Lauder

The Black Prophecy

The Cheiftan

^{Part One}
Early Spring of the year 315 P.F.

---

Two days had passed since Batuul had been brought back to the mortal plane and in two days had she not felt the fury of battle nor had she tasted the blood of her enemies. The small party of warlocks and their retinues, numbering only thirteen, had insisted that they make haste to Arugoth without drawing the ire of the manlings. The scion had listened to them, though showing clear disdain for the idea of moving quietly through the countryside, much preferring to resume her campaign in Calesbail and slaughtering the likes of man. Yet, she found it odd that Chernobog had not yet given her a boon, a reward from breaking free from her prison. Perhaps he was waiting to see if she would survive returning to the home of the orcs before rewarding her for her loyal service, even after defeat.

Whatever the case, Batuul walked along the rocky outcrop that was the home to the Cales, occasionally kicking a rock or looking around for any hunting party that would attempt to ride them down. It seemed that, much like in her prison, boredom would be one of her primary enemies as the warlocks did not attempt to make conversation with their lady and their retinue was too afraid to say anything to her. It was not the orc's way to be this silent, she remembered a loud and boisterous people that would let out howls and warcries in enemy countryside all day long, but these old wretches had clearly spent too long studying history to be of any use to her.

“How much longer do we have, old fools?” Batuul asked in a grunt, raising her spear to rest behind her head as she looked to the head of the party.

“Another two day’s travel, if we walk through night, a week at our pace,” the warlock answered, not looking back at his patron as he stepped over a rock, “We make camp soon, rest for the next day.”

A grimace came across Batuul’s face before she pushed her way past the other warlocks, angrily walking ahead of the group before one of the warlocks ran after her. It was the youngest warlock, Bolag, who stepped in front of the scion and for a moment she stopped to look over the one who got in her way. It took a certain level of courage or stupidity to stand in front of her when she did this and not many would, even when she knew warlocks with more spine than this lot. She rested her spear at her side, looking over Bolag.

“My matron! Unlike you, these souls cannot fight off a manling party even if we wanted to. They need rest for their decaying bones, you are a vessel of the Dark Lord and are above such base needs. Understand that we came at great risk and we cannot risk losing you again,” Bolag stated in an eloquent, for an orc, fashion that seemed to confuse Batuul more than anything.

The Matron of the Orcs took a moment to process the words of Bolag before snorting and saying, “You do not speak like an orc should.” She suddenly brought her spear down to thrust at Bolag, the young one flinching out of fear though not quite meeting an end quite yet. The great spear of Batuul stopped a mere hair’s length away from Bolag’s body, another moment and he would have been skewered. However, Batuul’s point had been made, displeasure showing on her face as her massive hand grabbed the apprentice by the scruff of his neck and threw to the ground in front of the others. Then, she beat her fist against her chest, stating, “You are all weak! You are not orcs! My soldiers would have burned all the manling homes we came across! I cannot believe I was brought back by such spineless cowards!”

The warlocks collectively looked down, ashamed of themselves as Batuul berated them for their weakness and lack of bloodlust. Bolag could only look up at her as she did so, looking to her eyes and seeing that she only felt anger and rage at them for their transgressions against all of orc kind, before an insult about how their mothers should all have killed them as babes if they knew that they’d be as weak as they were. When one attempted to say something, she let out a roar that sent the warlock cowering back down into his place before Bolag began to return to his feet, his own anger rising for being lumped with the old ones.

“Enough!” Bolag bellowed, slamming his wooden staff into the ground, dark magics pulsing through it before it exploded and sent splinters flying outwards. He remained unaware of the magics that had ruined his staff, as he shouted back at Batuul, “We warlocks may be weaker than you, but we know the ancient ways! We are the last bearers of the dark magic of the fell and we are stronger than you think!”

Batuul was silenced for a moment, taken back by the youngster’s sudden aggression, staring down Bolag as he defiantly stared back at her. It seemed that the young orcs still knew how to act properly, how to show some meaningful amount of strength even if this one had done it through magical means. The other warlocks stared at him for his display, though it was clear that they were more shocked for his magical affinity than anything else, Batuul could tell this much. She stepped forward and took a deep breath of air, the scent of the young one’s strength hitting her nose before she reached a hand out, clasping the sides of his face and looking him over, inspecting him.

“Hmm.” Batuul stated, before pushing the warlock back, turning away, “Too scrawny to breed.”

The warlocks and their retinue stared speechlessly at the scion as she began to walk away, ordering, “I will scout ahead, set up camp for the night.”

After stalking away, Batuul took the time to think about her position, to think about how she might introduce herself back into Chernobog’s court. It was clear that she would take the responsibility for saying that she had broken out herself, she had just needed to gather enough strength to overcome the Exalted One’s chains. For that idea though, she’d need to make sure there were no opposing stories, she’d need to silence the warlocks. Batuul knew she’d have to kill them regardless, however, she thought about the scrawny one, Bolag, and saw his latent power that almost bubbled to the surface. Bolag might yet live, however, the others had grown too old to be of use to her.

