Kern turns from all the gruesome displays and checks Grell for wounds. She fortunately carries none, as she was quick enough to kill her prey before they could damage her. He Pats her on the armored head, and allows her to take a few bites of one of the fallen enemies as a prize.
The wyrdcaster hunches down next to the prisoner, and runs a sharp talon shaped gauntleted fingernail down the hulk's skull, tracing the passage of melted bronze. There is a pleasing squeal of metal screeching against metal. The orc moans again, especially when Shakraal taps the bronze lump that fills his eye socket. The dreadmasque lifts, and the horrid wilting eye of potent doom slips open, blinking twice oozily before settling its baleful gaze on the unfortunate with a deep stare. Shakraal closes her two eyes as she whispers into the mewling and whining cannibal's lone ear.
"Tell us that which we wish to know. And perhaps you will live." Shakraal grabs the prisoner's head to force its eyes to watch Hakak's handiwork, while her other hand clutches the victim's own manhood for effect. "With your manhood." Shakrall graces the cannibal with a grisly smile.
[dice=Intimidate Check DC 11]1d20-1/dice] nope
It's a magnificent display. Shakraal has learned well the craft of Lanishra. And, they almost work. The orc's eyes bulge in horror as Hakak feeds his tribesmen's tenders to Fleshripper. But, he jerks as Shakraal's hand cups his manhood her other hand slips down into the ruined side of his skull, hooking into the pinched gash that was his ear. The pain nearly overwhelms him, but the orc channels the agony to fuel his fury. His eyes burn with fierce hatred and he spits in the hexcrafter's third eye. "Take my manhood! A gelded Twisted Nail is still more man than the followers of a broodmare!"
Thoku follow Shakraal, dragging two have of an orc behind him. He lifts the lower half up by the the exposed spine, shoving the gaping wound that was the orc's loins into the orcs face. He pulls back and holds up the other half by the head. The mouth hangs open and its entrails drag across the ground.
"You see this, and know it is an orc. Even in death, without his stone and rod, he is an orc and can be seen by the Chiefs in Fire and Blood...but once I do this.." Thoku takes his hand and breaks off one of the tusks from the orcs mouth . "Now, this is no longer an orc but a fangless...a worthless piece of filth that is not even worthy of burning. Better left for the bugs than the fire. Even the soul is no longer an orc and will never be seen by our gods again"
Thoku stares deep into the orc's eyes, and the cannibal quails under the gaze of the Blood God. [b]"I don't know you but I know you will tell me what I want to know" He leans in deep, and his grin widens as he breathes deep. The orc still smells of charred meat and sweat, and Thokus's mouth waters.
"Now tell me was this just a formality or will more be coming to die...tell me quick and die an orc...or live as fangless forever" Faced with the choice of death or being abandoned by his tribe to wander the wastes alone, unable to even feed himself, the orc succumbs to fear. The tuskless are slaves, and he would be abused worse than even the softskins as an example to the rest of the tribe.
"I am Drazgur, son of Lugburz. The Twisted Nail were dishonored at the Flood Truce. Slugok, he gestures towards one of the corpses, "had much blood grog and said we should slay those who shamed us."
He spits at Slugok's corpse . "We should not have come. The Twisted Nail do not honor the Flood Truce. The shamans say Zagresh is not pleased when we make peace with our prey. We honor the Destroyer most when we slay and kill our own. we become strong when the weak are fed to the Destroyer's hoard. Shrogkar commanded us to come. He said there was a place near here that was full of Selzarian's smoke. He said the tribe could use it to make slaves of our prey"
"There is wisdom in what your shamans of Zagresh say. I would agree with such an interpretation but your shaman was incorrect in believing us to be prey. Crawl back to Shrogkar. Tell him that Zagresh has spoken, we are the predator and it is you who are prey. Lay your spears at out feet at the Trial of Whispers and we shall forgive this transgression. Fail in this and the loins of all who follow him will be fed to the dire wolves and their fangs plucked to make necklaces for children who may one day be worthy".
Thoku looks deep onto the eye of the broken orc as he stands
"well, in honor of the truce you will live and stay an orc..."
