Warring Clans Prologue v2

About a year and a half ago, I wrote a prologue to my map, Warring Clans. Well, it was okay, but it needed improvement. So, since I started working on the map again, I thought I'd rewrite the prologue.

Hope I did okay. I'm not the bestest story teller
Notes:

• Pardon the lack of indenting, I can't get it to work here =/
• Any misspellings in quotes are probably supposed to be like that (such as trollspeak)
• Korgar is pronounced "KORE-garr". He looks like your average orc grunt, but with some slight Blademaster features.
• Ograre is pronounced "OGE-rarrr" (little extra "r" in there) He looks like an average orc grunt, only a lot bigger and burlier. Also carries the Tauren Chieftain's axe.
• I know Rexxar didn't actually "die". It's a story.
• The ending sucks. I'm sorry, I'm bad at endings =(

I'll split this into multiple posts.



For as long as our history tells, we were always pureblood Orc. No Mok’nathal, no half-breeds. Demon blood never cursed our veins. Our shamans were capable of magics that many other clans had long since forgotten. And in the coming months, we would need every spell our shamans could offer.

I am Korgar, son of Urtha-don. My father is the chieftain of our clan; a high and noble warrior. My grandfather is one of the High Far seers, 3rd in rank. From the time I could wield a knife I was trained brutally in the ways of battle. Before any of my friends could use swords, I could swing axes. I was trained and pushed to be like my father.

“You will lead this clan one day, my son” he had told me many times before. He would never say anything else. He would simply walk off, leaving me to dwell in my own thoughts. I was eager to become chieftain; it was a title that few Orcs ever even got close to achieving. I would dream of the days I would spend living the high life; eating only the finest meats and drinking the richest bloodwines. I never considered the possibility of war; the plagues of battle hadn’t cursed our lands for over 100 years. Only the oldest of the old could remember the last time our clan had picked up swords and axes.

But what set us apart from other clans was our constant readiness. While other clans grew lazy, we treated every day like war was about to rear its vicious head. Drills were executed every day. Battle plans were constantly written and re-written. Yet despite this, I never contemplated the idea that I could someday be in charge of leading a war. My father made the job of being chieftain look easy, and so I believed it was.

On a day like any other, even better than most, perhaps, we were running daily drills. It was the one I disliked most; running up hills in full suit and weapon. For hours we would run up and down hills in perfect unison. Breaking step would result in a good smash to the head. It was painful; almost as bad as battle wounds; but we all knew how much stronger we were because of it. Even the Taurens amongst our clans, with their odd legs and feet, performed this drill. And they were able to outrun any other Tauren we had met. In the background, aside from the raspy, heavy breathing of warriors gasping for breath, I could hear the clash of metals as younger Orcs honed their skills with their chosen weapon. I was not given a choice; I was trained in blade, bow, and axe. I had even tried the axe Taurens use, but it proved too large for me… so far. Further out, the chants and cries of shamans rang out amongst the mild, dusty air. And the sweet, tangy smell of peace-pipe smoke wafted out of the tents of elders, where they “communicated with the “spirits””.

At long last, the drill ended. I limped towards my tent, only to be knocked flat on my face by a heavy clap on the back and a hearty “Lom-Kar, little one!” I heaved myself up, grunting in pain as a burst of flame shot through my legs.

“Dammit Ograre, how many times do I need to tell you not to do that?!” I said hotly, turning to face my long time friend. Ograre called me “little one” for a good reason; he was almost a foot taller than me, and yet he was the same age. Ograre was huge. Rumors of him being part ogre (of the Mok’Nathal, even) had been whispered about from time to time, but everyone knew that the death of Rexxar had eliminated the last of that breed. (Oh what a fight that had been. But that is a story for another time). He helped me up, pulling me to my feet without much apparent effort. His goofy grin was spread on his face, revealing what few sharp teeth us Orcs are blessed with.

“Tired, little one? I was hoping we could spar a bit before the day ended.” I groaned. Sparring with Ograre was like fighting a mountain bear equipped with armor and a greataxe. Ograre seemed entirely unaffected by the day’s drills, a feat I still didn’t understand.

