Location unknown
Time unknown
It arose from the primordial ooze, mud sloughing off of its form as it stood hunched but upright on two legs.
It wasn't always this… whatever it was now, it was pretty sure. It had used to be some other kind of thing. But no matter how much it tried to remember what it was before, it came up with nothing. And as for what it was at present…
[ROLLING STARTER PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Savage Greenskin] [Free]
[The savage orc is a more feral being than the common orc. Highly superstitious they tap more easily into the Great Green, the mystical force that connects all orcs together and that all orcs generate a small amount of, and thus their traditions tend to be more effective than normal. In trade off though, they seem obsessed with staying in their stone age mindset which holds them back.]
[Uruk] [Free]
[You are a powerful Uruk in Sauron's forces and you were instrumental in the taking of the Black Gate. After the battle you decided to start a crew of your own and now have several good Uruks under you. Currently you roam Mordor hunting escaped tarks, quarrelling and fighting with other groups of orcs and enjoying man-flesh (when you can get it).]
[Common Greenskin] [Free]
[The common orc is just that, common. He stands about the same height as a human, though he'd tower over the human in question if almost all orcs didn't instinctively stoop as if ready for a charge. They are broad and thickly built with thick bones and dense muscle, though most have a propensity of being unintelligent some have shown to be quite clever.]
It was an orc. Yes, that thought felt correct. But apparently it had to choose which kind of orc it was from this selection of three options. Apparently it had carried over some power of comprehension from whatever it was before, because it was able to think critically about the options provided.
The Savage Greenskin was discarded first. It wasn't sure what the Great Green was, so while a stronger connection to it might have been useful, it would be a gamble. The downside, on the other hand, of a mental obsession with remaining in the "stone age," seemed much more daunting. It had only just become this orc, and it didn't want to immediately cripple itself.
That left a choice between the Uruk and the Common Greenskin. It had the impression, somehow, that the Uruk perk's talk of having others of its kind to command was simply "flavour text," and that it would not simply receive a "crew" automatically even if it were to choose it. Lacking any more information to base its decision on, it decided to pass over the empty words.
[Common Greenskin], it selected.
Instantly, it felt a change come over itself. Or, no, not a change so much as a… settling? Where before it had been somehow indistinct, its form was now solidified: hulking, muscular, with bright green flesh, a flat face, and a mouth full of jagged teef including a pair of sturdy tusks jutting up from its lower jaw. It… no, he rolled his powerful shoulders as the strange words filled his mind again.
[BONUS PERK]
[Greenskin Biology] [Free]
[Greenskins have a unique, in comparison to other races, genetic makeup that is entirely different from any other creature living within the known world. Theories abound that the Greenskin race harbor traits of both animal and fungal life forms, and that it is this unusual biology that gives a Greenskin their remarkable constitution. The species' green coloration could also be explained, Imperial scholars suggest, due to some form of algae or green fungus that permeates their cellular makeup. Such a substance could break down and repair damaged tissue at an incredible rate, accounting in part for the Orc's extremely durable metabolism. The physiology of the Greenskin race is quite remarkable. As the Greenskins grow older and win battles against larger opponents, they are pumped with extreme doses of adrenaline and hormones that help to increase their natural size and strength. These characteristics are the most common amongst the Orcs rather than the Goblins, as the Goblins are often bullied relentlessly, which would naturally stunt their growth process considerably. All in all, this allows you to grow as you do combat, though at an almost glacial rate, and continue to win greater and greater victories. This ability can be stunted considerably by suffering multiple setbacks and takes considerable time to work even when facing worthy foes.]
[BONUS PERK]
[Da Great Green] [Free]
[All Greenskins have a connection to the Great Green, a combination of mystic field and combined mental energy pool, which allows them to grow more stubborn in proportion to their numbers. Though only the most prodigious numbers of Greenskins, such as those produced in a vast army hundreds strong, will produce more than a slight increase in the average orc's will power. You can now tap into the Great Green and gain benefits as you are now a Greenskin, this only affects you and other Greenskins.]
Oh, so that was what the "Great Green" was. He had made the right choice to pass on the Savage Greenskin perk; with no others of his kind around, the benefits of a stronger connection would have been utterly worthless. He would have been trapping himself in a primitive mindset, maybe permanently, for effectively nothing.
He could already feel himself spoilin' for a fight, but apparently the words weren't done with him yet.
[ROLLING ADDITIONAL STARTER PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Drop-In] [Free]
[You quite literally drop into the Badlands like a sack of fungus with little idea what's going on, you may or may not have killed someone on entry. The locals are all snotlings and mostly average goblins, so if you wanted you could easily whip up the bare beginnings of a warband or just wander the world as you wish.]
[Great Shaman] [100]
[These psychotic individuals are those few Orc Shamans within a tribe who have managed to control and harness the spells of Da Great Green to a much greater effect. Great Shamans of the Greenskins are amongst some of the most powerful spell-casters known to the greenskins, capable of everything from melting brains to summoning the great foot of the mighty Gork himself, in order to stamp out your foes or even bring for the Evil Sun to wreak a battlefield.]
[Shaman] [Free]
[Shamans of the Orc tribes are amongst some of the most stable spell-casters known to the greenskins, capable of everything from melting brains to summoning the great foot of the mighty Gork himself, in order to stamp out your foes.]
The new selection baffled him for a minute. Drop-In seemed to do nothing at all as opposed to the magical powers available to Shaman, while Shaman in turn seemed to be strictly inferior to Great Shaman. Why was this even a choice? What kinda stupid git would pick anything but the most powerful option? But then he noticed that Great Shaman was not marked as [Free] like every other perk he had seen so far. Apparently, it cost a hundred of… something. He supposed that if someone were hard up for whatever that was, they might be forced to pick the lesser Shaman perk instead (though he still had no idea why anyone would ever pick Drop-In).
But he himself didn't care about minor things like "affordability." Not when power was there for the taking. He reached out for [Great Shaman], and felt that his choice was accepted.
[CURRENT POINTS: -100]
[BONUS PERK]
[Da Big and Little WAAAGH!] [Free for Great Shaman]
[Greenskin magic is divided into two Lores – Da Big and Little Waaagh! Da Big WAAAGH! is usually used exclusively by Orc and Savage Orc Shamans, whilst Da Little WAAAGH! is almost always restricted to Goblin and Night Goblin Shamans. You are one of the exceptional few who has the ability to access both of these great lores.
Da Big WAAAGH! is a potent collection of spells able to smash into heavily armored units, boost your own units strength, and invoke massive attacks that could be considered an equal to heavy artillery. It's a straightforward magic, but it'll get the job done.
Da Little WAAAGH! is a sneaky selection of spellcraft that allow a caster to boost things like armor penetration across units of allies, hide units in a sudden shadowy night, and summon forth a massive, hundred or so feet across, "moon" whose gaze is baleful and curses enemies with bad luck as well as burns them.]
Knowledge of a dozen different spells rushed into his head, making it throb painfully, but he ignored the hurt and grinned savagely. Oh yes, now that would be good for krumpin' gits.
Well, if he ever ran into any gits to krump, at least. As the words faded away, seemingly done with him for now, he fully took in his surroundings for the first time. He was, as he had been instinctually aware up until now, completely alone. It was nighttime, so he couldn't get the best look at things, but his night vision was good enough that he could tell he was standing shin-deep in a large puddle of murky liquid. Reeds and other small plants poked out of the shallow water and ringed the shoreline, while a couple of stunted but hardy trees clung to life nearby. Beyond that immediate area, dry and rocky ground stretched out in every direction to the horizon. That would make this dirty pool an oasis (if barely), within what otherwise seemed to be a barren desert.
Could this be the "Badlands" mentioned in the Drop-In perk? For some reason, he felt in his gut that the answer was "no," but he couldn't say why.
Either way, he was left with a choice to make–a choice not involving mysterious words or "perks" this time. Should he stay, or should he leave? He needed to eat, and he needed to scrap. If he stayed, some beast might come to drink from the oasis, and then he could krump it and eat it. But it could take a long time for anything worth killing to show up, and there was no guarantee he'd be able to live on what he could catch. If he left, on the other hand, he'd be leaving behind the guaranteed source of water, and he could very well just end up walking around the desert until he starved. But if he got lucky, he might be able to find a bigger oasis, or even a settlement to plunder. Risk versus reward.
