Rise of the Warsong - the birth of the Blades

Rackul sat, slouching over. The only light flickered from the single candle sitting on the heavy oak table in front of him. The shadow lapped across the page as he wrote, like waves of light breaking onto a papyrus beach. After each sentence he dipped the quiver into the crude looking skull, crafted into an inkwell. It was late and the room inside the keep was not well lit, very little natural moon light came from the window. But he had spent enough time in the shadows for his eyes to grow accustomed to the lack of available light. He continued his letter…

…It is my professional opinion that you are quite safe in your position and these mere vagabonds, and I can assure you that they are nothing more, are no threat to you. Their resources are thin and their leader is a whelp, we all know what he use to be, but he has plummeted from his former glory and continues his downward spiral into the less desirable half of society…

A slight draft caught the back of Rackul’s neck like the cold touch of a traveller’s fingers. He glanced up at the window trying to source where it had come from, but the latch was firmly shut. The Orc rubbed the back of his neck, the short shaved hair pricked at his palm as it slid over his emerald skin. The keep had it moments in the winter where mysterious chills crept around the passageways, some had called them ghosts but the shamans had insisted that they were just spirits passing by, on route to their own business. Rackul continued to write…

...That being said, I will still attend this ‘meeting’ that they plan to have in Ratchet. I assure you they will not be alerted to my presence. All precautions have been made, I am certain they are completely oblivious to my existence and the fact that they are under constant surveillance. The broken Keel is where they are hosting this rally, I will find who the organisers of this event are, and… remove… them the night before the gathering…

Rackul looked up suddenly as a tiny creak sounded from one of the floor boards behind him. He slowly slid his hand down his chest to his belt and silently unsheathed a dagger. In one fluid motion he spun round to surprise the unwanted guest. His stern face soon turned to a smile as the startled rat ran off and disappeared under the door.
“Jumpy tonight, aren’t we.” He mumbled to himself still smirking.
Rackul placed the dagger on the table, sat down, and picked up his quiver once more…

…Once this task is complete I will have a more informative update on these ‘Blades’ for you.
Aka’Magosh.

Signed,
Your informant…

The Orc sat back in his chair and pulled a small steel container from his pocket, he opened it and drew a thick brown cigar from inside. Leaning over the candle he lit it and puffed heavily on the end, sending smoke cascading form his nostrils. Leading back, completely relaxed, he blew a plume of smoke up at the roof.
He jumped slightly as he suddenly felt a hand on his chest, terror shot through his body as he suddenly realised who it was.
“Cato…” He almost hissed.
“Hello mate.” Cato replied, his thick Warsong accent still had the ring of a thug after all these years.
Rackul reached for his dagger, but stopped suddenly when he felt the familiar sensation of cold steel against his throat.
“The whelp, sends his regards.” Cato whispered into his ear.
“Guar..!” Rackul tried to scream, but his wail was quickly turned into a pathetic chorus of gurgles and coughs as the blade sliced cleanly through his neck. The scalet blood ran down his chest, forming thin streams that eventualy ran down Cato’s arm and dripped from his elbow to form a small puddle on the floor. He struggled a little but soon fell into unconsciousness forming a grim vista as he still slouching on his chair.
Cato grinned as he wiped his blade on Rackul’s back and quickly plucked up the letter the Orc had been writing. Looking pleased with himself, Cato gave it a quick glance then held it over the candle and watched as the flames engulfed the entire page. He dropped the flaming note onto the floor and made his way to the window just in time to hear the hurried foot steps of the guards who had heard Rackul’s last desperate shriek. Cato flicked the latch open and hopped out of the window, into the darkness, just as the grunts came bursting in.
Rackul’s lifeless eyes stared at his dagger, the very tool with which, he himself had committed so many similar deeds, fitting that it was out of reach when his time came.

((Plot - This marks the start of the political turmoil that is about to commence within the Warsong Clan. Story to continue…))

The air was thick with the smell of freshly cut wood and sawdust. The Warsong Peons and watchmen alike had stopped their work just to watch, just to see them as they marched down the road to Kargathia Keep.
The Blademasters , they were called, the elite of the elite. Few Orcs have been considered for such a rank in their life time, fewer still have actually accomplished it, they were the bodyguards of the General himself.
Their armour glinted as the sun filtered down from the forest canopy, they marched over the bridge in two straight lines, resting their mighty weapons upon their shoulders. As they entered the camps the General could be seen leading their stride, he wore no armour but the wolf skins over his head and down his back, he carried the great ceremonial axe that Warsong officers were so famed for. A foul expression on his face as he stared into the working ranks. The Blood Elf tents, the badly maintained wagons bound for Orgrimmar and the ‘refreshment’ tables put out for thirsty peons with all sorts of delicious treats. He was clearly not impressed.
The grunts did not have to clear him a path as the workers parted on their own accord fear and respect fuelling them.

