Hellfire menace

[Morgeth]

((This is the topic where stories and such in relation to the actions of the tribe in Hellfire Peninsula and beyond will be posted. I will most likely focus on the plots regarding fel orcs, and reactions/actions these might take towards the tribe. Feel free to comment.

This particular story was written in response to the attack that Kozgugore set out Rargnasha to perform together with Gorewolf, Groshnakk, Nekrul and Drugoth.))

The settlement known as Zeth'Gor had been raided; the roads red and wet with blood. Soft, squishing sounds were heard as Zargok's boots moved over the soil, as the massive orc made his way between the corpses of his kin. A little frown wrinkled his red features, and beyond his furrowed brow a pair of equally red eyes seemed to glow in an ominous manner. The two bodies of the orcs left in charge of the settlement had been dragged to lay in front of the stables, and as Zargok glanced over the headless bodies, a disgusted look came over his face.

"Damned pitiful", he snorted. The orcs behind him, parts of his own regiment, snarled along with their leader. Did not not do so in anger over the fallen, however, and certainly not in grief. What annoyed them all was instead the fact that their defences had been breached to such a degree that these two supposed "leaders" had been beheaded. The failure in itself gave a nasty implication regarding what repercussions might follow. Zargok knew fully well what his newly-appointed leaders would ask for. First they would ask for answers, and a moment later, they would ask for revenge. He intended to give them both.
The burly fel orc turned towards the remaining inhabitants of Zeth'Gor, along with his own regiment, and raised his hands.

"Gather the bodies of the fallen, and burn their sorry hides. Let the rising ashes remind each and every one of you what weakness brings." A loud snort departed from Zargok's nostrils, as he folded his arms to nod over to one of the settlement's own warlocks: a skinny, tawny looking creature, that held a look of sheer insanity to his gaze.
"Ostag here witnessed the events, and due to actually being one in possession of.. half a brain, has been able to identify todays attackers for me. I feel it's necessary to let you know, so that you at least know what names to curse in the future, when you are not surviving by hiding behind piled up boxes."

Zargok snorted once more, letting each and every orc present be aware of his distrust towards their abilities. After all, he considered none of them a brother, but instead they remained tools for his intentions. The large spikes of bone protruding from his shoulders shifted against the leather of his armour, as he once again took words in his mouth.
"Orcs of the red blade. The fools that made their way through our Peninsula not many nights ago, have set up camp with the inbreds of Garadar, and now - today - they have made a first offensive move towards us. I doubt it will be their last." The gathered orcs snarled and growled in response, a few of them clanging their weapons together in a clear display of bloodlust. Zargok offered them a brief, mirthless smirk, before he drew breath to speak again. "When they strike again, however, we will be ready. They've targeted our masters of vision and arms. We will return the favour! And not only that, we will make sure to eradicate their pitiful existence from our home. They no longer belong, and by the balls of a pitlord, it is time they are shown this good and proper!"

His words weren't that well placed, but they didn't have to be. The roaring voices echoed over the red dust, as the gathered fel orcs let their rage sing. Zargok's own teeth snapped, almost enjoying the scent of blood in the air, caring little that it came from orcs like himself. In his mind, he was still one of a kind. He turned towards his regiment, nodding to certain individuals in it, as he spoke.
"I will want Garadar scouted on, but make sure they do not spot you in turn. And you, orc - return to the citadel and let them know not only of the battle at Zeth'gor, but what I plan in turn. Tell our leaders that Zargok will make sure to strike the red blade tribe where it hurts."
The appointed orcs nodded to this, saluting their superior at the end of his words, and with surprising efficiency, made for their worg mounts. Zargok himself lifted a hand to run over the long tail of black hair still sitting atop his head, and dragged a vicious grin over his deformed, cruel looking tusks. Soon enough, the world would know of his victory of this pathetic tribe, and even the mag'har would tremble upon hearing his name.

[Rargnasha]

Harh! We tore through their barricades and slaugthered every single red skinned mongrel that dared stand in our path! Planted a flag by their 'leader' and gave the big ghastly eye the finger.
Awesome story Morgeth! Some day you'll have to write books.

[Okiba]

<3

[Morgeth]

((The second part of Zargok's story. These is a summarized version of the events that transpired during the tribe's event in Hellfire/Nagrand on the 28th of April. Hope it's a good read!))

Zargok peered out from his selected place of hiding, and dragged a smirk around his tusks. The force of the red blade orcs had amassed, and one would think the sight of them - heavily armoured orcs in formation - would make him less inclined to smile at the situation, but it didn't. This because he knew what they had left behind. Some orcs had lived by that philosophy in the past; bring your blade in battle, but leave your heart at home. Those orcs had always been the foolish ones.

