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The Battle of Orcoburg Desert The young Hordespeaker sat on the walls of San’Briu. The hot sun of the desert briefly cloaked with clouds as a cool breeze swept down from the mountains of the Hordelands. For a brief moment he was alone. The clamouring of the Goths and the clan chieftains, the incessant letters from humans, all in their irritating chicken scratch text, the direction of the Rukas, the training of the Krughai; for a moment he had silence. It was time to think. He had returned from the diplomacy meeting with the Haenser Rex. His chieftains had urged him not to go to the meeting, surely he would be assassinated, the Horde’s fragile stability would be shattered with the taking of one life. Luckily the quick wit of Kho’Gorkil had saved him from such a dishonourable course. A day for cunning rather than for brutality. The warriors who had assembled to Guard the Hordespeaker had all donned the armour of the Horde, as had Grommash. Young warriors such as Kub’ub rugged veterans such as Grimruk’Lur were indistinguishable beneath the full helms of the Krughai armour. They had ventured to the snowlands of the Haensers. They had been offered little of interest, so they had returned. The humans always wove such wondrous pictures with their words, yet Grommash always recalled the words of the Ologarch. He would not be led astray. Surprisingly they had not been attacked on their departure. Perhaps the humans understood the sacred laws of Guestright and honour. == The Hordespeaker was left with a curious predicament. One way or another blood would flow in the lands of men. Where would that lead his fragile horde. The chieftains had accepted him as the voice of the Horde. His people were beginning to show signs of flourishing. Old urukz not seen in the Hordelands for many years were beginning to return. Kybal, Chieftain of the Akaals had returned, paying homage to the Lord of the Horde amongst his warband before bestowing upon him the massive Rexhammer. The ancient elders Eath’Lur and Falum’Lur had returned, seen often in whispered conversation near the bonfire, bent from the centuries the two of them had witnessed. Yet the Horde swelled with new life as young orcs entered adulthood, proudly joining the warriors, the workers or the shamans. The vitality of these young warriors had already led them to many victories not only in the hunting grounds but on the endless tribute missions and raids of the Horde. So much promise. Yet so fragile. A single mistake and the clans would be at each other’s throats once more. It was not enough. Many times before the Orcs had emerged from squalor, rebuilding themselves into something of note. Only to be smashed. If the humans were allowed to fight then the winner would once more become the dominant power. And as so many times, the bored humans would look to the activities of the Orcs as an easy distraction. A brief expedition into the holy desert, drowning the children of the Horde in a tide of flesh. If the cycle of the Orcs was to be broken then history must be seized with both hands. Now was the season of war, and his Horde would not hide meekly in the sidelines waiting for a new overlord to emerge that they must cower to. It would be war. == The traveller Izh’Rak has returned to the Hordelands recently, seeking a brief respite amongst his brethren before he ventured once more from the holy desert to learn of the Krugless. The Horde-see’r spoke of great columns of humans clad in steel, vast trails of wagons laden with foodstuffs and engines of war. The bragging and the threats of humans was one thing. They were a proud and short lived race. Breeding likes rabbits and consuming everything in their path. Grommash could tolerate their tongue dancing. But he would not tolerate the violation of the holy Hordelands. The desert was a beautiful thing. Around the cooking fires the Shamans leaped and danced, drawing the very stars down from the night sky as they spun memories from words. Krug had given the desert to his children. Not the forests of the Elfs, not the mountain fortresses of the Dwarfs, nor the fertile meadows of the Humans, Krug had given his children the best land. The Desert was hard, it was flat. One found no respite or refuge in the desert, hardened each day by the sun the greenskins grew strong. This was the blessing of Krug, he had placed them in the crucible, and like steel the Orcs, the Ologs, the Goblins, all had become hard. Those who could not survive died. And thus the Horde grew stronger with each passing generation. These humans with their great caravans thought they could march through the holy lands of Krug without asking for permission? They thought they could defile the sands with the dung of their idiot oxen? Poison the oases with the infinite thirst of their uncountable throats? No. The dreams of the Hordespeaker had spoken the truth. For months his rest has been filled with the scent of blood, with cries of pain and the clash of steel on steel. The Warsong was on the dream winds. Soon it would be heard on the winds of the waking world as well. Peering into the flames of his cooking fire Grommash called for one of his trusted Rukas “Minto” He rumbled “Find Grimruk, find Kho, summon the chieftains. The desert cries out for justice. Krug demands blood. The Horde is going to war” WARGOAL: Interception of the Balian Warpath, Preventing the Balian Army from passing through Orcish lands, Preventing the Balian Army from reaching Veletz to reinforce [Interception to take place on Desert 8] ATTACKERS: The Kingdom of Balian DEFENDERS: The Horde TIME: Not really sure how this works tbh. I don't think anyone has done an interception battle before. LOCATION/WARPATH: Rules as Written justifying this War Action: Proof of Sovereignty