ryno2

Sitting in his now spoiled fortress, Daeron Culnamo; co-successor to the Marshallship of the Horde of Dunamis alongside is close friend Danis Revlis following the disappearance and presumed death of the previous Marshall, Serjo Richard Revlis; begins the long process of recording his thoughts, emotions, and plans regarding the Orenian siege of Dunamis, for the sake of posterity for future generations, fancying himself something of a historian, if only for this instance. Surmising it would be best to relay his story holistically, from before the battle to what followed immediately thereafter, he begins his synopsis: "Following our defeat at the Battle of Marnadal, I was exhausted, and wanted little more than to begin construction of our new home miles away and leave the place behind. But as I began packing my belongings for the journey, a group of new recruits - among them engineers, stone cutters, builders and architects - began laying plans for defenses, and set themselves to work with a fervor that I had not expected. Among them Molgrid Kegbrow seemed most enthusiastic about doing the dredge work of digging the massive trench and laying down wooden stakes, which I appreciated greatly, though I would be lying if I said I was not annoyed by his constant pestering about what seemed, at the time, trivial matters regarding construction. Nevertheless his will inspired some of the older, jaded veterans to get to work themselves, and in but a few weeks the outer defenses of the fort were nearly completed, intervention of the Sky Gods on Oren's behalf notwithstanding. "Before the outer defenses had been completed, the inside of the keep was already being refurbished from a respectable home into what I can only describe as a nightmare. A disease, a sickness, given shape and form. Stone and gravel were piled against the walls such that the once wide hallways became so narrow that many of our Orcish friends were unable to enter, same as with our more...well-rounded Dwarven benefactors. Goblin tinkerers and Dwarven siege-masters collaborated to make the most diabolical traps I had ever laid eyes on, all within narrow straits so dark a normal man could not tell his left from his right, nor up from down. Besides this we brought giant spiders into the fort and left them to make a nest in the old sitting room; within a month, the halls were littered with great, sticky cobwebs every few feet, only adding to the setting's terrible ambiance. To be truthful it became so bad that our own men could not longer traverse her passages, so a swamp Orc by the name of Gut'Lak built a handy shortcut to the siege platforms from the inner courtyard. After finishing he set to work on assisting Grahl'Zhul, another Orc, in creating ankle-biters inside the keep's open spaces, to halt any Orenians attempting the inner gauntlet. "After our new land was secured and construction began there, I moved the last of the Horde's supplies out of the old fort, excepting a few trunks of arrows and sets of iron-studded leather, in case troops came badly-equipped. This was to ensure that if Oren had won, they would have had the clothes on our backs but none of the treasures we had accumulated over about three decades of living there. The trunks holding these were placed inside the spacious central hub in the middle of the fort that linked to all the siege platforms, for the sake of easy moving between them. "With the last parts of the gauntlet complete, and a massive field of cold mud between the fort and Oren, and a wide, deep trench between the mud and our fort, all that was left to do on the superficial level was construct trebuchet atop the towers, which were too small to allow wheels on the treb's, meaning they were stuck facing one direction. Reign Revlis, son of the late Serjo Richard Revlis and his loyal wife Celia Revlis, was tasked with this. While doing so my co-Marshall, Danis Revlis, and I began lining the empty space between the inner and outer wall with obsidian, after hearing reports that Oren had amassed a number of explosive devices filled with gunpowder. I received a great amount of obsidian in bulk to hinder their explosives with, as obsidian is known to have potent explosion-resistant properties. We lined the walls with a combination of it and cobblestone stakes to prevent laddering in the event that the keep's outer layer of stone was breached. "With all defenses finished, a problem arose: troops on the siege platforms had no easy way of getting onto the open field if such was needed. So I set an Orc by the name of Nurzum'Ugluk to dig a flanking tunnel from the central hub deep below the surface southward, that troops might emerge from Blackwater Bay in a surprise assault. In hindsight, Blackwater Bay was an obvious place to flank from, but having the tunnel end in one of the abandoned houses there was less conspicuous than a hole in the ground anywhere else, so there it stayed. This was the last of our defenses laid, and all that remained was to wait for Oren to arrive and begin their assault. "The following days and weeks went by quickly as I organized troop placement throughout the keep with the other leaders - the late Ubba'Ugluk and his nephew Drokon'Ugluk in charge of the Orcs; Rhewen Frostbeard and Jorik Grandaxe in charge of the Dwarves and their allies, including the Crimson Edict; and my own co-Marshall Danis and I in charge of Dunamis. We met at the great coffee table in the central hub and discussed the plan - keep archers and treb teams on the siege platforms to harry incoming troops, and leave the infantry in the central hub for quick deployment onto the field. Primarily Orcs and a few Dunamians would use the flanking tunnel and go northeast from Blackwater toward the Orenians' left flank to distract them, while Dwarves went through the main gate and swung around the keep's north side to hit their right flank, in a 'pincer' type maneuver. After agreeing on details the Dwarves and Orcs left to rally the rest of