“Ograre, I’m exhausted. How am I supposed to spar with a monster like you when I can hardly wield a sword?”

“Easy, little one. Chug this.” He tossed me a strange yellowish potion. The bottle gave off heat; whether it was from the potion or from being in Ograre’s pocket, I wasn’t sure. I popped out the cork and was instantly smashed in the face by the powerful odor of bear piss and Tauren sweat. I almost puked.

“What the hell IS this??” I snapped, holding the potion as far away from me as possible. “It smells like something died and rotted in the sun after being pissed on by 1000 rats. How the hell am I supposed to drink this?” Ograre laughed, his chest heaving up and down with each boom.

“Why, you plug your nose and swallow! Ignore the smell; it be a troll brew. Dey all smell like dat, eyy mon?” Chuckled Ograre, putting on a very bad attempt at a troll accent to try and make me laugh. I sighed heavily, pinched my nose as hard as I could (it actually bled a little afterwards), and gulped down the pisspotion. I coughed and sputtered, my eyes instantly watering and my ears ringing painfully. It felt like a combination of snow, fire, and goat bile (I was dared to drink it, okay?) was slowly inching its way down my throat. As it reached my stomach, I instantly felt my heart begin to beat faster. Everything got brighter, and my armor suddenly didn’t feel so heavy anymore. But the sensation didn’t last long; my eyesight started to fade and blur, and my legs felt like water. I lost all balance and fell backwards, feeling something hard crash into my armor and bruise my back. It was dark.

I awoke hours later in my tent, Ograre sitting nearby and talking to himself. A troll medicine “mon” (as we call them) was swabbing my legs with something that I couldn’t feel until I awoke. It burned. Something smelled of vomit, and I realized that there was a putrid bucket next to the cot I was resting in. I grunted in sick pain, and the medicine “mon” looked up.

“Eyyy, look who be awake! You took quite a tumble der, mon. Been drinkin’ sometin’ yah shouldn’t have, ey mon? Little body can’t be handlin’ big ogre potion.” I was surprised. An ogre potion? As in, a potion for ogres? I couldn’t believe it. Those could kill someone who wasn’t strong enough to handle it! I guess I was lucky. Ograre looked up and smiled his trademark grin.
“Little one! Welcome back to the world of the living! How was the trip?”
“Like fucking hell, Ograre.” I grunted. I wasn’t exactly pleased that he had given me a potion that could’ve literally burned my guts to soup. He smiled at me again.

It was the next day, and like the day before it was better than most. Recently though, the smell of rotting meat had wafted by our noses once in a while, but we just attributed it to a mountain bear forgetting its evening meal. We also noticed clouds building in the distance; much like a storm would. However, they didn’t seem to move, nor did they appear more threatening than a summer shower. Nobody thought anything of either the smell or the clouds. We just went on training

That training was about to be put to good use. Later that day, one of our scouts came bursting through the gates, screaming about oncoming forces. Anyone who saw him before “it” happened would have been terrified; he was turning a sick purple and a chunk of his arm was missing; it looked bitten off. My father and I were near the gates and ran to see what the commotion was about. We met the scout head on.

“UNDEAD BLOOD DEATH FIRE PAIN WATER SERPENTS BLOOD DEATH UNDEAD ENEMIES ONCOMING DESTROY” The scout rambled out nonsense. He seemed completely insane. A shaman approached him and attempted to purge whatever foul spirit had inhabited him. That’s when “it” happened.

The scout screamed a bloodcurdling cry of pain, and he literally exploded into a cloud of blood and gore, his armor falling to the ground as anyone nearby was drenched in hot blood. From the torrent of gore came a mutated bony creature; a “ghoul” as I later found out. Garbled nonsense spilled from its bloody mouth, and it leaped onto the shaman who had tried to purge its host. The shaman tried to cast another spell, but the ghoul was a fast killer; it tore the shaman’s head and part of his torso noisily off and tossed it aside, leaving the corpse to drop and release its magical energy back to the earth. Screams could be heard from the crowd. My father, his armor dripping in blood, took out his massive broadaxe and swung it down, chopping the ghoul in two with a loud “CRUNCH”. It screeched for a moment and died.

