Random Stories and Fragments

25_Hour said:

I'm definitely a fan of Part 2. 'Specially those last two lines. :lol

Click to expand...

Thanks! Yeah poor Giggles, he doesn't know what's in store for him. Giggles will slowly break down until he does her bidding not because she summoned him to, but because he loves her and he wants to impress her. In my first story, Puppy obviously had the idea that he would torture and corrupt her fully, but in just two years time a 6 year old totally dominated him emotionally to the point that he was willing to sacrifice his life to protect her.

woa, that Elohim story is so awesome, makes me want to create some more Elohim stuff

Keep on writing, man!!

While reading that, somehow the picture of the more eastern flavored monks does not seem to fit anymore...

seZereth said:

woa, that Elohim story is so awesome, makes me want to create some more Elohim stuff

Keep on writing, man!!

While reading that, somehow the picture of the more eastern flavored monks does not seem to fit anymore...

Click to expand...

Sweet... I always pictured the Elohim as being a much more Western monastic order, albeit with the martial arts skills of their Eastern counterparts...
Goodness knows the Elohim need more units! Seeing Elohim with brute-looking axemen always bugged me...

KillerClowns said:

Sweet... I always pictured the Elohim as being a much more Western monastic order, albeit with the martial arts skills of their Eastern counterparts...
Goodness knows the Elohim need more units! Seeing Elohim with brute-looking axemen always bugged me...

Click to expand...

they´ll get more toys soon. They are on my wish-to-do list for a long time now... as well as grigori... but we still have some elves and dwarves to do, too.

This was originally going to be an entry for the Tower of Necromancy pedia entry - but I think it got a little long winded for that purpose!

He knew the effort that had been put into cutting and shaping each stone, and that was followed by the toil of moving and fixing them into place. Often the stones would need to be pulled back out, and the stonemasons would again work them to ensure that there would be no gaps between them.

Each stone had been hewn from deep red sandstone, and each would witness a ritual by sometimes one, sometimes two, or three or all four of the magi who oversaw construction. There appeared to be no fixed pattern to this, often one mage would not be seen for a week, at other times all would be present. His crew would only work in the daylight hours, and on an evening the magi would have the tower to themselves, scribing more runes, making further intonations. Occasionally, they would point out some graffiti that been had etched into the stone. This would require the stones complete removal, and breaking up as it would, as they explained ‘contaminate’ the Tower if used. His crew had learned the hard way not to leave their mark, but it was still sometimes a problem amongst the slaves.

The only time all four magi were away from the construction would be where the ramparts had been increased in size. Two thirds of the tower was immersed in a cocoon of earth, a spiral wrapping around the tower to allow the stones to be dragged up on a bed of rollers. A tunnel cut into this, allowing access to the interior of the building so that work could be continued there. It would be a monumental task in itself to remove this cocoon once the last stone was in place, but the magi seemed assured of things. Much of the rampart had been dug up from the perimeter of the site, forming a deep, wide trench.

Only the top third of the tower remained free of the rampart, but this itself was mostly hidden by scaffolding, the stones used on this section were smaller, but they were still large enough to crush a man. Often men would fall to their death, a misplaced foot here, a high wind here.

At times a new group of slaves were brought to him and be put to task. On limited rations most would become empty husks within the week and if they didn’t fall to their death, would pass away shortly after. Some would last longer, often resorting to dead bodies as a food source. Many worked under the threat of family being put to the sword. Fools, their children were doomed to follow in their footpaths. Like father like son.

Some of the slaves would draw the attention of the magi; of this he was less happy as it had a habit of delaying construction. At one point a slave had returned covered in boils and blisters - at least two score of his slaves had died within a day, and a couple of his work crew succumbed to the plague too.

As the Tower neared completion, he noted how the surrounding vegetation had withdrawn further from the site. Initially he had assumed this was related to the number of people involved in the construction, but it was now obvious that nature had already accepted this was a dark place. Certainly there had been some interesting additions to the foundations.

One thing he hadn’t expected was the lack of intricate carving - there were few features he was aware of. There were two exceptions - a platform that would jut out from the tower with an ‘entrance’ into it set at the height of the top of the earth rampart. The second feature was four carved spokes set at the spire of the tower. These rose vertically before curving out to the horizontal. Spaced equally from each other, they faced different directions. Each of these ended in a face – of sorts – one a skull carrying a malevolent smirk, one a distressed face - reminiscent of the slaves that had died of plague, one a face distorted by mutation - one eye closer to the mouth than the brow, and the other face was what he could only describe as a ‘near face’ where it would from one angle seem to have distinct features, but from another none at all.

