"There are no friends on the Path to Glory; only stones for the powerful and cunning to tread." - Grarkax The Serpent Tongue
The ground seethed. Malefic, riddled with magma and detritus and the ashes of a million broken souls, the Dark Lands were a place feared by any sane mind. It was a grim place, even by the standards of the world at large. Even the ground, riddled with pools of lava open and hidden alike, was a treacherous location, for a simple ill-placed step could well bring about a most horrible doom.
Like land, like people Sayl thought to himself.
Sorcery- and sorcerous eyes- revealed a far darker place. Maddened cries lurked on the wind, the ashes of their fallen forms doomed to be scattered across the hellscape for eternity. Here and there stood great heaps of bones tossed, uncaringly, into piles taller than a Dolgan mammoth. Their agony lived on, mixed into medley a dozen different races and a hundred different cultures.
This had ever been a dread place, even before the arrival of the race that currently had dominion over it.
What secrets do you hide, beneath these dunes of ash? What power might you give, to those deft enough to seize upon it?
The winds howled once more, bringing a sort of stench with it. The stench of ash and sulfur and industry.
The stench of the Chaos Dwarfs.
With hordes beyond counting, Tamurkhan had swept over these lands like famished locusts over a prairie. The Dwarfs had mustered a stalwart defense yet not even their impeccable discipline could seize the day. Instead their hobgoblin slave-warriors had been put to flight, their disciplined formations annihilated, their fortress-citadels surrounded. With this achieved Tamurkhan had entered negotiations with their regional lord and though the Nurglish Warlord had ceded more than he ought, he acquired the services of one third of Dwarfs of this fortress.
Sayl sneered, confident that he could have acquired the services of two-thirds of Fire Dwarfs had he been leader. But that time would come, and perhaps sooner than any but he expected.
For now, he had 'summons' to attend to. He took pains to prepare, donning his warp iron cuirass, his cyclopean helm, and the enchanted sanguine robes that called magic to it like a fishing lure. The road ahead, ever treacherous, had grown yet more hazardous over the last few weeks.
The great Khagan had called together his war council, as he was wont to do, to pronounce new orders or hear advice from his 'trusted' lieutenants. It was an arena of ambitions and lies, for each lieutenant peddled 'advice' that ultimately benefitted them alone while claiming to seek glory for Tamurkhan and the Gods. Sayl knew, for he was the greatest perpetrator.
With a faint whistle, he called Nightmaw to him. From the darkest corner of his massive yurt the Chaos spawn bounded forward, each of the three different heads bellowing a different speech. One offered naught but praise, the other endless threats while the final mewed and whined endlessly, punctuated by brief periods of unstoppable mirth and mad laughter. Sayl ignored them in turn, for magical spells of binding prevented them from injuring him . With a snapped finger, the Nightmaw bent low and Sayl mounted the horse sized creature .
Gibbering, screeching and cursing, the spawn sped through camp at variable speeds. Sometimes it moved as slow as a crippled Dwarf, each movement frustrated Sayl who was forced to inflict suffering upon his mount to make it go faster. However, on other days, the Chaos Spawn achieved truly impossible speeds and could outrace the strongest horses of Tamurkhan's army.
It was through the blessing of the fickle divine that today the spawn achieved its highest speed. Sayl raced through the Dolgan camp, eying the various forms of servants and tools that comprised of his tribe. Most averted their eyes or bowed, the defiance having long since left them. Some, the lieutenants, nodded gratingly, their scheming minds no doubt plotting treachery. In fact he knew they were plotting treachery; for in his sorcerous sight he could see various futures unwind like string before him, a dizzying multitude of could-bes unfold like tapestry. Some visions were clear, others barely obscured, like seeing through a cloud of mist. Still the seer could see as plainly as others saw color who she chould ignore and who he should arrange a bad end for.
The mewling mount continued to bound past other fragments of his forces: Chanting Dolgan shamans, their magic a pittance of his own; murderous warrior women who would sacrifice their own spawn if angered enough; reavers whose simple minds were ever affixed on loot and glory; the Dolgan mammoths, the pride of the tribe who stood taller than small hills. He could read them all, their motivations and feelings, for his vision had long since surpassed the weak perceptions of mortal sight.
In the distance the camp fires of other tribes lit alight the early morning . It was good that the camps were not closer for, as much as Dolgan hated each other, they hated other tribes even more.
Sayl did not have much longer now for, in his wisdom, Tamurkhan had insisted that Dolgan place his own camp near Tamurkhan's main army encampment in a very obvious display of 'keep your enemies close'. Sayl thought he was a fool, for to him it made no difference whether his camp was in the interior or the outskirts. His schemes would weave through or around such obstacles, just as they always had.
The sorcerer muttered words of powers, prayers to the divine to guard his own breath. A wise precaution, for he now roamed Tamurkhan's camp, a cesspool of fifth and disease as any in the world. Nurgle's chosen son luxuriated in it the way a normal man did with women or gold. Unfortunately, he was also far more generous than any man with those things was, much to the displeasure and ill-health those who did not bear the plague-lord's blessing. But Sayl knew that was the point, for the desperation of infection and contagion, the shame of inhibition and weakness, could drive even hardened beserkers of the north into despair. And with despair, came pleas to the one who fed off of it.