Her other thoughts were far more primal and less brutal in nature, a focus on reinstating herself as the Matron of the Orcs and to bring forth a more loyal and unquestioning force, one that knew less fear than the retinue of the warlocks. There was once a time where her armies were entirely composed of her sons and daughters, a time where there was no question as to who their leader was and what she wanted. Batuul knew orcs who showed no fear, orcs who knew no retreat. Seeing where they were now made her far more angered than it likely should have, after all, they were still her distant kin. Yet, she knew she’d have to reinforce the old ways and bring back the armies that she was used to leading, but for that she’d need to find someone strong.

The sound of hooves brought her out of her thoughts, her hands bringing up her spear before she heard yelling and hollering, then an orcish roar. Batuul rushed to the crest of a hill and as she gazed into the small dip below, she could see an orc being circled by the men of Calesbail. Without thought, her spear was thrown into a horse, impaling into the ground as the rider struggled to free himself. The two others brought the horses around before shouting to each other, turning and fleeing away away from the sight of her. Batuul, content to investigate the unknown orc, allowed the horsemen to flee and as she stepped down the hill to retrieve her spear, the orc threw herself onto the downed manling, sinking her teeth into his neck and devouring him alive as if she were some starving animal.

Cocking an eyebrow, the matron approached the feasting orc, settling a foot onto the now dead horse and pulling her spear out of its carcass, only then did the orc look up to her with a look of rage and a desire for carnage. Batuul looked over the female for a moment before asking, “Who are you?”

The orc remained silent for a moment before wiping the human blood from her mouth with her wrist, answering, “Chieftess Bula of the Devil Reaver clan… You speak well for a troll.”

Batuul let out a hardy laugh, finding it funny that the chieftess knew not who she spoke too, “I am no troll! I am Batuul!”

Bula took a moment before her eyes widened in realization, scrambling to bow to the Matron of the Orcs, making her obedience to the scion known. Her body was deteriorated, her muscles slightly atrophied and her skin riddled with scars that were partly infected, but even still she let herself bow to Batuul. She did not know what to say, only knowing that she was in the presence of a divine being.

“M-my matron! How may this chieftess bring honor to your name?” Bula asked, still shocked that Batuul stood over her.

“First, explain to me why a chieftess is without her closest champions,” Batuul ordered, wiping the blood on her spear against the horse carcass.

“We were captured when we tried to raid the manlings, matron. Many of us were killed, those of us who survived were thrown into the pits to fight for survival. I escaped, but my lot are still in the pits, I’d say fifteen of us were still alive the last I counted,” Bula answered, looking down, albeit hungrily at the human carcass. She pushed her matted hair back, running her unkempt digits through it to try and separate the knots. The chieftess had obviously been reduced to being nothing more than an animal for the past time, which was not odd for an orc but it was still proof that the humans and orcs were still actively fighting each other at all meetings.

Batuul pondered for a moment before ordering , “Show me this town… after you eat, of course. Hardly got any meat on you. Though, I think you should eat at my camp.”

The two matriarchs walked away from the site of the skirmish, though Bula was hesitant to leave her snack due to her ever aching hunger. Though, Batuul managed to convince her by asserting her dominance over the much smaller one. Nonetheless, the two walked over the rocky ground, carefully retracing their way to the camp as to not bring about anymore interest upon themselves. Their route, while short, was tiring to the malnourished one who was gasping after a short walk and needed to stop to rest. It was clear that she was weak after her imprisonment by the humans, which was why Batuul was not pushing her immediately.

When they reached the camp, the warlocks and their retinue were eating some small game that they had managed to grab, not much to be much of an adequate meal. Though, when they turned to see Batuul, they went to greet her but stopped when they saw Bula. One of the retinue immediately drew his sword and took a step towards the matriarchs before a mere growl from Batuul made him fearfully step back into place.

“That is no way to welcome a matriarch,” Batuul said with a scowl before sitting down, resting her spear in her lap.

“They know no respect,” Bula said in agreeance with the Batuul, the warlocks turning their heads to one another before Bolag stepped forwards.

“You bring a Devil Reaver here? They abandoned your ways after you were defeated!” Bolag exclaimed, looking at Bula who only looked to Batuul in a confused manner. Batuul returned the confused look to the other matriarch before motioning for her to respond to Bolag.

“I don’t know what he’s saying. I don’t understand South Speech,” Bula responded, looking up at Bolag before giving a snarl.

