Narthok

Grommash grunts having received notice from the strangely clad messenger of the Hokhmen. He was confused, these humans from the midlands claimed to the have the traditions of Orcs, and in many ways they did, except for their peculiar addiction to magic. It mattered not, the challenge had been issues. Snapping his finger he would summon one of his Goblin attendants, the little creature's ears drooping under the weight of its ostentatious hat. Producing a pen and paper it would begin to record the dictations of the Hordespeaker. "To the Hokhmen and the Hokhrex, It is always humourous to see the predictions of my Shamans vindicated. Each time I allow our captives to live in hopes of peace they remind me of the futility of my hope. I must here credit Zabub'lur, for he has been proven correct @Astrophysical. As for your challenge. You will send messengers to Orcgrimmar to discuss terms and times. These be the words of Grommash" Waving a hand he would dismiss the Goblin, sending him off to the land of the Magi to deliver his response. It was time to see if these Magi who had lived so long in the soft bosom of the Midlands had the desert in their blood as they so claimed. [Orcs would appreciate clarification if the Hokhmat wish for pvp or crp skirmish. We assume you are asking for a large scale CRP battle. We will need to discuss place and times so that both of our groups can coordinate.]

Grommash would receive news of the missive from one of his many outriders. He'd grunt. "The Hysmen have tresspassed on the desert, I have made it clear from the start of the war that they will see peace if they merely cross the river. The desert has always belonged to the Orcs. With every raid, every capture of an enemy I have put out a call for peace to the invaders. Our terms are simple, they must leave our lands. Instead they make insane claims, threatening us with extermination as the Balarex did in their recent proclamation." Turning an eye to the bustling activity of Orcgrimmar he'd sigh to himself. Many more of his warriors would die before the end. "The Hokhrex speaks wisdom. My people do not wish to conquer the Midlands. Nor to our knowledge to the Velemen. It is curious to see the enemy denounce calls for peace, denouncing their own allies. They speak of 'unity' and 'honour' when they abandon their women, abandon their allies. Where were the allies of Hokhmat when my warriors scaled the walls and stormed the city? What 'unity' and 'honour' can be claimed by those who will speak with honeywords but no action. Grommash does not dance the tonguedance. His words are truth. When Orcs make a promise they will die before it is broken. If peace is made then Grommash will see the safety of the Hokhlands and the Petalands." The young Hordespeaker would turn to Zabub'lur, the wise Shaman having observed the entire exchange "Shaman your wisdom is probably true. These humans they speak honeywords. It is not likely we will see peace. I remember when the Feman of the Hysmen begged me for the life of her mate. She said she would make the Hysrex see reason, show him the wisdom of crossing the river. It has been many moons and they have not crossed the river. Perhaps I am a fool for trusting these small chances. But if these little chances can save the lives of even one of my warriors, then perhaps it will be worth it" The Hordemaster would shoulder his hammer and descend from the rock. He had much to resolve, the affairs of the Vukh and Gobotown demanded his attention. His dreams still were filled with the warsong, the screams of the dying and the clash of weapons. Still the seers told him of death written in the stars. Perhaps these peace attempts would bear fruit. He doubted it.

Grommash wakes up bleary eyed to another 3am aviary message from Ser Gaspard

Grommash would offer a nod of respect to the wizened Goblin upon seeing him return from one of his many travels, the horde needed more shamans desperately. Perhaps Vol'xin could fill the void.

Grommash nods in approval as another tribe forms within the Horde

"I don't believe the Velerex or Grommash has ever fled from a raid leaving their people to die. Yet the Haenserex and the Balarex have both done this. Perhaps truth is hard for those who dance the tonguedance" the hordespeaker would muse to his gathered warriors around the village bonfire.

Grommash grunts upon hearing a report of the missive "How can they claim to be 'united' when they run away, abandoning the people they are 'united' with to die" He'd shake his head, slamming his fist into a nearby wooden beam as the rage would rise within him, these dogs had the audacity to abandon their city and their warriors and then speak wordlies. This new Balarex had much to answer for. Both for the invasion of alliance land, and for the dishonour the crownless Balarex had already shown. "These animals invaded our lands, burnt our fortresses, now they complain when they must eat the fruits of war. It is the Hyspan and Numen vassals of Haense who occupy the dunes and hunting grounds of the Horde. It is the Haensemen who declared war on the Velemen, burning the fortresses of Brasca and Breakwater at the beginning of their invasion. The young Hordespeaker would stride through the newly constructed village of Orcgrimmar. New tribes and clans streaming through the village gate as he did so. The culture of these humans was losing it novelty. Each passing day proved more and more that Krug had been wise and merciful to his children. By placing them in harsh lands he had saved them from the soft living and tonguedancing. It had made the orcs hard yes, but more importantly, it had made them honest. Grommash would far prefer the raging warrior charging him with an axe than these infuriating word games and deceptions. They call me a savage but it is not I who refuse to speak of peace. It is not I who send better men to die while I flee like a dog. Let them speak their lies and dance the tonguedance as is the way of their people. They will learn the truth of the driven axe and the flying arrow. The Wartruth." The Queen who fled would meet her end at the end of his hammer. He would avenge the honour of those soldiers who had died for the Hurex with none.