Indeed, to Sayl's otherworldly sight, the camp hung with those emotions, like mist and stiff air in the Ghost Hells swamplands through which they had recently traveled.
By Sayl's count, no less than three powerful chaos champions had changed allegiances' since the march began and doubtless more would by the end of the campaign.
Sayl's tugged his reins hard, directing Nightmaw to avoid a puddle of firth. Composed of fluids, excrement and who knows what other foul things, such pools were common in the camps of Nurgle, for it merely amplified the already fetid atmosphere. As Nightmaw ran past a tiny little daemon- a nurgling- arose from the murk to backpedal and grin at him.
The charms and wards on his armor began to glow a tiny bit brighter as they were forced to contend with ever greater amounts of decay. Hastily, he urged Nightmaw on once more, faster now. Nurgle warriors, catching the sorcerer passing, dared to chortle and giggle at the sight. Sayl made sure to try to mark and memorize their faces for future reprisal once the campaign was over. There would be a lot of reckoning indeed.
Finally, he reached the central yurt that housed Tamurkhan's throne and dwelling. It was a massive complex, easily the size of one of those dilapidated temples Sayl have come across in the east. Yet it lacked their charm. It was bloated, ugly and ruined, leaking strange fluids from the walls and ceiling that served as a living metaphor of everything that made Nurgle so abhorrent. Dismounting Ngihtmaw, not caring to tie down the Chaos Spawn nor who it would consume while he was inside, Sayl entered Tamurkhan's lair.
Two rings lined this room of the abode. The larger outer circle was illuminated only just by green torchlight, bestowing an atmosphere of barely seen menace. In the strange half-light various forms lurked, some humanoid and some barely so, every one of them some great champion or chaos lord of legend. Sayl knew the combined list of atrocities they had committed would line every inch of this abode and he knew that all of them, each and every man, woman and worse thing here, wanted to add to that tally. Indeed he could see those all those deeds, hung like tapestry over the wall, in dizzying detail. As hardened as the Chaos sorcerer was, some of the most foul of those atrocities made even him start to feel slightly nauseous.
All of the chaos champions stood cautiously around the middle circle, a bright oval the size of a mammoth illuminated fully by the green light that shone malefic from underneath. Those that found themselves in its gaze had the full attention of the occupant of the farthest side of the room, he who sat, in the midst of a vision, on a throne of detritus and death. Those who stood on that dais would know either glory or doom and usually fairly messily in the case of the latter.
Of course the most skilled could turn would be doom to glory. Sayl knew this, for Sayl himself had done this. Only a week ago he had been practically dragged before the Maggot Lord, Khazyk the Befouled- Tamurkhan's unofficial execution- poised to chop him down for the crime of leading much of the Horde's Beastkin in a futile assault on a Cathayan outpost against orders. Sayl had laughed his defiance and then, before the astonished onlookers, dared the gods themselves to strike him down if even one of his Dolgan had participated in combat. They hadn't, for Sayl had already anticipated the slaughter that would result from the cloven feet of the Beastkin kicking the Celestial dragon. He just wanted to watch it play out without personal consequence.
And he had.
Since Sayl had invoked the gods' names and survived their potential wrath, he had walked away free. For Tamurkhan to order his execution then would to go against the commandments of the gods themselves and risk their wrath.
Their animosity had persisted of course.
It could be heard from the moment he entered from the baleful growls of the Beastkin. From a dozen different forms their remaining leaders cursed him, each promising a crude but no doubt messy form of revenge. Sayl laughed cruelly, the staff strapped to his side glowing faintly, daring them to make a move. If Sayl's magic did not kill them, then Tamurkhan would, for edict demanded that only Tamurkhan had control over the fate of his lieutenants and to defy that, would be to defy the Maggot Lord himself.
Others snarled and cursed. Sayl knew he was not popular and relished the hate. Let them curse and loathe. There was nothing better than an impotent enemy, for they could do nothing. Still others, those of gods rival to the Plague Lord, looked at him with a mixture of mistrust, wariness and need. Alone among the gathered warlords he had defied Tamurkhan and lived to tell about it. He could be a leader of the opposition, if he so chose, and already schemes rolled through Sayl's mind likeboulders down a mountain. Their need presented opportunity.
Only one group has no reaction to Sayl's arrival; the Chaos Dwarfs. Instead, they looked at him coolly, their darkly twinkling red eyes no doubt appraising him just as he had appraised the others in the tent long ago. Doubtless, they would hear rumors before long, stories of Sayl's past. For now, though, he held an advantage, as Sayl had been the one sent to negotiate with the Ashen King. Doubtless, Tamurkhan had only bestowed such an honor out of the hope that the he would be gruesomely slain if he offended the Fire Dwarfs, a feat that was notoriously easy to accomplish.