Cato and Overseer Gorthak sat on the stairs into Kargathia keep. On seeing the General they stood up, Cato’s usual grin seemed to have deepened slightly, he was clearly assumed at the whole situation.
The party marched under the gates to the Keep and right up to the stairs. Cato grinned manically.
“ ’ello General, good to ‘ave ye back. ” He said still grinning with a bow.
Speatus grinded his teeth as he looked upon the state of his old Keep.
“Where is he.” Speatus said simply.
“Right this way.” Cato spread his arm into the Keep, pointing the way.
Speatus followed Cato under the great portcullis and into the keep, the huge court yard stretched out infront of him. The cold grey walls once hosted mighty black banners with the Warsong symbol proudly mounted in the middle of each. They were gone. Gone were the great shelves of axes and weaponry used for emergency siege use and gone were the grim displays of elf skulls placed on totems around the court yard. Instead their were fountains and elaborate blue banners, cushions and a lovely scarlet carpet with stretched from the entrance to the very depths of the Keep.
“Rip it down!” Speatus said pointing at the blue banner, anger beginning to take hold of his voice.
Two of the Blademasters broke off and started to tear down the blue cloth from the wall, the grunts on watch quickly ran to help them.
Cato made his way past the court yard, and followed the scarlet carpet right into the main hall of the keep, Speatus and the four remaining Bodyguards followed. Cato stopped at the entrance but Speatus continued on down toward where Maggoth sat.

Maggoth sat on his make shift throne within the hall, he was dressed in fine cloth and silk, his exquisite jewellery shone as he stood up. With a forced smile on his face, he opened his arms in welcome and walked down the Dias toward Speatus.
“General, it is an honour havin…”
With a tightly clenched fist, Speatus knocked Maggoth in the teeth and backward off his feet. He collapsed into a pile.
The Blademasters quickly surrounded the two, as Cato’s grin widened.
“Have you gone mad!” Maggoth shouted up at Speatus holding his bloody mouth.
“Get up, you pathetic worm...” Speatus grabbed his robe and pulled him to his feet, “… so I can strike you again.”
He pulled his fist back again but Maggoth wriggled free, dropped to his knees and cowered behind his own arms. The Blademasters smiled down at the pitiful display of an Orc.
“Show some valour, Maggoth! You are a Warsong!” Speatus shouted down at him.
“I.. I don’t..” Maggoth started.
“Oh yes, please. Please explain to us how you have managed to destroy our entire clan within a few months.” Speatus squeezed his fist, cracking his knuckles after the blow.
“What is that disgusting display you have out there?” Speatus pointed backward out of the Keep, “Because that is NOT the work force I left you with when leaving the camps.”
Maggoth kneeled in silence, still in shock.
“Not only is our Keep covered in Elven filth, I hear you also release all prisoners the outriders bring back from their patrols. More disturbing is the rumour that an ENTIRE patrol of raiders was slaughtered by Silverwing pixies due to you ignoring a report from the outriders.”
Speatus raised his hand again, but Maggoth flinched out of arms reach. Speatus took another step forward, his eyes burning red like fire.
“And then I hear, from the very organisation that I was apart of that illegal weapon dealing is happening right from inside this Keep!”
“General.. I knew nothing about that, I swear..” Maggoth managed to spit out.
“I will hear no more from you. Get out of my Camps. You are exiled from the Clan.”
Speatus said turning to leave.
“Ex..Exlied?! Who do you think you are, Speatus Crimsonwolf? You are not a chieftain!”
Speatus almost leapt at Maggoth, grabbing his robe he pulled his face close to his and said in a hushed calm voice.
“In this very moment, you feeble wretch. I am a God.”
Speatus let go and two Blademasters grabbed the Orc, pulling him up off his feet.
“Throw him out.” Speatus said.
They obeyed as they dragged the kicking and screaming Maggoth out of the Keep.
“This is not the end of this Crimsonwolf! You have made a dangerous enemy!”

Cato, still grinning, approached Speatus.
“The last shipment of lumber?”
“Bound for Orgrimmar, General,” Cato said.
“Send riders to bring it back.”
“Sir?”
“Send it to the ships, it goes to the North.”
“Right away, Sir.” Cato turned on his heel to leave.
“and Cato…”
Cato turned.
“Bring me one of the prisoners and a parchment. I have a message for these Silverwings”
Cato Grinned and nodded.
“Immediately General.”