Upon completion, the bodies of slaves were ordered to be dumped into the perimeter trench - any living slaves were added to this after being hobbled and left to die. He and his men were asked to leave, and the four magi, now with a mass of underlings entered the building. Just over a month later, on the eve of a new moon he was summoned back to the Tower.

He was in a company of officials who followed the four magi up the rampart. The were ushered just inside of the tower whilst the magi took up their place on the platform. As dark fell, the ritual began, - a captured Order Priest was presented, his tongue nailed to his chin, his eyes screamed of horror where his mouth couldn’t.

Agares was implored, the skin of the Priest began to boil and fester, warping, his clothes falling apart, the very nail that pinned his tongue rusting. The Priests now naked body ruined, pitted with plague.

Next was Esus, a mist creeping up from the floor, circling the Priest. As it does so, the Priest screams – his tongue shredded by the nail that held it. When the mist lifts the officials can see that the very skin has been eaten away…yet the Priest still lives, a mess of sinew and bone.

Then came Camulous, the body of the Priest appears to ball up. At first it seems the he is trying to fight off an invisible assailant, but it soon becomes apparent that this is no ordinary movement of his limbs, sinew stretches as the Priests body remolds itself, one arm seemingly sucked in, and then reapearing from the chest but more akin to that of a child.

Finally Arawn, is implored. The relief in the Priests eyes is palpable, Death mana has malevolent connotations, but Arawn himself is even handed and brings a quick end to the pain.

The Priest’s body crumples to the floor, but with his death sigh comes raw energy – death, entropy, chaos and shadow burst forth as four phantoms. At one moment wrapping themselves around each other, and at another heading off on their own accord. An energy of their own each bounces around the interior, no pattern to their movement, when of a sudden all burst through the platform entrance and scream out of the room and up.

He couldn’t see it, but he knew that the phantoms had snaked their way up the tower, each taking up their respective face at the spire.

A deep rumbling, though the Tower remains ominously still. He notices the Stones that he and his men have so painstakingly placed begin to sweat, no not sweat, they bleed. These, solid, near-immovable stones, hewn and worked all these months take on an almost liquid appearance. The rumbling stops.

His party are ushered forward onto the platform, fear imbeds itself into the pit of his stomach. He sees that the rampart has gone, the tower now stands free of it’s cocoon, and the earth has seemingly filled the deep trenches, but it is not that that he fears, it is the faces seemingly trapped on the outside of the liquid stone. They are of horror, silently screaming, crying, and fighting for release. He returns his gaze to one section, and shivers as he realises the faces change – almost imperceptibly – looks of terror increasing steadily with time. He has played his part in the construction of this Tower, but he seeks no reward.

Click to expand...

There are plenty of long pedia entries. You should still submit it.

I dont know if it fits that they summon Arawn since he doesnt interact with creation at all. Also, one can follow any religion and still build the tower so i think it would fit more if they simply channeled entropy mana rather than summon agares and so on. Also i found it odd there was no mention of Chaos.

Those arent big problems though. Excellent job.

jimi12 said:

There are plenty of long pedia entries. You should still submit it.

I dont know if it fits that they summon Arawn since he doesnt interact with creation at all. Also, one can follow any religion and still build the tower so i think it would fit more if they simply channeled entropy mana rather than summon agares and so on. Also i found it odd there was no mention of Chaos.

Those arent big problems though. Excellent job.

Click to expand...

funnily enough, I was bathing the kids and it struck me that I'd forgotten Chaos completely...not sure what that says about bath time for a 32 month and 18 month old in a bath....except that perhaps it became a temporary chaos node of it's own.

Revised it slightly to add chaos in.

Regarding your point of Arawn and Agares - I didn't intend it so much as summoning them, but more calling on their 'blessings' as it were. Could perhaps re-think the death element of it though, but I did try to express that Death isn't actually evil in itself.

The first two parts of a story I'm writing for FFH NES, in which the Calabim have remained under ground for several years after most other civs have left their caves and so have had time to develop a little. The next part will probably be the last.

