The Ogres of Vul'Gul Ogre mound were as proud, vicous, and cruel as any other members of their race.
They had raided, pillaged and enslaved the denizens of Duskwood for longer even then the curse had plagued their lands.
The ogre mound was like any other of its kind, a "small" camp of ogres guarding a massive network of caves dedicated to housing the rest of the tribe, and whatever wealth they had accrued from their time as raiders.
At this time of night the only Ogres present were two guards.
This particular tribe was known as the Splinter-fist, who had long since warred with and exterminated the original tribe of ogres that had lived within.
They were well armed and well equipped monsters standing between ten and twenty-five feet tall, weilding slabs of metal "forged" from the remnants of their victims equipment.
The Ogre race arrived on Azeroth around the same time the orcs did, hailing from the very same land.
From the night sky I could tell they had flourished in the years since the alliance had abandoned Duskwood.
I had been watching them for a few hours now.
The fact that the ogres weapons were all composed of metal, and that a number of Half Ogres worked alongside them as a low class warriors and slaves made that clear enough.
As far as Ebonlocke had made me aware the increased numbers of the Splinter-fist tribe meant they had stopped taking slaves some time ago.
They had been eating the humans or occasional dwarves who ended up in their territory over forcing them to work.
With the curse's inception the Ogres had become something of an after thought to the denizens of Duskwood.
Disappearences and killings were almost always attributed to the worgen or the undead, which, in a way was actually quite helpful.
It meant that the racial hatred most humans had for the ogres was more distant, a matter of verbal exchange and storytelling over actual experience.
It presented an opportunity for me. Like Orcs Ogres, were a natural warrior race, except they had a far lower concept of loyalty than the orcs did.
The Ogres followed the strong, and the strong often followed the easiest path to wealth, sex, and glory.
I had more than enough wealth to convince their leader to join me, if he was intellegent enough to listen before he tried to kill me, but I had no intention of spending a single coin on these creatures.
The Ogres were after all a martial culture, based largely after following those stronger and larger than themselves.
My favorite kind of culture to be honest.
The simplicity of it was so easy to take advantage of.
I landed with a crash just outside of the massive entrance to the cave the majority of the Ogres resided within. A few hundred if I had to assume.
With a lazy swipe of my claws one of the ogres standing guard fell, writhing, to the ground as blood poured through several large gashes across his body.
"Bring me to your boss."
I said it casually as I watched my victim bleed out.
The Ogre guard, now considerably paler, twitched at my command, before running down into the cave, screaming "Boss! Boss!" as he disappeared into the tunnels.
I huffed at the sight.
I paused as I was about to make my way inside, before looking to the still form of the ogre I had attacked.
He was an average specimen, around twelve feet of fat and muscle. I worthy test subject.
He was still alive, I could hear his heart beating.
My claws glowed green as I gestured at him, and his wounds sealed shut with a hiss.
I took a step back as he awoke with a grunt, pulling himself from the ground. He shook his head.
"Wha happen?" He asked grogily.
"I let you live."
He let out a gasp, falling to his knees as he took notice of me fully. "Dragon!"
And that was the downside to Ogres. It was possible for Ogres to reach a human level of intelligence, but that was a trait usually reserved for their leaders or spell casters
At least he knew his place. "Yes, I am a dragon. The god of these lands. I am Malius."
He bowed further at my words. "God spare Jarg?"
I sighed, "Yes, you will serve me as your god, and in return you will be the boss of this tribe."
He nodded to me a few to many times "Jarg serve Malius, Jarg be boss!"
I felt his soul reach out to my own, his belief in his new god already steadfast.
"Hold still for a moment."
The blood still covering his form stretched around his body, forming symbols reminiscent of tribal tattoos.
His skin paled, and the crimson of his tatoos faded into obsidian. His dumb grin turned considerably crueler as my magic poured into him.
I had created with my own work a considerably less effective but less costly set of bloodrunes, not dissimilar to the ones I had carved into my own flesh
They charged at the vitality of blood spilled in their vicinity in return for a considerable increase in strength.
Antheol has theorized they would also bring about a more feral edge to the bearer of the runes.
"Take me to your old boss."
He nodded as I reverted to my elven form, leading me further into the cave system.