Batuul looked between the two, her mind sitting upon the fact that these two orcs could not understand each other despite being of the same race. A moment of tense silence passed as the Unifier tried to think about what to do in the situation as she knew a simple display of power would put them back into their places but that would not solve the immediate issue. Even she, an orc who knew only violence and slaughter, could see that the issue of linguistics would hamper her ability to lead them as there would be no cohesion. In the end, it was all the same as she rose from her place on the ground and as her shadow grew to look over the lesser orcs. Bula and Bolag looked up at her, bringing themselves low to her out of submission, along with the rest of the party.

The Unifier would not tolerate this kind of infighting within her ranks.

The Black Prophecy

Batuul Comes to Calesbail

Early Spring of the year 315 P.F.

---

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.

“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!”

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.

”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!”

The warlocks began to chant, 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.

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.

The Black Prophecy

The Matron of Orcs

Batuul

The Matriarch of Orcs, The Slaughterer of Ten Thousand, The Unifier of Fell, The First Warlord, The Only Warlord.

Type: Scion

Myth:

The seer moved to the gates, clutching his chest as rain hit his cloak, moving with great pain gripping him with each fraction of inch that he had to step. The guards, at first, had refused the pleas of the madman, calling him a farce until he threatened to have judgement set upon them by the Exalted One for refusing an old man’s dying wish to have his words heeded by the lord of the lands he walked upon. Beyond the one set back, the old seer was brought to the lord, leaning heavily on his staff as he finally could speak about his vision.

The lord looked upon the man, uninterested that some seer from the far reaches of his domain to deliver some pointless drivel. His ancestry had gone to him, heeded his words, but they were gone and none of the evil that the seer had predicted then had come to pass. Regardless, the lord would listen for even then he could hear his father urging him to have his future read by the seer, though, he had refused to sit through some divination at the time. At least now, he could have it done in the comforts of his home.

Yet, the seer seemed to forget his place as he did not even bow to the lord, though no mention was made of it for the old one seemed desperate and on an edge that seemed to lead to certain death. It was the words of the Seer that chilled the entire room, breaths becoming visible.

“Here comes the Matriarch of Orcs, she who helped birth the orcs into being and she who felled armies of man on her own. It is she - she who those beasts call their progenitor! She who molded them into the warriors that had once toppled kingdoms and empires with their might, m’lord! She comes, I have seen it!

Here comes the Slaughterer of Ten Thousand, she who laid low the first wave who sought to bring about an early end to Chernobog’s reign and she who routed armies of man without aid - without rest or respite. Batuul, the only other personally brought low by the Exalted One! He bound her mountainous strength to a plane of chains, capturing her and making sure she’d never see the taste of battle again! But those chains - those blessed chains have been worn away! M’lord, she comes with the storm - her release will shake your family to the core, even your lord’s family!

Here comes the Unifier of Fell, she who ushers in a symbol for orcs to rally behind and there is no other warlord who does not pray for her blessing to lead the orcs to victory, her strength and brutality near unmatched! Even Trolls and Ogres would respect her rule, even they shall follow her, as such even Batuul is a name uttered by those who wish to show strength and bring about slaughter to the forces of man! She will bring a wave of death, destruction - a crusade to match her master’s rage! Batuul seeks to make this an Age of Fell, an age where man will little more than slaves for the hunched beasts!

Here comes the First Warlord, she who was first crowned by Chernobog to lead his armies to victory in battle and she who first brought about the destruction of the first great kingdom in her crusade for Chernobog. It is she who stands above her fell brethren, her imposing form known to all on the battlefield as she wrought the destruction of many champions and their hosts. No knight, no champion, no commander will see her undone, no mortal man could lay her low and that is a fact that cannot be changed, m’lord! Her shadow will loom above this castle! Her roar will shatter your windows, shake the very hall to its foundations!”

The seer fell upon his knees, his whole body shaking as his head snapped back, eyes rolling back in a sudden motion. Another vision gripped the man, but now the whites of his eyes were replaced by a black darker than the one who shan’t be named. A feeling of fear gripped the room as guards looked to each other, unknowing of what to do as a mad cackle overtook the man.

”For she is the only true ruler of their lands! For it is she who claims to be the Only Warlord of the orcs!

The Only Warlord who has brought forth true glory for Chernobog!

The Only Warlord to make kings and champions into trophies!

The Only Warlord to be personally brought into chains by the White God!

She comes, I can feel it even now! The matron of the orcs has broken her binding, her strength has overcome them just as she has overcome the mountains of men sent to take her head, m’lord. Batuul is coming, I can see her form towering over her kind, standing at the height of a troll- neigh, standing greater than a troll! I can feel her fangs stabbing into my chest, they are as large as my head, m’lord! Batuul comes m’lord! Her radiance, I can feel it! Slaughter comes for us all and you will all meet the lick of her strength!”