…Ah, who was he kidding. He was never gonna squat in this swamp 'til he got all flabby and useless.
Squintin' real hard at the horizon, he noticed the shape of distant mountain peaks silhouetted against the background of stars, way off in some direction (he had no way to know which). It wasn't much to go off of, wasn't anything really, but it was about the only actual feature he could aim for in this place. There was no sense waiting, so after taking a few gulps of brackish, muddy swamp water to fill his guts up a little, he squelched his way onto dry land and started walking.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 0]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[A Home For Orcs] [600]
[Having land and people is important for any clan chief. But having somewhere to shelter from the elements and rest after a long day is also important. What you have here is a settlement the size of Garadar, with enough buildings and amenities to comfortably house a few thousand people. You may expand this over time and combine any other buildings or settlements with this.]
[Uruk] [Free]
[You are a powerful Uruk in Sauron's forces and you were instrumental in the taking of the Black Gate. After the battle you decided to start a crew of your own and now have several good Uruks under you. Currently you roam Mordor hunting escaped tarks, quarrelling and fighting with other groups of orcs and enjoying man-flesh (when you can get it).]
[Like A Rat] [400]
[As we'd come to learn, Gul'dan always had a habit of escaping at the last minute. Be it because his opponents had a larger threat to deal with, or because he was cunning enough to realise he needed to escape. And now when it seems like you are going to face certain defeat, the universe gives you an opportunity to escape. Maybe the Adventurers took a left turn so you manage to teleport to safety. Perhaps you manage to convince an enemy to join you and can escape while they face the heroes. Like a rat, you will scurry into the night to plot another day.]
As the Orc trudged across the empty desert, he felt the words reappear again and paused to consider them. There was Uruk again; apparently, perks could reappear more than once. The other two perks once again had "point" costs associated with them, and these two were both much more expensive than Great Shaman had been.
Like A Rat could be useful, maybe, if he ran into someone bigger and badder than him. But the idea of running away from a scrap didn't sit right in his gut.
A Home For Orcs on the other hand seemed absolutely perfect. A whole settlement for him and his boyz (whenever he managed to get any boyz), complete with shelter from the elements–which was probably going to be a good thing to have when the sun came up–and "amenities to comfortably house a few thousand people" which probably meant meat and drink.
Without bothering to devote any more thought to the choice, he reached out and tried to select [A Home For Orcs].
[INSUFFICIENT POINTS]
The Orc let out a wordless roar of frustration. This hadn't happened before with Great Shaman! He'd been able to pick it even without any points! Why wouldn't it let him now? But after taking a few breaths to calm down and think about it, he concluded that maybe it had been because Great Shaman was a "starter perk," and these were apparently not. Going over the words again, he noticed that he had received a hundred "points" just before rolling, which had brought his "current points" from minus one hundred to zero. Maybe he would get more points every time he rolled? But he had no idea how to roll, it just seemed to happen out of nowhere.
Just to check, he tried to pick [Like A Rat].
[INSUFFICIENT POINTS]
He huffed. Fine then. [Uruk] it was. He felt the words accept his choice and fade away, and as they did he felt an odd tingle throughout his body as the quality of his night vision suddenly increased, bringing out a little more detail in the starlit landscape of the wastelands around him. He looked down at himself but couldn't find anything else different. A quick scan confirmed that his earlier instincts had been correct; there were still no other boyz here for him to boss around.
So was he two different kinds of orc now at the same time? He had no idea what that meant for him, if true. At the moment the answer seemed to be very little: a bit better night vision and some kind of tingly feeling.
Still, it might help him make marginally better time picking his way through the rough terrain in the dark. He checked again that he was still headed towards the far-off mountains, which he was, and set off once more. It was tedious, and the rocky ground, while unable to pierce the leathery green skin of his soles, was uncomfortable to walk on barefoot, but he felt like he was making good progress nonetheless, probably because of the heightened endurance that came with orc-hood.
Eventually, after what was probably a long time although he had no way to actually tell, the horizon behind him and a little bit to his left began to lighten, ever so slightly at first but getting brighter and brighter. The sun was rising. Some instinct in his head told him to find a dark place to cower in to protect his eyes from the hateful light of the sun, but another, bigger instinct told that one to sod off and that his eyes would be just fine.
As the disc of the sun broke the horizon and began creeping higher and higher into the sky, that bigger instinct turned out to be right. The Orc's eyes were indeed just fine. In the light of day, he noticed that his skin was a little bit of a grayer shade of green than he had imagined it being in the dark, but that didn't really mean anything to him and he decided it wasn't worth thinking about.
By the time the sun was almost directly overhead, the heat of the desert was starting to get bad enough that even the Orc was feeling it, and his stomach was growling. Slowing his pace, he began keeping an eye out for anything that might be able to provide him with some shade.
Eventually, the Orc spotted a large boulder, whose rounded shape meant that there was a bit of an overhang where even someone his size might be able to lay down and be mostly out of direct sunlight. It wasn't the best spot for sleeping, but it was better than nothing, and probably better than anything else he was likely to find any time soon.
He laid down on the baking-hot ground, scooted as far under the boulder as he could, ignored his empty stomach, and quickly fell asleep.
When the Orc woke up, the sun had already set and there was some kind of beastie eyeing him up for a snack. It was a smallish canine, maybe knee high on him if he were standing up. With one hand, he lashed out and grabbed the creature by the muzzle. It struggled, but was unable to escape from the powerful grasp of the Orc as he slid out from his hiding spot and stood up to his full (hunched) height, dangling it in the air. Its claws raked against his leathery skin, doing little more than leaving surface-level scratch marks, too shallow to even draw blood.
What do do with this critter, he wondered?
With a glance back at the boulder that had been sheltering him from the sun, an idea popped into his head and a jagged-toofed smile broke out across his fate. He wound the arm holding the creature back, then swung it as hard as he could against the rock.
A chorus of snapping and crunching sounds rang out as the canine's bones were pulverized by the impact, and its struggles ceased, being replaced by the limp twitches of a dying beast. The Orc didn't even wait for it to fully die before bringing the animal up to his mouth, sinking his jagged fangs and tusks into it, and tearing out a mouthful of raw, bloody meat. It was a bit furry for his tastes, but the dogmeat quickly quieted the pangs of hunger from his stomach, and the blood soothed his parched throat. As he sat down with his back to the now blood-stained boulder to finish his meal, the words came again.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 100]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Skin of Bitter Ash] [400]
[The realm of Malacath is known as the Ash Pits, an ashen wasteland where all orcs who perish will spend the rest of eternity by their Prince's side. The ash of this realm has bound itself to you, making you better than before. You will find that your durability is greatly improved, with your bones and skin in particular being comparable to treated orichalcum.]
[Bonewood Staff] [400] [200] [Discounted for Great Shaman]
[A staff composed completely of one solid bone of unknown origins, bearing many glowing green glyphs. Wielding this staff in battle is easily as effective as walking in with a massive cudgel or a fine longsword, and besides the effectiveness as a hand weapon it makes the user's difficult to harm or hinder using magic. This Magic Resistance is potent enough to completely diffuse spells about half the time and allows him to use magic with greater ease, easily channeling the energies of the magic safely.]
[Fungus Cave] [200]
[A cave full of different edible fungus that can be easily processed into all kinds of stuff. From the Night Goblins various concoctions to the 'amazing' Fungus Beer, which is strong enough to get a Giant drunk, the fruits.... Er, spores of this cave will allow you to produce many 'valuable' things.]
All three options were tempting in their own ways. Greatly increased toughness, a weapon that would enhance his spells, a source of food and booze…
BUT HE COULDN'T BLOODY AFFORD ANY OF THEM!
Futilely, he tried selecting all three perks in turn, but each time he was met with a message informing him that he had insufficient points.
THEN WHAT WAS EVEN THE BLOODY POINT?!
In frustration, he tried to make the words go away, and was only a little bit surprised when they did, fading away without having given him any new perk.
Well, that had thoroughly spoiled his good mood. Scowling, he tucked back in to his now-rapidly-cooling dog. Regardless of his irritation with the mysterious words, he'd need the strength; he had a long walk still ahead of him.