Grommash takes note of the declaration, preparing a missive to send to the masters of Petra

The Queen Who Ran The Orcish Mourning party rode silently over the rolling dunes of the great desert. Each warrior’s face was elaborately patterned with white mourning ash, ragged banners fluttering in the wind, affixed to the saddles of the great warbeasts of the Horde. The Greatwar of the Humans had spilt much Orcish blood, had demanded many Orcish lives. As usual the Horde travelled unbothered through the midlands, the warriors of Numendil nowhere to be seen outside the high walls of their mountain sanctuaries. The ‘conquered’ lands of Veletz entirely empty of patrols or garrisons. Soon the party arrived at the ruins of Breakwater. A hollowed shadow of its former self. The sunbleached bones of Man and Orc still visible amongst the piled rubble. Dismounting quietly the party trudged into the ruins, as they proceeded the massive corpses of Orcs could be seen piled amongst the human tide. Surrounded by the corpses of the foe, impaled with countless spirits and arrows. Yet many of the skulls appeared almost to be laughing. Grommash shook his head. The elders and the shamans told him that the greatest desire of a child of the Orcsire was to die well, to die for a greater cause. What could be more noble, more honourable than to die for the PEOPLE? How could any Orc ever aspire to better adhere to the WAY of Krug? Grommash was not so sure. It was by his command that lives were spent, that blood was spilt. His warriors put their faith in the Hordespeaker, they believed that he would spend their lives for the greater good of the Horde. In that perhaps there was some truth. The seasons of war had swelled the ranks of the Horde to heights rarely seen. New chieftains emerged and new warbands seem to form with each passing year. The new generation of Orcs had already amassed its own assembly of legendary Orc champions. The new Warbrothers of the Keshig had already gathered countless battle scars despite their youth. It warmed the Rex’s heart. But now was not the time for the living. They had come to pay homage to the dead, to speak of war. As the party proceeded deeper into the crumbling ruins pipes and drums were produced, the simple tones and the steady beating rhythm announcing the sadness of the Orcs. Their brothers had died well. Their deaths had been written in the stars, and they had met their deaths with honour. Surely they would be judged well on their journey to Stargush’stroh. Yet their absence was sorely felt by their brothers who yet lived. The loss was felt all the more by the demands of war. In the early days of the invasion the enemy had been far too numerous. The Orcs had been forced to leave many of their dead where they had fallen as they had retreated from the great fortresses of the midlands. They had not had a chance to retrieve their dead. Now, having gained dominance of the field and crushed the army of Eight, atleast for now, they had an opportunity to pay their respects to the fallen warriors of the Horde. The great Shamans of the Horde Azfrai’lur and Madoc’lur’s voices boomed as they chanted in the ancient tongue of old blah. Their eyes and tattoos glowing, their tongues seeming to speak words of fire. Slowly, an icy mist descended upon the ruins. The mist swirled and danced, almost freezing to the touch, orcish hands and faces could been amongst its depths. As the mist touched the various greenskins some recoiled, yet it was not cold alone that the mists imparted. Soon the chanting of the dead filled the ears of the Orcs. Joyous cries and chanting filled the ears of the Mourning party. The Shamans had somehow connected them to their brothers, albeit for a short time. Some of the proud warriors sank to their knees, weeping tears of horrible mourning sadness mixed with joy. Some recoiled, poking cautiously at the strange mists evoked by the shamans. Other, sat quietly, breathing deeply as they had been taught by their elders. They would hear the voices of the dead, and they would suppress the savage beast within. After the Shamans had made their oblations and the various orcs had offered meat and wine to the corpses of their fallen Warbrothers, the column turned, returning south to the Hordelands. They had heard of the coronation of the new Balarex. The glorious dead demanded retribution against the invaders. What would the sacrifices of the dead be for if the Horde did not see the war to its conclusion. As they headed south the melancholy dirge quickened, transforming into a call for war. It was time for blood The war party thundered east. The Rex had blown the great horn of Yar. The routine was becoming all too familiar to the warriors of the horde. Rally to the banner of the Hordespeaker. Kill whatever gathering of the coalition they had been called out against. Take prisoners from the survivors. Return home and distribute the loot. What could possibly be different this time. Initially things had gone as normal. The men of the Midlands, Velemen, Stassemen, Ferrymen, all the midland tribes had ridden south and arrived at the Hordelands where they had met the gathered warriors of the Horde. The forces of the alliance had ridden towards Balian, passing through the lands of the Orcfriends of Amathine and Haelun’or