Once again, the khagan had underestimated him.
In bold strides the Dolgan Chieftain walked, then took his position next to the Chaos Dwarf contingent. Silent Dwarf bodyguards surrounded Drazhoath, all clad in glowing hellforged armor and face masks that left an expressionless void. Each of them carried halberds twice the size of themselves and, despite the fact their faces could not be seen, each seemed to radiate hate and contempt of such intensity that it began to make the magically attuned Sayl feel noxious. Though they made no movements to their weapons, Sayl had no doubt they could reach for them in a moment if they desired.
Their master gazed upwards at Sayl, his beady little eyes scrutinizing the sorcerer calculatedly. Doubtless, he realized what the sorcerer was trying to convey to the rest here. Already, they knew that Sayl was a hated, distrusted figure and the air of intrigue hung around him like a cloak around a dark wanderer of the night. Yet there was dark amusement in his eyes as well, as if they were watching the intrigues of children with their petulance, impatience and impertinence. A Chaos Dwarf intrigue, from what little Sayl knew of their people, often took centuries to come to fruition.
To Sayl, that only spoke to the superiority of his people, that man- whether scion of the north or weak southerner- had managed to conquer and dominate the world in far less time than the vanishing elder races.
Still, he let none of that slow. Instead, he bowed, low enough to incline respect but high enough to not be taken as a sign of submission. Drazoath's face wrinkled in slight irritation, the intrinsic desire for dominance that lay in every son of Zharr's heart naturally offended by Sayl's independence. The Chaos Dwarf irked his head towards the sorcerer, as if forced to acknowledged an irritant fly.
Inside, Sayl simmered from the insult yet, on the outside, continued his ebullience, confident that his mask was greater than even those of the Zharr Infernal Guard.
As the other warlords resumed their petty intrigues, speaking to one another in deadly whispers and with false sincerity, Sayl made to engage his Dwarf acquaintance. Instead the Dwarf spoke first, cutting to the point
"I see why you were sent to bargain with me. I too send the scheming and disposable of my kind to treacherous ends. "
Sayl considered, before taking the air of one lightly offend by the words, yet with a thin enough veneer to where he knew Drazoath would see through it.
"Oh Lord of Ash, I am disappointed you view me in such a manner. Before the gods I pledged my comradeship and common cause, just as you."
Drazoath snorted; a harsh noise that sounded like steam escaping from a broken Dawi valve.
"I pledged my legion, sorcerer, on a tome of flesh and sinew, recorded in the name of my Dark Father. In return I demanded payment by blood, souls and riches . I will receive all and more besides, and in return I will honor my agreement to the letter. "
"But not the spirit, Dark Lord, Master of the Infernal Hells? Is this agreement made with the same intent as your previous oath to see the Black Citadel protected against all threats?"
Drazhoath looked up, affixing the Chaos sorcerer with a look of loathing, disgust and, though the Dwarf took pains to hide it, surprise. His previous oath was evidently not common knowledge, then. But no secret had yet been able to hide from Sayl's seercraft. If the future was murky, the present shaded, the past was deceptively clear and Sayl had gleamed much during his dark moments alone in the deepest recesses of his yurt. Even from Dwarf-kin, who measured stages of life in whole human lifespans.
Sayl allowed himself a smirk, confident that the Dwarf could not see through his closeted helm, covered except for his baleful sorcerous gaze.
While the Dwarf could not see the smirk, he nevertheless could detect it. He snarled an act that caused his bodyguards to change slightly in posture, as if they expected their master to order great violence at a moment's notice.
"Still your slanderous tongue, sorcerer, before I take it and toss it into a slave latrine! The oaths of the sons of fire are bound in iron! The Black Citadel is better defended than any realm outside the Plains of Zharr! Even this howling throng of mad-beasts and madder-umgi would have broken against it like ashen wind before the mountain! I violate no oath to be here, for I have seen it defended, in accordance to my pledge given to the High Prophet before you were a gleam of your father's eye, umgi."
Touchy, he thought to himself. But he was confident his initial assertion was correct, for through his sorcerous gaze he could see ambition and resentment hang over the Fire Dwarf like sins clothed the soul. Sayl, no stranger to reading such inner motivations, guessed that the oath before the High Priest was not willingly given and Drazoath was no more content with his current place than Sayl was with his. As Dwarfs –corrupted or not- took their oaths to maddening extremes he had been forced to carry out such an oath, to the letter, yet had eagerly longed for an opportunity to escape it. Tamurkhan had provided that opportunity.
In a way, Sayl mused, the Chaos Dwarf's motivations were the polar opposite of his own. When Tamurkhan had swarmed through his lands like a unstoppable horde of locusts, Sayl had indeed pledged comradeship and common cause, seeking glory, riches and arcane knowledge from the civilized lands, though, at the time, he had been unaware of exactly which southland nation Tamurkhan intended to raid. In a way Sayl followed the 'spirit' of the expedition, the desire for glory and loot, but not the letter, for he held no more loyalty to Tamurkhan the Plague Lord than he had Schalkain the Vile, Orbudical the Foresworn, his very own parents or the numerous other individuals Sayl had used over the years.
