#agran

The state of the war had turned against the Blackrock clan. Despite the Blackwolf's sacking of Blacktide Watch, the outsiders had survived. Worst still they had rallied, hiding within the jungle depths of the Laughing Skull's territory. Despite the overwhelming might of the Blackrocks, they could not pierce the nightmarish tangle as desired. It would take too much time to clear the jungle, time the outsiders could and would use to escape somewhere else.

And so the rats continued to gnaw at the roots of the Blackrock. They never faced his forces directly. Instead they struck the various forges and slave camps that dotted Agran. The Crimson Forge, The Slagmaw Hammer, The iron pits; all had been taken by the Outsiders, their munitions and slaves now serving his enemies. Now however they had struck a harsh blow, claiming the life of one of his own lieutenants. Gulavar, fiercest of hunters and lord of skies, had been slain by the Outsiders. His death signaled a loss of the east. The skies no longer belonged to Magnus

The news had arrived from the mouth of the quivering orc before him. A sneer of disgust left Magnus' lips, his beady eyes falling on the messenger. He was one of Gulavar's men, having arrived by Rylak back only a short time ago. One of the very few, he had been told, to escape. With a surge of movement Magnus descended the stairs to his throne, grabbing the huntsman by his neck and lifting him off his feet. The orc gasped for air, hands clawing with no avail. No one moved to interfere, a sickening crack echoing in the chamber. Magnus tossed the corpse aside, turning to eye the throne.

"First Kugaluga and now Gulavar. My lands are slowly falling to these vermin and none of you can stop them!?" 

"Mogg still maintains the Ash Mines, though from what I hear it is only by his will that the slaves remain working. The fighting pits have done well to keep morale up there, but the Outsiders victories have given them hope." Blackwolf emerged from the shadows, striding before Magnus. In recent weeks he had grown bold, barely restraining himself within the shadows of the Throne and questioning Magnus' decisions. The Forgemaster had allowed it for a time. After all, it was the Blackwolf that broke them at Blacktide. 

"I will have Mogg set an example to any who may question the will of the Hammer."

"Of course Magnus, but what of Ogham? You have left him in the south to grow bored and fat, guarding from an imaginary foe. The Outsiders are here, to the north."

"I know where they are!" Magnus snapped out, stalking up to his second. Blackwolf did not back down, keeping his gaze. 

"I know, Magnus. And I know you must have a plan to deal with them. After all, Black-"

"Blackhand cannot tolerate any more failures. "Zaralna marched forward, moving to stand beside Blackwolf. "The Foundry's gates have been breached and even now the outsiders run rampant in the lower halls."

"I am not concerned with the Foundry; I trust our warlord to hold them off. He broke the siege of the foundry from the ogres, and he will break this."

"As do I, but do you think after their bodies have been broken he will not come for you? Every failure he has heard of, and every defeat his confidence in you weakens. He will find others, more reliable to claim your title." Her gaze drifted to the Blackwolf momentarily on purpose. Magnus' lip raised, the orc letting out a grunt.

"I will not fail Blackhand. These outsiders can only strike so far before they must deal with the Blackstone, and its walls have never been breached. It is jus-" a clattering escaped behind Magnus, the massive orc turning to eye the interuption.

Several orcs were being dragged in chains through the hall to his throne room, near a dozen guards marching with them. They were all robed in scarlet, some cowled in dark hoods. Magnus sneered, eyes falling on the exposed skin of the chained newcomers; green. 

"Gul'dan's minions." He spat out, loud enough for them to hear. All but one were trying to resist, the lead figure marching calmly. An iron mask covered his face, blank in its expression.

"Forgemaster sir, we found them approaching the gate. They wished to talk. We found this on them." One of the guards brought forth what seemed to be a large vial, the contents a sickly green. Demons blood.

"I do not care for what these...Warlocks have to say. Execute them."

"Lord Magnus." The lead figure spoke out, words drawn forth slowly as if to emphasize every letter. The masked figure's voice was aged, betraying the fact he was elderly. "Surely in your wisdom you will at least listen to what I have to say? You would be unwise to not heed my words."

"You bring lies, just as your master had tried before."

"Lies? You wound me Forgemaster. You are heralded by many as ruler of Agran, yet for all your strength these outsiders are driving you back. Even Blackhand is losing his Foundry."

