Campaign Report: Arrival in the Shadowlands
The solemn beat of a single drum brought the clan to the place known as Sindragosa’s Fall, a clutch of Argents waited and watched sentries to the clan's departure from this world. All around us flickered candles, one for each clan member, placed around the circle and waiting for us to gather.
The Death walker Enrah took the middle of the circle and began to cast their magic, drawing the power from the reliquaries recovered by the Clan and deemed fit for this purpose. The light around the clan faded to the illumination of Death Knight rune glow and the air grew chill and biting. Some orcs reported witnessing dozens of shadowy figures watching from beyond the circle, were these the same spirits who had aided us when trying to locate Sharguul several weeks ago? We found no answers to that question as they silently peered at our actions.
As the circle darkened, the death walker's hand began to bleed some strange dark liquid. It had no scent and seemed not to be blood but part of the invocation we had all now become bound to. A method they said of marking the orcs so that they could easier guide so many to the Shadowlands, more than a few orcs were dubious but none refused the gesture - more fool the Death walker if they tried a trick on this many Red Blade orcs.
Had it been a trap it would not have ended well for them.
It however seemed not to be a trap and was exactly as explained. Only causing upset when Keshrakk, the youngest orc among the clan, Karak Stormsong’s son enthusiastically stood forward against his father’s wishes to be painted. The child would go to the Shadowlands to rescue Sharguul.
I can recall Chieftain Kozgugore Fereleye’s words. ‘I have been ready to venture to the afterlife a long time already, I just did not think it would be like this. So be it.’
Some orcs spoke of glory. Others of honour, soft gestures exchanged between those with close bonds. Wolves snarled and whined. The ritual continued forward at a pace, the wait was almost painful.
When the magic was thickest in the air Enrah paused ‘’Remember our purpose in this act, remember why you travel to the place where the dead walk. Do not forget yourselves…’’ she said, using her runeblade to seemingly slice open a death gate through to the unknown.
‘’I will see you on the other side. It has been an honour Orcs of the Red Blade’’ were the last words spoken by our navigator into death as she stepped through the gateway.
--
Through the gateway senses rapidly found themselves warped of colour and shape, dark grey mute tones expanded to a dazzling light of radiant blue swirling around them. A feeling of being pulled along on threads while all the time buffeted by the strongest of gales that consumed all sound to the roar of winds.
A horizon painted itself in the distance of this cosmic journey the clan undertook. Closer and closer toward this destination they were pulled, when suddenly the energy shifted. Difficult to understand at first and only recognisable by the distinct change in the ‘air’
This change began to manifest with purpose, becoming the large shape of a giant spectral hand. Seeming of an irritable demeanor the hand swung at the travelling clan with a backhand gesture as one might swat insects buzzing about them on a hot evening.
It hit each orc with enough force to wind them and send them spiralling away from the distant exitway upon the horizon.
Outwards and away from the streams of energy that had previously guided all of us. The orcs scattered, all around the flow of energy was broken, a stormy and seemingly never ending abyss. It becomes difficult to sense time how long we were floating, falling or twisting in that other place - none know.
Finally we see more than just the storm all about us, finally a different slither of colour beyond that grows larger and larger before the eyes until it becomes clear that we are all tumbling toward it.
It is only when the green colours of the storm about us take hold do orcs finally feel themselves return to the stability this journey had originally been. The ebb and flow of magic restored the tug of thread that kept us on our way, dragged us toward a similar exit point on the edge of sight.
And we are allowed to pass beyond this gateway.
--
The landing was clean, it took time for senses to refocus having fallen a few feet and landed upon the spongy wet ground. It seemed all had arrived bar Razaron Madeye, the elder was missing. As was the Chieftains wolf Shrewd.
There was a feeling of shock among the clan orcs as they peered out at a landscape not too dissimilar to the plaguelands of Azeroth, they had been expecting many things but this? This seemed beyond the pale for many.
Recovering their wits quickly the orcs were swiftly confronted by a group of the shambling horrors of this plagued landscape as they came to investigate the sudden crowd and, as expected, the Red Blade defended themselves. Hurriedly mustering a battle line and cutting down the enemies before them. These creatures were horrible, their bodies made of many different pieces of people. Bones and grafted skin, bolted together to make a whole.
When they are cut down, in the distance heavier footsteps can be made out approaching, the orcs rally once again. Rykana Skywise shoots into the fog and lands a hit into the obscure distance but it does not halt the steady progress of step. Whatever it is merely grunts and then approaches.
The creature might have once been a Tauren, he is tall for his kind and seemingly grafted together from the bodies of many other creatures. A reinforced spine bears spikes that might have been horns and his right hand seemingly replaced with a vicious looking scythe-like blade larger than a swine.