their troops to the fort. "One morning I awoke and looked out over the outer defenses from the highest tower, when something caught my eye: below me, to the south, between our keep and Blackwater Bay lay the Orenian siege camp, with no fewer than twenty trebuchet and men to operate them! And further south I saw a beast of a weapon - a magic cannon molded of white quartz and purple crystals; it would have been a marvel to look upon were I not aware of its dire implication. I immediately roused the men in the keep to their stations and set Reign to frantically re-position our treb's: they weren't coming from half a mile east anymore, they were coming from a stone's throw south of us. "My heart sank when I saw their camp so close, but over a few hours of looking I made some realizations: they had no siege tower or siege bridge, so they had no way of getting past the trench besides the main gate. And besides that the unwittingly built their camp right above our flanking tunnel, and so close to our tunnel's exit that the men inside their camp would have no time to react to an Orcish flank! I discreetly reminded many of my lower commanders of this, and they used the information to allay the boys' fears. With this, I gathered my equipment from my old bedroom, now emptied out and hollow. "First was my armor. My primary garb was iron-studded leather, dyed black with gold-colored embroidering that made a consistent pattern throughout the ensemble, excepting the boots, which were instead coated in ancient dragon scales - a gift to me from the old Marshall. They fit very well to my feet, and made me feel all the swifter and more nimble. My primary weapon, as per usual, was my bow, crafted of thornbark with string treated in rope oil, enchanted to make my missiles swifter, the string more sturdy, and my quiver more bountiful. For melee I had a specially-made heavy spade with a carbarum head, given to me by loyal Dunamian Ioannis, and I personally enchanted it to make it sharper, tougher, and heavy enough to knock even a Dwarf off his feet. The steed I took was the swiftest in the stables, hardy, and not too shabby a leaper to boot. He was covered in carbarum lamellar, and I decided as well to bring a couple of iron-tipped lances, a matter of consequence while riding a horse. Although I was fairly sure I would not need them nor the horse, I figured having too much was better than too little. "Soon after I and the rest of the troops were geared, the familiar sound of trebuchet firing filled the air, and there was naught to do but fire at infantry. Or at least, it would have been that way if not for the redstone-powered machinery being dismantled and sabatoged by Orenian plants. So, more of my time was spent fixing circuitry and moving men through broken doorways than firing at enemy forces, though there were fewer technical problems toward the end, giving me time to fire on advancing infantry. "Eventually the infantry became restless, having been moved down to the courtyard, though on the main bridge they were surrounded on all sides across the trench by Orenian archers, meaning their talents were wasted. Eventually I gave the order: while Orenians were distracted at the front gate, Orcs and Dunamis would move through the flank tunnel and take Oren's siege camp; Dwarves would wait until Oren had their backs turned and were fully focused on Orcs before rushing out the main gate, leaving them surrounded. Ubba quickly called the Orcs up the shortcut to the hub where the tunnel began and the plan followed through, though some Orcs clogged the tunnel due to their size, meaning we came as a trickle rather than all at once like I had hoped. Nevertheless the plan worked - while Oreners were busy fighting Orcs near the destroyed magic cannon, Dwarves came in from behind and caught the humans unawares, killing most of them on the spot. After this, I, now atop my horse, roamed the plains, looking for stragglers. "The Dwarves, if nothing else, are quite thorough in battle. I encountered hardly any stragglers near the fort, and the few I did were on foot, making them easy prey. Excepting one. "In front of the main gate I saw a man atop a donkey assaulting a Kharajyr and Wood Elf. As I drew closer I recognized the two as soldiers who helped the defense, and when close enough I recognized their attacker: The Archduke of Lorraine, Augustus d'Amaury. "In that moment I did not think of the glory at hand - the fairy tale-like meeting of two commanders on the battlefield, engaging in one-on-one combat, each surrounded by their men, with victory afforded to the winner of the duel - no. In that moment I only thought to take him down before he killed soldiers under my care. So I couched my lance, rushed his donkey with my stallion, and knocked him unawares off his mount, leaving the pair he harassed to deal the killing blow. The only other stragglers of note were a pair of boys further north: I shot one from my atop horse and he went cold right there. The other saw this and hid behind a tree, using it as a barrier, trying to draw me within range of his longsword. I could hear Dwarves blowing horns for victory and I left the man unharmed to return home. Enough blood had been spillt already, and this man was no threat to me, so there was no point killing him. "We began salvaging what was left of our keep and the Orenian siege camp, and Lilyana helped me gather the obsidian used in the defense, which I gave back to their donator as per our agreement. As for what to do with the rest of the fort, that remains to be seen. I hope that this account of the conflict will be widely recorded in the annals of history, if for nothing else than to remind our descendants of the horrors of war, and the futility of peace via warfare." Copies of the transcript would be sent to various historians and librarians throughout the realm, as well as the nation leaders who assisted in Dunamis' defense, including the new Rex Snoop'Azog and his friend Lilyana in Sutica.

