How it Begins

[Morgeth]

War; is this how it begins? From afar - although maybe not far enough - the young she-orc by the name of Morgeth watches as the small group of humans lay waste to the camp of Taurajo. The tauren scatter, and some manage to flee, while other are inevitably caught in the bloodied carnage.

Just moments ago, she had been sitting next to Kozgugore in the village of Bloodhoof, after a beautiful days riding and laughing together with him and Gruulg. She had left him there, asleep in the village, to venture out and find her worg pup, that always seemed to keep itself nearby Taurajo.

And here she stands with a frown upon her face and a hand over her large, pregnant stomach. Kozgugore's shouting orders are carried by magic to her ears. He calls her back, but as she wants to see where the alliance are heading, the female proves reluctant to pull at the reins of her wolf and turn it back. The wind carries the scent of fear and blood, and a quiet snarl departs from Morgeth, but even she is soon given other things to worry about.

The group of alliance, having been keen enough to spot the far-away orc, is suddenly close. Too damned close. With a violent tug at the reins and a snarl aimed at her wolf, Morgeth turns around to inevitably become the hunted in crazed, little chase. The horses are driven mad by their riders, and eventually magic and sword alike catches up with her.

A few arrows almost graze the side of her bald head, and the she-orc roars in defiance to her fate. She is greeted with a plated elbow shoved first into her side, and then - as she turns around - into her very chest. To the cracking sound of her own ribs, she is thrown from her wolf, but a still firm grip around the beast’s reins makes for an uncomfortable journey over Mulgore’s grass, as she is dragged behind her animal.

The crushing hooves of the alliance forces are a reason as good as any to keep a hold on the wolf, and as the humans are finally forced to fall behind, the she-orc musters enough strength to simply drag herself onto the ragged, furred back. The immense pain located within her chest makes for an angry, wheezing orc upon her arrival to Thunder Bluff. There she is however met with the reassuring sight of orcs and non-orcs alike, that prepare to purge their own lands from slaughtering scum.

She holds no hesitation about riding out with the group, despite the pained chest, as it seems but an all-too weak reason to stay behind and be the scared mother-to-be. They ride out and the gathered covenant forces arrive at Bloodhoof village, only to find the scattered remains of those who have fallen victim to this insane, bloodied crusade.

In the midst of the cries from the wounded and grieving, Kozgugore urges them on and together they follow the tracks made by the humans and their animals, which leads the party to gather outside of Red cloud mesa. There they wait - aiming to fall into the back of the murderous lot that have rained down to plague an otherwise perfect day. It is here she feels it stir, deep within her gut - the feeling that something terrible is about to happen.

"This be it! For the Matriarch! For the Blood of the Tribe! For the Horde!"
The screaming awakens her, as if from a dream, and as Morgeth feels her foul magic surge up and through her veins, all feeling of pain seems go lessen. Power; it weakens lesser emotions. Screams again fill the air, as the terror of orc, elf and troll alike is brought down to rip the weary forces of the Alliance apart. As the scent of blood is brought to the air by whipping winds and clashing swords, the young she-orc's gaze travels the battlefield, until it reaches the plated head of what must be a knight of sorts.

His undeniable display of power, raising minions from the earth itself, brings a grave feeling of disgust to her gut. Disgust, and utter annoyance, since it be beyond her own skills. With her target set, she strides closer, taking a moment or two to smack a riderless horse on the rear, as to get it out of her way.

The knight is seemingly distracted, hacking his massive weapon away at anyone close enough, whilst sending his vile, little minions to bring further chaos into the fray. The warlock keeps her distance, quietly weaving her hated magic with a twisting tongue. It is far too easy to say that she does not enjoy her own labour, for it is such a mixed feeling about it. Such intense hate, yet with the sweet love of power so immense. A sudden jab of pain in her chest breaks the spellcasting, and with a broken word falling on her green lip, Morgeth's eyes lift only to meet with the knights.

His hand reaches back, and within the blink of an eye, she is close enough to feel the intense cold from his armor. Surprise paints the young female's face, even as the knight knocks her down to the ground and - wheezing in pain from her given curses - rams his spear into her side. A flickering sense of demonic magic trying to keep the warlock safe flares briefly, but dies down to be replaced with the soft, sickly sound of flesh breaking apart and blood oozing up to taint orc and ground alike. He sets his foot on her hip, dragging the weapon from the fresh wound and turns to partake in the still ongoing battle.

As life itself seems to pour out from her side, the she-orc's dark eyes are turned to view an open patch of grass, that seems so peaceful in comparison to the rest. Her fingers clutch to the wound in a frantic attempt to keep her insides where they should be, but alas.. the ground is soon darkened by her own blood. As roaring victory is raised to be known, even to those who have fallen, Morgeth's eyes slowly turn and are soon able to feast upon the sight of her victorious brothers, sisters .. and mate. He cries in anger, but when Kozgugore is lowered down next to her, all she can do is greet him with a weak smile. A bloodied hand is lifted from the wound, patting the chieftain's cheek and leaving a bloodied imprint on his skin, before moving down to pull at his beard. As her thoughts are flooded by the images of everything she has seemingly lost, be it a life with him and their pup, her face finally twists into a visage of pain.
"Y'ave t'forgive me."

The chieftain retracts his head without any response, but keeps his gaze locked in hers, and as Morgeth looks up into the crimson eyes - long rid of their demonic influence, but now sporting a new fire - she reaches a final realisation, before being dragged into the dark pit that is unconsciousness
This...
This is how a war begins.

[Norv]

(( Another beautiful piece! Thanks for the reading ))

[Nazkhur]

(( Nice work Morgeth, easy reading that draws you in, me like))