Psychic_Llamas
Wizard in the Making
Azhag the Slaughter
"The smell emanating from the Chaos Troll's lair was vile, even by an Orc's low standards. The stench of rotten meat and Troll vomit was one that Azhag had become accustomed to, but the odour of a Chaos Troll was different. It was sickly sweet and the Warlord could only barely fight down the urge to regurgitate his last meal.
Azhag and his small tribe had been forced into Troll country by marauding bands of Chaos mutants. Taking shelter in the caves, a scout party he had sent to explore the dark tunnels leading from the main cave entrance had failed to return. That night the Chaos Troll had crept up on the tired Orc band and slaughtered each and every one of them save Azhag himself who had proved the beast's match and chased the monster back to its lair. The Chaos Troll was now cornered though and fought with a determined ferocity.
Azhag jumped back just in time to see the razor sharp talons of the huge black creature pass within inches of his face. Most of his boyz had been ripped apart by those very same deadly claws. As the Troll lunged forward to tear out Azhag's throat, the mighty Orc spied an opportunity to attack. Swinging his sword in a wide arc it cut deep into the Troll's arm.
The creature let out a savage howl of pain, but even as it did the gash Azhag's sword had inflicted began to close, the blood clotting instantly before his eyes. Enraged by the wound, the Troll lunged towards Azhag, powerful swiping claws raking at his head. Azhag raised his shield and the razor sharp talons cut a deep gash through the metal. A thought crossed Azhag's mind, perhaps he had been a little hasty in his pursuit of the Troll. Now the beast was cornered and was fighting for its life instead of its dinner. As if the Troll could sense Azhag's doubts, it increased the fervour of its attack. Blow after blow rained down upon Azhag's shield tearing more great holes into the thick steel. The Orc Warlord stepped back to avoid the flurry of attacks, but in his haste he slipped, crashing to the floor.
The Troll loomed over him, its arms raised high to be brought crashing down on the Orc's skull. Azhag knew that it was over, he had met his match. He would now suffer the same fate as all those who had fought and suffered at his own merciless hands. Then a strange voice whispered softly to him. It was as if the voice was actually inside his head. He is weak, said the voice. He thinks you defeated, now is the time of his undoing.
Azhag thrust forward his sword, the blade sinking deep into the Troll's chest. The Troll slowly stepped back from the prone Orc, the blade embedded up to the hilt. With a loud crash it hit the floor, dead.
Azhag stood, glanced once at the fallen Troll and then turned towards a corner of the cavern. The voice beckoned him over. Amongst a pile of gnawed bones and broken skulls lay a grime encrusted crown. Wear me, rule me, yours will be the power. The whispers were louder now, and a dull throbbing in his brain urged him to pick up the crown and place it on his head. As he did it seemed to shrink around his temple. Yours is the power to command the voice boomed loud in the Warlord's skull. Arcane knowledge from centuries long past flooded into his memory. The voice in his head was now merging with his own. Without understanding how, Azhag knew he had become infinitely more powerful. The voice spoke again, this time it did not sound strange or unfamiliar. It was if the voice had always been part of Azhag, it was Azhag's voice. Together we shall fight, together we shall conquer, together we shall rule."
Grimgor Ironhide
"No one knows Grimgor's early history – the only Orc foolish enough to ask quickly joined the former Warboss of the Yellow Eyes tribe in a broken heap in a ditch. All that is known is that Grimgor had staggered out of the Blasted Wastes with a grizzled, bloody, and much scarred bodyguard. The few survivors were all tired ad hungry, but they were also all Black Orcs and armed to the teeth. They had clearly seen much combat and some of the blood and wounds were fresh, but after that first time, no one dared ask. What they lacked in numbers, they more than made up for with single-minded brutality. Grimgor easily took over the first tribe he met, conquered the second, and annihilated the third. There was never enough killing for Grimgor."
"The smell emanating from the Chaos Troll's lair was vile, even by an Orc's low standards. The stench of rotten meat and Troll vomit was one that Azhag had become accustomed to, but the odour of a Chaos Troll was different. It was sickly sweet and the Warlord could only barely fight down the urge to regurgitate his last meal.
Azhag and his small tribe had been forced into Troll country by marauding bands of Chaos mutants. Taking shelter in the caves, a scout party he had sent to explore the dark tunnels leading from the main cave entrance had failed to return. That night the Chaos Troll had crept up on the tired Orc band and slaughtered each and every one of them save Azhag himself who had proved the beast's match and chased the monster back to its lair. The Chaos Troll was now cornered though and fought with a determined ferocity.
Azhag jumped back just in time to see the razor sharp talons of the huge black creature pass within inches of his face. Most of his boyz had been ripped apart by those very same deadly claws. As the Troll lunged forward to tear out Azhag's throat, the mighty Orc spied an opportunity to attack. Swinging his sword in a wide arc it cut deep into the Troll's arm.
The creature let out a savage howl of pain, but even as it did the gash Azhag's sword had inflicted began to close, the blood clotting instantly before his eyes. Enraged by the wound, the Troll lunged towards Azhag, powerful swiping claws raking at his head. Azhag raised his shield and the razor sharp talons cut a deep gash through the metal. A thought crossed Azhag's mind, perhaps he had been a little hasty in his pursuit of the Troll. Now the beast was cornered and was fighting for its life instead of its dinner. As if the Troll could sense Azhag's doubts, it increased the fervour of its attack. Blow after blow rained down upon Azhag's shield tearing more great holes into the thick steel. The Orc Warlord stepped back to avoid the flurry of attacks, but in his haste he slipped, crashing to the floor.
The Troll loomed over him, its arms raised high to be brought crashing down on the Orc's skull. Azhag knew that it was over, he had met his match. He would now suffer the same fate as all those who had fought and suffered at his own merciless hands. Then a strange voice whispered softly to him. It was as if the voice was actually inside his head. He is weak, said the voice. He thinks you defeated, now is the time of his undoing.
Azhag thrust forward his sword, the blade sinking deep into the Troll's chest. The Troll slowly stepped back from the prone Orc, the blade embedded up to the hilt. With a loud crash it hit the floor, dead.
Azhag stood, glanced once at the fallen Troll and then turned towards a corner of the cavern. The voice beckoned him over. Amongst a pile of gnawed bones and broken skulls lay a grime encrusted crown. Wear me, rule me, yours will be the power. The whispers were louder now, and a dull throbbing in his brain urged him to pick up the crown and place it on his head. As he did it seemed to shrink around his temple. Yours is the power to command the voice boomed loud in the Warlord's skull. Arcane knowledge from centuries long past flooded into his memory. The voice in his head was now merging with his own. Without understanding how, Azhag knew he had become infinitely more powerful. The voice spoke again, this time it did not sound strange or unfamiliar. It was if the voice had always been part of Azhag, it was Azhag's voice. Together we shall fight, together we shall conquer, together we shall rule."
Grimgor Ironhide
"No one knows Grimgor's early history – the only Orc foolish enough to ask quickly joined the former Warboss of the Yellow Eyes tribe in a broken heap in a ditch. All that is known is that Grimgor had staggered out of the Blasted Wastes with a grizzled, bloody, and much scarred bodyguard. The few survivors were all tired ad hungry, but they were also all Black Orcs and armed to the teeth. They had clearly seen much combat and some of the blood and wounds were fresh, but after that first time, no one dared ask. What they lacked in numbers, they more than made up for with single-minded brutality. Grimgor easily took over the first tribe he met, conquered the second, and annihilated the third. There was never enough killing for Grimgor."