>implying weebs have a life

Daeron watches the procession from atop his steed, still clad in the gold-embroidered black leather garb that lent his hands dexterity and his eyes clarity during the hour of chaos. He muses on how the Orcs for all their bravado, would have died if not for the Dwarven tide that caught Orenians in a vice grip, surrounded by enemies, as Daeron himself had ordered. He says nothing of this, however, and remains respectfully silent as the funeral march proceeds, humming prayers for the fallen Orcs and the kin they left behind.

Daeron busies himself making a coffee table for his Orcish friends to sit at while they watch Orenians attempt the Dunamian gauntlet

Daeron thinks aloud, probably in close enough proximity to any randy who decides to posit their opinion that they might give a rebuttal "Dunamis does nothing for free. You want us to move, fine. You want us to move for free? No deal. We've lived in our fort on our land for about three decades now, and we quite like the setting. Besides that we've helped defend the land from foreign bandits since we moved in, and we're the best-coordinated and best-equipped force on the southern continent, but you want us to leave anyway as a way to appease your Savoyard masters in Oren. You want us to leave for free, the same way Dwarves wanted Oren to leave them be for free. We all know what happened after. To be honest I don't give a flying **** whether we get help from Dwarves - they paid us to help them, not the other way around. But at least they're polite enough to dance with the ones who brought them. I'll say this: If you pay us to leave, we'll leave, and **** will be neutral between us - even stevens. If you don't and by some act of god you end up taking our fort, we'll remember, and your children and grandchildren will bear the lashes of your actions. Sleep on it."

Shure fam

all i remember is that you were this annoying kid who wanted to be a silverblade in anthos l8r m8r

Daeron enters his well-furnished bedroom, approaching the back wall he carefully pulls a suit of light armor out of a chest, along with a large black longbow. Approaching his fireplace he starts to hum a song he remembers from long ago: When the day comes that Oren stands at Dunamis gates, they will know fear. They will know the black armor.

"They need a whole empire to get one fort. What a riot" Daeron stands atop the fortress' siege platforms, looking eastward. He raises one middle finger in the direction of the old Hallowvale keep. "See you on the killing fields kiddo"

"If you wanted peace, this was not a good way to do it. In the short term they may leave you be, but once their offensives on the south start to fail, you will invariably be pressed into sending military aid, and your people will know war once more."

well meme'd

Daeron would begin loading as many Orenian cadavers as he could onto a small dinghy, pushing the vessel eastward, hoping it to be intercepted by Orenian settlers on Avar, that their dead might be buried properly.

I was the guy who made a tnt cannon on the orc boat to shoot at the dwarf boat when we went from aegis to asulon, fun fact

Quite a cute scandal they pulled, use it responsibly

Daeron would speak to the Dwarven host gathered for training. "Keep training, boys. If Oren wants to get a foothold on the mainland we're gonna make damn sure they have their work cut out for them."

Daeron looks over the letter together with the Horde Marshall. He opines, "Looks like a good time, I'll be there for sure"

Daeron remembers being told of how Oreners had only a handful of soldiers left to take the Grandaxe fort, and wonders how well they'd fare against a fortress bolstered ever more by Vandorian soldiers. "See you on the killing fields kiddo"

Still. Quiet. Tranquil. Peaceful. Thoughts meandered through the ancient Orc's head as he pondered the meaning of these words, having spent half an age surrounding himself with their essence. How many decades had he distanced himself from the Uzg and their going-ons? How long since he donned the red loincloth and dedicated himself to Setherian? Since being a Juggernaut of the Harbingers? His thoughts drifted further, into the mythic days of late Aegis, the Verge, and Asulon. Days in his youth when he did much the same as he did presently, though in place of empty hands a fishing pole lay, the rippling water reflecting his visage moving him into ever-deeper meditation. In this dream the bobber submerged, slowly pulling the fisherman further off his perch, closer to the silent lake's surface. He looked into his own eyes, a brief moment passed; then a shaved head surfaced, pulled up by the rod's hook. Its head twisted around, and bright yellow eyes set in a black skull pierced the Orc's gaze with a flash- He heard something. Lazily waking from his rest, he made for his cavern home's entrance, peering out but seeing nothing but dull desert. A beast's cries reached his ear, filling him for a brief moment with curiosity before the desert became but a dull hum, and then, silent once more. Looking back down on his hovel, he decided the time for rest and meditation had passed. After a century of exile, he would return. He would take the yellow cloth. He would become the bull.

Need someone who can warm up the horses for me no minas, paid in experience

the face is perfect

Daeron resolves himself to carry around a rope and a stool when travelling through Dwarven lands, ready to face any Ironborn who cross his path