"Silence filth." Zaralna spat out, taking a step forward with her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"I merely speak truth. The Blackrocks are losing, and they are not alone in this. The Iron Horde is being driven back; surely you can see it, no?" 

"What is your point, Warlock." Blackwolf spoke up, arms crossing. There was just a slight shift of the figure's head, as if focusing upon Blackwolf.

"Ah, someone who listens, good. Your Iron Horde is losing, and so are you. You are running out of options, yet continue to deny the obvious solution."

"That being your poison?" Zaralna countered. 

"My 'poison' is strength of legions. I came as an emmissary in good faith of the Shadow Council. We offer you a chance to beat back these Outsiders. To become more than mere orcs. You will be warriors unstopable, beholden to no creature."

"None but your demon masters."

"Merely...aiding them. They wish the same thing as you; destruction." The last word was harsh on the tongue, corroding and poisonous to the ear. 

"No. We will not be slaves. Our Warlord turned your master away, and we shall do the same. Get rid of them; their stench fouls these halls." Magnus raised a hand dismissevely, turning away. The guards eagerly grabbed the prisoners, bringing them to their knees.

"You are making a mistake Magnus! Don't turn away from this gift. Embrace it! Become the conqueror you were promised to be!" An axe was raised, ready to be brought down.

"Wait Forgemaster." The Blackwolf stepped forward, eyes turning onto him. 

"You dare defy my orders Blackwolf? Learn your place."

"I do no such thing. Merely suggesting that killing these...filth," he spat out, "is too good for them."

"Then what would you do? Let them go to spread their misery?"

"Of course not. Mogg could always use more slaves at the Ash Mines. Allow me to...escort them. Make sure they do not try anything funny. When they get to the mines, let Mogg have fun with them. I am sure he can cook up something far worse than a mere execution." There was a pause as Magnus mulled it over, brow furrowed in thought.

"Very well. Bring them to Mogg; make sure all five get there...or i'll use you as an example of failure." Blackwolf bowed low, his grin kept hidden beneath the falling cascade of ebon hair.  He rose slowly, marching past Magnus and grabbing the chains of the warlocks. 

"Let's go." he snarled out, pulling the chains roughly. The guards moved aside to let them pass, chains rattling and feet shuffling as they marched through the halls, away from Magnus' throne room. Iron boots were heard behind Blackwolf, the orc turning. An arm smashed into his throat, pushing him against the corridor's wall. 

"What the hell was that back there?" Zaralna hissed out, face mere inches away from Blackwolf's. She had him pinned on the wall, eyes narrowed. "Normally I applaud your boldness in defying the Hammer, but not this time. You should have let these curs be executed."

"Mogg is growing restless at the Mines," he stated through gasping breaths, Zaralna loosening her arm only slightly. Enough to let him speak, anyways. "These 'curs' will provide entertainment in the fighting pits. Enough to keep him distracted anyways...and the slave labor that Magnus' is in desperate need of get's a very small boost. Besides, these Warlocks are proud. Proud of the demon magic they possess; let their pride be broken by the whip cracks of our overseers."

Zaralna gave a low growl, eyeing Blackwolf. He had proven himself capable, arguably more than Magnus ever could. It was something she had admired in the orc, something that had drawn her to him. She had also not lied when she announced Blackhand may find another after the Siege had been lifted. She leaned forward, tusks grazing along his own, breath hot as she spoke.

"Don't disappoint me Blackwolf. You have a future..." Her teeth pulled at his bottom lip before she pulled away, marching back to the throne room. Blackwolf gave a grunt, hand rubbing at his throat, eyes falling on her as she left. Wordlessly he grabbed the chains, marching forth again.

The Blackstone's forge grounds lay sprawling, choking ash and suffocating smog hung low in the air. The Blackrocks were used to it; they had grown in such environments. The Warlocks Blackwolf all but dragged were not however, and soon burst into coughing, choking for clean air.

"What's wrong? Something caught your throat?" A snort of laughter escaped Blackwolf, eyeing their transport. It was one of the newly constructed trains, reinforced in steel plating and bellowing out thick, oily smoke. Of all the creations the outsiders brought to his people, the plans for these rail-riders were among his favorite. One of the cart doors opened for him, the orc pushing the warlocks inside. All but the leader.