before arriving at the southernmost of the Human Kingdoms. Surprisingly there had been no attempt to guard the walls or the gates. A ladder had simply been placed against the front of the city. Concerned glances were exchanged, was there really a coronation? What kind of insane fool does not post guards on their own walls? Yet there it was, none had been posted. Swiftly they scaled the walls. Like flowing water the Alliance poured through the streets of the city. As they did so they began their chants of war. Cries of “Blood for Breakwater” and “For the Horde” mixing in the streets as the Alliance advanced. Soon they surrounded the Human’s shamanhut. Within the Hushams were preparing to crown the new Balarex. As the war cries of the encroaching warriors were heard the Hushams, the Balarex and the various effete hangers on with which these Hurexes always seemed to attract immediately began to flee through one of the innumerable rat tunnels which had begun to become so emblematic. Did these Hurexes have no shame? In the middle of their cities. In the middle of their holy rituals. These hushams and Chieftains fled like Hyenas from the Lion. Worst yet, they left the better men, the honourable men behind to die. Many had fought for Balian. But not the Balarex. The Queen who ran Grommash had never been so disgusted in his life. As he stood in blood soaked chamber, walls coated with viscera, bloodlust fading he felt nothing but sympathy for the dead men on the floor. What cruel spirits could have placed them in the service of such pathetic cowardly chieftains. It was the duty of the loyaltygiver to obey, to die. But it was the duty of the Chieftain to spend their life well. The lives that now fed the floor tiles had died for what, a few more pathetic months of living for unworthy chieftains? What a waste. Grommash paused, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He attempted to calm his heart, to suppress the beast within. RIP AND TEAR. It screamed. It demanded yet more blood. It demanded that he bury his axe in the skull of the nearest Veleman. How different was one human from another really? With effort he drove down the beast. He would not become an animal. Not today. As the trance overtook him he remembered the battle with pain staking detail. He remembered the massive frames of Klog, Apek and Grothzark storming the church. Their incrdibly bulk literally flinging the smaller frames of Covenant warriors aside as they forced the gate. Grommash remembere Archeol, only freshly come down from the Mountains to join the Horde putting massive Orcish arrow after Oricsh arrow into the open windows of the hall. Each dart eliciting screams from within as his victims were brutally impaled. Who could forget the exploits of Gudanat, cleaving an enemy knight in twain with his massive axe. Roaring to the sky in celebration of his victory. Even the many young Goblins who had recently emigrated from the deep mountain caves to the new Goblin district of the Horde had performed mightily, each accruing a kill to their name as they danced through the chaos of war, their lithe acrobatics a stark contrast to the lumbering brutality of their larger kinfolk. Gab’kull a new member of the hill but possessing no small skill in his own right had performed admirably, already he had begun to earn much prestige amongst the strange goblin tribes that occupied the tunnels beneath Orcgrimmar. Grommash remembered the conduct of each of his warriors with fondness. He asked much of them. To suffer, to bleed, sometimes to die. Yet they had delivered so much for the horde. It was by their labours the Horde had been made great. Even when Grommash had been cornered by four halberd wielding knights, it had been the heroism of Morgok and the ancient Muthraka, each fanatically dedicated to the defence of their Rex that had saved the Hordespeaker’s life, seeing the knights reduced to a blood pile of limbs in what seemed like an instant. With each passing day Grommash grew prouder of the Horde. The Horde grew more numerous with each passing day, new warriors and clans coming down from the hills, the mountains, and the forests to rally to the banner of the young Rex. Perhaps the days of Orcish shame had begun to pass. Only the stars could tell. Yet, despite all of their victories the season of war still waxed. The night sky spoke yet still of death and blood in the future. The dreams of Grommash were still filled with the warsong. There was still yet a war to fight. Grommash would take his warriors to the fields of Balian. There they would fight the warriors of the Covenant. All defending The Queen who Ran

I'm not okay with pillar camping, orcs did not pillar camp early in the war. I would appreciate if staff were just clear on the rules. As things stand the rules are a morass of unwritten opinion. For example, the 3am barn burning. I was told by 60th that barn burnings required us to conflict with the enemy and had to occur at peak times. Apparently that isn't the truth. You get wildly different rulings from staff, particularly compared to what is written in the rules. You end up having to play this game of 'read the staff's mind' or 'keep up with the most current screenshots of staff rulings' if you intend on being rules compliant and also engaging in conflict.