AN: As you can probably tell, this is my attempt at a sort of Celestial Whatever/Chaos Gacha/etc. type story. I've curated the list of rollable perks from a few jumpchain docs (current list: "The Elder Scrolls: Main Races" by Pokebrat_J; "Warhammer Fantasy Battle: Orcs & Goblins" by Gauntlet a.k.a. Waddle; "Warcraft: Orcs v1.2," author unknown; "Shadow of Mordor JumpChain," author unknown; and "Silmarillion JumpChain 1.0," author unknown) but if anyone knows of any other docs that have suitable orc-based perks I can poach, feel free to let me know so I can add them to the pool. No 40k or Shadowrun, I want this to remain as a fantasy orc story and not a sci-fi orc story. Like ReplyReport Reactions:LokiJones, Chadthundercock6969, partezane and 481 others
Desert
Day 5
The Orc hadn't seen the words again since killing the dog and he was starting to worry that he might have made them go away forever by accident.
He also hadn't seen any more dogs since then, which his stomach wasn't very happy about. He hadn't gone completely without food–he'd managed to sniff out a large snake curled up underneath a rock and crushed it to death with his bare hands before it could bite him, and from time to time a bug would try to crawl on him or buzz too close only to get snatched up and crunched down–but he hadn't had a proppa scrap since he had appeared in the oasis and both hunger and boredom were starting to get to him.
The routine was simple: wake up after dark, when the desert had had time to cool down to a tolerable temperature. Make sure the mountains were still there off in front of him. Start walking. Keep walking until late morning, when the heat got too bad. Find somewhere vaguely shady and sleep through the afternoon. Repeat.
If he were a member of a less hardy species, he'd have collapsed and died days ago. Fortunately, he was an orc.
It was late in his fifth night walking when the Orc started to notice something different. Plants, pathetic little scrubby things, but still more green than he'd seen since leaving the oasis (himself excluded, of course). As he kept moving forward, the ground became flatter, the terrain less rocky, the plants more common. He found a thorny bush with small, waxy berries and ate them all. They tasted like dung and made him wish for meat, but the burst of energy kept him on his feet and moving forward.
On the seventh day, he got a whiff of sweat and smoke and stagnant water, and he couldn't stop a wicked grin from splitting his fanged face.
***
Shukur was a modest town, located on the right bank of the slow-moving Agalgal river downstream of the capital and inhabited mainly by simple farmers, shepherds and fishermen. Hardly a glorious posting, but Sin-Gamil took pride in being the hand of the Priest-King even in such a backwater. There was precious little for him to do each day besides performing the daily rites at the temple and ensuring the proper taxes, tithes, and tributes were sent upriver on time, but that was no issue; it gave Sin-Gamil more time to pursue his studies of magic and the esoteric scriptures. Even when troubles did arise, they rarely amounted to more than petty disputes over someone's goats grazing on someone else's property.
Which was why it was quite a surprise for the priest when one of the townsfolk burst into the temple in a panic, babbling so frantically that Sin-Gamil couldn't make sense of a thing he was saying.
"Calm yourself," he said sternly. "I am here. Now speak clearly; what troubles you?"
"It's Etum's ox," the man began, still somewhat breathless. "He was meant to bring a load of grain to the market this morning, but only the beast showed up, all in a panic and dragging half of a wagon all smashed up behind it, and Etum is nowhere to be found."
Sin-Gamil furrowed his brow. Bandits? But bandits would be more likely to seize the grain and sell it off themselves.
"Bring my mace," he instructed one of the temple's slave eunuchs, who bowed deeply and hurried away to fetch the weapon. He returned his attention to the villager. "I will investigate this ox-cart myself. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."
When the slave returned with the mace, Sin-Gamil bade the villager to lead him to the site of the disturbance. A short walk through the town square and towards the southern road and the two men arrived to where a group of townsfolk were attempting to calm the ox and unhitch it from the splintered remnants of the cart.
The priest said a quick prayer under his breath, beseeching the gods for wisdom to aid in his investigation, then stepped up to get a closer look at the cart. The villagers parted in front of him.
It seemed that most of the damage could be explained by the ox's panicked flight overturning the wagon, dragging it sideways across the ground and smashing into obstacles, but there was one detail that leapt out to him. At the front of the cart, where a driver would sit, there was a smear of something.
Sin-Gamil leaned in close. Yes, it was as he'd suspected: blood.
"One of you, return to the temple and tell them to send five soldiers, with all haste," he spoke loudly. The gathered men looked between each other momentarily, before one bowed and began to hasten away in the direction of the town square.
Whatever did this, whether it was bandits, wild animals, or… worse, it needed to be dealt with before it could strike again. After all, the grain shipments could not be threatened.
***
The Orc sat back against the trunk of a tree, picking his teef with a splinter of bone. That squealing pink-skin had been the tastiest meal he had eaten since… well, since ever, as far as he could remember, though he had a feeling it would be better cooked. Rare. It was a shame the big beastie with the horns had run off instead of giving him a proppa fight, but now that he was full up on fresh meat he was sure he could follow it to wherever it had sodded off to, and he was sure he'd find a scrap there one way or another.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 200]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Drop-In] [Free]
[You quite literally drop into the Badlands like a sack of fungus with little idea what's going on, you may or may not have killed someone on entry. The locals are all snotlings and mostly average goblins, so if you wanted you could easily whip up the bare beginnings of a warband or just wander the world as you wish.]
[Shaman] [Free]
[Shamans of the Orc tribes are amongst some of the most stable spell-casters known to the greenskins, capable of everything from melting brains to summoning the great foot of the mighty Gork himself, in order to stamp out your foes.]
[Clan Banner] [100]
[A banner depicting your Clan or family; it can be placed in the ground to act as a rally point, or be worn on your back to act as a small morale booster.]
The Orc accidentally swallowed his bone-pick in surprise (not that he minded much, he'd already eaten most of the bones after all) as the words suddenly returned after almost an entire week of silence. And… these options were all terrible!
Drop-In and Shaman were both back again, even though Drop-In still did nothing and he already had the better version of Shaman. Then there was the third perk, which would waste a whole half of his points just for some stoopid piece of cloth! Maybe he'd been right to try to get rid of the words if this was the kind of roll he was going to keep getting.
He sighed. At least two of the perks were free, so he could get rid of one without either spending his points or scaring the words away again. He reached out for [Shaman].
The words faded away, and he felt… by Gork and Mork, he felt…!
Nothing at all. Just like he thought, Shaman didn't give him anything that Great Shaman hadn't already given him.
Disgruntled, but still feeling pleased with his full belly, the Orc pushed himself back up to his feet and started wandering along the clear dirt track in the direction the creature with the wagon had run off. It was still morning, and with a good meal in him he was much less worried about sleeping through the hottest part of the day, so he felt no need to rush.
***
Sin-Gamil made his way down the south road, mace in hand and escorted by five spearmen, keeping an eye out for any sign of whatever had attacked that farmer. The signs of the mad ox's passing were clear to see from the damage the wagon had made as it bounced and dragged, so it should be obvious when they reached the site of the attack. It was while the priest had his eyes turned to study a tree that had had a large piece of bark ripped off that he heard one of the soldiers gasp. Quickly snapping his head around, he saw what it was that had caused the reaction.
It was shaped like a man, standing on two legs with two arms and a head, but it was all wrong, too broad, too muscular, so tall that even despite its hunched back it would have stood above most men. It was naked, showing its grayish-green skin and the red-brown stains of drying blood on its hands and around its massive, fang-filled maw.
"What… what is that thing?" one of the spearmen asked quietly.
As the creature's piggish eyes roved over them in turn, its expression broke into what could only be called a mockery of a smile.
"Oi!" it called in a gravelly voice. "You gits look like yer ready for a scrap! You lot betta not run away like that 'orny beastie, y'ear?"
Horny beast… the ox. That confirmed that this monster was the culprit. And those bloodstains made the fate of that farmer clear.
With a muttered prayer to the gods for courage, Sin-Gamil drew himself up into a confident posture and raised his mace towards the creature. "Begone from this place, harharu," he demanded, invoking the name of a type of demon from the old scriptures written generations before his time in the hopes that the soldiery would believe he had its measure.
