Vanguar
Current Leader/Government: High Chief Skar Bloodwroth
Settlements Owned: 4
Provinces Owned: 1
Population: 100 000
Standing Army:
- <The Vanguard>/<900 Orcs>/<Fighting in Amplesh>/<Morale 60%>
- <Grimmhold Levy>/<1, 300 Orcs>/<Fighting in Amplesh>/<Morale 40%>
- <Shale Levy>/<600 Orcs>/<Defending Ft Bloodwroth>/<Morale 60%>
- <Crag Levy>/<500 Orcs>/<Defending the Crag>/<Morale 100%>
Population Happiness: 45%
Imports:
Exports: Iron, Spice
Wealth: Poor
Alliances: None
Trade Pacts: None
Cease Fires: None
Army Status Cards
The Vanguard
Current Leader: High Chief Skar Bloodwroth
Location: Southern Amplesh
Morale: 70%
Strength/Unit Breakdown:
- <Troop Type>/<Number of Troops>/<Bonuses>/
- <Warg Riders>/<450>/<Strong, Loyal, Fearless>
- <Berserkers>/<300>/<Strong, Loyal, Fearless>
Current Action: Under Siege in Amplesh
Grimmhold Levy
Current Leader: High Chief Skar & Captain Grisbane
Location: Southern Amplesh
Morale: 50%
Strength/Unit Breakdown:
- <Troop Type>/<Number of Troops>/<Bonuses>/
- <Orc Militia>/<900>/<Strong, Undisciplined>
Current Action: Under Siege in Amplesh
Shale Levy
Current Leader: Band-Master Haskeer
Location: Fort Bloodwroth
Morale: 60%
Strength/Unit Breakdown:
- <Troop Type>/<Number of Troops>/<Bonuses>/
- <Orc Militia>/<600>/<Undisciplined, Strong>
Current Action: Besieged in the Shale
Crag Levy
Current Leader: General Stryke
Location: The Crag
Morale: 90%
Strength/Unit Breakdown:
- <Troop Type>/<Number of Troops>/<Bonuses>/
- <Stryke's Guard>/<90>/<Strong, Loyal, Fearless>
- <Orc Militia>/<300>/<Undisciplined, Strong>
Current Action: Defending the Crag
Goi'Orka Rebels charge the Grimmhold GateSiege of GrimmholdThe iron helm of the Orc split in the wake of Stryke's two handed axe, his face twisted in pain before being covered in black blood. With a heavy kick to the rebel's chest, Stryke pulled his axe free from his skull and moved on to the next traitor. A squat, wide shouldered Orc charged with bared fangs.
"I'll eat your guts!" Screamed the cur as he came upon Stryke. The general side stepped the Orc and brought his axe around to the lament of a sickening crack of his enemy's spine. The limbs of the Orc twitched and convulsed as he fell to the blood soaked ground.
Taking a gulp of air into his lungs, Stryke's eyes scanned the battlefield. They found their mark. Coilla stood near thirty feet away, their hatchling tight upon her breast as she swung a claymore through the air. He attempted to close the distance between them and join his mate, but the chaos of battle had taken hold, and like an ocean, waves of bodies pushed the general away from where he willed. He soon lost sight of Coilla and found himself on a rock with fallen enemies strewn about his feet, his axe dripping in blood.
A young Orc of the Shale, judged to be about fifteen summers, rushed to Stryke's side, carrying the standard of the general. It was not his usual standard bearer. "Where is Brisbold?" Asked Stryke.
The lad shook his head. "Took a blade to his gullet."
"Your name?"
"Bane."
"Hold that banner high, Bane, prove yourself worthy to bear my standard!" Stryke barked. Bane obliged, holding the flag high in the air, the crimson desert sun peeking through dark clouds, pouring a red light down on the field, as if the world itself was bleeding. Stryke needed swords by his side to accomplish a charge through the wall of rebels that seperated him from where he judged his family to be. He let his voice ring loud and clear over the scream of the dying and the clash of iron. "To me brothers, to me. Bring your blades to my side!"
"To the General, to victory and fallen enemies!" Bane called at his side. Some fifty Orcs, a mix of Shale Ones and Crags gathered around Stryke. They were bloodied and sullen, their spirits sapped by the battle. The rebel assault upon the Grimmhold gate had come fiercely, but they held. Their only hope in repairing the gate was for this sally to succeed. He would drive these rebels back, find Coilla and make safe the gate, but he needed the wills of his Orcs strong.
Stryke spat on the ground, setting his eyes sternly upon them. "Hear me brothers! We fight not for the glory of my father, but for Vanguar! This rabble would have us divided, weak! Will the humans suffer a weakened Orc-Kind? Nay! They will set upon us in chains and slavery as they have in the past! They will seize us at our weakest. Hear my truth! We fight for a strong Vanguar, a united Orc-Kind. We fight for freedom from bounds and chains. Add your axes to mine, brothers. For freedom!"
The Orcs roared around him.
"For Freedom!"
"For Vanguar!"
"Death to the rebels!"
"Glory to Stryke!"
Stryke charged ahead, his troop tight on his heels. His axe split the air with a whoosh, tearing the arm of a rebel free from his torso. Another screamed as Stryke's claw ripped the cur's jaw from his face, ripping open his belly with his axe. The enemy gave way to his terrible charge. Those caught before him suffered grisly deaths and soon all the general saw were the backs of fleeing Orcs. The cry of a hatchling caught his attention. He made desperately for the source of the sound. His axe cleaving those that dared get in his way.
He brought the blade down heavily on one that tripped and fell before him, narrowly missing the blade. Stryke was about to bring the axe down again when the bloodlust abated just enough for him to identify the robes the Orc wore. They were grey and tattered, but he was indeed a Mouth, one of Calypso's order.
"Please stay your axe!" Cried the Orc.
Stryke sneered. "Who are you? What purpose you hold on this field?"
"I serve the High Chief, and bring his words from Amplesh."
Stryke lifted the Orc up, pushing past him. "Make for the Spire and do not delay!" The words of his father would have to wait until he found Coilla and his youngling.
A horn blew and the boots of the rebels set to flee. The battlefield grew sparse and before him stood Coilla, breathing heavily, their son at her breast. Stryke sighed in relief as he stood before her. She was drenched in blood, her long black hair soaked in the fluid, her eyes and tusks shining in contrast to the black plasma. Their hatchling cooed upon her chest, suckling the life's blood that dripped from the skin of his mother.
"Our son," smiled Coilla. "He handled his baptism well."
Stryke stretched out a claw, stroking the young one's head. "A fitting name day for him." Coilla nuzzled into Stryke's shoulder, raking her tusks along his neck. "His name shall be Shargam, as the standard bearer of Wold himself in the days of old."
"Shargam..." Coilla pondered. "It is a strong name. A good name."
Styke's arms wrapped around his family. Standing among the dead, soaked in blood, he felt they were invincible.
Horns of the rebel army blew in the deep of the Crag and the feeling vanished, replaced with vulnerability.
Dark Light