The line I have given to orc raiders is 'mods said it was okay to do to us so its not against the rules' Had raiders camp our pillar for multiple hours during down hours killing orc night shift on grind runs.

We assumed it was not allowed until mods allowed people to camp orc pillar at 3 in the morning for some reason

The Keshig The Rexguard of the Horde Purpose of the Keshig The season of war waxes and much death is written in the stars. In these days of blood and iron Chieftains die by the dozens. Killed in the heat of battle or by the trickery of an assassin's blade. None is more vulnerable than the Rex himself. Master of the Horde, it is by the will of the Rex that the children of the Orcfather march to war. It is by his command that they willingly spend their lives in service of the Horde. Should the Rex die, the unity of the Horde would be at risk. The goals of the Horde would be endangered. Chaos and ruin would colour the stars and plague the dreams of the seers and the takers of augurs. Thus the Keshig. The Keshighai or the Keshig are the most elite and most orky members of the Horde. Embracing the way of Krug they dedicate their War-art to the protection of the Rex at all cost. So long as they are Keshig the life of the Rex surpasses their own in importance. Due to their crucial charge they are outfitted by the Horde Warsmiths with the finest armour and weapons the Horde can acquire or produce. Each Keshig is an unparalleled warrior, elite even amongst the ranks of the Horde. They are the Warbrothers of the Rex, carrying the banner of the Horde into battle and sharing meat, drink, blood and battle with the Master of the Horde. The Rex serves the Horde. The Horde obeys the Rex. And the Keshig keep the Rex alive at all costs. Rituals of the Keshig The strength of the Keshig goes beyond mere muscle, and beyond mere strength with the blade. While the Keshig are unmatched in their physical strength and their warskill, to become a Keshig a warrior of the Horde must be the perfect Orc.They must be a supreme warrior, they must be an honourable warrior, and they must respect the spirits. Any warrior seeking to become a Keshig must first secure the approval of both the Targoth and the Motsham. Each of these Horde leaders will often send the aspiring warrior on a number of quests to prove their worth before they will grant their approval. Once a warrior has received the approval of the Targoth and the Motsham they are then allowed to issue a challenge to one of the existing Keshig. There may only ever be five Keshig. Four Keshig and one Keshgoth, the leader of the Keshighai. The Keshgoth is chosen by the Keshig and can only be challenged by an existing Keshig. Ritual of Challenge Once an aspiring Keshig has acquired the approval of the Targoth and Motsham they may issue a formal challenge to a sitting Keshig. The challenger and the Keshig will then determine a time and a place as well as witnesses. The challenger and the Keshig will then fight five different rounds of combat. The challenger will dictate the first round of combat, then the loser will dictate each separate round of combat. Combat may be of any form the loser desires, fists, riddles, racing etc. Winner will be the Orc with the most wins of five. Even if one party has already acquired three wins the five rounds must be completed or both parties will be greatly dishonoured. Becoming Keshig Once a Keshig has passed the challenges they must then become a Keshig. The Rex will invite the Keshig to the great rock and gift the Keshig the weapons and armour of the Keshig. This equipment passes from Keshig to Keshig and is for the protection of the Rex and the service of the Horde. The Rex asks the Keshig if they will share meat, drink, blood, and death with the Rex. If the Keshig accepts then they are accepted as a Warbrother by the Rex. For the duration of their time as Keshig or until death the Keshig are expected to put the life of the Rex and the good of the horde above their own life. They are also forbidden from challenging for Rex while they are Keshig, even if they are the Chieftain of a clan. Choosing a Keshgoth If there is no Keshgoth, the incumbent Keshig will have a Keshklamor and discuss who among them is worthy of leading the Keshighai. The Way Because the Keshig must be the greater of the Horde it is expected that the members of the Keshig adhere to a strict code above and beyond that which applies to the normal members of the Horde. The way of the Keshig is derived from the way of Krug, the life philosophy of the Orcs and members of the Horde. Way of the Keshig My Life for the Rex My Strength for the Horde Speak Truth not Lies Death before Dishonour

Summoning the War Council *Goblin attendants would ride to the various Chieftains and Lords of the Alliance of Good Guys, delivering the following letter. Before we march to Balian we must meet and have words. The chieftains of the Alliance must speak of war and of battle plans. Grommash asks that all Lords and Chieftains of the Alliance come to the ruins of Breakwater to have words of war and to exchange wisdom. We meet in the ruins to remind ourselves of those who have died fighting the Army of Eight. Grommash believes the following must be discussed at the War Council -Division of the Alliance armies, and Commanders of different Alliance troops. -Tactics for the march to Balian Fields -Equipment for the troops -Food and supplies for the army. -Coordinated economic activity to sustain the war after Balian Fields Many of our warriors will die in the days to come. But it is not wisdom to lament the death of those who die well. However, as Chieftains and Warspeakers, it is our duty to spend the lives of those who put their faith in us well. Know these as the words of Grommash, who speaks for the Horde [War Council will occur around 2pm on Saturday the 30th. If there are scheduling conflicts please let me know]