As he watched the force of green orcs move out, Zargok shifted in position and dragged himself up to sniff the air. With so many orcs, they would surely cut through the majority of the defences, maybe even make their way up to the citadel itself. Many of his kin would die, but Zargok felt no pity for them. They would soon be replaced, and their defeat was not his own.

He sat there, his massive, red body hunched to the green grass, as he waited. Most orcs did not have the patience, and without clear leadership, would simply falter. Zargok had his own mind, however, and it had remained strong throughout several wars. He had been shaped into this, and held no intention of becoming a loser now.

A small sound, naked feet over soft grass, made his ears perk, and as his head move to let his eyes pick up on the approaching creature, the fel orc grew tense. She came, as she did almost every day, to pray to the spirits for aid, and to try to rid this little pond of its upset elementals. He had watched her, from afar, but instead of giving in to the sheer wish to snap her neck, Zargok had bided his time, and come up with a plan. Their red blade chieftain, it seemed, would be a tough prey. The shaman, however, had been left behind to tend to her duties. How foolish.

As she knelt down beside the water, Zargok rose to his feet. He knew well enough to wait, however, and it wasn't until the shaman started mumbling to herself, that he moved in closer. Her trance would be brief, but it made for an excellent opening. His hands moved decisively, as one grabbed her by the neck, and the other closed over her mouth, preventing any shrieks from alerting the nearby grunts.

He dragged her up, moving her up towards him, until his deformed tusk pressed up against her ear. Red eyes narrowed in delight, and the massive fel orc snarled quietly. "Welcome home, orc."
The shaman was spun around, but as she looked at him - a brief glance full of rage and fear - Zargok simply folded his hand into a fist, and hit her to the side of her head. He had no time to deal with whatever forces she could conjure. The warlocks would sever her connections to the elements, once they had made it back to the citadel, but for now she was best put out cold. As the red blade's spiritual guide descended down into a limp pile on the ground, Zargok knelt down, checking so that he had not hit her too hard. After all, she was of little use to him dead.

As he checked her pulse, rudely dragging his fingers over the exposed throat, something rustled behind his back. Zargok turned around, facing what seemed to simply be an orc mounted to his wolf. His initial thought was that this was nothing more than a simple grunt, having found him by sheer luck. This thought was quickly replaced, however, as it daunted on Zargok that he had seen this orc before, in the female's company. Grinning wildly, he turned to face his opponent, who already snarled in anger. Drawing his axes, Zargok dug his feet into the ground, and - granting the orc no respite - charged at him. The greenskin was ready, however, having drawn his axe and shield. They collided in force, and the fel orc could smell it now; anger and fear. Anger because he had brought down this orc's female, and fear because the greenskin did not know yet if she was dead or alive. The latter, Zargok believed, made this orc weak.

The shield was lifted into a slam, but met only with the spikes protruding out of Zargok's shoulder. He greeted the orc's efforts with a laugh, and brought his axes down in two wild arches. The greenskin proved fast, however, and motioned his shield down to receive both blows. Regardless of the orc's efforts, the sheer strength behind the two axes proved enough to go through his defences, and a feel of victory washed over Zargok as pained seemed to claim the green orc. He urged his head forward, attempting to smack his forehead against that of his idiotic kin. As he heard the satisfactory "crack" of his skull connecting with the green orc's, something glimmered in the corner of Zargok's eye. He recoiled before the blade of the other orc could properly cut his throat, but it still stung his skin, as the red hide opened for a few trickles of blood. The body falling to the grass was not his own, though, and this called upon another smile from the fel orc's twisted lips. Despite his wound, he raised his axes, attempting to drive them both into the back of the fallen orc, who already twitched due to the poison being pumped out through his system.

Just as he attempted to finish his work, a sound called upon the fel orc's attention, and Zargok turned his head to briefly sniff the air. Another orc approached, and with the sounds of battle having been everything but subtle, he would imagine that it would bring with it reinforcements. No time to claim another skull, in other words, but rather one for a tactical retreat. After all, he had what he had set out to collect. Surprisingly swift feet guided Zargok over to the fallen shaman, and he lifted her body to slump over his massive shoulder. His strides became swift and powerful - like those of a pleased predator - as he set off from Garadar, intent on finding the riding worg laying in wait for him, to make his trip to the citadel an even shorter one. It mattered little how many of his brethren that had to sacrifice their lives for this, he told himself, because he now held a piece of the red blade's heart in his hands. It was only a question of time before their chieftain's head would be there as well.

[Gorewolf]

Really nice read, you're quite the talented writter Morgeth.

Poor mazzy ;(