Leaving Al-ash-ir (Part 1)

Agron moved swiftly through the caves of Al-ash-ir, he knew his masters would want to hear his news immediately and it did not do to keep them waiting. The ice was gone! He thought to himself as he sped agilely across the cave floor towards the lights on the far side of the cavern.

As he drew closer he stared up at the Palace that climbed the wall of the cave right up to the ceiling. He now made his way through the narrow streets of the city of Al-ash-ir, which in the tongue of the Calabim means ''Teeth of the Vampire'', referring to the stalactite-encrusted ceiling of the cavern which loomed over Calabim homeland. Agron observed the small houses around him, and watched the people of the city going about their daily business under the shadow of the Vampires' palace. Fitting, Agron thought. The fellowship taught that humans were made to serve beneath Vampires, and so it had always been. The natural order of life. Vampires above Humans, Humans below Vampires.

However, although many outsiders would surely consider this life in a poor light, serving beneath the House of Calabim was not all that bad, particularly when you knew how to play the game. You kept your head down, and did what you were told to the letter. You did everything they asked to the absolute best of your abilities, no matter what it was, and made sure you maintained their favour at all times. This was how Agron had obtained the rank of Arkagoi, the highest non-military caste of the human populace, equal in authority to the much-feared Moroi, and had been promoted to an Inspector of Trades. A remarkably high position within Calabim human society. Of course, effectively his job was to give the Vampires a ''reason'' for which to legitimately kill a citizen. Usually, someone who had been reported for speaking out against the government by the Haloi spies hidden within the city.

Today he had been inspecting some mushroom gatherers who were suspected for being part of a humanist secret society. Today, Agron had reported them guilty of poisoning the mushrooms they had been planning on selling to the Palace kitchen and had gathered so-called ''evidence'', which he would add snake's milk to later. Of course, even if they had poisoned them they would have had only the smallest effect on the Vampires, but such was life. He was not proud of his actions, but knew he had no choice. His high rank could be stripped like the dropping of a stalactite, sending his life crashing to the ground.

Thankfully, during his covert integration into the group, they had not revealed any signs of humanism. If they had, their charge would be far greater. Of course, even without the treason, they would still die. They, and their families, would simply vanish. Abducted in the night by the Moroi brutes and dragged up to the Palace, where they would be branded ''Kraltavoi'', the lowest, criminal, caste and dumped unceremoniously into the Feeding Pits, a series of tunnels and caves dug out of the rock beneath the palace, with only one way out, guarded by Moroi at all times. Here they would live lives of fear, never knowing when a Vampire would grow bored with the Aristocracy and come down into the pits for some time out. Here they would rape, torture and then finally kill their prey, and it was Agron's job to make sure the pits remained well stocked with victims.

However, compared to the punishment for Humanism and Treason, this was nothing. Had there been any solid evidence of either, a Hunt would take place. Agron shuddered to himself as he climbed the rough stone steps to Alexis's chambers. A Hunt was the ultimate symbol of Vampiric dominance over Humans, when every vampire would leave the Palace with a personal body guard of Moroi and kill and feed upon anyone found to be Humanists, anyone suspected to be humanists, and anyone they personally didn't like, just as a Predator hunts it's prey. The message was clear, and the morning after the Hunt there was always a wave of loyalty and servitude displayed in each and every citizen. Humanists were hated by both the Vampire Aristocracy and their Human peers.

As Agron reached the door of Alexis's room he hesitated a moment before entering. He hoped his news would outrank the obvious disappointment She always showed when he informed her that there would not, in-fact, be a Hunt taking place tonight. He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Leaving Al-ash-ir (Part 2)

Agron leapt hurriedly down the Palace steps. His Mistress had been very specific, ''send Yrain''. Yrain was the Commander of the Moroi, and perhaps the highest ranking human in Al-ash-ir, as a personal favourite of Mistress Alexis, he was expected to receive the gift a some point within the next ten years. Some, however, suggested that such a man was simply far too useful to be integrated into the nobility. He was ruthless and brutish, and handled the Moroi with an iron fist. He had led countless successful raids on Humanist suspects, and never during his reign had anyone escaped from the Feeding Pits. Agron always resented working with him, and tried to avoid it whenever it was safe to do so, still, their paths crossed all too often for Agron's liking. Now it seemed that Yrain would be stealing his thunder and leading the first expedition to the surface. Sometimes it seemed there really was no justice, so much for promotion.