With Allies Like These The warsong screamed loud in the ears of the young Rex as he struggled not to lose himself to the rage. His heart pounded in his ears as he grabbed an enemy soldier and crushed his throat. The wet gurgling whimper of the dying man exciting the beast within.Gritting his teeth he pushed the bloodmadness down once more. He would not lose himself, not today. Soon the battle was over. His third or fourth of the day. He was beginning to lose count. Blood flowed so freely during the season of war. The Hordespeaker was becoming convinced that the very stars were turning red with how much death the seers read in the night sky. Was this slaughter war? It felt more like the culling of sheep. Standing in the blood filled hall he fought to calm the bloodlust roaring in his soul. He was not a beast. He would not be conquered by his curse. He had sent them a letter of warning. They had not listened. He had spoken of peace. They had not listened. Once more they had been slaughtered. A coalition of sheep, not a shepherd amongst them. Numendil, Aaun, Minitz, Haense. The warparty had raided each in succession. Prisoners had been taken. Foes slain. Yet none had come to meet the warparty save a handful of Dwarfen scouts. This coalition of the many had threatened the people of the alliance with death and fire. When their armies had been broken in the field they had told their citizens not to leave the walls. Not to ride to the aid of allies. To wait out the raids. Even when their walls were scaled and their fields and homes put to the torch, as they had promised to do to the alliance, nothing. Cowering in tunnels and hiding places like the rabbits and mice of the Steppe, terrified of the hawks who ruled the sky. Only when the warriors of the alliance had scaled the walls of Haense and broken into its sanctums did the men of the coalition finally summoned their courage. It had served them poorly. The mangled bodies of coalition warriors decorating the floor attested well to that fact. The spirit of the alliance was broken. Its warriors could not even defend their own homes, much less the homes of their supposed ‘allies’. With allies like these, who needed enemies? The offers of peace fell on deaf ears again and again. The people of the coalition suffered, yet their chieftains and shamans looked on without care. Condemning yet more to die for their insane dreams of genocide and annihilation. Grommash shook his head, the bloodlust fading slowly from his meditative breathing. Perhaps the lessons of Kho and Falum had truly begun to bear fruit. Opening his eyes and looking about the chamber Grommash was confronted with a charnel house. The room was laden with butchered corpses. Limbs and viscera painted not only the floor but the walls and the ceiling. Some of his warbrothers, his treasured keshig had given in to the rage. Only now as the warsong began to fade did they tear themselves from their battlethirst. Each reacting differently, some looked down, avoiding the gaze of the Rex in their shame. They had fallen to the beast within, they did not wish to be seen in their shame. Others reveled, their massive tusks bared in a warrior's grin, spatters of blood still streaking their face, they had embraced the power of the beast within, but at what cost. The Horde had grown massively in recent years. New clans had emerged from the wilds and the deeps, rallying to the banner of the Horde. Elders had returned from pilgrimages to provide their wisdom to the Horde once more. As in the days of old the Horde was becoming ‘strong’ once more. Yet it was so fragile. The new Horde had many great warriors. The shamans had begun to emerge from their exile and teach the young of the Horde once more. But who amongst them could lead if Grommash should fall? He shook the thought from his mind, mortality could wait another day. Once more the forces of the coalition had been thoroughly crushed, this time in their own homes. How much longer this coalition of sheep would continue to demand the extermination of the alliance none could say. The spirit of the alliance was broken. Its warriors could not even defend their own homes, much less the homes of their supposed ‘allies’. With allies like these, who needed enemies?

Grommash considers the model for sale, he wonders how much insurance will cost him if he makes the purchase