Yet a thread wound them both, whether the dwarf admitted it or not. Neither was fully committed to the either the Ruinious Horde nor his commander.
To the dwarf before him, Sayl switched tactics.
"Perhaps that is so, son of Ash. Surely there is much profit to be gleamed from this expedition? It is said that the sons of Sigmar possesses magical and technological lore beyond any other nation of man save the Celestial Empire. "
The sound of whistling steam once more; Drazhoath had snorted.
"Sigmar's sons are beyond them too. Mightiest of all your kin, Umgi, southlander or not. "
Sayl shook his head
"The southlanders are weak, Ashen Lord. Lacking in will and intellect. Cowering like sheep before their castle lords and only mustering defense when herded together in large numbers. And of those lords, the Celestial Empire- Cathay- has proven the most numerous and formidable. "
"In slave stock, they are weaker, that is true. They have also persisted millennia like grobi-filth while your failed tribes pass like dust in the wind-swept steppes every year. The eastern empire has some umgi trickery with their duality lore of magic, their flailing limbs and legions to shame any urk. But the Empire was tutored on the knees of races better than yours –the elgi in arts of mysticism and the –'
The Dwarf paused here, glowering, and for a second Sayl almost jumped back instinctively, for the hatred that his soul-self exuded exceeded any save the denizens of Beyond. The Dwarf literally glowed as hot and brilliant as magma with pure hate. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the Dwarf spat out a word
"-False kin taught them the arts of craftsmanship, shoddy as they are. Better teachers resulted in better umgi, more powerful than your other tribes. Though they are still fit for nothing other than slaves, like all your kind."
Sayl ignored the insult, though he idly wondered what an 'elgi' was. He was fascinated by the revelation that there were other groups of dwarfs besides the Dawi Zharr. The Norscan traders had, indeed, been right. Still, Sayl dearly wished the Horde had been traveling to Cathay, not the Empire, and was not yet ready to cede the argument.
"Helped along by your 'false kin' or not the legends detailing the invasions of Sigmar's sons have resounded the world and back, while none have gone far into the Dragon Emperor's empire in over a thousand years. "
"Cowards" Drazhoath growled "who hide behind their 'Grand Bastion' and rely on it for their salvation. Without it, their nation would crumble like matchsticks. "
"And yet" Sayl said evenly " none have succeeded in breaking those great gates." Sayl decided to needle "Not even your people, if the rumors are true."
Rather than scowl, or return an insult, Drazhoath stunned the sorcerer by smiling, wholly and truly, though malice lay at end of the expression. His two word response, sent the sorcerer's mind spinning with unseen implications .
"Not yet."
Before Sayl could ask, another voice interrupted the discussion
"SILENCE!" A deep voice rumbled from the throne, interrupted all discussion.
Like the moment after a thunderclap eerie silence immediately settled across the pavilion, none willing to gainsay the Pestilent Lord's will. The Dark Lord stood from his throne of bones and bile, his ogre girth threatening to sink it into the rotted muck of the earth. Slowly, with the awkwardness of a awaking giant, the plague lord walked down from it, each step a soft quake that could be heard throughout the yurt.
Finally, when he had reached the end of the steps, the plague lord stopped. With a dictator's eye, he surveyed the captains and lieutenants around him as if trying to detect who was loyal and who was a traitor. In that, as with many other subjects, Tamurkhan was a fool, Sayl thought to himself. Every champion here was loyal to their own destiny and a natural traitor to the fate of others. Even Khazyk the Befouled would spurn his master if it allowed him to take another step to glory.
"You have been summoned before me this day to exalt in our master's glory. Bask in it! For Nurgle, Grandfather of all, has blessed me with visions of doom and glory, of war and plague brought to those who had never known it! "
The pavilion thundered with much applause, feet stamping, howls and brays- the standard response to promises of future glory. Only a few were able enough of mind to detect the inherent inconsistency of that statement. Next to him Drazoath's eyes narrowed fractionally.
Convinced as he was of the celestial empire's superiority even Sayl- lord of a tribe half a world apart from the Empire- had heard tales of it. No one, not even those that held it in the most contempt, could deny that it was a realm that had seen much war and plague.
"In my dreams I saw a land covered by forest end to end, of vibrant life left horrifically unmolested by the Grandfather's touch! Above it all stood a tree that pierced the sky and that could carry our plagues to the heavens themselves! It was a land unlike any I have ever walked in my lifetime. A land that was far too vibrant to be in the decaying Empire and indeed it wasn't."
This time the silence was total, judgmental and absolute. In civilized lands, such silence could be punctuated by whispering, signs of obvious plotting and gossip. Not here. Not among the scions of ruin. None trusted each other enough to do that. Still minds turned and schemes were rewritten among the most easily adaptable. Among those of less malleable minds….