Thoku takes one of the javelins moving to each of the dead and tares off their heads impaling them on the javelin and sticks it in to the ground turning back to the orc Thoku releases him
"here take the four other orcs with you but this Tuskless one will be left to the bugs, go quick be for the blood calls for you death"
and to make his point Thoku grinds the two tusk in his powerful hand, then lets the dust fall to the floor and be taken by the wind
"know my mercy for it will only be given once"
"It is good that you know your place," Hakak said. He walked over with the last orc harvest in hand. "Take this also," Hakak proffered the item, then reconsidered and drew it back. He took a large bite and chewed with visible pleasure before handing over the remainder with a friendly smile.
"Thank your tribe for this gift. It fills our bellies. As we are greater, we share it with you. If they hunger still, we know where to find more."
"Now, if you're all finished scaring the whelp, let him run. He is not deserving of the scars we have given him, but there is little for it... there must be one to let his tribe know how much they've been bested."
"Indeed that was good intimidation once again, as far as returning goes your clan had better beg forgiveness. If anyone is able I believe my leg needs tending to, I am not skilled in such things."
Choot attempts to tend to Kraq's wounds. Heal check
"Are any of the rest of you injured?" Choot says as his side still bleeds from the wound he received in the ambush.
"ahaha, did I not just release him cousins...why are you still here take you tribesmen and go" Thoku indicates to the javelin with heads
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Angered by her failure to sway the cannibal, Shakraal considers a stoic silence, but the piercing in her leg weeps blood yet. She smears a little on Thoku.
"By this I honor thee Thoku. [here turns to the necrorcmancer] Choot. I am…also…injured."
Shakraal cradles her mask, and uses her falchion to ease herself to a kneeling position. Shakraal eyes the small tidbits of the grisly remains of their attackers.
"We can also bring dishonor to the Twisted Nail by proving they broke the Flood Truce. If we initiate a true tribe, we may gain adherents from them, as well as others who wish to band with us."
Choot tends to Shakaraal's wounds. Heal check
"Yes, a true tribe. Thoku had said something about that today. Yes, a good idea. Let us begin something new, from this place let blood flow and with it a rising tide which lifts our people to greatness!"
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" yes a new tribe one formed from the blood of combat and a like mind.. I was blessed by the blood on the start of this day, we were blessed by the trials as the Gods chose us to win. join together with me and we will take the orc horde to a new place of power ruling over all the lesser races"
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Drazgur grabs the four trophies and uses them for support as he limps off into the night. Choot does not tend the comrades until the Twisted Nail whelp is out of sight. Zagresh punishes those who show weakness to a foe.
Once he is sure they are alone, he thrusts blades into the fire and presses the red hot metal to his cousins' wounds. Sweat and flesh sizzle, filling the air with cooked meat. But, his skill with Dretha's craft is up to the task, and his warband will live.
Shakraal knows there are a few ways to forge a new tribe.
The traditional way is to assemble a band of warriors under an orc who would be chief in the presence of a shaman of the Chiefs of Fire and Blood. Any of the gods will do, although Dretha is preferred. Then, those who wish to be bound in blood as one tribe perform a ritual and become Blood of Their Blood. They offer sacrifice to the Chiefs in Fire and Blood and sacrifice to each other as well.
Another way is to fight each other to submission. After each battle, the loser bears their neck to the champion, showing their submission and acceptance of the other's dominance. This goes until there are no challengers left. The final champion is the Chief and a pecking order is established through who defeated whom. Tribes established this way tend to not last very long.
A third way is to just declare yourself a tribe with a chief. Then, the tribe proves their right to be a tribe through strength of deeds and in battle with other tribes. This is the most dangerous option because they have to constantly battle other tribes to prove their strength. This lasts until they're strong enough and other tribes acknowledge their might. They will be tribeless until they are not.
No matter how a tribe forms, the tribe will not survive unless they claim territory of their own.
Thoku spends some time removing the spinal columns from the four remaining orcs and cleans them before going to sleep
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"Agreed, let us create a tribe in the traditional way. We can find a shaman of Dretha and offer our sacrifices. We will need to claim territory, but that can wait until after this convocation."