The Tauren monstrosity approached and raised his hand in a gesture of peace to halt the aggression. He seemed to look over the bodies of the fallen and some orcs recognised the ethereal shapes of spirits lingering about the fallen corpses, he seemed disgruntled to see such a mess.
‘Please...lower your weapons mortals…’ the Tauren speaks in orcish common. There is a sense he is not familiar with the term and a tense exchange of words begins.
Many orcs simply do not trust the creature, while others seem curious to know more of the alien landscape they now find themselves within. There is a surge of questions thrown at this stranger. Who introduces himself as Torm Sagewind, a shaman who died in the time the orcs came to Kalimdor. He does his best to answer the orcs.
Explaining that they now find themselves in a place known as Maldraxxus. One of the many different realms that make up the Shadowlands themselves. He confirms to the orcs that he is not Scourge though some seem to find it difficult to believe this, convinced it could be a trick.
He seems certain that his purpose here is to protect spirits and the Shadowlands themselves. Building bodies for those who are too weak to manifest their own and making them stronger.
The conversation is cut short when an enemy patrol is sighted just on the edge of the gully where the orcs arrived. He offers to take the Red Blade back with him to the House of Constructs, where he explains more of this strange land. The House of constructs is one of five great houses.
Some have fallen to ruin, others have not and there are enemies here. Necrolords they call themselves, he and many like him are fighting against them.
---
We were taken to an even stranger place than the wilderness that met our arrival. A town constructed of bone, with piles of fleshy pieces both old and fresh. Where abysmal creatures wretched in their design sort through the piles to build together an endless work line of fleshy constructs. Oozing pus and great vats of ominous liquids stood all about us and next to butchers tables more fitting of the Azeroth Scourge factories than any settlement the orcs had ever discovered.
It is made clear that the orcs are not welcome but they are not unwelcome either, they are allowed to remain for now until those in charge have spoken with the clan. Sagewind also offered to ‘lie’ on our behalf by suggesting that the group the Red Blade had butchered were taken by the enemy patrols and none seem to speak out against the idea.
Too much hangs in uncertainty with there being war in this place for us to depart out on our own and we are far from our intended destination, the city of doorways Sagewind had called ‘Oribos’. Maybe Sagewind is good to his word. That we can find allies here and those allies can help us get to the city?
Right now the clan face different challenges - we are reliant on our rations for both food and water, our shaman face the challenge of forging a bond with the new elements of this place. We are in a hostile landscape and we have few friends here. Sharguul is still in danger and it feels like he is still so very distant from us.
-Anon-
The solemn beat of a single drum brought the clan to the place known as Sindragosa’s Fall, a clutch of Argents waited and watched sentries to the clan's departure from this world. All around us flickered candles, one for each clan member, placed around the circle and waiting for us to gather.
The Death walker Enrah took the middle of the circle and began to cast their magic, drawing the power from the reliquaries recovered by the Clan and deemed fit for this purpose. The light around the clan faded to the illumination of Death Knight rune glow and the air grew chill and biting. Some orcs reported witnessing dozens of shadowy figures watching from beyond the circle, were these the same spirits who had aided us when trying to locate Sharguul several weeks ago? We found no answers to that question as they silently peered at our actions.
As the circle darkened, the death walker's hand began to bleed some strange dark liquid. It had no scent and seemed not to be blood but part of the invocation we had all now become bound to. A method they said of marking the orcs so that they could easier guide so many to the Shadowlands, more than a few orcs were dubious but none refused the gesture - more fool the Death walker if they tried a trick on this many Red Blade orcs.
Had it been a trap it would not have ended well for them.
It however seemed not to be a trap and was exactly as explained. Only causing upset when Keshrakk, the youngest orc among the clan, Karak Stormsong’s son enthusiastically stood forward against his father’s wishes to be painted. The child would go to the Shadowlands to rescue Sharguul.
I can recall Chieftain Kozgugore Fereleye’s words. ‘I have been ready to venture to the afterlife a long time already, I just did not think it would be like this. So be it.’
Some orcs spoke of glory. Others of honour, soft gestures exchanged between those with close bonds. Wolves snarled and whined. The ritual continued forward at a pace, the wait was almost painful.
When the magic was thickest in the air Enrah paused ‘’Remember our purpose in this act, remember why you travel to the place where the dead walk. Do not forget yourselves…’’ she said, using her runeblade to seemingly slice open a death gate through to the unknown.
‘’I will see you on the other side. It has been an honour Orcs of the Red Blade’’ were the last words spoken by our navigator into death as she stepped through the gateway.
--
Through the gateway senses rapidly found themselves warped of colour and shape, dark grey mute tones expanded to a dazzling light of radiant blue swirling around them. A feeling of being pulled along on threads while all the time buffeted by the strongest of gales that consumed all sound to the roar of winds.