The great seer’s breath grew ragged, clutching at his chest as the storm grew harsher outside the castle, the thunder pounding in his mind as his laughter was thrown into a fit of coughing. The guards in the hall continued to look worriedly to each other as the seer had spoken the name of the only being whose name should never be uttered. Yet, the duke looked upon the seer who was gasping for air as he spouted his prophecy.

”She comes for you first m’lord! For it is your ancestors who had brought their plight to the Exalted One and I foresee that she will wrap her chains around your neck! Warn the others, m’lord! I beg of you to- to…”

There were no more words to be said as the seer choked upon the air, falling to the ground as lifeless as the cold floor itself. Silence fell about the hall as the duke rose from his throne, looking to the lifeless corpse and then to his guards, then a clap of thunder - more sounding of a distant roar than true thunder - rattled the castle shaking the structure itself. She had broken free. They could all feel it.

The Black Prophecy

The Matron of Orcs

Batuul

The Matriarch of Orcs, The Slaughterer of Ten Thousand, The Unifier of Fell, The First Warlord, The Only Warlord.

Type: Scion

Myth:

The seer moved to the gates, clutching his chest as rain hit his cloak, moving with great pain gripping him with each fraction of inch that he had to step. The guards, at first, had refused the pleas of the madman, calling him a farce until he threatened to have judgement set upon them by the Exalted One for refusing an old man’s dying wish to have his words heeded by the duke of the lands he walked upon. Beyond the one set back, the old seer was brought to the duke, leaning heavily on his staff as he finally could speak about his vision.

The duke looked upon the man, uninterested that some seer from the far reaches of his domain to deliver some pointless drivel. His ancestry had gone to him, heeded his words, but they were gone and none of the evil that the seer had predicted then had come to pass. Regardless, the duke would listen for even then he could hear his father urging him to have his future read by the seer, though, he had refused to sit through some divination at the time. At least now, he could have it done in the comforts of his home.

Yet, the seer seemed to forget his place as he did not even bow to the Duke, though no mention was made of it for the old one seemed desperate and on an edge that seemed to lead to certain death. It was the words of the Seer that chilled the entire room, breaths becoming visible.

“Here comes the Matriarch of Orcs, she who helped birth the orcs into being and she who felled armies of man on her own. It is she - she who those beasts call their progenitor! She who molded them into the warriors that had once toppled kingdoms and empires with their might, m’lord! She comes, I have seen it!

Here comes the Slaughterer of Ten Thousand, she who laid low the first wave who sought to bring about an early end to Chernobog’s reign and she who routed armies of man without aid - without rest or respite. Batuul, the only other personally brought low by the Exalted One! He bound her mountainous strength to a plane of chains, capturing her and making sure she’d never see the taste of battle again! But those chains - those blessed chains have been worn away! M’lord, she comes with the storm - her release will shake your family to the core, even your lord’s family!

Here comes the Unifier of Fell, she who ushers in a symbol for orcs to rally behind and there is no other warlord who does not pray for her blessing to lead the orcs to victory, her strength and brutality near unmatched! Even Trolls and Ogres would respect her rule, even they shall follow her, as such even Batuul is a name uttered by those who wish to show strength and bring about slaughter to the forces of man! She will bring a wave of death, destruction - a crusade to match her master’s rage! Batuul seeks to make this an Age of Fell, an age where man will little more than slaves for the hunched beasts!

Here comes the First Warlord, she who was first crowned by Chernobog to lead his armies to victory in battle and she who first brought about the destruction of the first great kingdom in her crusade for Chernobog. It is she who stands above her fell brethren, her imposing form known to all on the battlefield as she wrought the destruction of many champions and their hosts. No knight, no champion, no commander will see her undone, no mortal man could lay her low and that is a fact that cannot be changed, m’lord! Her shadow will loom above this castle! Her roar will shatter your windows, shake the very hall to its foundations!”

The seer fell upon his knees, his whole body shaking as his head snapped back, eyes rolling back in a sudden motion. Another vision gripped the man, but now the whites of his eyes were replaced by a black darker than the one who shan’t be named. A feeling of fear gripped the room as guards looked to each other, unknowing of what to do as a mad cackle overtook the man.

”For she is the only true ruler of their lands! For it is she who claims to be the Only Warlord of the orcs!

The Only Warlord who has brought forth true glory for Chernobog!

The Only Warlord to make kings and champions into trophies!

The Only Warlord to be personally brought into chains by the White God!

She comes, I can feel it even now! The matron of the orcs has broken her binding, her strength has overcome them just as she has overcome the mountains of men sent to take her head, m’lord. Batuul is coming, I can see her form towering over her kind, standing at the height of a troll- neigh, standing greater than a troll! I can feel her fangs stabbing into my chest, they are as large as my head, m’lord! Batuul comes m’lord! Her radiance, I can feel it! Slaughter comes for us all and you will all meet the lick of her strength!”