He entered the Moroi Feed Hall, and was as always hit by the strong smell of body odour and the noise of shouting and guffawing within the hall. ''Barbarians.'' Agron muttered under his breath in disdain. Still, no one could deny that these beastly men were very good at what they did, namely quelling each and every minor uprising with unmatched efficiency, and striking fear into he hearts of the Kraltavoi. They inspired great loyalty in the Human population and each and every boy between the age of 7 and 12 aspired to one day become one. Of course, few made it. The Moroi were the best of the best, elite, and were hand-picked by the Vampires or the Commander.

Agron made his way towards the far table where Yrain was seated with his second-in-command, Kratos. Unusually for a Moroi, they were not shouting the odds at each other but immersed in a hushed conversation, which was drowned out completely in the background noise of the hall. Kratos was a terrible man, the size and shape of a bear with long, matted hair, almost as beastly as the man he served. Agron hovered a pace or so from the table, waiting to be invited to take a seat. Yrain saw him approach and quickly ended his conversation and made a signal for Kratos to leave. He shuffled to his feet and Agron took his place at the table.

''Commander,'' Agron began, ''You are summoned by Mistress Alexis.''
''Did She give a reason?'' Yrain's voice was strangely sharp and clear.
''Does she ever?'' Agron replied jokingly.

Yrain did not seem amused, but left immediately. Yrain was tall and muscular, and more civilized then the best of his men. A man truly destined for the gift. Agron sighed, there was nothing he wanted more then to be accepted into the ranks of the Aristocracy, yet despite his high status he was treated like a slave. He picked up a spare chicken leg from the now vacant table and chewed on it thoughtfully as he made his way back to his quarters.

Agron had not been asleep an hour before a loud knocking on his door awoke him from his slumber. He dressed wearily before bidding them to enter. It was a servant boy. ''Ulau'' he said, which was how the lower society acknowledged and greeted their human superiors. The rough equivalent of ''sir''. ''Mistress requires your presence,'' he began to recite, ''it's urgent.'' Agron thanked him and sprinted towards to the stairs to the Upper Palace. Kratos stood on guard before them. Most unusual, the Palace was never guarded inside. He nodded in acknowledgment and grunted ''Ulau''. Again, unusual. No Moroi worth his weight in blood would ever admit inferiority to an Arkagoi, despite the fact that by law the Arkagoi were higher ranking.

Agron leapt up the stairs and knocked on the great wooden door that marked the entrance to the Chambers of Alexis. There was a sharp call of ''Enter!''. He took his ritual deep breath and opened the doors. He made his way into the room, looking left and right for his Queen. He suffered only a moment of confusion before he felt teeth fall down upon him, and Alexis quickly tear through his clothes with inhuman strength. The Gift! Determined to make the most of it, Agron turned and kissed her passionately. Her black dress fell away to reveal the stark contrast of her perfectly white body. She was beautiful beyond anything Agron had ever seen, how he had hoped for this day! Ever since he was 15 he had dreamed of receiving the Gift from her. Vaguely he wondered what she had wanted Yrain for earlier, and hoped it was not for the same reason he now lay upon his Mistress's bed. That would be the icing on the cake. Achieving immortality before the Yrain! He shook such thoughts away as Alexis now caressed his naked body. This night would be one Agron remembered for the rest of his soon-to-be Immortal life.

Restaurant review taken from the Jubilee Times

Zest Restaurant, Jubilee Town Square

Chef Falye Kavi has a high reputation, so I thought a visit to his newly opened Zest restaurant would be a good way to showcase Balseraph society to my Calabim guest.

Upon entering the restaurant, our coats were taken, and we were effortlessly guided to our seats. Despite being fully booked, the tables are spaced enough so that along with the soft lighting and pleasant décor, the restaurant maintains a calming, intimate, ambience.

To start I tried the Roast Elven ears, on a bed of spinach with an orange jus. After a little deliberation, my guest opted for a lightly cooked black pudding, although it seems he confused this pigs blood delicacy with a home-grown variant. The children both had Garlic mushrooms, which appeared to mess with my guests sensibilities somewhat.

The Elven ears were cooked divinely, the sharp jus offsetting the tender ears perfectly. My children reported happily back on the garlic mushrooms, whilst my guest did admit to being a little disappointed to how his food had been sourced, but admitted it was a cheeky number.