Notice of Impending Raid My allies have recently been informed that the coalition will be holding some kind of human festival. I am writing now to inform all relevant parties that the alliance will be raiding the festival. My warriors have raided and burned the countryside of the coalition, this ‘army of eight’, yet the warriors of the coalition refuse to take the field. We have captured the chieftains and the shamans of the coalition yet again the warriors of the coalition refuse to face us. Refuses to even ATTEMPT to rescue their leaders and allies. I will not pretend to understand the ways of the tonguedancers and the lie speakers. Perhaps words do not bind you the way they bind us. There are those of you who decry our actions as ‘barbarous’ and ‘uncivilized’. I will take this time to explain ourselves. I am certain it will change no minds, but Grommash is known as a truthspeaker amongst his own people. So I will speak truth here. At every turn we have called the leaders of the coalition to peace. Each time we have captured the chieftains and Rexes of the coalition we have sent letters to the coalition. Each time we have asked for negotiations for peace. Again and again we have been declined. It is understandable to decline such requests when one is winning. Why negotiate when you could take. The intent of the coalition is the complete annihilation of our lands and our peoples. They have not offered terms, they have not spoken of peace. They have at every turn endeavored for our complete eradication. When Grommash became Hordespeaker, he first went to those who had invaded the Hordelands. Those who defiled our sands and our dunes. Those who trespassed on the hunting grounds of the Urukim. They were told to leave the lands of the Urukim, and that they would have peace. If they refused to leave, or if they trespassed further they would be killed. The wolf eats the slow rabbit. And the wolf eats the greedy bear who invades the den. Our lands belong to us, the Urukim. We have chosen to share them with our Hordebrothers. We will not share them with outsiders. The raiding and the burning of your lands has not been ‘barbarous’ or ‘uncivilized’, these have been our response to your INVASION and your attempted GENOCIDE of MY PEOPLE. Grommash is Hordefather, Hordespeaker. The Orcfather has given me this task of leading the Horde to a new tomorrow. We may be cursed with the blood rage, but it is our task to conquer it. We smashed the coalition at Westmark. We have taken your Rexes and their playthings from their fortresses. We are winning. But unlike your leaders, our words have meaning, and we are not animals. Our terms are simple. We will discuss them at any time. My warriors will not kill for the sake of killing. But they will kill to put an end to the invasion of our lands and the eradication of our people. Peace is a choice. Make it. Until peace is made no festivals or other gatherings will occur without raids. I will see you all at the festival

Second Klamor *Goblin attendants would travel around the wide Hordelands delivering Grommash summons all Orcs, Goblins, Ologs, all Shamans, all vassals of the Horde to a Klamor. Grom would speak to the Horde, and Grom would hear the horde speak back. The following will be discussed at the Klamor Clan reforms Grommash will propose that Clans will be divided into greater and lesser clans. Clans will be given privileges and obligations based on their status. Wargoths of greater clans will receive more influence, land and authority. The Horde will be asked for its opinion. Keshig Reforms Grommash will propose that Keshig be limited to the four most elite warriors of the Horde. A special ritual will be required to challenge a Keshig. In order to challenge a Keshig a challenger must first acquire the approval of the Targoth and the Motsham. Those who guard the Rex must be elite warriors, but their dedication to the Horde and the Rex’s life must be beyond question. The Horde will be asked for its opinion. The Orconomy The Rukagoths will inform the Horde of the state of the Orconomy and what is needed for the war effort. Enlistment in the Rukahai is strongly encouraged. The Rukagoths will report on which clans have been donating what amounts so that all the Horde can know which clans are the most dedicated. The Kubrex Grommash wishes to discuss a successor to him in case he is killed during the war or by assassins. How to Create new Clans Grommash will lay out the procedure for how new clans are to be formed and are to be validated by the horde. Orcgrimmar and the new housing Rules Grommash will discuss the rules for clan housing in Orcgrimmar. Public petitions The Horde will be asked to speak their mind to the Rex

