All the orcs stand around a giant tree in the village center, waiting for your chief, Greusim, to speak.  He stands on a flat rock, looking over everyone.


Greusim has the raven black hair that all the orcs have, the sides shaved into a mohawk, with the back end running down to his upper back.  White hairs scattered throughout his majestic hair.  His face aged and wrinkled, giving him the appearance of a grumpy bulldog, and two sharp teeth protrude up from his under bite, a common trait among orcs. 


For a moment you and he look at each other, his left eye always perpetually half closed, making him look vexed.  Although the chief is one of the calmest orcs you have ever met.


"Everyone," he starts, "it has come to my attention that the Imperials are amassing warriors by the borders between our lands."


He spreads his arms out.


"These very lands that have been our home since Gigalak gave it to the First Born."  He pauses for a moment.  "We need to make sure these lands are protected, for the well being of all orcs, ourselves, and future generations. "


Some of the orcs start calling out for blood, to which Greusim shakes his head.


"No, we must watch what the Empire does, we cannot go out looking for a fight.  Not this time, we must try to avoid conflict.  Now, I will personally lead an expedition team to the border, and we will see what the Imperials are doing.  There will likely be other tribes of orcs doing likewise, but if they fight the Empire, we will not interfere."


"What happened to all that shit about sticking together?!" an orc cries angrily.


"We will only fight if they attack us first, we will not be the ones to start a war with the Empire.  It would be deadly, and very long if we did so."


You all talk amongst each other.  According to chief Greusim, this could be a very precarious situation.  You call out.


"What if they are protecting their borders from orcs raiding Imperial lands?" you ask.  "You know what some of the tribes are like."


If you could even call them that, some groups of orcs aren't even proper tribes.  Just bands of raiders, thieves, and scum.


"If that is the case," the chief says, "we will let them know they do not act on behalf of all of Orcin.  Maybe, we would even help the Empire fight them on behalf of the rest of the tribes."


There is arguing amongst the orcs.  The orcs have banded together to fight external threats, but never with a foreign power to fight other orcs.  The affairs of orcs have always been kept to the tribes of orcin.


Helping the Empire fight fellow orcs, no matter if they are scum, would be crazy.


"So, my friends," Greusim says, "who will aid me on this quest."


Many hands go up, the chief peering through the crowd to see who would be best.


You wonder if you should raise your hand, the expedition might call for experience and expertise, which you would have.  On the other hand, you also don't really want to leave your family for an extended period of time.  While Gilikia is strong and hard-working, two kids, an infant, and a multitude of chores would be difficult for her to handle by herself.  Also, there is the fact that someone may need to run the village in Greusim's absence, which is also something you would be willing to do.

You don't Go

You have weighed out all of the options, and you decide that you are going to stay here at the village.  Let the currently more adventurous orcs handle this sort of thing.  Greusim looks somewhat disappointed that you did not volunteer to go along, but no chief can force an orc to take a part in these matters if they do not wish to.


Chief Greusim beckons you to him, while all the other orcs are getting prepared for the trip, or complaining they weren't selected. 


"Nolazir, my friend," Greusim says, "I need your help."


"I'm sorry Greusim, I can't go-"


"No, not that," he says.  "I need you to keep an eye of the village while I am gone.  Oversee things and make sure that it all holds together."


"Well what exactly do I have to do?" you ask.


"Hmm, govern the daily matters of the village, for one.  Most orcs are responsible for their own crops and supplies, but sometimes Gigalak has other plans.  If they need help, then you help them.  If there are any squabbles, you end those as soon as you can.  Also, as I'm sure you know, make sure the village is kept safe…"




Greusim gets into the specifics of running the village day to day, and while some of it sounds kind of boring, you realize those are the things that must be done to keep the village together.


"Gigalak didn't give us these fields, forests, and mountains as our home, just to lose it to laziness and ignorance.  Remain vigilant and you will be fine," Greusim nods and pats your shoulder, "but I trust you Nolazir, you'll do a fine job in my stead."


You bid each other farewell.  Greusim and the rest of the groups ride off towards the mountains, and before leaving the village Rolomag looks back from his horse and nods at you, which you return.


The village stands behind you, more or less going on as it always has, even if it is a little emptier.