For a main course, the children went for Dwarves Fingers from the children’s menu, whilst I opted for Curried Brain from the specials board. It was great fun to see the Orc slave beheaded and the freshness of the brain – pan fried at my table - was to behold. It did, however, seem to upset my guest who found that his own steak a little overdone. It was at this point that the chef saved the day, unhappy with his soux chef he presented his erstwhile apprentice to my guest who happily dined. This provided a welcome piece of entertainment to all the guests, quite fascinating to see the life force of a man drained away. Myself, I stuck to the chardonnay.

Click to expand...

Wow, now I am afraid to visit any restaurants during my yearly trip to Jubilee during Revelry. Great story Skitters!

From the desk of the noble Magus Johan Fireborn, head of the Department of Alteration at the Cevedes Mages Guild:

That simpering pervert posing as a mage My esteemed colleague, the noble Magus Aaron Gates of the Mages Guild of Celo, head of the Department of Necrophilia Necromancy whatever euphemism they call themselves the Restricted Arts, recently suggested that the art of Enchantment intersected with his own psychotic schemes studies. He suggested, in his latest affront to gods and men recent paper on the possibility of replacing our living workers with the undead using skeletons in non-military capacity, that “the act of raising a skeleton is little different from that of creating a golem.” Not even a drunken adept would say something so foolish! I would like to correct this moronic assumption understandable mistake.
A golem can be created with any material, including ones that never have nor conceivably will possess life; metal, for example. We have had success in enchanting small devices for domestic uses, although the secret to large-scale golem construction lies with the midgets Luchiurp. They have been too greedy unwilling to share this secret, but we understand the basic theory, if not the details and mechanics involved. Contrary to popular assumption, enchantment does not give life, only the illusion of it. Adepts entering into the field often find themselves startled by the amount of thinking mathematics and logic involved in enchantment. Many of them move to easier more intuitive fields upon this discovery. A golem, at any rate, is quite incapable of independent thought. There are rumors the Luchiurp have a self-aware golem, but these rumors are idiotic unsubstantiated.
Meanwhile, an abomination the walking dead Aaron's lover a skeleton is capable of basic, simplistic thoughts, inherent from being a gods-forsaken mixture of doomed lesser spirits stuffed into a rotting skeleton made of something that once lived and should have been left dead. If you attempt to destroy a golem that has received no orders, it will offer no resistance. If you attempt to send a skeleton without orders back to the grave where it belongs, however, it will defend itself through its will to slay the living instinct. Some even recall how to use weapons to slaughter innocents fight, through some cruel twist of fate oddity of necromancy the restricted arts.

[This is the rough draft of the letter published in the Cevedes Mages' Newsletter. While the actual letter was published without any evidence of Magus Fireborn's unsaid words, an adept found this draft, the omitted text scribbled out but still legible, and showed it to several of his friends. They in turn copied it, and it soon became an inside joke amongst the students. Most of those outside of the Department of Restricted Arts agreed more with earlier versions than the tamer final one. Magus Fireborn denied having anything to do with the letter, although in his denial, he wryly noted that “although I cannot support such blatant disrespect of a fellow Magus, the author of this forgery is clearly a skilled satirist and doubtless a very intelligent individual.” When, three months later, Magus Gates was stripped of his rank for “unspeakable private use of magic,” that very same draft, well-worn but quite readable, was quietly framed by several students and put up in the Alteration Hall. To this day, the Department of Restricted Arts in Celo suffers the nickname of “The Department of Necrophilia," even from others in the same guild. And in the inter-city competitions between the two guilds, the ladies of Cevedes costume themselves as skeletons and can often seen flirting with the students of Celo. Students outside of the Department of Restricted Arts don't seem to mind.]

Late evening. He shuffled forwards and looked nervously around him – he could ill afford to be recognised here. The gates were closed. He did not have the physique to scale them. It was a risk, a but a light dabble of fire magic helped melt the lock. He looked around nervously hoping that no one was alerted by the flash of light…all seemed well. He entered, closing the gates behind him….it was a still night, but he gave a quiet prayer to Tali not to disturb them. He shuffled to the side where he stood less risk of being seen….but here, away from the street lighting he began to feel more confident that he could carry out his plan without disturbance.