Everyone was in a panic. The Undead had not approached the Orcs for over 150 years. What suddenly made them infect a scout? The corpse of the shaman was instantly burned where it lay, allowing it to return from hence it came. All the elders immediately demanded anyone with any magical capabilities whatsoever to meet in the town square. I had none, but I went anyways; my father was dragging me along. Everyone else was to suit up and prepare for battle. War cries could be heard throughout our village and the chaotic sound of preparing for battle drowned out any other sounds.

At the town square, those with magic had been assembled and positioned in order of strength. The elders were in a small semi-circle, surrounded by the head shamans, then the minor shamans and troll medicine men, and finally by any apprentices or villagers who happened to know a spell or two. The lead elder faced everyone on his old battle-torn wolf and began giving orders of what to do. Apparently, all magic was to be channeled at once to the elders, who would perform some sort of summoning ritual. I had never heard of such a spell; could it be one of demons?

Chants of various magical origins obliterated all sounds. The elders glowed a brilliant red, and began chanting a spell of their own, in perfect unison. “Dur-ta Tessu / nak’le Perbah / krexte kuna / dur-ta cae”. It repeated many times. And suddenly, everyone was silent. The only sound was the village suiting up for war.

The elders moved back, ordering that everyone do the same. Suddenly the sky seemed to split open. A burst of fire ripped into the ground, destroying all the plants and rocks nearby. A tall warrior, holding a huge broadsword and engulfed in flames stepped forth. The flames were immediately quenched by a torrent of rain and ice, and a noble-looking mage, riding an ancient horse stepped forth. Our hair stood on end as the air was filled with electricity, which burst in the same spot as the flames and water, and a large floating figure holding a glimmering mace moved forward.

Everyone was completely silent. These newly summoned warriors said nothing. They only stared at the elders. All of the elders bowed; even their wolves bowed. The fiery warrior stepped forward.

“I, am Krenn Hateflame. You may speak”, said the fiery warrior. His voice was deep and crackly, almost as if it were on fire. The mage stepped forward next to Krenn and spoke next:

“I, am Vistan the Wise. Why have I surfaced?” asked Vistan. His voice was almost lizardlike, seeming to flow like water. The last warrior floated forth, sparks emanating from his long, metal plated cloak.

“Alright crew, what’s up? I am ZX-1.” Spoke the final warrior. He had the voice of a dwarf and all the hearty charm to go with it. He seemed far less serious than the other two, despite being unable to show any apparent emotion behind his metal mask.

The elders turned to face the crowd.

“These are the gods of Fire, Water, and Lightning! We have summoned them to help us in our time of need! They have not been called upon by our people for over 300 years, and we should consider ourselves lucky they still heed our call!"

Krenn seemed to smile a bit behind a big bushy mustache. “Well you know, there’s not a lot to do up there for 300 years. We were getting bored.” ZX-1 laughed.

“Aye Krenn, ‘at be true. So, what seems tah be the problum, little Orcs?”

The lead elder raised himself from his bow. “Oh great gods! A terrible enemy appr-“ The elder was cut short by Vistan.

“The Undead and the Naga. We know.” I was confused. Who were the “Naga?” I was unaware that a second enemy existed. “We will aid you in your plight. Beware, however. Both the Naga and the Undead have summoned the other gods of Nature, Night, Day, Death, and Life. And of course, all the intermediaries have joined the battle too. You will not be the only ones with gods on your side. Ready your warriors. The Naga and the Undead are already fighting each other. When they catch sight of you, you will be fighting both.”

I heard nothing more from that point. I had run off to gather my weapons and armor for the battle, and to find Ograre. I found him later, wielding his infamous Tauren axe (he called it his “Bitchslapper” for some reason) and adjusting his thick ogre armor.

“Little one!” he said cheerfully, despite the current situation. “Will you be joining me on the battlefield? I could use a good swordsman to cover my ass.” I smiled. Ograre was always in a good mood. I hefted my broadsword (aptly named “The Slayer” by my father) onto my shoulder and smiled.