"You're coming with me. We need to talk." he muttered low to the iron masked orc, pulling him away as the door shut on his followers. Though Blackwolf could never see it, the masked orc was grinning.

Through yards of forges and slag heaps he walked, arms behind his back even as an 'escort' followed him. He cared not for the barbaric practices that went on in the forge yards; the craft of steel was beneath him. Some stopped their work, ashen faces staring down the ogre who marched so brazenly through their grounds. They could not pierce the veil beneath his hood, finding only darkness apart from the cyclopean gaze that stared out beneath it. Smog hung thick in the air, proving almost difficult to breath in the mixture of fumes and steam that hissed from the ground. Hell would have been an appropriate description of this place, yet for the Blackrocks it was home.

The heart of The Blackstone awaited the ogre, his large feet a dull thud as gravel became replaced with stone and iron. The looming maw of the inner portcullis raising it's teeth for the ogre to enter. It would seem news had also traveled fast to warn the ogre's host of his arrival. The expansive hallway towered over even the ogre, built for monolithic beasts, or as of late, machines. The hallway opened to a central chamber, figures illuminated by bonfire and torchlight inside. Upon a throne of blackened steel, cracked bone and soot stained rock the lord of The Blackstone sat, bright crimson eyes peering beneath a horned crown of steel. Large heavy plates shifted as the orcish ruler sat upright, iron claws tapping along the arms of his throne.

"I did not expect you to return so soon, Emissary." The voice was like a knife burying it's way through rusted metal, a strained harsh whisper of a tone that nonetheless held power and demanded respect. The ogre bowed low, reaching just before the point of mockery before he arose quickly.

"Alas, I come with ill tidings, great Forgemaster." A voice, reverberating like moving stone boomed beneath hidden features. The orc stirred, leaning forward and waving his hand for the ogre to continue. "Your operations in Northern Frostfire have ended in failure. Your captain was beheaded by the Thunder God, before he too was slain by the Outsiders."

"You know this how?"

"I found the aftermath of the carnage, and a survivor. Suffice to say, your Blackrocks now feed the carrion as corpses, rather then rule as conquerors you so desired." The Forgemaster growled, lifting a hand to point at the Ogre. "And where were you for all of this?"

"My master required me elsewhere. I cannot both bring them North and hold their hands." It was a lie of course, but one the Forgemaster seemed content with.

"And you said the Outsiders arrived. Did they find our operations?"

"Of course; they know the Blackrocks were involved. I would imagine they have also pieced together they came from here."

"Blacktide." The forgemaster confirmed as he turned his gaze to the wall, brow narrowing as he scowled. "Bah; Divada has allowed her men to become soft and fat. A flogging will remind her why it is best to be prepared." He turned back to eye the ogre, scowl it would seem permanent for the time being. The ogre matched his gaze, before spotting a figure moving in the shadow of the throne.

"Magnus, perhaps it is wiser to not punish her." His voice was deep, the figure stepping into the light. Braids the color of ink fell down the length of his chest, form adorned in plates of armor. The ogre narrowed his eye at the new arrival. The Blackwolf he was called, an aptly suited name. He had little to say on the orc other then that as his name suggested, he was both cunning and patient. Both things the ogre despised in an orc; it made them far more unpredictable.

"And why, Blackwolf, should I let the bitch walk free?"

"Because, she'll be the first to face the Outsiders."

"Explain." Magnus leaned in his throne to eye The Blackwolf, a calculating stare upon him. He was second only to Magnus in terms of influence and power, and he wondered if the younger orc would ever try to claim the title of Forgemaster.

"Blackhand's orders are to increase production here and secure Agran. It would be unwise to send forces to deal with these outsiders, and hearing they fought and killed the pretender of the frost lands, they are out for blood. If they march by land, it will take them weeks to arrive and by then we'll have fortified wherever they strike from. They don't know the extent of Agran, so they will arrive by coast."

"To Blacktide." Magnus finished, the orc musing over the thought. He grudgingly admitted his second was, more then likely, correct. "They can't move by land, so they will sail. The only safe harbor to land is Blacktide, and into the guns of the Black Coast and of its queen." He stood up, plates creaking. He towered over his second, nearly reaching in size the ogre. Some wondered if he was a half-breed beneath the plates that decorated his form, and merely held the features of an orc.