Chaos champions commanded through deeds more than words, and so long as the lord of the host brought success, his idiosyncrasies were tolerated. However, Tamukhan's statement challenged even that general rule. How many lords and cult leaders and beastkin and worse things had been drawn to Tamurkhan's star like moths to a flame, binding their destinies to his so that they could reap in collective glory? Many, including Sayl himself, had left their previous past as a means to elevate themselves and had celebrated at the opportunity to invade Sigmar's cursed realm, for it was well known the extent the gods despised it.
And now, to have that opportunity snatched away, at the whims of a bad dream…
They wouldn't rebel of course. Tamurkhan was too powerful, his nurglite followers too numerous and the sense of destiny the man carried still potent. Moreover this wasn't even the first time such a whimsical dream had occurred. But this was another seed of doubt that could be cultivated, another stone of the path to treachery that Sayl could help formant, if he wished. Sayl could see it, his demonic vision showing gestating fruits that would one day be ripe for picking.
To his surprise, Sayl found himself calling out "Where too, oh lord? Who now is the wrath of your host directed against? The Dwarfs- the false ones ("He glanced at Drazhoath here)- of the mountains? The gilded cities of Ind? The legions of the Dragon Emperor who so recently shamed us? "
Leaving out that he had orchestrated said defeat from afar, Sayl deeply hoped the legion would be sent against the Celestials.
"No!" Tamurkhan stated dangerously, almost half-roared .Evidently he had not forgotten the incident at Ashtar, either. "None of those, serpent tongued! The gods, all of them, demand- DEMAND- The destruction of those who never set foot on this earth. "
The silence was broken by involuntary gasps and Sayl felt his eyes widen in shock. Was Tamurkhan truly mad enough to march on the gods themselves? For surely they were the only ones who could make such a description? The horde feared no mortal foe, but an immortal one was beyond their abilities.
"I speak not of the god-realm" spoke Tamurkhan, evidentially able to guess what his commanders were thinking "but of a new world entirely, full of new mortals to be slain and land to be corrupted in Nurgle's name."
Many looked at Tamurkhan like he was mad, but Sayl was not one of them. This was odd, to be sure, but stranger things had happened in the chaos wastes. He suspected that if this was an army of one of the Southern nations, there would be mutiny within the hour.
"Unbaraki!" roared a new voice, this one deeper, hardened by centuries of use. "A pact was formed between us, human. An oath you signed in blood. My warmachines would break open the walls of your city and, in return, I would be rewarded enough. My god demands you keep your oath, umgi. "
Tamurkhan turned slowly to the Dwarf. If any warlord of chaos had spoken to him in such a manner, he would have ensured their messy and painful demise. Against the Dwarfs, however, things were more complicated, as the Dawi Zharr were technically not his subjects, but allies. A fight with them would only serve to hurt Tamurkhan's cause, not help. It might even bring the wrath of the Zharr Empire proper, of which Drazhoath was just an outpost commander.
Tamurkhan thus spoke haltingly to the Chaos Dwarf, whose bodyguards had already begun to form a protective circle around him.
"The deal spoke of a city left unnamed and a city you shall take. " Tamurkhan paused here, in Sayl's eyes for dramatic affect " The visions our grandfather saw fit to bless me had more than just forests and trees. Monuments the size of mountains, large towns of races unknown and, in the midst of it all, a city beyond the size of any I have yet seen. A city untouched by millennia, hidden away by magics unknown to even my god. That is your prize, Ash Lord. To pluck a fruit a fruit that has ripened ten thousand years!"
Many, particularly among the Nurglite congregation, were awed by such a prize. Already, he could see their schemes roll out before his eyes like images. Drazhoath just folded his arms
"I have none but your word, plague-lord. You speak of madness, yet among your breed madness is currency. "
Tamurkhan laughed then- a large, hearty laugh that, to Sayl's daemonic senses, seemed to shake the entire world.
"Madness? Madness!? MMaaAAdness!?" Tamurkhan collapsed into a coughing fit here, though it was born of mirth rather than true choking. The plague lord rolled his head towards the floor, out of sight. . Sayl rolled his eyes- and then nearly jumped, as Tamurkhan 's head snapped up, all mirth gone and in its place a fierce scowl " I've worn more bodies than you have owned slaves, overseer! In a thousand mortal lifetimes I have taken a million lives with my own hand! By my blade I have brought death of countless empires and petty usurpers, would be emulators of my sire whose name is borne across a hundred million at this day! "Tamurkhan stood up taller, walking to the Chaos Dwarf, who projected a veil of apathy easily pierced by those who could see beyond mortal sight. The Chaos Dwarf's Ironsworn bodyguards drew closer, though Tamurkhan did not come in range of their axes " Madness is greatness, lord of ash, and when I, the mightiest of the four sons, promise glory beyond imagining, I deliver. " His last words were to the general crowd, who now cheered enthusiastically.