“Of course Ograre. Someone needs to cover that massive ass of yours.” We both laughed for a moment. He walked off to go help plan some formations. I turned around to find a place to rest when my father approached me. He didn’t look at all pleased. He grabbed my shoulders and got his face down on to my level. His eyes looked like they were on fire.

“And just where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked, spit flying out of his mouth. “You think you’re going to go out there and fight some battles? Be a hero? What kind of hero would you be if you DIED?! Our clan would be LEADERLESS! You will NOT be going out there!” He grabbed my sword by the blade (I was too angry to notice his ability to do so without getting cut) and tossed it to the side. “Get your ass into the chieftain’s tent right now! You’re going to be guarded heavily until this battle is over!” I snapped. I wasn’t about to let my clan fight and die without me being a part of it. I shouted back at my father,

“No, I AM going out there. If I’m going to be chieftain someday, I have to learn how to fight! I have to fight in real battles! I’m not going to sit arou-“ My father bashed me to the ground with his forearm. He stepped on my chest with a surprising amount of force.

“You listen to me, Korgar. You are staying here. I will tie you down in chains if I have to. I will not accept your dishonor to my authority!! You either stay here, or you suffer my wrath, which I can guarantee will be one hundred times worse than anything the undead or these “Naga” can deal. Now you get your ass into the chieftain tent and you stay there until further notice.” With that, he walked off, kicking my sword aside. I stayed on the ground for a moment to catch my breath, and then hauled myself up and picked up my sword. I spotted Ograre and stood near him; but not close enough for him to see me.

Soon, the battle horn was blown. It was a deep, resonating sound that struck courage into the hearts of those who heard it. All the warriors and many shamans rushed into the battlefield. When I saw my father pass, I slipped into the crowd and followed Ograre. The shamans were bloodlusting us at an amazing rate. I felt my pulse rise with adrenaline and everything felt light. I ran faster, catching up to Ograre. As we ran, we saw the enemies we would face. Krenn, Vistan, and ZX-1 lead the charge, unleashing fire, water, and lightning into the crowd of marching undead. Undead exploded like nuts over a fire, rotten blood and guts flying everywhere. I heard shouts of agony nearby as some sort of shadowed creature burst into appearance and sliced the arm off of a nearby grunt before being cleaved by a Tauren, who roared in anger.

Before we reached the mass of Undead, we heard the horn of a Human; the bandits had arrived. We had previously forged a minor alliance with them, and they had been sent for. Knights and warriors joined our ranks as we charged. But from our left flank, we were attacked by creatures we had never seen before. Serpentine creatures with strange, orange and yellow weapons emerged from water that had not previously been there. They sliced through our ranks with their huge weapons. Arrows shattered on their scaled skin. And in the distance, it appeared Night Elves had joined the ranks of what I now understood were “Naga”. Up ahead, the rest of our forces had reached the Undead. Blood and gore was everywhere. I turned towards the Naga and was faced by a strange looking Tauren. He was large and green, and was accompanied by a bear and a wolf. He lunged towards me, and I managed to dodge, getting a good swing on him. It seemed to do almost nothing. I ran to Ograre, who had just torn one of the Night Elves in half, drenching himself in her purple blood. His axe swung across the enemies, knocking them aside or slicing them apart. He appeared crazy; perhaps he had drunk one of those ogre potions. I heard the cries of my father as he slew one after another of the Undead, whose frail bodies were nothing compared to my father’s greataxe. The strange Tauren approached Ograre and slammed him in the chest with his totem, knocking Ograre down. The bear lunged forth, slashing at Ograre’s thick armor before being gored by his mighty axe. The wolf went after me, and I took a powerful slash to the arm before managing to fend off the beast.

Hours of battle passed. I evaded Death’s grasp (literally; the god of Death challenged me at one point) multiple times over the course of the battle. Ograre and I stuck together. Ograre took a lot of hits, but his naturally huge build allowed him to suffer a lot of wounds without much trouble. As dusk broke, a full retreat was called. All remaining warriors rushed back behind the gates and the towers were manned. Undead tried to break through the gate, but our powerful crossbows shredded them like grass.

