~ The War, part 1: Preparations ~

[HedgeHug 2049]

 

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Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

Outside it was still dark. The hour: early. At a steady pace the Realm of Axios awoke from its deep slumber. The snoring ,originating from the rows and rows of military tents, soon overruled by the song of the morrow’s bird. A candle light illuminates one tent, then another. Slowly but surely the camp woke up. The men of Oren armor up and form their ranks. We follow as the general of such army, is equipped in his armor. Two servants aid in the process of tightening the straps that hold up the heavy ferrum breastplate. His arms and legs adorned in a thick coat of metal, protecting underneath the fragile human body.

 

He steps out and looks over the few ranks that formed, and the mass that follows. His gaze switches to his left, where the artillery for the upcoming siege stand ready to release hell upon their foes. To his right he sees the flags of black and red, the Uzg’s capital of San’ Kharak.

 

All silent, the silence before the storm.

 

 

With narrowed eyes the orcish scout sees the camp come to life, peering from the highest tower in San’Kharak: the rex’s palace. Below him, in the throneroom of old, the Rex sits idly in his chair. Gazing at the doorway in contemplation. In his hands: a lage orcish axe, which he sharpens. In the blargs surrounding the palace, the sound of his preparation does not go unnoticed. Spirits are praised… offers are made. An offer of earth, an offer of blood. Oaths are sworn, as brothers group up in a mass. The rex rises from his throne and stands before his brotherin. The mood somber, his visage saddened. He averts his gaze to the ground momentarily, before looking back at his orcs. Determination fills him… here in his last stand… these will be the faces he will fight and die for. His brothers and sisters. Yet he stands there, not uttering a single word.

 

All silent, the silence before the storm.

 

 

A grey banner waves in the wind, on it a black anvil. As the sun starts to rise the encampment of Mokh Ilzgul too, wakes up from its nightly peace. The shamans commit to their morning tasks of praising the spirits, and bring offerings to various shrines. They speak on daily matter… most coming forth being the upcoming war. A gathering forms in front of the high shamans tent. Inside he sits there, beset by his students. The two, of Malins descent, help him equip his robes, chains, bracelets and other shamanic attributes. The ‘Ker then hands him his staff, and with this, he steps outside.

The gathering formed, silences in an instant, and looks at him expecting… something. Nothing further then, he uttered… he walks forth, making his way through the mass and travels down the caverns to the library. Here he sits. Guarded by his two students.

 

“Trilug… remembur wub mi blah’d tu lat… protekt hiem, ad all kozt.” The ‘Ame nods.

 

Shagarath then mutters to himself “I better not see you there, brother…”

 

He sits and chants, his mind absent from his body. His eyes shut in one realm… and open in another…

 

All silent, the silence before the storm.

[PraiseTheLord 868]

Spoiler

 

"Tudey wih Prayze dah zpirihdz ihn bluuhd."

-Turkurz'Raguk

 

The Red Orcs of Raguk sharpen their swords and axes, they crush skulls with their Warhammers, they test their

Aim and fortune with the glorious spirits with their bows.

They prepare for War.

They Prepare to give their last breath for the Rex.

They Prepare to prove themselves.

Nagijak Urukhim! Wi Flaht doze Kurvz!

 

[Guest]

Zok'Braduk flees from orcish lands while having his workers push carts filled with earthen treasures; jewels and cactus green and spirits know what else. It would appear the impending war would be bad for business, so the cartel moved elsewhere.