You branch 1B: Home

You enter the large hut that could be considered the villages town hall.  There really isn't much to it, mostly a chair and desk near a fire place.  The rest of the space just has piles of extra crates, hide bags, and random farming tools.  As there isn't much use for an orc at a desk, you decide to saddle up and make your rounds through the village.


After some time, you realize there isn't much going on except for the village seeming a bit emptier.  It isn't as empty as it was when you returned from fighting the Wister Elves, but you shake off this feeling before you go into your old habit of thinking about those days too much.


It is not too long after that several orcs come to seek out your guidance and leadership.  While you have always been able to lead others when it counted, it was never really in a domestic capacity.


You stand outside of the chief's hut, feeling it unnecessary to sit at the desk.  One by one the orcs come through, asking for advice on various issues regarding farming, smithing, and others.  A few even come to you for help in settling disputes among each other. 


After the next few hours, you feel pretty great that you got to help, and that none of the disputes ended in bloodshed, which is quite common in Orcin.  While you are the acting chief, you are confident that no fools are going to try to challenge your leadership.  This would be foolish as Greusim would return to take his rightful place soon anyway.  You have rarely heard of orc cheifs being assassinated, as outright murdering an orc chief does not count, and would only end in execution. 


An aspiring orc would have to challenge him, and at the appointed time they would fight where the whole village could watch.  The fight would go until one yielded, or to the death.  From what you remember from when you were much younger, that is how Greusim came to be chief.  Although the chief before him was a terrible and cruel leader.  Since then, you had only seen a few orcs challenge Greusim; those all ended in a grisly demise for the challengers, and saying as most are happy with his leadership, there has been no need to attempt to remove him.


As you prepare to return home for the day, you see one of Greusim's sons, Galik, briskly approaching.  Judging by his demeanor, you know he is upset about something.  At first, you assume it is about Greusim refusing to bring him on the expedition.  Although Galik is of age to participate in these matters, he is way too hot headed, even for a normal orc of youth.


"I'm here to take my rightful place as chieftain," Galik says.


You take a moment to stop yourself from laughing.


"Galik, my friend," you start, "do you realize this is temporary?"


"Yes, but as I am his son," he says.  "Why shouldn't I be in charge? I have seen him work enough to know what to do."


"I know you would be very skilled in leading the tribe," you say, "but he left me in charge and I will obey his wishes."


"Who are you to take this power from us?" he asks.  "When we earned-"


"No, Greusim earned it," you say.  "You should know that status does not follow family lines.  Each lives according to his own merit."


You cross your arms and lean against the hut.


"Besides, in a few years when your father is good and ready to retire," you say.  "I'm sure you'll be well prepared to lead us further into prosperity.  Do you think I want this title?"


Galik stops and thinks for a minute.


"Galik, as I said, this is only temporary," you say.  "I would not want to do this for all the years Greusim has, I have my own place in the tribe.  While he can't pass down leadership to you, he can prepare you to earn the role when it is your time.  You'll do a fine job, boy."


Galik seems calmed down at your words, and he nods.


"I'm sorry Nolazir, my friend," he says.  "Sometimes I get caught up in these things too much.  I especially want to preserve all the hard work my father has put into this village."


"And you shall, someday."


Galik apologizes again before going off to take care of other matters.  You sigh and look around the village, the dying light casting a cold shade upon your home.


You get to your horse and ride back down the trail leading to your house.

You later...

The next morning yields several orcs showing up to your house.  While at first, you thought their intentions were bad, as soon as they saw you they started complaining about issues.  You notice these orcs are the young and impatient sort, who haven't learned that showing up at a chief's house first thing in the morning is frowned upon.


Sternly, you tell them to wait until you go down to the hut to start village business.  The orcs all grumble and shuffle off, presumably to cause some mischief.


You shake your head.


"No damn patience."


You take care of your regular work, making sure your wife only really needs to worry about the inside of the house and the children.


After saying your goodbyes to your family, you walk down to the village center.  Breathing in the fresh morning air, happiness swells inside of you, but soon after you can't help but get a sick feeling in your stomach.  It is almost as if something has reached its hand into your gut and is content with squeezing your organs within.  Ignoring this feeling, you go back to thinking about the day.


All around the village orcs hustle and bustle, going about their daily work and chores.  You see the village blacksmith working hard, mostly making farming equipment for some of the residents.  You have dabbled in some smithing yourself, but as most orc weapons are relatively simple to make, the task is usually up to a handful of orcs.  These days all their work mostly goes to farming equipment, tools, and other metal components for barrels, wagons, and other miscellaneous things.