I looked at the crowd of those remaining. It was far more than I had hoped, but we had still suffered some losses. Medicine men were dashing about trying to heal as many wounded as possible. My arm had stopped bleeding a while ago, but it was almost useless. I was afraid to enter the crowd for fear of my father, but he was nowhere to be seen. I assumed he went to his tent, so I went down and got healed. I met with Ograre and we tried to keep upbeat, making jokes and comparing kills. He detailed some of his most outrageous kills, one of which involved him impaling three undead on a single tree. The three gods had stayed on the battle field to continue fighting, keeping the Undead and Naga from approaching our walls while we slept.

More battles were to come. More lives were to be lost. And nobody knew what would happen; not even the gods. All we can do is defend our home and our clan from being wiped out like so many of the great clans before us.

Hey, darkwulfv. Pretty good story you got here. I've always wanted to make a story about a clan related to the Orcish Horde, but I don't know- my aptitude for comprehending the thoughts of other races is pretty low, thus why I usually stick with Humans.

Having no real indenting is horrible for a writer, if you ask me. It explains why I made such a big deal out of it in the Site Discussion. Oh well; beggars can't be choosers.

Your spelling and grammer are really good; I've only spotted a few mistakes.


I think that's it. I'll probably read over it a second time when you post the rest... There is more, right?

Hmm... It's probably just me being picky, but most of the time when you use the name of group of people who commonly associate themselves with that group (or when you're putting someone with a common group of people), say the Undead or the Naga, it should be capitalized. i.e. American, European, etc.

Yeah the lack of indenting drove me nuts when I Cut 'n' Pasted it in here.

Thank you :D I'll make sure to fix those minor things. (I hate guarantee, it always gets me)

And I noticed that sometimes I'd captilize "Naga" and "Undead", and other times I wouldn't. I'll fix that too.

Thanks for the kind words! I hadn't considered a second part (besides the story of Rexxar), but I suppose a second part would be appropriate. I'll get one up soon.

~Edit: Fixed a couple mistakes (I was spelling "Ograre" as "Ograr" in the last page), as well as capitalization of groups and some minor grammar/spelling.
Part 2 is in the works, as well as Rexxar's story!
Warning: Part 2 is gonna be extra bloody and gory!

Part 1 of Part 2!




A week of battle had passed. Many had died, but reinforcements from nearby clans bolstered our ranks. Our gods of Fire, Water, and Lightning had punched holes into the enemy, but the Naga and Undead’s gods did the same to us. The Naga had enlisted the gods of Life, Day, and Nature. The Undead had only managed to get Night and Death. Simply watching the god-warriors battle was intense. The Death god could literally melt the flesh of whomever he touched. The Life god burned through undead like fire through dry grass. And I swear at some point he used some strange thing called the “Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch”. I was sure I would never want to be the target of such a thing. During the day, the god of Day would fire beams of focused sunlight, roasting anything in their path. I had actually suffered a burn from having stood near such a blast. The Tauren who was targeted was nothing more than a smoldering pile of bone and ash, his battle axe reduced to twisted metal. But during the Night, the god of Night would confuse his enemies and daze them into a lulled confusion before destroying them gruesomely. And finally, the god of Nature, that strange Tauren I had confronted earlier, was calling all sorts of creatures from the forest. Bears, wolves, even living trees that burned with their own flame! Their power was outstanding, and it frightened me to even think of what the battles would be like without our gods to help us.

Ograre had managed to suffer quite a few normally-lethal blows. The village decided to assign him his own battle field medic crew and shaman. It was amazing watching him fight, his Tauren axe swinging and crushing everything in his path. Archers and mages hid behind is bulk, taking down any survivors of his rage. He snapped countless Night Elves (he seemed to enjoy doing this) in two; their tiny female bodies unable to stand up to his pure, unadulterated strength. He would laugh at their cries of terror and pain before they were silenced and tossed aside. It was brutal, and more than once I had to stop and catch my breath from shock. Ograre was my best friend, but seeing him on the field of battle made him look entirely different. The cheerful, always happy Ograre I had grown used to now was roaring in rage and slicing things in two. His armor had long since been stained a strange mix of purple and green (the colors of Night Elf and Naga blood), and some spots were splotched with his own blood.