The great seer’s breath grew ragged, clutching at his chest as the storm grew harsher outside the castle, the thunder pounding in his mind as his laughter was thrown into a fit of coughing. The guards in the hall continued to look worriedly to each other as the seer had spoken the name of the only being whose name should never be uttered. Yet, the duke looked upon the seer who was gasping for air as he spouted his prophecy.

”She comes for you first m’lord! For it is your ancestors who had brought their plight to the Exalted One and I foresee that she will wrap her chains around your neck! Warn the others, m’lord! I beg of you to- to…”

There were no more words to be said as the seer choked upon the air, falling to the ground as lifeless as the cold floor itself. Silence fell about the hall as the duke rose from his throne, looking to the lifeless corpse and then to his guards, then a clap of thunder - more sounding of a distant roar than true thunder - rattled the castle shaking the structure itself. She had broken free. They could all feel it.

The Black Prophecy

I will get a CS up as well.

Mass Effect: Phoenix | A 24th century adventure in space

Introductions: IV

---

Starring: @Lauder@Naril

---

Rin made her way, with care, through the corridors of W-178, which she very much agreed ought to be called Weiro instead; a sentiment the rest of the crew seemed to share. Though a late arrival, she’d managed to stake her claim on a room with a view - a small one, but a view all the same. Like always, unpacking had taken less than an hour, and Rin wondered - not for the first time - just what it said about her that she could still fit most of her life in a pair of luggage cubes. Maybe it just meant she was good at packing light? Or maybe it meant she was always ready to leave. Maybe they were the same thing.

She stepped around a Turian waiting for a cargo lift and made her way further into the ship. She was dressed in her usual outfit - button-down shirt, comfortable pants, boots that were no more armored than a pair of warm socks could provide. If she looked more like a transplant from an out-of-the-way world, that was fine with her. The day had already been long - and so had the night, for that matter - and to Rin, comfort mattered more than anything at the moment.

The sight of a Turian busying himself down the hallway gave Rin a small pang in her heart. This was all familiar, it was all too familiar. She found herself trying to walk the way she used to, with a swagger she never realized was there, and felt her artificial leg shift to catch her. She half-stumbled, caught herself on the wall, stood again, brushing a lock of hair out of her eye. No, she couldn’t just slide back into old habits. But that was probably for the best - the galaxy was different, this crew was different, and she, most of all, was different. Rin shook her head, and managed to laugh at herself. She’d been on board less than a day. It would probably do to let at least a day go by before worrying about ghosts.

A few moments later, Rin made her way to the ship’s medical suite, buried more deeply in the heart of the ship than her room. She touched the door controls and made her way inside. To her mild surprise, the lights were already on, stacks of crates in the middle of the room, all marked with the universal medical symbols of Council races. And standing next to them, a slim Quarian woman, her suit accented in saffron and orange.

“Oh, hello,” Rin said, walking into the medbay, “You must be Sosa’Numos, right? Ship’s captain?” She grinned, gesturing to Sosa’s suit, “I love the pattern! It goes so well with those gold accents!”

The Quarian turned to the human who had come into the Medbay, her helmet not directly facing Rin but her eyes clearly looking towards her. She suddenly hopped up, the orange glow of her Omni-Tool disappearing as she frantically waved at Rin as an impromptu greeting as she had come in unexpectedly. Sosa’Numos let out a giggle before speaking, “Oh hello! Erm, human… female.. medical bay. You must be Severin Zahir, right? I was just reading up on your file!”

“In the flesh.” Rin smiled, leaned forward in an elaborate bow, her artificial hand making a small circle, metallic highlights flashing on the back of her hand.

Standing, Rin said, “I would ask how much of that is redacted, but, well…” She waved a hand, an expansive gesture, “Well, I suppose it probably isn’t.” Another grin, “So, these are our new Spectres, eh?”

A thoughtful look crossed Rin’s face, “Actually, wait. Does that mean that’s all of us? Are you a Spectre? Am I?” She looked down at herself. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for that uniform anymore. You, though…well. A little blue might go with the orange, hm?”

“We aren’t Spectres, they were disbanded. Remember?” Sosa’Numos commented, hinting to Rin about the secrecy of their new position and tapping the side of her helmet to reinforce the thought. She brought her weight onto one hip as she tilted her head, letting out a laugh as she continued the conversation, stepping towards Rin, “That said I do have a blue and white suit for C-Sec activities, hate it though. It just doesn’t compliment me, y’know?”

“Oh, of course,” Rin said with a laugh, “Silly me. No, of course not.” Rin leaned against one of the crates, and the smile on her face spread a little, “See, I always thought that too. But my sisters always told me they thought the uniform looked good, so maybe I’m no judge.” She looked away and chuckled, memories of finding out that some people really did love a woman in uniform. Rin glanced at Sosa - maybe a fashion show would be in the future? But that would be a discussion over drinks, not here in the medbay.

