards the roof of the clay building, just above TROJAN's shoulder, with the blunt end facing the floor. He would roar, but decided against it. It would make him look bad if he acted too savage, after all.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I didn't think that would happen." He made sure he said what he needed to quickly, as the person before him probably wanted to slam his ribs into the floor. His gruff tone might have sounded a little odd as his accent sounded largely more human, so that might have made him a little easier to understand for the elven blacksmith. "Run. Quickly. Get everyone from the area out. Their lives may depend on your choice." He would try to avoid killing her if he could; knock her out if possible. But, if he became seriously hurt, he would not hesitate to retaliate.

'You must live, TROJAN... That's what she told you to do.'

Not that it mattered what kind of weapons his opponent were using; he wasn't wearing plate today, so he'd just have to avoid getting hit as much as possible. As far as Kahl could remember, elven warriors were of superior dexterity to most others. But against a bar of drunken civilians...well, they were just softer, skinnier Orcs. A good pint of ale was about the same as having the same thick skin and half the brain of one of his brothers.

One of the Orcs (@Claw2k11) from his warband was standing next to him. There might have been an introduction some time ago, but the names didn't really matter.

"The order said subjugation, right? Do what you want."

That being said, Kahl wasn't going wait; he had spent years mastering the art of patience and cunning. Today, he was going to embrace the fiery pain of an up-front skirmish, so he drew his blade -- a bastard sword equivalent for an Orc -- and raised it to block the first offender's attack.