You watch as a dozen orcs prepare their canoes for some river fishing.  While most orcs can be self-sufficient, most like fish, and it makes good for trading for the villages who cannot get fish so easily. 


Ahead, a wagon slowly rolls into the village, pulled by horses and with several orcs sitting on it.  You recognize them as being from one of the mountain coastal tribes.  They have come a long way to trade with many tribes.  As they trade rocks and materials only found by the sea, including some pearls, they regale the younger orcs with tales of adventures on the sea.  Most likely exaggerating accounts of encounters and battles with large sea monsters.


Eventually, they roll through the village, their exchanges being over with.  You notice they even recruit a few young and adventurous orcs to join them on their sea adventures.  While you can't stop them, you wish they would stay and help the village.  Most are still concerned about the reports on the Mannate Empire.


The orcs that leave with them will probably return someday, they always do.  Turning your attention to other matters, several of the orcs need your assistance and advice on village matters.  You lead them past a group of young teenage orcs fighting and wrestling, as they tend to do.

Two Hours Later

After a couple hours of dealing with the villagers' problems, one orc named Ruzmar rushes in, panting and sweating profusely.


"Nolazir," he says, "I was out hunting for deer by the rivers Southwest of the village.  We saw a group of goblins heading through the hills."


"Goblins live in the area, so what's it to us?" you ask.


"We were only a few miles from the river," Ruzmar says.  "They have always been rivals with the lawless tribes down in the plains in that area.  The thing is, they've never been this far up."


"Hmm," you cross your hands under your chin, "perhaps they've been driven up here by the tribeless bands."


"Also," he says, "they are pretty heavily armed.  Not the usual stone and wood weapons either, metal and iron.  I think they're learning how to make better stuff, or stealing it from the lawless, who have probably stolen it from others."


"Show me."

Onward

With this alarming revelation, you round up two dozen orcs to go with you and Ruzmar.  As you climb onto the saddle, Galik approaches, ready to go.


You open your mouth to tell him to stay, but stop as you realize he will need to learn how these things are handled.


Later, after as the evening sun lowers over the land, you move through the hills.  Keeping a vigilant watch, Ruzmar tells you that you have almost reached where he last saw the Goblins.


Over the next hill, a large camp extends over the little peaks and valleys in between.  Multiple campfires are alight, and you see the short goblins scampering about, doing random chores or just keeping an eye out.


Peering closer, you see that several seem to notice your group.  Before long a group of over thirty goblins cautiously make their way over, stopping at the end of what they believe is throwing distance.  One particularly larger and uglier goblin walks forward.  His face and body are covered in tribal tattoos, and he wears bone necklaces and an amulet which must be a symbol of status.


"I am Gru'zikular," he says, "Chieftain of the proud tribe of Gerobler."


"I am Nolazir, humble servant of Chief Greusim, the leader of our tribe."


"Has your tribe no name?"


"Sometimes we are called the River tribe, but Gigalak has never had need to distinguish us.  Only the lawless concern themselves with petty names."


Gru'zikular nods, both hands resting on his staff, which you assume is where he draws his shamanic power.  The orcs and goblins are similar in that respect, they call upon the powers of the Earth for assistance, while the elves use their strange magic.


"That is what we have come to speak about," Gru'zikular says.  "These….lawless orcs raid and pillage, steal and burn.  We have tried to make peace, we have tried to fight them.  Nothing has worked, so we come to you with a treaty."


"I see your plight, the lawless have been trouble," you say, "but they've kept the humans, dwarves, ogres, and even yourselves from treading too far in our lands.  I would say, you goblins and the ogres have probably helped keep the dwarves out as well."


"So then why are we treated as such vermin and animals?" Gru'zikular asks, "we no longer have lands to call our own, since the dwarves threw us from the mountains and caves, and before that, we walked these very lands you now call yours.  Since our removal we have roamed the land, living much as bandits and raiders in order to survive."


Gru'zikular seems to get a little angry, although he attempts to hide it.


"We seem to have common interests," he says, "so we need your help.  Either tell the lawless to leave us alone or else help us fight them.  In exchange for their souls, and the land they live, we would be glad to put our skills to use for the lawful tribes of orcs."