Rin cleared her throat and shook the thought away, let her voice turn playful, “So, O Captain, my Captain, what can I do for you? I think you’ve actually been in my medbay longer than I have, so I’m not sure what I’ll have to report. Unless this is a social call?”

“Well, first I came down here to see you since I’m trying to meet the crew before our first mission,” Sosa’Numos answered truthfully, rubbing the back of her helmet as she let out an awkward chuckle before continuing, “But, you weren’t here. So I thought I’d go ahead and take inventory of our medical supplies so that you wouldn’t have to.”

The Quarian gestured to the medical crates, stepping to them and placing her hand on top of one as she tried to read out some of the names of the supplies. After the first few, she gave up trying to sound out the names as it became clear that she seemed to not have much of a clue of what each of the supplies were past medi-gel. She straightened her posture as she took a step away from the medical crates, now a little embarrassed for not being able to read the names. Sosa’Numos looked back to Rin and let out a sigh before she voiced her complaints to the doctor, “They should really make these things have shorter names.”

Rin smirked, “Well, that’s the secret: Doctors get to charge by the syllable for whatever we’re talking about. Makes us sound fancy.” She looked down at the crate, ran a finger across the label, “Those are actually for Krogan medicine - and not particularly easy to get outside of Tuchanka. I’m impressed.”

She looked back up at Sosa, “First mission already, hm? C-Sec always did want things done quickly. But I suppose that’s better than waiting for them to make up their mind.” A grin, “You know, if you like, I wouldn’t mind help getting all this stuff put away. I can teach you how to pronounce some of these. And...well. I wouldn’t mind getting to know you a little more, hm?”

“Maybe another time,” Sosa’Numos commented with a light giggle, holding her hands behind her back. She looked over Rin again, noting her knowledge of the medicine before she stepped towards her, invading her personal space. Letting out another giggle, she spoke, “Though I wouldn’t be opposed to learning some medical terminology.”

With a laugh, Rin said, “Mmn. Well, I suppose that’s fair, I’m sure you have captain-type business to be getting on with.” She took a half-step toward Sosa, close enough to wrap her arm around the woman’s waist, though she refrained from the moment, “My quarters, then, after we’re underway? I’m on deck B, room 9. The one with the window. I’m pretty sure I’ve still got a bottle of something from Palaven, too.”

“Oh? Are you flirting with the captain, now?” Sosa’Numos asked, coyly tilting her head to the side.

“Mm-hmmn,” Rin said, “And I’m inviting you on a date.” She grinned, “What happens next is up to you, I should think.”

Sosa’Numos let out another giggle before responding in kind, her voice changing to a teasing tone, “Unfortunately, I don’t think it would be a good image for the Captain to be picking favorites already. Besides, it’s never a good idea for coworkers to date.”

The Quarian took a step back and folded her arms behind her back as she turned to walk away from the doctor, leaving her to her own thoughts about what had happened. Though, as Sosa’Numos reached the entrance to the Medical Bay, she turned her head as if to look back at Rin for a brief moment. The captain let out another light-hearted giggle before she spoke in an increasing teasing manner, “Besides, you’ll have to impress me more than with a promise of some Turian drinks.”

And with those final words, Sosa’Numos left Rin to her own devices.

Rin watched Sosa go, laughing to herself with a small shake of her head. She turned back into the medbay, and lifted the lid off the crate Sosa had been examining. Inside, rough ampoules and canisters of what passed for Krogan medicine - the kind that worked, anyway - were swaddled in fabric and foam, all the better to survive whatever trip they’d taken to get here. She picked one of the canisters up, her artificial fingers clicking on the metal, then made her way to a cabinet. She set the canister inside, used her fingers to position it just so.

It all felt so familiar; the Turian in the hallway, flirting with the captain in a way neither of them would ever do anything about, these Krogan medical supplies - so rare they were virtually contraband - even the way Weiro smelled. The memories, never far away but never shoved down, bobbed a little closer to the surface, and Rin smiled. She pulled another container from the crate, moved it to a different cabinet, set it down with a metallic scrape. It all felt familiar, but even more than that, it all felt right. There were volumes that could be written about that fact alone, but for now, Rin smiled, picked up the next canister, and went back to building her new home.

Mass Effect: Phoenix | A 24th century adventure in space

Sosa'Numos nar Suram

Full name: Sosa’Numos nar Suram

Race: Quarian

Citizenship: Quarians

Aliases: Wraith

Age: 29

Sex: Female

Psych. Eval.:
Sosa’Numos has been evaluated to be a rather bubbly and otherwise cooperative individual, showing to have a very personable personality with very little sign of an outwardly antagonistic nature. Given her criminal history and otherwise spotty reputation with C-Sec, this would be a surprise as for an individual so deeply rooted in operating within the shadows, she has proven herself to be exceptionally honest. However, the extent of whatever information was asked was only that what was asked, nothing more and nothing less except for any questions of clarification. During this evaluation, she has noted her own hidden feelings that she tends keeps to herself.