"'Ar'aru?" it said. "Izzat supposed to be me?" It laughed. "I'm an orc, you idjit."
The priest scowled. "Kill it," he ordered.
If anything, the "orc" seemed pleased by this as the spearmen began to advance, weapons leveled towards it. "Hahaha! C'mon, you lot! Come an' 'ave a go! WAAAGH!"
With that savage battlecry, the green beast charged straight forward into the men's spears, heedless of any danger. One of the weapons found purchase in its shoulder, but it barely sank two finger-widths deep into the creature's flesh before the wooden haft splintered and broke. The orc collided bodily with the wielder, sending him sprawling heavily to the ground, before reaching up to pull the spearpoint from its body. A syrupy green-black liquid oozed slowly from the puncture.
Another of the spearmen attempted a thrust, only for the orc to grab the shaft of the weapon, wrench it from his hands with contemptuous ease, and then punch the man in the face hard enough for several teeth to go flying from his mouth.
The remaining men, having spread out to encircle the creature, attacked with coordination. Though their spearpoints pierced its green flesh, it was clear that the creature's hide was thick and tough, enough that they were struggling to inflict enough damage to put it down. Nevertheless, Sin-Gamil was confident that they would be able to wear it down eventually. Every time the orc turned to one of the men and attempted to strike with its stolen spear, that man would skitter away out of reach while the other two attacked from behind.
That hope was dashed, however, when the monster–visibly frustrated–decided to change tactics. When it next turned to one of the men, he backed away, only for the creature to cock its arm back and hurl the long spear as if it were a javelin. The weapon, thrown with such great force, pierced through the soldier's gambeson as if it were a simple shirt and sank over a handspan into the man's gut. The stricken man collapsed, his body curling around the spear like a dying insect.
The two men remaining in the fight–and the unarmed man still dazedly picking himself up after the beast's initial charge–froze momentarily in shock at the sight of their comrade's impalement.
"Enough!" Sin-Gamil snapped. "O Gods, grant your humble servant the strength to scourge this foul creature from the world!"
As he spoke the plea, he felt magic moving through his body, settling over him like a mantle. Warmth sank into his limbs, and the heavy mace in his hand suddenly felt light as a feather.
He was no warrior, but he hardly needed to be with this power. He dashed towards the green-skinned brute, swinging his mace in an upwards arc. The orc attempted to block the blow with its arms, but the priest could swear he heard a bone break as his blow made contact. The impact of the strike was enough to lift the orc bodily from its feet and send it careening through the air, landing on its back in the dirt with a heavy thud.
The three remaining spearmen moved to stand by Sin-Gamil as the monster clambered back to its feet. For some reason, despite the blow it had just suffered, the freakish thing was still grinning as if this were the most fun it had ever had.
"Oh, so that's how you wanna scrum, git?" it asked. "Well, two can play that game!"
Then it started to…
…Dance?
Sin-Gamil and the soldiers looked on in confusion as the orc began to shuffle its feet rhythmically and wave its arms, soon escalating into a hopping, flailing dance. It threw its head back and raised its hands skyward, as if beseeching the gods.
"What are you doing, you stupid beast?" Sin-Gamil spat. "No god would ever deign to answer a horrid thing like you."
For just a moment, the orc's eyes met the priest's.
"Sez you," it laughed, smirking. Then, as the wild dance reached its climax, it thrust both arms into the air.
Sin-Gamil couldn't help but look upwards.
It gave him just enough time to see the enormous, spectral green foot descending towards him before he was crushed flat.
***
The Orc laughed as the Foot of Gork lifted and vanished, leaving the krunched pinkskins' bodies behind.
"Now that was a proppa fight!" he said. Sure, his back was full of holes and his arm was probably broken, but it would scar up soon enough and he'd be good as new. Better, even.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 300]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Squigs 'n' Stuff] [100] [Free] [Discounted for Shaman]
[So... squigs. The Squigs (short for Squiggly Beasts) are considered by many to be the simplest form of Greenskin life. Squigs seems to be extremely simple in terms of their motivations. So far, they have only ever been reliably observed exhibiting two behavioral patterns; eat anything edible that is nearby, then move more-or-less randomly until there is something else to eat within range and once more wander about aimlessly. These creatures are a source of everything from leather to meat to bone tools for the Greenskins and you have a stable full of them. There will always be around fifty of them in the stable. You can summon the stable at any property you own or connect to it via your Warehouse.]
[Blackrock Clan] [Free]
[Hailing from Gorgrond, your clan is known for their skills in smithing and metalworking. Instead of the standard brown your skin may appear a shade of grey or even coal-black and even should you have partaken in Demon blood your skin will appear more grayish than most.]
[A Higher Power] [600]
[The Elements, Kil'jaeden, Archimonde, the Darkstar. Orcs have a habit of attracting beings of immense power and making contracts with such. And now you too have made a contract with such a power. They have granted you knowledge of how to mold their power and indeed your power is great, rivaling the likes of Gul'dan, Khadgar and Medivh, being more likely to run out of enemies than out of mana. Through this perk, you also ensure you will at all times produce the maximum amount of faith required for your contractor, ensuring you do not need to keep sacrificing the souls of infants just to keep a measly bit of power with you.]
He considered the three perks he had to choose from this time. A Higher Power was right out, being much too expensive, and besides, he had no idea who he would be making a deal with even if he could take it.
Blackrock Clan was another free perk. It talked about smithing, but he had the impression that it was another one of the perks that wouldn't actually do anything by itself, except maybe make him grayer. If the third option hadn't been something good, he might have considered taking it just to save himself some points, but…
Then there was Squigs 'n' Stuff. He finally had an inkling of why the words kept bothering to give him useless perks: by having them, he might get better perks for cheap later! Apparently this one would have cost him a hundred points, but since he had Shaman, it now cost absolutely nothing! And it wasn't a bad perk, either. A stable full of squigs he could eat whenever he got hungry, or unleash on some unsuspecting gits, that would never run out no matter how many got killed. The one problem was that summoning the stable seemed to require him to "own property," which he didn't right now, or else have a "Warehouse," whatever that was, which he was pretty sure he didn't either.
He didn't need to think for long. [Squigs 'n' Stuff] was the obvious choice. He could figure out the property stuff later.
With his roll settled, he looked around at the site of that scrum. There were the four smashed bodies he'd walloped with the Foot, the one he'd impaled, and…
Oh, he almost forgot. There was one still alive, the one whose teef he'd knocked out! He wandered over to the pinkskin, who was clutching his broken jaw and sobbing.
"What was it yer boss called me, again?" he asked, looming over him. The man didn't answer. "Ardharu, 'cause I'm well 'ard?" He chuckled. "I think I'll take it. Ardharu, that's me now. Now, I got a job for you, git. Yer gonna go back to your boyz, and yer gonna tell 'em that Ardharu is comin', and they best get ready for a scrap. Get it?"
The terrified soldier nodded, then scrambled away from the orc, still holding his face. He nearly tripped over himself as he ran off up the road in the direction they'd come from.
Meanwhile, the newly-named Ardharu started pulling bits of clothing and armour off the dead 'uns. He was tired of walking around starkers, and he had to get ready for the scrap, too. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Chadthundercock6969, Gulping, RainbowPowerToad and 433 othersViperhawkZApr 29, 2026Add bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 3 New View contentViperhawkZEmperor of KanataApr 30, 2026Add bookmark#38Near Shukur
Day 8
Ardharu's new outfit wasn't much to look at. He'd basically used the pinkskin shaman's robe as a loincloth and ripped up and tied the soldiers' quilted coats together to make a pair of sashes which he wore over either shoulder so that they crossed over his chest and back. Everything was stained with blood, drying a rusty brown colour. The soldiers had been wearing helmets, but even the one that hadn't been crunched flat by the Foot of Gork was too small to fit on his head, so he'd chucked it.
He was a little more pleased with his other new trophies. The mace was a bit small for him, but it had a good heft and he'd be happy to clobber some gits with it. The two intact spears weren't much his style, but he could chuck 'em if any of the pinkskins tried scurrying away from him again. He'd also filled a pouch one of the spearmen had been carrying with as many teef as he could grab, because you never knew when you were gonna need some teef.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 400]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Smithy] [100]
[Yours is a clan of smiths and miners. Your knowledge in both is impressive, being able to locate and mine ore with the best of them and forging weapons and armor that even the most famous of blacksmiths will appreciate the quality of. Best of all, you know the secrets of working the Blackrock from which your clan derives its name.]