Drazhoath, however stood silent, his mind no doubt reeling from the same implications that Sayl struggled to process. Though his sight could see a person's fast, Tamurkhan's was oddly closed off to him. Could the warlord's father truly be-
" Madness, as I say, but perhaps you are right as well. Madness can be turned to greatness." The Dwarf then shrugged "or, if not, our caravan will travel far enough behind your force so as to not share your folly, should it be the case. "
Tamurkhan grunted angrily and turned to the rest but-
"I am not finished, Son of Nurgle. You honor the letter of the deal, yes, but not the spirit of it. In Hashut's name I pledged my host not only for tribute, slaves and eternal glory but to humble the mockeries of engineering marvels that Sigmar's folk are said to possess, those war machines some claim can match the craftsmanship of my people. –That- was the unsaid deal. Through your wild venture, that opportunity is lost. Recompense is required"
A pause here, as the Chaos crowd fell deathly silent. Sayl could taste their mounting anticipation for blood like he could taste rain that fell from the sky.
"I want my promised spoils tripled. "
Tamurkhan spun angrily, his Ogre form making the movement sound like a thunderclap.
"You will receive nothing more than what we bargained for, you greedy little imp! Speak to me in such a manner again and I will add your hollowed-out skull to my thrown. "
Drazhoath gritted his teeth and the Ironsworn leader of the bodyguards, drew his blunderbuss pistol. Internally, Sayl groaned- even he knew to be careful when leveling insults against a dwarf.
"Attack me and earn the ire of the entire Darklands, human. Even my greatest nemeses will march lock-step to destroy you, for no lesser race is allowed to best the Dark Father's chosen. Through fire and toil of our numberless multitude of slaves, you and yours will be brought low. Even if we have to bleed our thralls dry to do it. "
Tamurkhan, in anger, drew his sword and, a beat later, so did the other Nurglites around the tent, followed somewhat hesitantly by champions of the other gods.
Sayl, seer and diviner both, recognized this moment as a flashpoint.
The fate of the expedition hung on a precipice.
Sayl had no doubt that the Chaos Dwarf was telling the truth. He would die here, and his forces assembled in the camps beyond would follow him, but they would take quite a few with them. Moreover, every man and women in this expedition would be marked for the rest of their days. Though the Dawi Zharr hated each other with an inhuman intensity, they shared a common sense of superiority over the other races. A major loss would be seen as a blow to that pride, and the race as a whole. And Sayl had no doubt they would find out, for the Chaos Dwarfs had seers as well, and more than once during his rituals the Dolgan chieftain had felt unseen presences just out of sight that faded upon his turning, calculating and cruel minds projecting themselves across the realm of souls.
Likewise, if Tamurkhan gave in, he would be seen as weak by mortal and divine eyes both. The expedition would flounder among discontent and bold uprisings, eventually whittling down the force to a shadow of its former self. Though Sayl, in the deepest, most closeted parts of his mind sought the fall of Tamurkhan, even sought to slowly breed dissent, this was too soon. Let Tamurkhan find his glory so Sayl could claim it or, failing that, cut his losses and claim what glory he could.
And thus it was he, the expedition's most treacherous member, who walked forward to save it, seizing attention from both Dwarf and Nurgle warlord. He who was publically known as the faithless spoke and sought a solution…in good faith.
" I Sayl, propose a compromise, if you, Maggot-King and you, Ashen Lord would hear it.
He had both of their attention, and both of their ire. Neither appreciated his intrusion and Sayl knew, at that moment, his life was likely in greater jeopardy than either of those before him.
It was especially true of Tamurkhan, who had already acquired a profound hatred and mistrust of Sayl.
"Speak, serpent. I will hear your words and, if they are not to my liking, they will be your last. "
Sayl turned to him and spoke boldly, for strength would serve him at this moment.
"They will be not to your liking but you will hear them all the same, for the gods would turn all their hate upon you if this expedition collapses under its own weight as it seems poised to do. " Sayl took a breath here and spoke what might be his final words "Compensation is required, plague-lord. Drazhoath is not your subject such as I, he is your ally. Moreover, he is a necessary ally, for plague and pestilence cannot as easily rot walls as Dawi machines can knock them down. However"
Sayl turned to Drazhoath here
"Triple compensation when no services have been rendered is truly madness. So far, our lord's glorious legion has benefitted the Dawi Zharr. It was the might of this horde that broke the Black Orcs of the Scalded Delta and it was through the glorious Pox-Lord's will that the Nightmare Dragon- she who had plagued your realm for centuries- was driven away. Only glory and fortune has our immortal lord brought you and you stand on the precipice of gaining more than any of your rivals could ever dream."
Drazhoath, rather than convinced, sneered
"Your words prattle, lie and embroider, serpent tongue. Everything that has been accomplished through your effort could have been achieved by us through other, admittedly less expedient means. You saved profit, nothing more. A surplus lost by the whimsical change of objective. No, your pathetic attempt of compromise aside, I will have my recompense."