My father had fought only a few times. He was usually trying to arrange battle plans and get reinforcements. But when he did fight… All ran in terror. He was the strongest fighter out there, aside from the gods. His greataxe cleaved through scales, flesh, armor, and trees like it was nothing, and he seemed to feel no recoil or resistence. His war cries echoed out throughout the battlefield, and I always felt stronger when I heard his vicious cries.

Today, my father was not on the field. I was standing next to Ograre, fending off blows from a particularly nasty Undead soldier. He was riding what appeared to have been (at one time) a horse, and he carried a blade that seemed to scream when he swung it. As he chopped repeatedly, I would parry with my broadsword and try to get a swing in. However, every time I would hit him he would appear to regenerate soon after. I elbowed Ograre, which was our signal for assistance. He turned on the rotting knight and smashed it into its own horse with the end of his axe. The knight screeched out in a strange call of pain and agony before collapsing into a heap of shattered bones and rotting flesh. I shook my head slightly to clear it before moving on to a group of ghouls harassing a Tauren.

One of them noticed me and decided the Tauren wasn’t important any more. It ran towards me and leaped, preparing to take my head as a trophy. It never got to me; someone else was running near me and ran into my path unintentionally. The ghoul latched onto this poor grunt’s head and began tearing at his neck. The grunt roared in pain and started ripping the ghoul apart, but before he could finish killing the creature his head was torn off with a loud, wet ripping sound. I closed my eyes, roared loudly, and bore my sword down, turning the ghoul into a pile of bony mush. His body dropped and nearby Undead smelled the scent of a fresh kill and began hording the corpse, ripping off armor to reach the flesh underneath. I charged forward, cleaving some limbs off of the undead before positioning myself to defend the corpse, which was already turning a sickish purple from undead infection. The undead creatures leaped at me, but I was able to kill most of them before they could latch onto me. One feisty ghoul latched onto me from behind and began clawing into whatever exposed flesh it could find. I began to scream, and Ograre took one mighty step over to me and grabbed the ghoul off my back. It struggled in his hand before he crushed it, letting the rotten blood and guts run between his hands. He dropped the mush and went on.

“OGRARE! How do you do it?!” I shouted over the chaos of battle. “How do you kill so mercilessly without a second thought?!” He smiled at me (right after cleaving a Naga in two directly down the middle) at shrugged. I guess I would never know. Ograre was always one to keep secrets.

... I knew there was something weird about Ograre. The first time Korgar mentioned him, something felt "off". It's that hunch you get when you first meet someone and it tells you there's a whole world of themselves that they won't show you. But, when you think about it, that occurs with everyone, doesn't it?

I felt like making Ograre your classic Jolly-'ole-MURDERER. You know, the one who will smile and give you a lollypop before ripping someone's face off. But he's still going to be jolly and happy afterwards, and always will.
Besides, I needed someone to make the story bloody, and who better than an orc bigger than most other? Ograre is still like Korgar's "Big" brother.

Had to put this on a temporary hold due to minor writer's block, but I'm picking it up very soon.
It's a shame so few people look/post here. This is a really interesting section.

I'm still skeptical. Someone with that kind of attitude seems adept at getting into trouble. Even though killing others comes naturally to Ograre, (unlike some other character I know of...) personally, I find it very hard to trust him. He can do almost anything, which is dangerous (especially since it's in the hands of someone who gruesomely kills others). I'll keep my eyes on him...

I love how you actively relate with characters. Makes writing the story more fun.

I don't see how Orgrare is hard to trust. I hope you don't have an idea that he's a traitor or something.

Nothing is wrong with Ograre as far as loyalty goes. You said it yourself, Ograre and Korgar are practically brothers; I don't see any point in betrayal when Ograre loses his closest friend. He's just... It's hard to pass him by as being a heartless wretch when there will be blood. You wrote it, didn't you? He has secrets. O_o