[Disciplined Army] [200]
[Apart from smithing, your clan is famous for the discipline instilled in each member. You are a capable commander, able to lead units of warriors into victory with few casualties. Just as well, you know how to train others into warriors and soldiers worth a damn.]
[Shadow Council] [600]
[In power and knowledge, you are rivaled by the Shadow Council and surpassed by Gul'dan, but none other truly reach your power over Fel. With the help of a few others, you could resurrect a powerful demon like Mannoroth, or release a disease like the Red Pox upon your enemies. Just as well, most demons will be rather eager to answer your calls.]
He paused as he got another roll. Shadow Council looked tempting, though he wasn't entirely sure what Fel was, but it was too expensive anyways so he ignored it.
The other two… the repeated mentions of "his clan" and smithing gave him a sneaking suspicion that both of these bloody perks would have been cheaper if he'd taken that free whatever-clan perk last time instead of the squigs! Of course he'd get TWO of them right after passing it up!
He kicked a nearby bush, snapping its stem and nearly ripping it out of the ground.
Still, he could afford either one of them, so it was worth actually deciding which one he wanted, or if he wanted to try dismissing the words without picking anything again. Disciplined Army seemed to be entirely based around making him better at bossing around his boyz. Unfortunately, he still didn't have any boyz, and had no idea how or when he would be able to get any boyz. The fact that the rolls kept trying to give him perks like that made him think it would have a way to get him some, but he hadn't seen any yet. Smithy… also mostly helped with kittin' out the boyz, but since it was about his own skills there was no reason he wouldn't be able to make gear just for himself.
He picked [Smithy], and his head throbbed as knowledge of smithing shoved itself in there all at once. He still didn't actually have a smithy (the building) to use, or any ore or metal to use in it besides what he could get from melting down the pinkskins' weapons, but once he found one he knew without a question that he would be able to forge himself some proppa killy weapons and armour.
[CURRENT POINTS: 300]
Despite sending the last survivor off to make sure there was a good fight waiting for him, Ardharu didn't actually want to get to the pinkskin camp too fast, because his wounds from the last fight were still healing up, plus they might not be ready yet by the time he got there and he'd miss his chance for a big scrum. He had to be careful not to take too long though, because then they might actually be able to get a big enough mob together to kill him, and dead orcs couldn't fight. Let 'em sweat for a day or two, that would be best, he decided.
In the meantime, he'd have to squat somewhere, and now that he was out of desert, or at least the empty part of the desert (it was still bloody hot and dry here even with more plants around thanks to the river), he had more choices available than just finding a rock to wedge himself under.
Tilting his head back, the orc took a deep drag of air through his flat nose. Hmm… he smelled blood, obviously, from the pinkskin clothes he was wearing. There was the smell of the river, the mud and the plants.
And… there. Smoke, and some kinda food. Taking a few more sniffs to help determine the direction, he squinted out over a field of tall grass planted in rows and saw a thin wisp of smoke rising into the air and dispersing in the gentle wind.
He plowed his way through the crops, trampling them underfoot as he went. He had no interest in grass, or in figuring out why the pinkskins wanted to grow a great load of it. Soon it came into view: a building with mud-brick walls and a thatched roof. The smoke was coming from a chimney, and this close he could hear the sounds of talking from inside, though it was too muffled to make out any words (not that he really cared).
He walked up to the wooden door, lifted a leg, and kicked it off of its hinges. Someone screamed, someone swore, and when the dust settled and Ardharu's eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, he saw two of the pinkskins inside, a muscly one with a beard and a scrawny one with some fatty lumps on its chest. There was a fire going, and a cauldron of something tasty-smelling hung above the flames.
"This is mine now," Ardharu said, taking a couple of steps inside and baring his fangs in a leer.
The beardy one grabbed the scrawny one by the arm and pulled it close putting his own body between them.
The orc let his gaze linger on them for a second, before snorting and looking around at the rest of the cottage. He could hear the pinkskins skirting around him and running out the door, but he let them go; he was still mostly full up from the one he'd eaten earlier, and they wouldn't put up a worthwhile fight anyways. There was a table and chairs, some tools that he didn't care about, a bed… but his eyes kept coming back to the cauldron over the fire.
He had an idea.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 400]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Hatred] [200] [100] [Discounted for Uruk]
[Uruks tend to fight harder against things they hate. You however have it in you to hate everything. This surge of hatred makes you significantly stronger, more resistant to damage and (somehow) heal faster than you should be able to.]
[Talisman Crafter] [200]
[Useful tools for rituals and magic in general, talismans, totems, and other ritualistic implements are a common sight in a Shadowmoon camp. Now you too can craft these and infuse them with magic, as long as you can find the proper materials of course.]
[Axe Business] [200]
[The axe is a warrior's weapon, enough blade and haft for powerful and precise strikes. An Orc without an axe often looks foolish, one who cannot use it even more so. Your mastery of axes grants you speed and precision, chopping both trees and people apart faster than a normal eye can see.]
…An idea for after he dealt with this roll.
Hmm. This was an interesting one. For the first time in several rolls, he could actually afford to pick any of the perks he was offered, and they all actually did something. Hatred would give him a general boost in a scrap, which was always nice; Talisman Crafter would allow him to start making some shamanic implements to boost his WAAAGH! magic, which could potentially be very strong, although it required more preparation; and Axe Business would make him better at fighting with axes, and also cutting wood.
He discarded Axe Business first. Being killier with axes was nice, but he didn't actually have an axe, and it might be some time before he could make himself one. As for being able to chop wood better… what would he even need that for?
That left him with a choice between Hatred and Talisman Crafter. Hatred would be useful immediately, helping to heal up the injuries from the scrap on the road, and it was a whole hundred points cheaper, which would make it less likely he'd miss out on a more expensive perk later. On the other hand, Talisman Crafter would work well with the powerful magics he could use thanks to being a Great Shaman, but he would have to work up to that over time.
He spent several minutes waffling over the decision before finally selecting [Talisman Crafter].
[CURRENT POINTS: 200]
He had both the Great Shaman and Shaman perks, so it was likely that his magic would become even stronger in the future, and if he could get a head start on it through making the right tools, it stood to help him much more than a simple boost to his physical abilities.
As more knowledge was shoved into his thick skull, he got back to what he'd been planning to do before being interrupted. First, he pulled the kettle off the fire and started gulping down the hot stew inside it. No sense wasting it, after all. After finishing it off, he belched, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and pulled out his mace.
This was, quite frankly, a waste of his newly-granted blacksmithing skills, but he didn't care. He had a big iron pot, he had a hammer, and while he didn't have a forge, he did have the brute strength of an orc. With repeated swings of the mace, he began crudely beating and denting the cauldron into a shape that was, almost, vaguely, like a helmet. It was a piece of scrap, but most of the pinkskins were scrawny enough that even a piece of scrap would be good enough.
By the time he finished his "helmet," the sun had gone down and the fire had long since gone out. With his night vision, that didn't bother him any, so he decided to try something else.
Reaching out in the vague mental "direction" of the words, he tried to summon his squig stable.
Nothing happened.
He wasn't sure exactly why it didn't work. Maybe the words knew somehow that he wasn't planning on staying in this place for more than a couple of days at most, and thus it didn't count as "his property?" That was frustrating, but not a problem he wasn't already prepared to deal with.
For now, he might as well take advantage of the actual bed he'd taken from the pinkskins. It would be a lot comfier than sleeping under a rock. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Chadthundercock6969, Gulping, RainbowPowerToad and 356 others
Near Shukur
Day 9
Ardharu liked fighting, obviously. It was written into his very being as a greenskin. But more than just fighting, he liked winning fights. There was no fun in losing a fight and skulking away, or worse, getting killed. So while he may have given the pinkskins a chance to prepare for him, he wasn't going to make it easy. He knew they didn't have night vision like he did, so he wasted most of the daylight hours before leaving the mud-brick cottage in the afternoon. By the time he reached the outskirts of the pinkskin town, the sun was already setting.