A horizon painted itself in the distance of this cosmic journey the clan undertook. Closer and closer toward this destination they were pulled, when suddenly the energy shifted. Difficult to understand at first and only recognisable by the distinct change in the ‘air’
This change began to manifest with purpose, becoming the large shape of a giant spectral hand. Seeming of an irritable demeanor the hand swung at the travelling clan with a backhand gesture as one might swat insects buzzing about them on a hot evening.
It hit each orc with enough force to wind them and send them spiralling away from the distant exitway upon the horizon.
Outwards and away from the streams of energy that had previously guided all of us. The orcs scattered, all around the flow of energy was broken, a stormy and seemingly never ending abyss. It becomes difficult to sense time how long we were floating, falling or twisting in that other place - none know.
Finally we see more than just the storm all about us, finally a different slither of colour beyond that grows larger and larger before the eyes until it becomes clear that we are all tumbling toward it.
It is only when the green colours of the storm about us take hold do orcs finally feel themselves return to the stability this journey had originally been. The ebb and flow of magic restored the tug of thread that kept us on our way, dragged us toward a similar exit point on the edge of sight.
And we are allowed to pass beyond this gateway.
--
The landing was clean, it took time for senses to refocus having fallen a few feet and landed upon the spongy wet ground. It seemed all had arrived bar Razaron Madeye, the elder was missing. As was the Chieftains wolf Shrewd.
There was a feeling of shock among the clan orcs as they peered out at a landscape not too dissimilar to the plaguelands of Azeroth, they had been expecting many things but this? This seemed beyond the pale for many.
Recovering their wits quickly the orcs were swiftly confronted by a group of the shambling horrors of this plagued landscape as they came to investigate the sudden crowd and, as expected, the Red Blade defended themselves. Hurriedly mustering a battle line and cutting down the enemies before them. These creatures were horrible, their bodies made of many different pieces of people. Bones and grafted skin, bolted together to make a whole.
When they are cut down, in the distance heavier footsteps can be made out approaching, the orcs rally once again. Rykana Skywise shoots into the fog and lands a hit into the obscure distance but it does not halt the steady progress of step. Whatever it is merely grunts and then approaches.
The creature might have once been a Tauren, he is tall for his kind and seemingly grafted together from the bodies of many other creatures. A reinforced spine bears spikes that might have been horns and his right hand seemingly replaced with a vicious looking scythe-like blade larger than a swine.
The Tauren monstrosity approached and raised his hand in a gesture of peace to halt the aggression. He seemed to look over the bodies of the fallen and some orcs recognised the ethereal shapes of spirits lingering about the fallen corpses, he seemed disgruntled to see such a mess.
‘Please...lower your weapons mortals…’ the Tauren speaks in orcish common. There is a sense he is not familiar with the term and a tense exchange of words begins.
Many orcs simply do not trust the creature, while others seem curious to know more of the alien landscape they now find themselves within. There is a surge of questions thrown at this stranger. Who introduces himself as Torm Sagewind, a shaman who died in the time the orcs came to Kalimdor. He does his best to answer the orcs.
Explaining that they now find themselves in a place known as Maldraxxus. One of the many different realms that make up the Shadowlands themselves. He confirms to the orcs that he is not Scourge though some seem to find it difficult to believe this, convinced it could be a trick.
He seems certain that his purpose here is to protect spirits and the Shadowlands themselves. Building bodies for those who are too weak to manifest their own and making them stronger.
The conversation is cut short when an enemy patrol is sighted just on the edge of the gully where the orcs arrived. He offers to take the Red Blade back with him to the House of Constructs, where he explains more of this strange land. The House of constructs is one of five great houses.
Some have fallen to ruin, others have not and there are enemies here. Necrolords they call themselves, he and many like him are fighting against them.
---
We were taken to an even stranger place than the wilderness that met our arrival. A town constructed of bone, with piles of fleshy pieces both old and fresh. Where abysmal creatures wretched in their design sort through the piles to build together an endless work line of fleshy constructs. Oozing pus and great vats of ominous liquids stood all about us and next to butchers tables more fitting of the Azeroth Scourge factories than any settlement the orcs had ever discovered.
It is made clear that the orcs are not welcome but they are not unwelcome either, they are allowed to remain for now until those in charge have spoken with the clan. Sagewind also offered to ‘lie’ on our behalf by suggesting that the group the Red Blade had butchered were taken by the enemy patrols and none seem to speak out against the idea.
Too much hangs in uncertainty with there being war in this place for us to depart out on our own and we are far from our intended destination, the city of doorways Sagewind had called ‘Oribos’. Maybe Sagewind is good to his word. That we can find allies here and those allies can help us get to the city?
Right now the clan face different challenges - we are reliant on our rations for both food and water, our shaman face the challenge of forging a bond with the new elements of this place. We are in a hostile landscape and we have few friends here. Sharguul is still in danger and it feels like he is still so very distant from us.
-Anon-