Shakraal's keloid warded skin returns to normal, she dons her mask to view Choot's handiwork through her wyrdsight.
[+3 Wis, +2 mask]
Seeing a job well done, she thanks Choot brusquely in the orc fashion - a curt nod after examining his craft. Then she removes her mask again.
The warwitch listens to Kern, and nods slowly.
"As we are the newest tribe among orcs this eve, I would say we take a new path and claim oursleves a tribe without need of priests or gods... But if we are to claim legitimacy before the other tribes, and avoid their constant attention we needs must make a show of following the old ways, as Kern says. f we had a band of a thousand warriors, and a hold to call our own - then perhaps we could dispense with hidebound ways. So - yes, I agree, we find Dretha's blessing on the morrow."
With that Shakraal stares into the fire.
"What Kring will make of her errant daughter is another matter entirely..."
"Yes, Kern and Shakaarl i do agree that we should follow the old ways to form our tribe but i must say i am hapy and surprised to hear your willing to join us Choot and i talked and we are of like mind Kern is happy to join and one more was tribeless. Thow you have a good place in your tribe next to rule it from what you say...is it just the blessings that have fallen on us that call you or is it something else"
as Thoku talks he deftly removes the spine from one of the orcs and sets it by the fire so the fat will heat and melt off
Shakraal's head angles ever so slightly as Thoku speaks. Her eyes narrow as if she has encountered something...wrong.
"Brave Thoku. You speak of Kern and I joining you. Is this to be your tribe? Why should it not be couched as you joining mine? Or Kern's, or Hakak's, or Kraq's? Are you to be chief? By what right? Might? Blood?"
Shakraal looks to each in turn.
"We are a good unit, a squad perhaps, but a true tribe respects more than just physical primacy or the dark arts. Do not mistake my desire to form a new tribe as a desire to replace one serfdom with another. And before you ask, no, I do not seek to be the chief. But if I am to be then so be it."
Shakraal knows she is preching revolutionary concepts, but her mind is bent toward a new age, where orcs leave behind the vestiges of their primitive ways.
"Shakraal, true i have grate power but the blood also blessed me with a strong mind for one can't take the hoard to a new frontier with out the knowledge and foresight to see it through. Even if i have the power of an army in me not every orc i would lead would carry the same power, so i and any who lead with me would have to know the beast way to use the power of even the weaker orcs" Thoku cleans another spine
"look at the four i have here they were weak but if they had been lead by the right leader together...then they could be strong. Thats what i want for one day when all orcs stand together we could rule the realm...and never lose one to the giants or knife ears anyone...unless they were foolish and came for my head, ahahaha or i would guess yours eh?"
"I have no desire to lead a clan what so ever, I do however have plans to start training battle casters, assault the other tribes with fire and lighting and rule them all, I suppose that means I would rather be a supreme 'shaman' then a war leader is what I am saying."
"Zagresh bids me to advise the Orc Warlord who would rule the tribes. Look at my skinny arms. My skinny legs. I am not fit to be Warmaster. My skills are as advisor. I will assist in determining which of you should lead us. Too long have the will of the Gods been ignored! Allow me to petition Zagresh to answer that question, after all, it is he who knows how all things will end..."
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I think he is away.
Dawn comes, and once more the Burning Angel spills her red water across the sky. The new comrades rise from their bedrolls amid a feasting of vultures tearing strips of fresh from the slain orcs. The corpse-tearers squawk and flap oily wings as the warriors awake, but they stay at the ground, burying beaks and talons into the flesh of the fallen. Such is the way of life: The strong prey upon the weak and grow stronger.