His message seemed to have had the intended effect. Soldiers with spears and townsfolk with torches and farm tools patrolled around the roads into the village, looking nervously out over the fields. Ardharu could smell the fear wafting off of them.
The orc was tempted to just charge in immediately, but he forced himself to wait a little longer for the sun to fully fall below the horizon. Then, as twilight finally fell over the settlement, he revealed himself.
One of the militiamen was the first to see him swaggering up the road from the south, and he nearly fumbled his mattock in shock before remembering himself and raising the hue and cry. As his shouts were heard and repeated, more and more people came running. The trained soldiers attempted to form a proper formation, but were hindered by the loose mass of villagers.
Ardharu watched the pinkskins gather with amusement, and when he decided that enough gits had showed up, he started to dance, channeling WAAAGH! energy into a spell. Not the Foot of Gork this time–not yet at least. That would probably make all the pinkskins run away, and that would be no fun. Instead, he began chanting.
"'Ere we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we go!" he repeated over and over, and as he pumped himself up, fighty energy began to visibly leak from his body. If he'd had a mob of his own, they would have been energized by his chant too, but even by himself he could still feel that he was getting his blood up for the fight. As the chant came to a climax, a surge of invigoration ran through him. "'ERE WE GO! WAAAGH!"
He charged, stolen mace raised.
The soldiers leveled their spears, but Ardharu didn't care. He crashed through their front line, feeling a spearhead lodging itself in his abdomen but uncaring of the pain. Two of the spearmen were tossed aside as he ploughed through them and into the mob of farmers and fishermen behind them.
Screams mixed with shouts of anger, pleas to the gods, and swears. Some tried to flee but were unable to push through the mass of their comrades' bodies surrounding them. Others lashed out with pitchforks, scythes, felling axes, hammers, whatever they had to hand, swinging wildly and without skill, most failing to even hit the massive green brute and most of those that did failing to pierce his leathery skin. In the midst of it all, Ardharu laughed uproariously, clobberin' two or three pinkskins with each swing of his mace. Red blood, grayish brains, and little white teef sprayed in all directions.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 300]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Breaker of Wills] [600]
[Despite their queen being held hostage, the Red Dragons did not willingly serve the Dragonmaw. They needed to be broken in and tamed. While you do not yet have the experience to break in these dragons, you are more than capable of breaking in intelligent beasts and even people of weaker wills. And then after you have broken them, you may train them as you see fit, be it as mounts, troops or for some other purpose.]
[Necrolyte] [100]
[The Necrolytes were Gul'dan's failed attempt at creating necromancers, which would eventually see them sacrificed in order to create the first Death Knights. You possess a rudimentary understanding of both Necromancy and Shadow Magic, able to raise the dead and puppet them around or to cloak yourself in Shadow to provide an additional layer of protection.]
[Loyal Companion] [100 or 200]
[Orcs are often accompanied by all manner of animal companions, from the loyal Frostwolves, the mighty boars of Durotar, to even the high-flying Rylakks of Draenor. Now you can have one as well. Choose an animal native to either Draenor, Azeroth or Outland. For 100 CP this can be a more mundane beast, while for 200 CP the beast has an ability or several that puts it above most, such as the Basilisk's ability to petrify others, or the Rylakks with their flight and fire breath. This can be purchased multiple times.]
Not now, stupid words! He was in the middle of a scrum!
Unable to focus on the rolls properly while he was busy with krumpin' gits, Ardharu's divided attention snapped to the mention of magic. Feeling immediately vindicated for having taken Talisman Crafter last time, he reached out and grabbed [Necrolyte].
[CURRENT POINTS: 200]
Suddenly, more spells forced themselves into the shaman's skull, causing him to stagger slightly and miss a swing by a hair's breadth. The pinkskin who had narrowly escaped having his ribs caved in stumbled backwards and fell on his arse, only for Ardharu to follow up with a stomp that caught him between the legs. Something went pop under the orc's heel, and the militiaman's squeals of terror rose sharply in pitch for a second before another wild kick snapped his neck and put him out of his misery.
The new magics he'd got from that perk were different from the WAAAGH! magic that drew power from the Great Green; these ones involved manipulating the fundamental forces of death and chaos. He decided to try them out immediately.
With a wave of his empty hand, three of the pinkskin corpses littering the ground shuddered and began shambling to their feet. The mob's initial whiff of hope at seeing their seemingly-dead allies rise again was quickly quashed as the moving corpses began to claw at their former comrades with bloodless fingers and sink their shattered teeth into the soft meat of the still-living defenders. Once the mob realized that the very bodies of their own dead had turned against them, they began hacking at the walking carcasses with their improvised weapons. Though the zombies put up little resistance, it still took a sustained effort to put them back down, as they no longer had the ability to feel pain, and damage short of dismemberment had little effect on a creature animated not by biological processes but by necromantic magic. In the meantime, Ardharu continued his cackling rampage.
As more and more of the militia broke and ran in terror at the sight of the carnage the orc was wreaking, the more disciplined soldiers were increasingly able to shove through the mass of bodies, their steel spearheads and practiced thrusts able to puncture Ardharu's leathery hide where crude farm implements were not. Even so, the shallow wounds did little to slow the orc.
What did slow him was fairly simple: he was running out of enemies to krump. The crowd was thinning as the townsfolk fled, and the trained soldiers were doing their best to stay out of his reach using their spears to hold him at bay.
Something clanged off of the orc's kettle-helmet, and he turned around to find that one of the braver shepherds had taken advantage of now having a clear line of sight to him by pulling out a sling and beginning to chuck stones at him. They weren't quite heavy enough to do any real damage, but as another rock bounced off one of his pectorals, he decided that they were annoying. With a flex of willpower, a spear-like bolt of fel energy shot from his left hand and struck the slinger full in the chest, punching a hole straight through the man's body, the pink skin around the wound turning a putrid shade of green-black. Even the hardiest of the soldiery seemed a little rattled at the sight of the Shadow Spear, and any villagers still lingering around the edges of the battlefield took off in a panic.
There was a momentary lull in the combat. The soldiers looked between each other, none quite courageous enough to advance and resume their attack but still too disciplined to break.
"Come an' get some!" Ardharu challenged, arms spread.
One of the spearmen managed to work up the nerve for a lunging thrust. Ardharu turned, allowing the attack to miss him, then brought his looted mace down on the haft of the weapon breaking it into splinters. Before the neighbouring soldiers could fill the gap, the orc jumped forward, deceptively quick despite his bulk, and grabbed the disarmed pinkskin by the throat. With one hand, he krumped the man one one side with his mace; with the other hand, he threw the flailing soldier he was holding into his neighbour, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
From behind, there was a scream, not of fear but of fury, and the orc turned just in time to see one of the soldiers running full-tilt towards him, spear leveled. There wasn't enough time to move out of the way. The spearpoint sank into Ardharu's gut, and with the force of the spearman's entire body weight behind it, it pierced much deeper than the measured thrusts the soldiers had been using until then, driving a full handspan into the orc's abdomen. Ardharu grunted in pain and dropped his mace, doubling over.
For a moment, the man was almost fooled into thinking he'd won.
Then the orc's hands snapped out and grabbed him by both wrists, prying his grip from the weapon. The butt of the spear dropped under its own weight, causing the head to shift painfully inside Ardharu's body, but the orc was smiling as he pulled the soldier closer, close enough he could smell the greenskin's foul breath.
"I like you," the orc said in a deep, rumbling voice. "You got more guts than all these other gits put together. Wot's yer name?"
The soldier spat in Ardharu's face, to no reaction. "Kudiya. You'll never break humanity, monster. The gods are with us!"
"Kudiya," the orc said. "I'll remember you."
Then he headbutted Kudiya. His converted kettle helmet practically shattered with the impact, the iron too brittle to withstand such forces, but the orc's head kept going without it and it was plenty 'ard enough to cave in the front of the soldier's steel helm as well as the skull underneath.
Ardharu dropped Kudiya's limp body and wrenched the spear from his gut. Dark, treacle-thick orc blood dripped slowly from the steel head.
"Anyone else?" he challenged.
