[center][h2]Batuul Comes to Calesbail[/h2]
[i]Early Spring of the year 315 P.F.[/i][/center]

[hr]

The night was dark, the sky blocked by a thick curtain of storm that came down upon the highlands of Calesbail, no light except for the occasional flash of lightning. Valleys and peaks seemed black and the patrols of those men who inhabited the highlands would not be able to see even twenty paces past the light of their torch, assuming the rain and wind did not put it out. Even the animals, huddled in their herds, were flocked to the safety of a barn or some common area within a village so as to not be lost to the storm. It was a night of roaring thunder and a darkness brought about by the very elements themselves.

The night was perfect for a group trying to sneak through the countryside unseen, passing borders and patrols without detection or notice. An occasional shepherd, trying to usher his herd back to his home, however, needed to be silenced for fear that he would see the figures moving about in the dark. Such was the merciless way of the orcs who wished to be unnoticed, old and unable to fight in fair terms against the likes of man anymore. They were warlocks, some of the last practitioners of the magics that the orcs remembered, yet they were knowledgeable in the oral history of their respective clans and peoples. Many months had passed since they prepared for this night, much planning and preparation had gone to even crossing the border into Calesbail nearly two days before.

One of the oldest among them, haunched forwards to a degree that he would face the ground if he did not raise his head, brought his spear high to stop the party. He looked back and forth before slowly crawling up the hill he was on, spying the fortified settlement in the distance before turning back to the group and ushering them forwards.A flash of light was the only thing that illuminated their presence on the hill, a risk they had to take as the oldest stabbed his spear into the ground. 

“This is the spot, I can feel her anger,” the head warlock, Nulgha, stated, looking to the others who nodded their heads in agreement. He gazed around before another flash of lightning illuminated the land, revealing a nearby hut that they had not previously seen nor scouted. Turning to his personal retinue, the old orc growled, “Go! Silence any in there before they see us, I do not want them to ride us down before the ritual is complete.”

Three of the group snapped at each other, snarling and growling as they made their way down the hill to eliminate the potential threat.

Meanwhile the warlocks began their work, stabbing their spears into the ground and weaving bindings between them to form the symbol of their dark god, Chernobog. Nulgha inspected the symbol before he moved to stand in the middle of their creation, with a single finger moved the hard earth around him, now drawing the symbol of Batuul. The old warlock let out a pained grunt as he forced his back to straighten as much as he could, pulling his cloak off and tossing it to the side. The rain felt cold, aching his old bones, but it mattered not in the moment. Nulgha knew what must be done, but it was a shot in the dark, no being could overcome the might of a god but the ritual must be attempted. 

The old one looked to another cloaked orc, much younger than him before speaking, “Bolag, my apprentice, you shall speak the writ. Once you have, you will take my place as warlock of the Gorfangs.”

The younger was taken back at first, the other warlocks looked to him, his nerves began to grow weak as he shifted in place. Bolag, however, knew to show strength and steeled himself as much as he could before raising his arms to the air. The ritual must begin.

[i][b]“In the name of Chernobog, we beckon his first warlord to return to us. The orcs have never been as fractured as they are now, the clans fight for survival and many have abandoned the old ways seen in the First Age!

In the name of Chernobog, we beckon the Slaughter of Ten Thousand to return to us. May she bring forth a new age! The Age of the Orc! May she cull the numbers of the race of man, bring them to their knees, force them to be but servants to our people!

In the name of Chernobog, we beckon the Matron of Orcs to return to us. May she bring our number to bear against the enemies of the Fell! May she bring our people out from their squabbling and unite them as she has!

In the name of Chernobog, we beckon the Unifier of Fell to return to us. May she bring the remnants of the trolls and ogres to unite under her banner, to bring us revenge upon those who forced us to to hide in Aurgoth!”[/b][/i]

The apprentice looked to another warlock before speaking in the same ritualistic tone, “Bring forth the weapon!”

Two warlocks brought forward a massive spear, nearly the size of a troll, bringing it to Nulgha who stood there expectantly. The old warlock took the spear into his hands, struggling to raise it for a moment, though just barely managing to overcome the weight of the weapon. Nulgha kept both hands upon it, keeping it steady in front of him before the words of the ritual came to his ears once more.

[i][b]”Batuul, Matron of the Orcs, Unifier of Fell, Slaughter of Ten Thousand, First Warlord. We free you from your bindings so that you may continue your work in the name of our master! Hear our call and break your chains and to usher a new Age of Slaughter!