But Nobody Came for Hyspia The Hordespeaker overlooked the construction efforts of Orcgrimmar. The Yazgurtan and the Rukagoths were hard at work shepherding Orcish builders and crafters through not only the refit of their city but also the production of war goods for the coming southern campaign. They had smashed the army of eight at Westmark, yet still Grommash was unnerved. His warriors had breached the walls of Aaun. With the men of Veletz they had captured the great shaman of the humans and the Aaunrex. Runners had been sent to the members of the coalition. Grommash had personally written a letter to the army of eight. Silence? Nobody came for Aaun The world confused Grommash. Mortals spoke many words, wove elaborate tapestries with pen and tongue, yet their words rang hollow when compared to their actions. Of what use were words and oaths if they did not bind. Of what use was a warbrother who would not bleed for you? Many times now Grommash, young for an orc, had seen the humans speak venom and lies. The older orcs, Kho and Falum had told him many times that humans would say words that they did not mean. Grommash could not understand. Though he had on occasion seen such conduct from whitewash orcs or from raiders who had spent too much time around the humans. It was something he had worked hard to suppress amongst the Urukim. To deceive, to play the dance of words, was to stray from the path of Krug. To stray from the path was worse than death. The Rex turned his thoughts to the Hyspians. His warriors had breached the walls countless times. On three separate occasions they had taken the King. On this most recent excursion they had taken not only the king, but significant portions of his court, all while the warriors of Hyspia fled to hide in tunnels. Once more Grommash had sent outriders to the nations of the coalition. Once more silence. Nobody came for Hyspia Again Grom was confused. There existed many who called themselves Rex. Who claimed to be the leaders of their peoples. Yet they were not capable of protecting their people, often they did not even try. What did it mean to be a Rex? A leader of an entire people? What did it mean to be a good Rex? The good sword was strong and sharp. The good arrow would fly straight and true. To be ‘good’ was to fulfill one’s purpose well. A good warrior could not merely be strong, they must also be wise. For the purpose of the warrior was to deal violence for the tribe, whether to secure land and food, or to protect what was already had. If a warrior was merely strong or merely wise then they would be unable to fulfill their purpose. They would be bad warriors. But what of a Rex. What was necessary for a ‘good Rex’. What was a Rex ‘meant to do’. For Grommash the Rex was the father of the nation. He must lead them to the clean oases, he must choose the best paths to follow the herd. The purpose of the Rex was to secure the survival and if possible the thriving of the nation. The Rex must be wise, he must know the signs of danger and how to avoid them. But when danger did arrive, as it always would, a good Rex must know how to protect his people from the danger. Grommash did not know if he had learned the lessons of the Elders well. Falum and Kho had told him many stories of the great Rexes of the past. And The young Rex had walked in the lands of Stargush’stroh many times, guided by a shaman in search of the dead Rexes, of old. Seeking to learn from their wisdom. The sacred desert of the Horde had been defiled by foreign boots and hands. The hunting grounds of the Horde were threatened. What was the Hordefather to do? Grommash had made his oaths. He had marched the horde to war. Many had died, Uruk and Hordebrother alike had fed the ground with their blood. They had smashed the coalition at Westmark. But was it enough? The warriors of the Horde had shared battle and death with their allies from the midlands. They had become warbrothers, drinking deep from the wells of defeat and victory, holding to their oaths through thick and thin. What motivated these invaders to pursue their path of annihilation then? They refused to bleed or to die for their supposed warbrothers. They danced the tonguedance and told their lies. Is this what it meant to be a ‘good Rex’? Grommash wasn’t so sure. There was more to being Rex than ensuring mere survival. His people were not cattle, desperately clinging to life for the sake of living. They lived to fulfill their purpose. To follow the PATH of Krug. To live honourably and die well, having overcome the bloodcurse that plagued all children of the Orcfather and honoured the legacy of their ancestors. It was the task of the Rex to enable his people to complete this noble goal. To live well, to die well. Some nights he would wake in a cold sweat, tortured by the thoughts of all the warriors of the horde his commands had sent to their deaths. He had asked the wizened Kho for advice, and had been resoundly punched in the head. Struggling to hold back his bloodrage Kho had firmly informed the Rex that it was not for him to dishonour the dead with second guessing. Grommash might be Hordemaster, but no Uruk, no Goblin, no Olog, no member of the Horde was bound to follow him. Any were free to leave the horde if they so wished. Those who had died well had brought great honour to Krug, to the Horde, and to their ancestors. Grommash may send the warriors. But it is they who choose to go. The tonguedancers may treat their pacts like the wind. Making them without a second thought. Finding no binding steel in the words they spoke. But that was not the way of the Horde. Unlike the army of eight, the horde would not abandon its war brothers. It would not abandon them to die even if doing so would etch their deaths in the stars. “Loktar’Ogar” he grunted shoving himself to his feet. No one had come for Hyspia, No one had come for Aaun. But come death or glory, the Horde would come for its brothers. With that thought he made his way down the hill. It was not his place to do the thinking of foreign Rexes. Let them care for their own people. He would care for the Horde.

Grommash upon receiving word of this message squints at it briefly before replying "This is the stupidest thing I've ever read in my life. This idiot is white washed, especially considering the really weird clothes and canonist cross." Grommash would hand his edict to a goblin attendant and return to examining the designs of the new city.

Grommash would cast an eye over his warriors, the furnaces and forges of the Horde working around the clock to produce war supplies. Many of the enemy captives had spoken to Grommash of the depravity of the Balianites. How much they hated the Balianites. Grom supposed these haters of Balian would have to march to their defence now