A few men still tried to press the attack, but by and large the fight had gone out of the enemy after they witnessed the orc take a spear deep in the belly and ask for seconds. Ardharu didn't even bother to pick up the mace, killing a few more 'umies with Kudiya's spear before the rest, demoralized, broke and ran.
Ardharu stood among the corpses and roared his victory.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 300]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Loyal Companion] [100 or 200]
[Orcs are often accompanied by all manner of animal companions, from the loyal Frostwolves, the mighty boars of Durotar, to even the high-flying Rylakks of Draenor. Now you can have one as well. Choose an animal native to either Draenor, Azeroth or Outland. For 100 CP this can be a more mundane beast, while for 200 CP the beast has an ability or several that puts it above most, such as the Basilisk's ability to petrify others, or the Rylakks with their flight and fire breath. This can be purchased multiple times.]
[Big 'Un] [200]
[A Greenskin's natural goal in life is to constantly fight and grow bigger within his society, which usually attributes to an increase in both personal status and wealth. Eventually, these Greenskins would only be able to reach a certain size before their growth begins to slow dramatically. These changes are usually contributed when a Greenskin finds an opponent that is both larger and stronger than even he is. These Greenskins are usually called Big 'Uns for the Orcs, and Little Big 'Uns for the Goblins, who have all grown to such a size that they tower over the rest of their species and are decked-out with some of the best armor and weapons around. You are one of these elite few and thus you have far greater strength, speed, and general authority than your fellows, in addition to that you are in general a fifth taller and more bulky than the average of your race. You could easily punch a rushing bull into unconsciousness and then headbutt boulders into breaking in half. Wearing heavy plate and moving like it's a silk shirt whilst wielding a tower shield and greatsword in each hand would be easy for one like you.]
[Hunt Master] [600]
[You may as well be an Orc-shaped blood hound, able to sniff out the scent of prey days after they've moved through an area. Your eye is sharp enough to count the feathers on an eagle flying high up, and can track a beast through even the faintest of tracks and other signs.]
Oh, now that was an easy choice.
[Big 'Un].
[CURRENT POINTS: 100]
A surge of power flowed through Ardharu's body, muscles rippling and bones creaking as his body swelled and expanded. By the time the growth tapered off, the orc stood over seven feet high even in his stooped posture and was wider than two pinkskins standing shoulder to shoulder.
Now he just needed some real wargear. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Chadthundercock6969, Gulping, RainbowPowerToad and 385 othersViperhawkZMay 1, 2026NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 5 New View contentViperhawkZEmperor of KanataMay 2, 2026Add bookmark#65Shukur
Day 9
The first thing Ardharu did was take a look around the place. The 'umie town was nearly deserted now, with most of the fleeing militia having woken their families and neighbours as they rushed to escape. Some of them were still in the process of fleeing, those too old or infirm to move quickly or those too attached to their worldly possessions to leave them behind, but the orc largely ignored them. They wouldn't be any fun to krump, and he had enough meat already waiting back at the site of the battle that even with his new, bigger form he probably wouldn't be able to finish it all before it got too putrid to be worth eating.
He found a building full of barrels of beer. It was only weak pinkskin swill, but it would be tastier than drinking river water even if it couldn't get him proppa smashed. That was good, but it wasn't what he was looking for.
The knowledge of smithing that Ardharu had received from his Smithy perk told him that even a town this size should have a blacksmith, someone to make and repair tools and so forth. And obviously, that blacksmith would need a forge. He just needed to find it. And after wandering all over the town looking, he finally did.
The orc grinned, then headed back to the battlefield by a more direct route. He pulled steel helmets from dead soldiers' heads, snapped the heads off of spears, and gathered up armloads of hatchets, bills, and other tools wielded by the mob, and hauled them back to the smithy. He ransacked abandoned houses for pans and kettles. Then once he'd finally piled up enough loot, he lit the furnace.
For days and nights he worked, only taking breaks to gorge on manflesh and chug piss-beer. Recycling the already-made steel. Converting wrought and cast iron into more suitable forms. Then, the forging. Hammering the metal into shape, made easier with orcish strength. Checking the fit, adjusting, then checking the fit again. Tempering, quenching, sharpening. Fitting straps and buckles, selecting a suitable wood for a handle. The work consumed his focus in a way that only combat had done before now.
Finally, when it was all done, when the fires of the forge were allowed to die down, he looked upon what he had made.
The armour wasn't as thick as he would have liked, but he only had so much good metal to work with. Nevertheless, the steel plate was sturdy. He doubted any of the 'umies he'd scrapped with so far could have gotten through it, besides maybe that shaman whose mace he'd stolen (the mace which, now, was melted down and incorporated into this very equipment). The design was angular, menacing, but it lacked the kinds of spikes and horns he would have liked to incorporate if he'd had more steel to spare.
For his choppa, he'd gone with a single-headed battleaxe, since he'd seen there were perks he could roll that would enhance his axe skills and he didn't have any particular preferences otherwise. It was a huge thing, much bigger than any pinkskin could wield comfortably and much better suited to his massive hands than that old mace or the 'umie spears. The blade was crucible steel with a rippled appearance.
Despite the expert craftsmanship (or craftsorcship) of his new wargear, Ardharu still looked at it with a critical eye. He was still limited by the quality of the materials available to him. If he had access to adamantium, or elementium, or (Gork and Mork forbid) Blackrock ore, the things he could create would put this primitive steel to shame.
Oh well. This was still proppa killy, even if he could make something even killier in the future.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 200]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Ritual Tool] [400]
[For whatever reason, Orcs and their bodies seem to hold innate properties useful for magic and rituals, be it the infamous Skull of Gul'dan or even their blood. Your body parts work as reagents, surpassing all but the most exotic of ingredients. Be it your blood used for a sacrifice, your bones to create a weapon rivaling Gorehowl or even your Soul reinforcing a construct far beyond its construction materials.]
[Boss Totem Pole] [600]
[Some Bosses are weaker than others and you're good at beating those around you into knowing that you are not just that, you're more and they can be too. You can establish a pecking order inside your own warband that allows for you to be able to attract rivals who will be willing to join your warband just to rise in the structure that you've created. Anything you can teach personally can be learned, at your discretion, via rising in the ranks of your warband as you've set up everything so that those who can manage to get to the top have a solid foundation in any number of things. These rivals could easily be warlords or heroes in their own rights, but their only objective is to become warchief via usurping you. They may or may not respect the strength that you have show to make this happen.]
[Strange Life] [600]
[Thrall has led a strange life. From the son of a respected chieftain raised in slavery, to freeing his people and creating the Horde, to all the way to claiming the title of Earth-Warder temporarily. And now you seem to share this strangeness. The world greases wheels so whatever goal you strive towards will succeed, be it in leading a revolution or to merely pass an exam with flying colors. On the way you may meet people who will become loyal friends and family and may even run into strong artifacts that you are compatible with.]
Useless. Nothing he could afford. He waved the words away like an annoying fly and began to don his new armour.
All the while, Ardharu paid no attention to the strange fungi beginning to grow around the site of the big scrum…
Ennam-belum, warrior-priest, scowled as the scribes relayed the accounts they'd gathered about Shukur.
The first signs of trouble had come several days ago, when a runner had arrived from the town with concerning news: apparently, some sort of monster had been preying on farmers, and when a group of men–including the town's head priest–had set out to get rid of it, it had killed them too. That alone was concerning enough, not to even speak of the administrative annoyance of assigning a new head priest to make sure the tithes came on time. But then, three days after the runner had arrived, the refugees began trickling in. Men with haunted eyes dragging their wives and children with them, families without men weeping and holding each other. They all told similar stories: the monster, a green-skinned humanoid demon, had attacked the town, killing dozens with a combination of brute strength and dark sorcery. The fine details of the events varied significantly, of course, as was often the case in these types of incidents; if the most extreme versions of the tale were to be believed, the creature was thrice the height of a human and every man who fell in battle against it rose again as a hateful ghoul to feast on the flesh of the living.
"I will require my entire panoply. And field rations," the warrior-priest directed a slave, who bowed before walking quickly away in the direction of the armoury. "It seems I am going monster hunting."
"Alone?" one of the scribes asked.