For example, Sosa’Numos, while coming across as a rather joyous individual from a glance is truly mischievous and otherwise nefarious when it comes to her own personal curiosities. She has made it clear that the biggest driving force for her is her own curiosity and little else, hence her past of hacking and information brokering. Her mind is not pitted in material gain of wealth or luxury, though she does enjoy having them where she can, but instead is focused on the acquisition of information not necessarily allowed for the public eye. As such, she has developed a nature of deception and espionage making the acquisition of the validity of this section of the evaluation questionable at best. That is said due to the very nature of Sosa’Numos, who may be putting up a front and may be giving us an entirely wrong nature that is to be seen.

Moving away from her psychopathic personality as a whole, Sosa’Numos cares little for returning to her home and family on Rannoch as she has stated that there is nothing there left for her to be curious about. While she does seek to eventually end her Pilgrimage, Sosa’Numos does not see it to be the highest of worries upon her mind as she seems to disregard the tradition for the most part. Though, it is very evident that she still follows the Quarian religion of ancestor worship, keeping some facet of the Quarian tradition close to her while the aspects seem to be partially disregarded as being unnecessary. This, in turn, partially plays into the fascination she has with VIs and other forms of artificial intelligence, given that she holds onto a VI that houses the personality imprint of an ancestor of hers.

Regarding her motivations for joining this mission, it comes from her purely selfish goal of finding more information to appease her own curiosity of a multitude of different subjects. She hopes to gain additional clearance to secrets hidden by C-Sec of other secrets that may be hidden behind the veil of the numerous clearances and firewalls of the council. Sosa’Numos has confirmed this in a very lengthy exposition in the reasons as to why she believes that no information should be hidden from her nor should there be new information that should avoid her ears as things occur. However, she also agreed to having her criminal history in C-Sec cleared of all past crimes and misdemeanors, including the time she released the secret recipe for several ramen shops to the public to be nothing and calling upon lawsuits for false advertising. In the end, C-Sec had fined her for disturbing the peace.

It is after this exposition that we decided to take a recess before ultimately ending the evaluation.

Phys. Eval.:
The physical aspects of Sosa’Numos is largely unknown past the glance of her environmental suit due to the notion that she has outright refused to take off her suit even when the area was sterilized four times over. That stated, her physical attributes are of her being of 5’4” tall with a skinny build due to an above average metabolism. She states that her skin pigment is a greyish-purple and her hair is a void black, however, she refuses to comment much more on her appearance.

She does indicate that her immune system is worse than the average Quarian, stating that her own immune system is closer to that of a Quarian about fifty-years ago. As such, Sosa’Numos is more prone to being sick if her suit is to be removed or breached for any reason than what an average Quarian may have. This is likely linked to her not making the effort to properly adapt to Rannoch’s environment as many other of her species does which has led to a regression of her own immune system.

Biotics:
Sosa’Numos does not hold any biotic capabilities.

Education & Qualifications:

Officially, Sosa’Numos does hold an education in cybersecurity, having gone to a school on Rannoch which specialized in such things. As such, she had earned the equivalent of a Bachelor’s education dealing in the subject, but what makes her a force upon is the amount of experience and ingenuity. She has broken many firewalls varying between businesses aboard the Citadel though her crowning achievement would have been when she had broken through the security of a military installation in Omegan space as such she is proven to be able to handle the workload necessary to what C-Sec would be looking for.

One of the reasons for her choosing is that her services as captain are free of charge as long as C-Sec drop all allegations, criminal record, and erases Sosa’Numos from their database entirely with the exception of what is needed for her to technically be employed by them. As such she will essentially be rendered as a ghost to the Citadel at large with very little information on Sosa’Numos other than her name and occupation as a C-Sec Officer.

History:

Sosa’Numos was born upon Rannoch to a thirty-year old father, Odo’Maam Vas Shaador and a twenty-five year old mother, Caafe’Numos vas Suram in a densely populated community known as Suram. There is little to note about her early life, other than that her parents had been technologically gifted and consistently worked with the Geth on Rannoch to aid in designing new cybersecurity methods through her father or furthering the knowledge of how the Geth artificial intelligence allowed it to become as sentient as it did. This led to Sosa’Numos being introduced to not only Geth from an early age but the realm of cybersecurity as a whole to the young girl who had eagerly picked it up. However, it is noted from Sosa’Numos’ testimony that her household was not one she wanted to be in and that her interest in cybersecurity had been a bid to appease her parents who wanted her to follow in their footsteps. She claims that she would be harassed if she was anything less than perfect and as such, her future had been determined for her.