Soon, the cookfires flare to life, and the air is filled with the scent of roasting meat. Slaves moan and howl beneath the whips and strength of their orc masters and the second day of the Flood Truce stirs to life. Horns blare and drums boom as fierce orcs in metal masks and scarred armor ride through the campgrounds astride a fierce gorthek. Their masks bear sharp tusks and horns, snarling maws and sharp metallic teeth, and cruel spikes. Their leader has a mask that is hinged and cups his lower jaw as well as his upper face. On their shoulders are cloaks and decorations made from the manes and leathered hides of culled gortheks. The skulls of their mounts are also bound in metal, and the beasts bristle with heavy spiked armor, their claws are shod in razor-sharp iron blades. Each gorthek roars in challenge, and their riders respond in kind. Behind these mounted beast riders, stomp twenty leather-clad warriors, their bodies scarred with the marks of their strength and bravery. Their battle prowess is proven with their life. In the hand of each warrior is a stout chain leading to a muzzled and hobbled gorthek. These beasts are wild, still. Each attempts to charge or bite a the orc in front of them or at those nearby. Only their chains and muzzles prevent them from doing any real harm.
This second day is dedicated to Lanistra, the Lord of Chains. It is the day when the gorthek riders prove their might by bonding themselves to a single beast, breaking them to their will and binding them in iron.
Soon, the small parade stomps its way to the stage. The wild gortheks are bound first, locked in yokes and chains, unable to move even their heads. Then, the muzzles are removed. Next, the unmasked orcs are brought forward, and bound to stout poles thrust into the stage. Those who have hair are quickly shorn so their skulls and faces are smooth as a newly-spawned whelp. Behind each bound orc stands a gorthek rider, proud in their metal masks and battle-scarred armor.
Then, a priest of Lanistra steps onto the stage. A thick collar of iron encloses his neck the roaring tiger of the Slavelord has been peeled from the skin of his chest. Chains encircle his arms and legs, winding up and down the limbs, and attached to thick rings embedded into the flesh at shoulders and hips and about cuffs around wrist and ankles. His loins are covered by a kilt of thick spiked chains which dangle from a belt of iron about his waist. From this belt, he unhooks a flail and points to the center of the stage. Two human slaves drag a burning brazier onto the stage, and cower beside it. Following them, are two more slaves each holding a tray of iron masks. The slave-speaker steps to the front of the stage and holds his flail aloft.
Tribes of Belkzen! These warriors are claimed by the tribes! Each bears the mark of their people, each has sworn to serve their chieftain! Each of these warriors have hunted into the mountains, and claimed a gorthek cub as its own! There flesh tells the tale of their prowess! They have served Lanistra well, breaking their cubs to their will. Now, they shall be bound in iron by Fire and Blood to the soul of their fierce warbeast! Two mighty warriors becoming one!
He grabs one of the cowering human slaves and thrusts him bodily into the fire. The man shrieks in agony as the flames of the brazier devour him, filling the air with the delicious scent of burnt manflesh. The other human tries to run, but his chains hobble his movements and the Tyrantmouth grabs him easily. The shaman holds the mewling human above the metal masks and cuts his neck so that the masks are bathed in the slave's blood.
Let our sacrifice be made of Flesh and of Blood! The two warriors become one! One spirit! One mind! One body! He throws the corpse into the fire as well, then carefully places each mask (twenty orc-sized, and twenty larger ones, fit for a gorthek) in a circle about the perimeter of the brazier. When the orc-sized masks are white hot he thrusts his hand into the coals and retrieves one. He stomps to the first bound warrior, who snarls a challenge but holds himself still, and places the mask on the warrior's skull.
To his credit, the warrior turns his cry of agony into a mighty battle-roar, as the metal burns binds to his flesh. Next, the shaman of the Slavelord takes hammer and nail and drives them mask into the warrior's skull. Blood rains free from the wounds, but burns quickly into mist from the searing heat of the mask.
He repeats this each time with the remaining warriors. The beast riders remove the warriors' bindings and pour a bucket of blood over the newly-masked heads. Then, each warrior, his face still smoking from the masks' heat, stalks to the brazier and retrieves a mask. They repeat the ritual performed on them with the gortheks. The beast snarl and snap at the orcs, who seem immune to the smoke rising from their hands. But, their snarls and roars turn screams of pain as the hot metal is placed on their skulls and then nailed into place. Blood is thrown on their masks as well and their bindings are unleashed. The gortheks stumble forward and each beast places its head at the feet of the orc standing before it. These beast riders are triumphant! It is a good sign that the Chiefs in Fire and Blood are pleased, no gorthek rejected their master this day. Beast rider and mount alike roar in triumph and then leap from the stage as one, to ride into the wilds and hunt, completing the secret rituals of the gorthek riders.