Sayl felt himself grind his teeth involuntarily. He had underestimated the greed of the Dwarfs; not even a scion of Slaanesh was as obsessed as them. Likewise, he could feel Tamurkhan's eyes on his form. The Plague Lord would make Sayl suffer for his impudence.
The Dolgan chief tried a different track. If greed was all that this little imp cared for than he would appeal solely to greed.
"What will you do if the plague-lord neither pays your recompense nor slays you here and now." Sayl asked experimentally.
Drahoath looked as the Dolgan like he was an exceptionally slow child, or a dumb slave that would soon be sacrificed to a hell machine "I will leave. Take my forces and return to the Black Fortress. "
Sayl pounced, laughing as he began
"Then you would be returning as a pauper, your name a by-word among your people for foolishness."Drazhoath growled, but Sayl gave him no opening "What the plaguelord offers you is the chance to despoil a new world. The slaves you take, the secrets you plunder will be wholly new among your kind, while any claims of military victory against the Empire would run into concurrent claims of triumph."
Sayl figured that was true as, rarely, in the annals of his people a Chaos Dwarf force would come through his lands to strike at distant Cathay. He presumed the other was true in the opposite direction.
Continuing "Here you set the example others, in their dark climb, will follow. Your rivals will curse the glory you earn and your prestige in the eyes of your god will rise even as our lord will rise among his. Or" Sayl paused here" abandon this crusade out a dispute over an utterly trivial matter. Destroy your own rise to glory. Earn the ire of your Dark Father for denying him dominion over another world. Let your name share the same amount of contempt in your language as Unbaraki and Wazzock. "
Drazhoath snarled and for a moment, it appeared that the Dwarf would charge Sayl. The sorcerer's staff flickered ominously in return. Then, slowly, steadying himself and with great reluctance, Drazhoath seemed to grind his teeth in reluctant assent. This discussion wasn't over, but he seemed to acknowledge, however reluctantly, Saly's point. Hatefully, the Dwarf turned to Tamurkhan.
"What is the name of this …new land we march on, Plague Lord?"
Tamurkhan, his eyes narrowed and fixated on Sayl in obvious distrust, stood still for a long while. Then, in a deep utterance, he spoke a single word, a name that would define all of their fates from that point forward.
"Azeroth"
AN Hopefully this chapter provides some key clues on where the next arc will go.
Now, onto the comments!
Thehappyvampire Thank you very much and I am in agreement with you. The martial, survivalist culture is difficult for the Alliance to understand, much less deal with, while the attitudes of the Alliance are incorrectly perceived as 'soft' and 'weak' by certain members of the Orcs. It is one of the many reasons why peace between the Alliance and Horde are so fleeting.
Fenrir44 That is a fun scenario to imagine and I look forward to addressing Asrai reactions in the far future. I think, if you zone-switched them (meaning you placed Athel Loren when Night Elves would be) the forest of Athel Loren would respond with far greater ferocity and even potency than the Night Elves, but suffer in options as they would lack the rest of the Alliance to back them up (Asrai are kind of bad at long term alliances). I would expect the Forsaken to eventually deploy their cheap option in frustration and that would be decisive (from the Wood Elf novel series, we can see that a plague is really effective against their lands).
DIOS de la Nada It is to my eternal gratitude that they patched that embarrassing thing with Nathanios. Now, Nathanios has to be powered up by two Prime Valk'yr to not die instantly against Tyrande and doesn't even manage to inflict wounds himself on her. He runs away at the last second mortally wounded, which IMO is a better showing of Tyrande's strength. I still don't like what they did with Summermoon and Sira though.
Carre Regarding Ressurection it is helpful to think of two types of death : Cardiac (Heart) and Brain Death.
The first is cardiac death or clinical death or the sudden, unexpected cessation of the heart. In this state blood stops pumping and limbs begin to suffer drastic damage from the lack of circulation. However, the most important organ, the brain, begins to die after 4-6 minutes and after that time full recovery is generally impossible (though exceptions occur, such as frozen environments slowing down the rate of decomposition). Doubtless, the various races of Warcraft could have different rules with their heart, and some might be recoverable for longer (or shorter) timeframes than a human. Thus, overall I believe the six minute rule of resurrection to be roughly accurate in-game, though lore-wise exceptions would exist depending on the severity of the fallen's wounds. I don't think it is lore-breaking to imagine that the Holy Light, Druidism or some other form of magic can do what normal doctors today, or even someone performing CPR can, and restore someone whose heart has stopped back to life. I honestly think Anduin, in the trailer, reviving Alliance soldiers who had been recently slain is perfectly plausible.
The second is brain death and reviving a figure from that is trickier. Outside of death magic(which alters a person in mind and body and is a rather flawed form of resurrection), the occasions where a long-dead person have been resurrected are extraordinarily rare and generally require a ritual. For example, in Natalie Seline's case her servants had to preserve her body perfectly for years and then send a champion out to the shadowlands to manually find her soul and bring it back. You also have rare spirit healers and the Illidari PC, who can canonically resurrect thanks to his or her soul being tied to the Nether like a demon.