Chernobog! Free your Champion!”[/b][/i]

The warlocks began to [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E3bfeK7_zoE]chant[/url], slowly and deeply did their voices overcome the deafening rain and roaring thunder. With heads bowed, they raised the hands to the air, urging forth the essence of Batuul from her prison in the Plane of Chains. While they did not raise their voices, their chant became louder and louder, the rain becoming silent in comparison to them. All but Nulgha fell to their knees, continuing their ritual even as the storm grew harsher and harsher over them, lightning became more frequent and wind whipping at them all the more. 

At the climax of the dark ritual, Nulgha suddenly raised the massive spear into the air and let out an ear-splitting roar in the same instance that a massive surge of lightning hit the old warlock. The lightning did not stop, however, as the form of Nulgha became foreign to the chanters due the lightning overcoming his form. Finally, a singular strike hit the location and stayed there for much longer than any lightning strike would, certainly making Nulgha into nothing more than a smoldering corpse.

When the strike finally relinquished itself, in Nulgha’s place stood a towering form much larger than the warlocks who silenced themselves to merely gaze upon the mass. The figure looked between them in a moment of silence, the sound of rain returning to them before the mass raised the gargantuan spear and let out a roar to match the thunder. Joining in, the warlocks and their retinue roared into the air along with her, knowing that their ritual had worked.

Batuul walked free from her prison.

Her form loomed over them and as she looked over them and the land, she was not greeted by an army and instead had but a mere foraging group. Batuul’s face formed a grimace as she spotted the walled settlement of what was clearly a human city, but with much different architecture than what she could remember. She could remember that his land was empty, the land where she had met her defeat at the hands of the White God. Yet, a tug at her hand brought her back to reality, a warlock seeking to gain her attention. 

“My warlord, we must leave or the human will find us,” he warned, a display of cowardice that earned him a raised foot to kick him to the side, though not enough to kill him.  

“Men cannot destroy us, wretch,” she growled as she looked to the city once more to see horse riders coming out and towards their direction. Batuul snarled as she looked to one of the warlocks, asking savagely, “Who are you?”

“B-Bolag, my matron,” the young warlock stated, prostrating himself before Batuul, “I headed the ritual to free you.”

Batuul inspected the young one, bringing herself down to breath in the air around him before the sound of hooves on hard earth caught her attention. She let out a sigh before giving an order in a deep, guttural voice, “We must return to Aurgoth, I must raise my army! But first, let us kill these men!”

The retinue of the warlocks raised their weapons and let out their roars, forming around Batuul as she stayed upon the hill, merely watching the horse riders coming to them. As they neared, Batuul let out a deafening roar as she began to run down to meet them, their horses spooking at the noise and their charge momentarily halting as their mounts reared back. The orcs fell upon them, the men stabbing out with their spears while others were pulled from their saddles and slaughtered like animals. 

Batuul threw her spear at one horseman, the weapon catching the rider and throwing him off his horse before being impaled to the ground. Another, who had regained control over his horse, charged at the massive orc, seeking to bury his spear through her, but being unable to as Batuul ran into the horse itself. Her massive form lifted the beast into the air before throwing it at another horseman, crushing him under the mass of another horse. It was a display of savagery that these men had not seen as Batuul herself began to end their scouting party nearly by herself. 

In the end, their resolve broke and those who still had life within them began to run back to the safety of their city, some even riding with horses that had not been injured. The orcs began to give chase, but Batuul stopped them by letting out a loud grunt to get their attention, “Leave them, I want them to know that I have returned! Now, lead me to Aurgoth!” 

The orcs let out their savage cries as the horses that survived Batuul’s onslaught, were slaughtered as they ran into the countryside leading their newly brought back matron to their lands. Though, the survivors of the scouting party knew of their existence and word would spread quickly among the lands of Calesbail that there was an orcish party with some form of monster in the hills. Batuul knew hunting parties would be organized to ride them down, knowing that the likes of men would stop at nothing to kill them.

Yet, that was where the fun would come. There was no fun if the humans did not want to fight her.

[hider=Summary]
A group of warlocks from the Orcs come together in Calesbail and perform a ritual to break Batuul from her prison, miraculously it works. Go figure. 

Someone suggests that Batuul leave immediately before being kicked to the side.

A scouting party, noticing the very visibly ritual rides out to investigate and seeing it’s just a bunch of orcs try to charge them, but are soon dispatched by the orcs and newly summoned Batuul. 

After letting the survivors go so that Batuul gets hunted and can fight some more, she decides to journey back to Aurgoth. 

More will be written about her glorious journey back to Aurgoth.
[/hider]