In her early teenage years, she was introduced to the Geth VI known as Seraphim in order to help her with her suit environment, a bid to help boost her immune system as Sosa’Numos had grown to become sickly. Seraphim had done well in this task, helping to keep Sosa’Numos to continuing to develop a proper immune system and eventually she was able to walk about her home for a few hours on her own without the aid of her suit. This gave her a sense of freedom, a sense of freedom that had started to develop the personality that would persist into her adult life. It is of note that after Seraphim had left, she had become a more rebellious individual and who constantly would try to see how much freedom she could truly experience.

Eventually, her parents would send her to a newly constructed University, partly to get Sosa’Numos out of their hair and partly so that she would learn to focus the knowledge that her parents had taught her into something constructive. This would prove to be effective because even though she had not chosen this path, she was exceptional in her field to the point of neat brilliance. Her time at this university, however, would not be finished as Sosa’Numos would inevitably drop out and run away with someone who she had fallen in love with, Rar'Jilan nar Yiyya. The two would run off to explore the galaxy and try to carve out their own life, though this had been a short lived fancy as Rar’Jilan was more interested in making himself into a mercenary for a bunch of Krogan rather than be attentive to Sosa’Numos and left her. Luckily, she managed to make herself into a competent Information Broker in order to earn money now that she was on her own.

It was around this time, unaware to Sosa’Numos, that her father had tried to locate her while she was off world. She claims that he was inevitably pointed towards Omega, for what information he had she could not say as she had not been to Omega at that point. It wasn’t until she was contacted by Rar’Jilan that she would find out about her father surfacing in Omegan space. Knowing that it may be a suicide run for her, she turned to Rar’Jilan and the Damned Ashes, the krogan mercenary group. She knew them to be a fierce group, despite the rift between them and her ex-lover, she knew they would be the best choice due to the fact that they were not only Krogan, but skilled Krogan. Sosa’Numos contacted them under a false name, merely known as Wraith, as to not stir up any past aggression they may have still bared towards her. With all the money she had accumulated and any services she could have offered them, Sosa’Numos had managed to get her old friends to aid her aboard Omega.

When they had reached Omega, the group immediately ran into resistance from the local gangs, as the Krogans were already causing trouble and holding guns to anyone and questioning them on where they were holding a hostage, though Sosa’Numos did her best to mediate any conflict to avoid turning a misunderstanding into an all-out gang war. It took a few days, but Sosa’Numos did manage to get into contact with a Salarian named Vigern, a local gun runner, who had come into contact with her father and as it turned out, he was still in Omega. The downside was that he was being held by a gang who had a brilliant idea to try and ransom him back to the Quarians on Rannoch, whom they had failed to come into contact with.

Having no money, Sosa’Numos knew she would never be able to afford whatever ridiculous prices the gang attempted to ask from her people. However, she did have a group of Krogan that were eager for a fight. Sosa’Numos led the Krogan against the gang, initiating a fierce battle at the gang’s headquarters in the Gozu district. Sosa’Numos having impromptu training from the Krogan and Rar’Jilan began shooting from vantage points and coordinating with the Krogan to maximize their use as practical tanks. Eventually, Sosa’Numos and the krogans managed to breach the headquarters, moving through tight quarters and slaughtering those who opposed them. It was in this attack that Sosa’Numos found that she did not enjoy the act of killing, but she knew that she had to if she wanted to see her father again.

Sosa’Numos did manage to come across her father, but the state she found him in was one that made Sosa’Numos cry more than she ever had before. Odo’Maam was chained, malnourished, sick, and atrophied to the point where he was hardly recognizable without his suit. It was the last time Sosa’Numos would share any words with her father, being told that she should live to find life wherever she wanted so long as she does not have to struggle. That was the life that Odo’Maam wanted for her, and after those words, Sosa’Numos took it upon herself to put her father out of his misery, that being his final request and knowing that he would not survive no matter how much Sosa’Numos tried to help him. In the end she would run away, leaving the mercenary group to loot the gang while she left Omegan Space once and for all.

Eventually, she would find herself on the Citadel trying to make her life the best that it could be, much to the annoyance of C-Sec.

Position: Captain.

Recruited: Take a wild guess.

Inventory & Logistics:

• M-76 Revenant Assault Rifle
• Scorpian Pistol
• Omni-Tool

Notoriety: Due to the overall secretive nature of Sosa’Numos and with the erasing of much of her information within C-Sec, Sosa’Numos notoriety rating is as low as a 3. She is known within Omegan Space and on Rannoch, however, given she no longer operates frequently within those zones her rating is allowed to be as low as it is.

Misc.:
Theme

[Blasts from the Past]: Yes

Mass Effect: Phoenix | A search for a Captain and Co-GM

@Andreyich

There is a good bit of lore here! I’ve been enjoying reading it thus far!

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

@Obscene Symphony

Red is best color

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

@Achronum

I have no idea :D