He worked his way to his target, a left here, a right there. Finally he came to the place revealed to him by several weeks of intense, but cautious, research at the parish registry. He looked at the tombstone “Jemima Fireborn nee Oggburgh, beloved mother and wife. Forever in our memories”

Aaron Gates chuckled to himself “Muahahaha….muahahaha…necrophilia huh Fireborn?…well lets try these dark arts out…”


Sorry....couldn't resist! - did love the letter

KillerClowns - you should be a Greate Bard in FFH, Skitters - you are sick

Loosely inspired by a strange series of events in a recent game.

Is this the story of how the Elohim founded the Ashen Veil in your game?

evanb said:

Is this the story of how the Elohim founded the Ashen Veil in your game?

Click to expand...

Aye, with a GP gotten from Amathon's event (which I wouldn't have been able to use if I wasn't good). I hadn't even planned it. "Ooh... a few gold for a Great Prophet? I'll be having that! Let's see what the bulb gives me... Corruption of Spirit? Not what I had in mind, but I wasn't planning on an altar victory anyways..."
I'd say Amathon may have miscalculated...

Nice story KC, but I've always thought that dreams granted by Overlords wouldn't be any less torturous than Agares' reality.

Great story KillerClowns, if you enjoy playing FfH as much as I enjoy reading your stories then we are doing pretty well.

I really like the choice to make the woman an Overlord follower. Very non-typical and much more interesting because of it.

The Saga of The Priesthood, First part
The Tale of the Birth of the Priesthood, and the coming of age of the first High Priestess Erin

The cold pressed in towards the center of Braduk very strongly that day. Erin shivered in the cold air that blew in through the house. It had been two weeks since the center of Braduk had fallen away, two weeks since her life, and that of all the survivors, had changed.
They knew things would turn to the worse. Already, the Crops near Braduk had failed in the cold wind and snow blowing in from the South. The Jungle was withering, and supplies of food were already dwindling. Erin knew she’d have to go out and find something to eat, but heat was such an essential part of the life of a Bannor… especially hers. Though her father had been only a minor priest of Bhall, she was head of her theology Class, and was destined to be high priestess of Bhall.
Finally the cold and hunger overcame her, and she left the relative safety and comfort of the house. She hadn’t left it in days, not since the first day when they had all heard the Fallen one’s voice, and had Run towards the Great Temple of Braduk and her father. She had found neither… only a great crater, eternally ringed with flame.
On a whim, it was towards this that she made her way, though odds were that already anything edible had been found and taken.
She met no one, but already the signs of a growing desperation and hunger were growing. Bodies bearing signs of violence littered the streets, and windows were broken. Fires smoldered somewhere in the distance.
She turned onto the Avenue of the Champions. Looking around, she felt her heart stop. All the statues of the Heroes of the Bannor people had been defaced and vandalized. How dare they? These people had Sacrificed all in the fights against the Patrian Archmages… These people deserved unconditional love and respect.
In Anger, she turned to walk down the street, her livid face a pale contrast against her flaming red hair. She strode towards the Crater, and, when she reached the edge, she looked back. Behind her came a shambling horde. The survivors. Something called them to the crater, called them all to witness something.
Erin stood at the edge of the crater, waiting. Waiting for something momentous. Erin looked in through the curtain of flame, and, reached in. The flame burned her, and she called upon the Fallen Goddess… and received an answer.
“Reach in my child. Take my symbol. You will keep it and my people until my chosen comes.” The voice was soft and weak, but burning with a fiery passion. And Erin knew… Bhall had spoken to her, had taken her in… She felt a fiery strength course through her veins.
“When?” She whispered back, “When will he come.”
But Bhall did not answer.
This Time, Erin walked in completly. This time, the flame felt welcoming, like a mother embracing a child, or a lover clasping her, or perhaps a bit of both at the same time.
When she emerged from the Flame, she held a staff in her hands, a staff wreathed in flame. An eternal flame burned at it’s top.
She looked out towards the massed people, and raised it over her head. A blast of heat emanated from it, melting the snow within the area of the city walls.
“BHALL!” she shouted, and her Cry was taken up by the people of Braduk “BHALL! BHALL! BHALL! BHALL! BHALL!”

EDIT: @Thomas: How'd I manage to miss your story? I've always been wondering about the time after the fall of Bhall, and how the Orcs ended up as they did.

EDIT 2: And @Kol.7 and thewyrm, I'm wondering if you intend to continue your own contributions.