Morr would probably object to the second type of resurrection but I would think he would be okay (perhaps reluctantly so) with Clinic death resurrection, which is basically what CPR or Defibilitaors do today. That said, in Warhammer necromancers resurrect the dead all the time and he can hardly stop them, so even if he wasn't okay with light based practioners resurrecting people there is little he can do about it. Perhaps less so, since Warcraft magic users don't go to the Realm of Souls when they die but the Shadowlands.
About Malice, in olden lore he was but It is established that olden lore is not canonical. I would say, if he is included at all in the story, that Malice has the *potential* to be the most dangerous but hasn't achieved it yet.
Madfrog2000 Heh you mean like on a radio? Hmm, it could be done as goblins do have that….
TheJackinati275 Thank you for this sir, I really enjoy these analysis! It makes my day! Bear in mind that this is a new topic to me, so I am trying to learn here and ask for your patience
From my research, the heaviest known draw weight was around 200 lbs (by Mark Stetton) while historically the two most successful bows, the English Longbow and the Mongolian Composite Bow, had draw weights of around 90-110 and 160 respectively. I had it in my head that Orcs could regularly equal or succeed the Mongolian draw, while the largest bows would be heavier than Mr. Stetton's. You are right that, in the case of the latter, the Draw Weight would be disandvanteous for bows that don't have some magically enchanted or unique material and that the Mongolians had unique compositions for their bows that gave them such power. However, magically enchanted or unique materials are not too uncommon in WOW and some of the clans are shown to have sophisticated craftsmanship, even before the Iron Horde (the Blackrock for one).
Historically, longbows could penetrate steel armor though only with special arrowheads that I would imagine are within Blackrock's capacity to make…and probably the main horde, as secrets spread as clans diffused after the Second War. That said, I did not consider that the Footman might have armor well superior to any real world equivalent. Magically enchanted arrows would probably still do the trick, and I am under the impression that arcane magic has disintegrative properties (from Tides of War, where it disintegrated everything in Theramore) however I am now more uncertain that Derge could pull off his boas with regular arrows. That said, according to Voljin: Shadows of the Horde, monks can carve through a steel carapace with their fists, so it is not out of the question.
This is an aside to the main point but I want to detail it here, as I am forming some thoughts on how Stormwind armor vs. Orcs plays out.
I think it's a fair argument to say that, historically, the Orcish Horde recognized the lack of effectiveness of archers against steel. That is why they seemed to focus more on their own brute strength, rather than hunting prowess. Now, in the real world (at least based on my research) bludgeoning weapons had a limited effectiveness against plate armor, but were generally considered a better option to bring than a sword . The thickest points were still invulnerable but on the weaker points could crush, deal internal injuries etc.
Now with an Orc, there are a couple of things to mention here.
One is the Doomhammer was estimated to weigh 250-300 pounds by blacksmith Tony Swatton, though I have heard estimates stating that it might weigh quite a bit less with different materials. Either situation is extremely impressive as the Doomhammer was a one handed Orc weapon, meaning the orcs themselves had the strength to wield this. This is shown in both the movies and in game somewhat, where orcish weapons tend to be cruder, heavier but larger by far ("a Third or even Half a man's size", if we go by AU History of the First War from the novels" ) . Add to this that Garrosh boasts to Anduin in War Crimes that he can "yank his arm off" with ease and in the movie Blackhand, a stronger than average orc, nevertheless lifts up a packhorse without too much difficulty (1200 lbs) and hurls it many yards.
So between their abnormally heavy weapons and abnormal strength this could explain how the Orcs dealt with Stormwind steel- they simply crushed the man inside. Armor might still help the man inside against some blows, but not enough to negate the orcs offensive abilities completely. It might also explain why Horde Axethrowers were considered effective, if we assume Trolls are somewhat superhuman (though not as much as the orcs) with abnormal weapons and strength to hurl such weapons at powerful speeds.
I am aware of the criticism of Lars Andersen and took that into account. I agree with the general assessment that trick shots were not too useful in Warfare overall. However, Warcraft is a fantasy verse where trick shots seem to be incorporated into both game and lore. An example being that, in Good War, the goblin who accompanied Sindorei rogue Lorash was shown to unleash a barrage of bullets with stupendous speed, enough for Lorash to remark upon it. It is a case of the Marksman Hunter ability "Rapid Fire" being translated into lore.
I will note in Warcraft that the cost of arrows and the like are either much less than in the real world for various reasons (commonality of materials, excessive stockpiling, literally growing arrows in the case of druids etc) or the governments of Azeroth simply do not care and are willing to pay the extra mile for war. One, or both, of these reasons would explain why both the Alliance and Horde can afford not only a stupendous amount of ammunition but to cloth their entire army in steel (Stormwind), deploy tanks and aircraft everywhere, sustain a intercontinental system of bases and other costs that would bankrupt most ancient or modern empires.
Though I would like to play around with that I can't change it, much, as the vast Alliance/Horde military seems to be integral to the setting.