They offer an interesting argument, and although both goblins and the lawless orcs have each been helpful in their own way, they each also pose their own problems. 


"I will bring your request to Chief Greusim upon his return," you say.  "Until then, you will have our protection."


Gru'zikular raises his eyebrow.  It is here that you explain you will leave some orcs to watch over the camp, as the lawless would not dare to kill an orc from a proper tribe.  This would bring upon them the wrath of the council and neighboring orc tribes.  The goblin chief expresses his appreciation. 


You leave half of the orcs in your company with the goblins.  Although there is much complaining, they still comply.

You return to the Village

As you ride back, Galik ceaselessly argues over your decision.  At which point you tell him to shut up, and that Greusim will have the final say.  Even though he still seems pissed, it gets him off of your back for now. 


It is late when you return to the village, and you decide not to worry about any of these issues for the night.  They can easily be handled tomorrow. 


The next morning seems to come quicker than you had expected.  Yawning as you stretch, you go to quiet your infant child, Lagrik.


After some time, when the child has fallen asleep, you go outside.  Almost immediately, you see three orcs riding up to your house on horseback.  You are almost about to shout at them when you realize these aren't the young and impatient orcs from the other day.


You see three faces before you.  The first being Rolomag, his face drawn and tired looking.  His normally shaved face covered in a dark stubble.  The second is Dekard, the orc who first saw the Imperials and went on the expedition.  Around his head are bandages wrapped around, a dark red stain soaked into it.


The third orc is one you do not know, his hair is wild and his face also covered in stubble.  Multiple scars line his face and arms, his leather and fur clothing not looking like that of your tribe.  Two teeth protrude from his underbite, one of those is chipped.  A red hand painted on his face, his dark eyes attempt to pierce through you.


"Who is this?" you ask.


"My name is Grolik, leader of the Red Handed orcs band."


"Hmm?" you say, "one of the lawless.  What are you doing here?"


Before he can continue, Rolomag has jumped off of his horse and grabs your shoulders.  Eyes widening, you step back, pushing his arms off of you.


"What has gotten into you?" you ask.


"Nolazir," he says, seeming very tired, "we ran into some Imperials, they were fighting these orcs."


Rolomag goes on to explain that the Imperial soldiers laid siege to the orcs, who were stuck on a rocky hill.  They exchanged arrows with the archers, and some Imperial knights on horseback made sure none could leave the hill. 


He goes on to say that Greusim rode forward to talk to the Imperials, but was struck in the side with an arrow.  While both sides were shooting back and forth, Rolomag is not sure who actually hit the chief.


Rolomag goes on to explain that the arrow barely had an effect on him, and that, even when all-out combat broke out, Greusim was able to help them.  They killed the knights and managed to wipe out the archer columns after a hard-fought battle. 


Rolomag looks at the ground and seems to stop.


"Well, then what happened?" you ask.  "Out with it."


"From out of the trees a large force of Imperial soldiers ran out, we fought them well on horseback… but… they surrounded Greusim and the orcs nearest to him."


Rolomag seems to struggle with speaking.


"They fought well, but the humans were hard to kill with their silver coats and helmets.  They pulled Greusim off his horse… by Gigalak there were so many of them.  They struck him with everything imaginable, even his own club."


"What are you saying?" you say, already knowing but in disbelief.


"Greusim lays dead," Rolomag says.  "They butchered his corpse.  After that we couldn't fight them, there were just too many.  We fled to the hills, and from there the three of us came here."


You sit down, almost missing the wooden log and hitting the ground.  Staring at the ground, you wonder how this expedition could have led to this?  All he wanted to do was talk, and those animals tore him apart. 


"Damn human scum," you say on the way to the village as you learn of the other fallen orcs.

You mourning

The village is in mourning, the loss of Greusim and the other dozen orcs has hit the village hard.  A somber mood fills the air, and most orcs only know of one way to handle these types of emotions.


You see many orcs putting on their war paint, and performing war rituals to ask for Gigalak's favor and guidance.  Sighing, you join in on this, as your anger fills you.


The humans do not know peace or diplomacy.  They only see war and control.  While the switch from sadness to rage was quick, you all know it is the right thing to do.


As you ride towards the camp in the mountain, you make your plans for revenge on the Empire.


The plan, to unite with the Red Handed and find where the Imperial camp is located.  Then you will figure out how best to handle them…