"Yes, Forgemaster."

"Then I have orders for you, Blackwolf. Ride out; be my voice. Gather the commanders, including Divida and bring them here. We have war to talk." His second bowed, the orc disappearing back into the shadows. "As for you Ogre, you are welcome to stay for it so as to give word to your master, though they won't arrive until at least tomorrow."

"Of course, Forgemaster. Tonight, perhaps you can show me the Pit." Magnus grinned; there would be another fight it would seem.

It was, as predicted, a day before Magnus' commanders arrived, lead by the Blackwolf. There were six including the Blackwolf, each as gnarled and vicious as the last. Guards ushered them to the throne room, the orcs gathering before the black throne on which Magnus sat once more. The ogre had taken a position at the throne's left side, watching the gathering with amused interest.

  "My second has gathered you here in talks of war." Magnus began, blunt and to the point as he often was. "You all have, I have little doubt, heard of Divada's failure." Several of the commanders turned to stare at the only female amongst them, mocking laughter escaping. There was little respect among them; they were bound by the will of the Forgemaster and little else. Divida, to her credit, merely stood as she did, arms behind her as ebon hair bound in braids trailed down her back. 

"I assure you Forgemaster the failure was not of mine."

"And yet they came from your domain, Queen of the Black Coast." Divada stiffened, standing taller as a snarl threatened to escape her throat. "Yet, I did not bring you all here to mock our sea-maiden. I have a task for all of you. For too long Agran has dealt with the remnant outcries of rebellious elements. The Laughing Skull to the west hound our mining network, and to the east the great beasts of the Carrion spire prey on our parties and rule the skies. Blackrock skies. And yet to the south remnants of the Ogre Empire, rebellious to both orc and their own kind, parade in mockery along the walls of Tyrak's watch. All of these should belong to us." He pointed to the far end, bending his finger.

  The orc stepped forward, wide amber eyes darting everywhere around the room. His skin was a pale ashen color, as if rarely exposed to sunlight. Black fangs and lines decorated the scraps of leather he called armor, body riddled with scarred bite marks. In his hands he was gently stroking a milky egg, the shell appearing almost soft in nature.

"Kugaluga. Unleash your spiders on the Laughing Skull. Poison their bodies and break their corpses." The orc didn't speak, simply giving a wild grunt of acknowledgement. Magnus turned to the next orc, pointing.

"Yes, Forgemaster." The orc in question took a step forward, falling to a knee. He wore scavenged bits of plate, twin cleavers resting at his side. What was peculiar was that his entire body was decorated in crimson war paint and tattoos, a chaotic network of art on both body and armor.

"Ogham. Unleash your blood-storm upon the Ogres. I want their keep to be painted red with their insides, and our banners to hang from the ramparts. "It will be done." The ogre stepped forth, drawing the attention of the room. "I will be joining your Blood-Storm. There is a particular...individual inside that draws my attention."

"I will allow it. Ogham, our Emissary will be joining you." Before the orc could respond Magnus had moved on, the next commander stepping forth as well. Bare chest and covered in scars, wolf fur and animal hide draped from his body. A mighty, wicked spear was held in one hand, a small buckler in another.

"Gulavar. Born of the Winds; I want you to remind me of your legacy. The beasts of Carrion Spire gnaw upon us like scavengers. Claim the skies for the Blackrock."

"No beast will escape my wrath, great Forgemaster." 

"Mogg, come forth." Fiery and wild would be best to describe the next orc, strange tattoos that glowed like lava raced across his body, eyes of volcanic fury staring forth. "Bring your molten gaze to the Ashmines. There have been talks of a slave uprising, and we cannot afford the mines to have any delay."

"Mogg will smash." 

"Good...and as for you Divada." All eyes fell upon the female. Blackrock society was a strict, regimented society where women rarely found military distinguish. Only the great rose to high ranks, fighting tooth and nail to reach their position. So it was the case with Divada.

"Yes, Forgemaster?"

"The outsiders from beyond the worlds will arrive here, presumably by the Black Coast. Fortify Blacktide and drive back any who approach with the roaring guns of our fury. These outsiders will bow before the new dawn; before the age of Iron. Do this, and all will be forgiven." Divada slammed her hand to her chest in a salute, bowing her head.

"I will not disappoint Forgemaster."