The stage quickly clears after and the comrades are left alone. Near the stage, someone has built a fighting pit for the Trial of Fangs, to honor Lanistra by compelling creatures to obey and fight for survival. To the east, someone has created a maze for the Trial of Whispers. Beyond that, the warriors can hear roars of excitement from the spectators of a Trial of the Pit. And, on a hill, two tribes pull mightily on a chain in the Trial of the Tribe.
"I will enter the Trial of Whispers unless one of you wishes to stay here and enter the Trial of Fangs".
.
Thoku places his hand on Choot's shoulder "ah, am well hidden when I chose the shadows cling to me if I wish it let's try the wipers then wise Choot"
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Kern found himself turning his eyes from the spectacle several times, especially when the poor beasts were masked and burned. He patted Grell's head. "I have no need to do something so horrible to you, my friend. You and I are one, and need no ceremonies to prove it," he whispered to her.
"I would like to participate in the Trial of Fangs, my friend, though I do not mind aiding you in your trial first."
Kern is eager to show that his companion is every bit as deadly as those who have been cowed into submission by force.
Choot shakes his head at Kern and gestures to the arena, "We are here now Beastmaster. Let us watch your magnificent friend in action!"
"Yes, Kern the tamer of beast show them why your Grell is far better than the rest go and earn your glory ahaha"
Thoku makes his way to the Trial of Fangs and as other lesser orcs see him they part and make a path for his companions and him
"I too will face the trial of fangs," Hakak said. "We will have victory or death, as it should be."
Choot Othul:
Thrall:
Hakak:
Fleshripper:
Kern Dead-Eye:
Grell:
Kraq Skysplitter:
Shakraal Kringsdaughter:
Thoku Blood Drinker:
Axebeak:
The Trial of Fangs is a small pit carved from the loose earth of the Flood Plain and supported with rubble and cut timbers. Unlike the other trials, there are no spikes or flames, no razors, and no weapons. The fierce slaves of the orc beast-trainers are the weapons.
As the comrades approach the fighting pit, they see a combat is already underway. An armored lizard rips and tears at the belly and sides of a massive boar. The bear flexes and the dinosaur falls onto its back, kicking and scrabbling in the air. The boar lowers its head at a command from its master and charges, running its tusks deep into the lizard's gut. The beast roars in pain, but turns on its side and rakes all four limbs along the boar's side. Blood oozes from the wounds as great rents appear in the beast's armor and hide. Then, the dinosaur rears on its hind legs and clamps its teeth down on the boar. Its savages the thing's until there's a mighty crack and a final squeal of anguish from the boar. The dinosaur roars in victory and begins eating at the corpse.
Two orcs approach a shaman of Lanistra who is dressed similarly to the one who opened the day's ceremony. The voice of the Slavelord sits in a simple chair formed by four terrified kneeling humans. Such is his mastery and power that the brave warriors who approach him kneel in supplication at his feet. The shaman takes up his flail and beats the boar's owner mercilessly with his weapon, and then the traditional exchange of blood-wealth occurs. Each warrior makes the sign of Lanistra and then leave.
A female steps forward, wearing the hides of the Ice Tooth."I am Voothra! I have wandered the dry plains of the soft lands south of the wastes I call home. I have found no beast worth besting, no warbeast worthy of breaking to my will! I prove this by bringing you this!" She whistles and a giant two-legged bird leaps into the pit. Its beak is razor sharp, its talons are swords rending the ground. Bones and spines protrude between its feathers. The axebeak lifts its head into the air and squawks a fierce challenge.I, Voothra offer this beast to you, Slavelord! May its service to me honor you! Who will honor Lanistra! Who will honor the Chief of Chains! Who will please the Shackles and Collar of the World?