The Will of an Ologarch

[Narthok 9213]

 

[Death of the Great Ologarch]

 

The Will of an Ologarch

Spoiler

 

 

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Drums, fire. The harsh bite of the desert sun. The familiar scent of sand. Most of all, the sweet warsong on the wind. The young warrior awoke from his dreams to the lowing of a great horn. Eyes still heavy with sleep he rolled from his furs, stumbling from his tent he staggered towards the dwelling place of the great Rex.

 

The dwelling reeked of illness. Its sharp tang filling the nose of the young warrior. He recoiled, yet his loyalty to the great Warlord bore him onwards. The vast bulk of the olog made his immense chambers seem crowded. Lathered in sweat the massive beast drew shallow labored breaths. At his side a coterie of scheming goblins whispered into his ears, listening carefully as the ailing Rex replied. His once booming voice a shadow of its former glory, stolen away by the horrible wasting sickness that had torn through the vitality of the monstrous warrior.

 

The young warrior grunted, making his presence known, Grunting in return the immense Olog gestured him closer. As he approached, one of the Rex’s many goblin attendants began to speak. Wearing a strange headdress setting him apart from his companions

 

“I speak with the voice of the Rex” the mewling creature muttered, his eyes darting about, you are to understand this as his will “We children of Krug have always believed in strength, of the mind, of the body, of the will. That is the path of the Orc, the path of all children of Krug. I have tried to follow the path of strength in my leading of the Orcs. 

 

The recitation would be interrupted by the grunting of the Rex, waving his arm he almost crushed one of his servants as he gestured towards a massive barrel of purple liquid. The goblin would pause for a moment, turning back at the prone figure of the Olog and muttering something unintelligible to its kin. The attendant goblins would bring a flask full of the strange draught to the lips of the immense Olog before barking back at the Goblin in the funny hat. Upon receiving a sharp reply he would turn back to the warrior, resuming his monologue.

 

“I had begun to purge the weak and the unclean from our ranks. Those pathetic dogs who whined for peace, showing their bellies to those from soft lands while peddling trinkets like cretins.” There was some humour in such a foreboding message being delivered by such a diminutive greenskin, nonetheless the goblin continued.

 

“What is Orcish honour? This is a question I have often asked myself. The humans speak of ‘honour’, but the honour of humans is the honour of the wolf who refuses to hunt the deer. They demand that you deny what you are. That you become less than yourself. 

 

No, the honour of an Orc is the path of Krug. The path of hardship, the path of best. For an orc to have honour he must be an ORC. It is not enough to have tusks, it is not enough to be a child of Krug. You must breathe ORC; you must be ORC. When any creature who sees you looks upon you and knows fear, when they know ORC by your mere presence, then MAYBE you may call yourself an Orc who has ‘honour’.

 

This was my great dream for the children of Krug. That we would stop being shadows of who we SHOULD BE. My strength has been stolen from me. I was strong once, but I cannot preach the way of Krug!” With that exclamation the great Ologarch would laboriously lift his massive head, his great black eyes piercing the soul of the young warrior who stood at the entrance to his dwelling. Grunting he would rest his head once more on the pile of furs beneath his head

 

Swallowing nervously the Goblin would resume “You must finish what I have begun. You must pull our people out of this pathetic stupor. They have lived like rats for far too long. Hyenas bickering over corpses and carrion. That is not what it means to be ORC. We were STRONG once” The goblin would shout, a glimmer of pride infecting his voice, his exclamation punctuated by the massive Ologarch slamming his immense fist into the rough floor of the dwelling

 

“Young warrior, you must take up the mantle of Rex. You must finish what I have started. By our blood father Krug, and by all the Spirits and the Ancestors, I COMMAND you. You must take the people. You must make them ORC again.”

 

With that the goblin fell silent, the gravitas of the occasion not lost on any of those present.

 

With a hacking cough the great Olog began to speak, “Da fool grukz hiz wize, da wize grukz hiz fool.” With that he waved his great hand, overcome once more with a fit of coughing “Latz be Rex now, gu bruddah, latz iz habib muh tu du.”

 

[MisterBlitzkrieg 1357]

Confusion filled the eyes of Hannes Steelguard as he watched the scene unfold before him in the goi, unsure of how this would affect the standing of his people within the horde or if the agreements made with Grubnakh would be upheld with this new rex.

[creamynoteblock 2489]

lol wtf

[ThatDutchFellow 1054]

Drekür of the Ungri, First of his name, Rex of Ologs and Protector of the Race, Eldest Spawn of the Great Maw, Slayer of Aenguls and Bane of Inferi, Can do nothing but blink at this utter tomfoolery. Having hoped an Olog upon the throne of Krugmar would've lasted longer. "Dah zkah...?"

[Crevel 4727]

Spoiler

 

[Azukazi Khuzai 138]

"the ologarchy will rise once more. The olog rex is the natural state. He is the one who defends the regime, he is the one closest to Krug and his ways, that is the nature of the olog. Truly honourable. 

 

If any young warrior wishes to possibly replace him in that way, he must defend the regime, and be truest to the ways. May the ologism bless his blood so he is nine feet tall." 

 

A hoplite of sulianpoli nods. Awaiting the words of his lads to carve grubnakh into the stele of victory.