"You have heard the reports," said Ennam-belum. "Whatever this… 'orc' is, it is clearly more than a match for any unblessed man." Or a blessed man without sufficient combat training, he added mentally but did not say out loud. "I will not weigh myself down with common soldiers simply to feed them to the beast."
"What about another warrior-priest?"
"Much as I would enjoy the company of one of my brothers, our order is spread thin enough as it is." Emman-belum stroked his beard. "Besides, this creature reportedly fights with little skill, relying on its brute force and foul magics to compensate. It will likely be little match for someone whom it cannot simply overawe with raw power."
"Of course," said the scribe, tilting his head slightly. "I shouldn't have doubted your prowess."
"And what of the refugees?" another scribe asked.
"Hmm?" Ennam-belum raised an eyebrow.
"What should be done with them?"
The warrior-priest thought for a moment. "Feed and house them within the temple complex, but keep careful track of our expenses. Let those who can pay for themselves in coin or useful barter do so. The ones who cannot pay… let them work off their debts as slaves."
"It will be done," said the scribe.
With that business concluded, Ennam-belum returned to his lavish cell to retrieve some more personal items he would be bringing for the expedition. A variety of protective charms, scrolls of prayers and rituals, a bag of candied dates…
Though he would never admit it in front of the scribes and eunuchs, uninitiated as they were in the deeper mysteries of the faith, he was actually much more concerned about the implications of this so-called "orc" than he had let on. Not for his own mission–he was still confident that he could slay the beast, or at least retreat safely and return to plead for reinforcements from his brothers–but for what its presence might herald for the world at large. The scriptures told of a time in the past when the world had been infested with such creatures, who wore the forms of human beings but twisted in their own ways: some stunted and thick limbed, others gracile and long-eared, still others having a twisted blend of features from both man and beast. But it was said that these demi-humans had been spiteful and envious of true humanity, and had risen up against them, slaughtering thousands until at last, with the aid of the first of the blessed, their armies had been crushed and the remainder of their wretched kinds exterminated. But if some of them had been missed, hidden away in the deep wilderness, or if gods forbid they were returning somehow… he shuddered to think of the threat they might pose.
There was a knock at the door. Ennam-belum opened it to find a group of slaves carrying his armour and weapons: the knee-length scale-mail coat, the helmet, the greaves and gauntlets, the armoured cloak, the spear and mace and dagger. Another carried a large pack filled with traveling kit. Without needing to say anything, the warrior-priest allowed the slaves to begin dressing him in the armour.
He hoped that he would get to Shukur in time to stop the "orc" from committing any more atrocities.
Ardharu belched, casting away another empty barrel as he polished off the 'umie beer that had been in it.
Now that his armour was finished, he'd been going around the town and gathering up all the shinies and booze he could find. He'd decided to pile it all up in the fanciest building in the camp, a big stone building full of carved statues of 'umies in fancy outfits which he'd taken to "improving" with a pickaxe he'd found. At the top of his pile of shinies sat the skull of Kudiya (complete with a large, uneven hole in the front, just above the brow, from where he'd 'eadbutted him), which he'd boiled all of the fleshy bits out and off of–along with some other ingredient for flavour, of course, no sense letting good meat and brains go to waste. It was his first proppa trophy, and he'd have to be careful not to break it too much when he took it with him, whenever he decided to leave this place. The shinies he could just shove in a big sack, or maybe get one of the pinkskins' big beasties to pull them around on one of their carts.
He wasn't in a particular rush to leave, though. While there might not be any men left for him to fight right now, this place was too big and too many of them had run away for them to not send somebody back here to try to take it from him sooner or later, and when they did, he'd be ready for them.
[+100 POINTS]
[CURRENT POINTS: 300]
[ROLLING PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Form of an Orc] [Free]
[Whatever else you may choose here, at the bottom of it all you are an Orc. Taller and stronger than humans, your form is a mixture of the brutal and savage. All Orcs adhere to some form of honor code, though it varies heavily between each clan. As long as you follow your own code, you receive a small boost to your abilities.]
[Lok-tar Ogar!] [200] [Unavailable] [Requires Axe Business]
[Orcs are strong, Orcs know the Honor of the Battlefield, and Orcs will die Bloodied and Broken but Unbowed. You now embody such an ideal of the Orcish Race. When in combat, you no longer tire and only the most grievous of wounds will hamper your performance. You will fight, and you will continue fighting till death claims you, you will rest only when Victory is achieved or when you depart to be with the Ancestors! Lok-tar ogar! Victory or Death!]
[Dire Orc] [200]
[Through the use of Blood Magic, the Bleeding Hollow is able to turn common Orcs into hulking berserkers rivaling the Ogron in size and strength. You have gone through this same rite and have thankfully kept your intelligence. Common steel bounces off from your bare skin, and your strength is enough to tear down the walls of a fortified keep in minutes.]
The orc's heavy brow furrowed as he checked out his latest round of perks. One of them was apparently straight-up unavailable because he didn't have the Axe Business perk he'd passed over before, which was the first time he'd seen anything like that, perks that needed another perk instead of just getting cheaper because of them. Apparently it would have let him never get tired in a fight and ignore any wounds that weren't "grievous" enough, which he wouldn't say no to, but probably wasn't worth the points anyways.
Of the other two, he was faced with a surprisingly tough choice.
Dire Orc would make him even bigger and stronger. Significantly so, by the looks of it. The thought of being bigger and stronger called to his blood, and he was extremely tempted to just grab the perk right away. But… he'd just finished making his new armour and weapon, and if he immediately grew so big that he couldn't wear it any more, all of that hard work would have been wasted, and he didn't have enough good metal to make a new set that would fit him if he got much bigger. It also cost two hundred of his three hundred points, which would keep him from getting any more expensive perks for another several rolls at minimum.
On the other hand, Form of an Orc didn't really do anything on its own, except maybe make him a little bit stronger if he followed an "honour code." He didn't really care about honour, though, just whatever gave him a good fight. But he had gotten the impression that these little free perks like Shaman or Uruk were useful for making other, better perks cheaper down the line. The fact that it was free also meant that he would be able to keep piling points up to spend on bigger stuff in the future.
It hurt him to pass over Dire Orc, more than most of the 'umies soldiers had hurt him with their poky spears. But he knew that perks could reappear if he didn't pick them, so hopefully this wasn't the last time he'd see it. Maybe it would even be cheaper next time.
[Form of an Orc].
[ROLLING ADDITIONAL PERKS]
[CHOOSE ONE]
[Mag'har] [Free]
[Meaning Uncorrupted in the Orcish tongue, you retain your original skin color and lack the enhanced lust for blood brought on by Demon blood. You are closer to the spirits and seem to have developed a resistance to corruptive effects.]
[Blooded] [Free]
[The most common type of Orc, your skin is a shade of green and your temper is easier to set off. Your strength, endurance, and skill with both melee weapons and Fel magic is superior to your Mag'har cousins.]
[Infused] [Free]
[You have partaken in Demon blood more than most. Your skin is either a bright red or dark grey with black carapace, enlarged fangs, spikes and glowing veins, possibly altering your body even further. You are strong enough to stop a rushing Tauren in their tracks and your skills with melee weapons leave you a whirlwind of death. This is offset by your near-uncontrollable bloodlust and desire for violence, possibly even reducing your intelligence.]
See? His choice was paying off immediately.
Hmm. Mag'har would make him "closer to the spirits," which might help with his WAAAGH magic, and he would be more resistant to "corruption;" he wasn't even really sure what would count as "corruption," though. Blooded would apparently make him a little killier, and boost the fel magic he'd gotten from Necrolyte, but would make him angrier, which sounded a little unpleasant. And Infused would make him even more killy, but might reduce his intelligence, which would risk making his future perk choices worse (the "near-uncontrollable bloodlust and desire for violence" didn't seem like much of a downside in his opinion).
Well, WAAAGH magic was the strongest power he had right now, and Mag'har didn't really have any downsides, so… [Mag'har] it was.
Ardharu's body tingled, and the grey-green of his skin shifted ever so slightly towards a warm earth tone.
He really hoped this ended up being worth missing out on Dire Orc.Last edited: May 2, 2026 Like ReplyReport Reactions:Chadthundercock6969, Gulping, RainbowPowerToad and 348 others