The Sand and the Dunes The warband had been assembled with lightning speed. Tightening their armour and mountain their warbeasts with grim efficiency, the once boisterous mob that had constituted the warriors of the horde was a distant memory. The years of war had hardened the warriors into efficient killing machines. Each of the scarred veterans, whether young or old had lost friends at Breakwater and Brasca. They remembered holding their warbrothers in their arms at Westmark. The destruction of the coalition cavalry had cost the Orcish vanguard. The warband travelled silently over the dunes. Their trance of war disturbed only by the panting of warbeasts and the clinking of armour. They had rendezvoused with the Ferrymen and the warriors of Veletz at the gates of Hyspia. They had raided the settlement of the invaders many times before. No doubt they would see the interior of the increasingly familiar city many more times. The humans did not seem to understand the Orcs. They had invaded Orcish lands, they had placed their settlement at the place where the sands mixed with the grasses. Invaders. There could be no peace as long as foreigners defiled the holy desert. The Grandsire had given his harsh gift to his children. The desert culled the weak and hardened the strong. This was the boon of Krug to his children. It was not for these soft creatures from foreign lands to partake in. Thus warriors rode forth once more to deal death. Like lightning the warband had breached the walls. The warriors hurtling up the ladders, piercing the innermost sanctum of the Hyspians. Yet to their shock they had been met with no blades, no death. A mob of terrified sheep. The few warriors of Hyspia could be seen fleeing across the desert. Grommash could not believe his eyes. These were the creatures who defiled the desert? They could not even defend themselves. Nor would their overlord come to their aid? What madness could possess softlanders to invade orcish lands if they had no protector? The Hyspian court and various sundry visitors had been unceremoniously bundled onto the backs of various Orcish warbeasts and hauled back to the Hordelands. The great Orc warrior Himdokh even saving one of the Hyspians from falling from a window. The captives had been hauled to the pit one by one, until a great line of them were arrayed infront of the Hysparex. The two had spoken many times before. There was little more to say. The Hordespeaker spoke his terms brusquely "I have said it before and I will say it again, move your people across the river and leave this war of Genocide. If you do these things my warriors will cease their attacks on your people, for you will no longer be invading our lands”. “I can make no promises without speaking first to my council," responded the Hyspian King, maintaining his composure despite being surrounded by eight foot tall giants. The Rex grunted, “Then I will keep this short. You did not defend your people, so you are not a warrior. If you are not a warrior then you do not need your sword arm. Surrender it willingly and your women and children will go free. The men shall stay, the warriors blood runs hot, the need something for their rage against the invaders” The Hysparex acquiesced, offering his arm. With his prized Greataxe the rex has severed the human’s arm. His goblin attendants pressing fire against the wound as the human screamed in pain. Turning as the man was dragged from the city Grommash stood before each of the prisoners in turn “You can go” he would grunt to one “You will stay” He’d grunt to another. Soon the women and children had filed from the hall leaving only two pleading women and one fearful warrior. “He is for the warriors, '' Grommash had said to the supplicants. And so the three of them had watched as Targoth Apek had brutalized the hapless softlander in front of the entire Warband. As the human collapsed the ground, barely alive, the Hyspian women had resumed their pleading. Once more Grom had refused them, having his warriors drag them from the city. “Do you intend to kill him?” he had asked the gathered warriors “It would stain the honour of a warrior to kill such a weakling” Apek had responded. “And you Gazhnakh, will you take his life” He had asked “No Grommash” she had responded. With that the young Rex had stepped forward, lifting the barely living man to his shoulder and stomping from the city. “Human” He had barked “Early you promised me a service in exchange for a life, I come to purchase that service” With that he would offer the barely breathing young man, already wincing under the ministrations of a healer from the midlands. “Grommash does not speak wordlies, he does not play the tonguedance. There will be peace between the Horde and your people if they move across the river and stop participating in the genocide. You accept this then you may take this man” With those words he slashed his hand with his knife and held it forward. The Red Hand of Grommash bound the Rex stronger than any Iron could have hoped to. To break his word would dishonour him, and he would rather die before suffering such a fate. The woman slashed her own hand before taking the massive hand of the Rex. She promised to urge her people to cross the river. As the last of the Hyspians departed the Hordelands Grommash was left with many questions. Haense had never come. No one had. What was the point of this massive coalition, of all this death and dying, if these people were all at each other's throats. They spoke of the evils of the Alliance, yet Grommash was not the one being abandoned to torture and death. Grommash did not understand the details of why the humans fought. Nobles from both sides had spoken to him of their strange religion and their innumerable petty feuds. None of this mattered to the Rex. The lands of the Urukim had been invaded. The masters of the invaders had declared their intention to slaughter the Urukim to the last. Grommash would protect his people, he would protect their honour, he would protect their lands. The Horde had grown strong since he had become Rex, each day it grew stronger. Yet he once more found himself asking if it was enough. His warriors had triumphed at Westmark with the legions of Veletz. Many Uruks had died, and many more would die in the days to come. Grommash had heard the warsong in his dreams, and the elders had spoken to him of death written in the stars. Yet in the end it was their desert, their dunes. Some things in life were worth dying for. Perhaps the human woman would achieve something. Perhaps the Hyspians would see reason and cross the river. Grommash doubted it.

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