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Angar Empty Angar

Post by MannyJabrielle on Sun Jul 05, 2009 2:10 am

The massive Destroyer limped through the door of his domicile, out of the thunderstorm raging across the fields of the training camp. The utter black of the interior broke for a blink of an eye with a crack of lighting. A blink was all the Destroyer needed to know he was not alone. Against the wind blasting through the thresh-hold, the door closed.

“I should have killed you when you were a whelp,” the Destroyer snarled.

Green eyes from within the darkness flashed with another crack of lightning. “Yes, you should have,” the intruder said, before launching at the Destroyer with a roar rivaling the thunder of the storm.

Several Years Earlier....

The Orcs marched through the gates of Fort Morth, dragging their chained prisoners. The raiding party was small, but efficient. Of the forty Orcs that set out the previous summer, thirty seven returned to K’Nort Scrar, the Empire of Blood. Tharg Skorg took command of the raiders when their original leader died like a fool, pummeled to death by the farming implements of the weakling humans of a farming village two weeks into the journey. Tharg burned the village, and left his former leader to rot with the corpses of the humans in the summer sun.

Under Tharg’s command, the Orc raiders wrought pure carnage across the southern lands for months; they took what they could carry, and razed what they could not. They reached as far south as the forest of Daramok by the late winter. Though they could not fight past the Guardians of that forest, losing two more of their number, they did burn a small settlement, and took several of the women and children of the Ape people as slaves before making the return march to the Empire.

Tharg enjoyed the slaves in the ways that Orcs enjoyed their slaves. Beatings, rape, torture, the Orcish way was brutal and sadistic. One of the slaves bore a child out of the tortures, which Tharg decided to keep for himself, a personal slave. He knew he would be allowed such luxury given the success of his campaign and the treasures in the wagon. He smiled to himself, licking his thick, rough tongue over his blunt tusks. His tribute to the Emperor would earn him much.

It was several hours past sunset before the raiding party reached the gates of K’Rath Scrar, the City of Blood. Tharg lead the march up to the gates. As the gates opened, Tharg hefted his sword and roared, “For the Empire!” His raiders raised their own swords and echoed the cry.

Instead of being ushered into the city, however, the raiders were surrounded by an entire troupe of massive Orcs in blood red armor. A lean and wizened Orc in beaded leathers approached Tharg. The elder Orc’s face skewed in puzzlement.

“Where is Drahst?” the elder Orc asked Tharg. Tharg smirked as he related the humiliating death of his former leader. The elder Orc snapped off a string of obscenities as he signaled the Orcs in the armor to take possession of the raiders’ slaves and treasure wagon. Tharg and his raiders protested, raising their weapons. The elder Orc sneered, his lip nearly raising up over his one broken tusk. “Drahst was sent to gather for me, you will give it all to me” he declared, and turned away again.

Tharg roared and grabbed the elder Orc’s shoulder, spinning him around. “That is MINE, old bones!” Tharg spit in the face of the elder Orc. Tharg turned to order his raiders to resist, but he never barked out the order. A whip wrapped around his throat, the sharp bits of metal woven into the tight leather braiding of the whip dug into his thick skin. His vision turned blood red as he heard words of magic hammering into his skull.

Tharg sunk to his knees, his hands digging at the coil wrapped around his neck. Blood poured from his nose, his ears, his eyes (which he thought to himself must be why everything looked like it was tinged blood red). Even as he died, he didn’t panic. He didn’t do anything to alleviate his predicament, but he didn’t panic. His last thought as he saw his raiders cut down by the Orcs in red armor was simply “That’s MINE!”


The Shaman flicked his whip, flinging the last bits of blood and flesh off it before wrapping the coil back around it’s place on his wide leather belt. He kicked the corpse of the impudent raider captain out of his way and went to inspect the spoils of the raiding party. His Destroyers were already dragging the line of ape-slaves through the gates.

The shaman poked through the swag in the wagon. “Barely worth a Halfling roast!” he laughed as his lieutenant flung a raider’s decapitated head off to the side of the road.

“Slaves good for drudge work” the lieutenant grunted as he commandeered a link of slaves from one of the other Destroyers. “Strong backs, weak heads, good mules”. He laughed and yanked the chain, sending the three ape women to their knees.

“Perhaps, perhaps,” the Shaman mused and waved off the wagon and slaves as if they were gnats annoying him. The lieutenant would follow close behind, as was his duty. The Shaman trained this one well. Vicious, cruel, but completely subservient towards the Shaman and his wishes. It was curious to the Shaman then when he noticed the lieutenant was not following. The shaman turned and peered at the Destroyer.

The Destroyer was beating one of the ape women viciously, and she was fighting back with all her might. The Destroyer ended the melee with a blunted dagger to her head, and the ape-woman fell to the ground, raising only one last abbreviated grunt of defiance before death. The Destroyer reached down and pulled something from her limp arms.

The Shaman approached and regarded his faithful monster with rebuke “What are you doing, maggot-brain?” the Shaman commanded the lieutenant’s attention. The Destroyer presented his prize to his master. A child hung by it’s hair from the Destroyer’s massive fist, it’s shrill screams barely escaping it’s small throat as it thrashed and struggled.

“Give that to me” the Shaman commanded, and the Destroyer tossed it to the Shaman as if it were a sack. The Shaman caught the child and held it up to examine it closer. It was obviously the Ape-woman’s child. The bestial features were plain, but the Shaman noted the tusks, and the Orcish shape of the eyes.

“Ah, the raiders may have gained something of worth afterall…” The shaman turned towards the city, the child under his arm. The lieutenant and the rest of the Destroyers followed, hauling their spoils with them.


The child knew only a limited world. A small pen filled with mud and straw, a field where monsters roamed, and a hut with a smaller, but more frightening monster. He’d wake to tepid water being dumped over him, and a bowl of foul gruel thrown at him. He had to eat the foul breakfast as fast as he could, because the monster who woke him expected him to get a fresh bucket of water. Sometimes the demand for water didn’t come for several minutes, sometimes there wasn’t even enough time to get a mouthful of the gruel.

The mornings were fetching things, and being abused by the big monsters. They would toss him back and forth like a child’s toy, or simply beat him until he could barely move. After the monsters had their noontime meal, the child would be thrown into the hut with the other monster. This other monster wasn’t as large as the others, but he was far more scary. This monster would torture the child in far more terrifying ways. Some days it was with knives and clubs. Other days, the monster simply said words and the child would collapse in agony.

All through this though, the child never cried out, never spoke. This silence provoked the larger monsters into rage, and they abused the child more and more, but the monster in the hut seemed to appreciate the silence. The child grew to learn that the monster in the hut didn’t want screams and begging. Let the larger monsters beat him more; it was better than what the monster in the hut did when he was enraged.

It was a stormy summer day when the child was thrown into the hut for his afternoon tortures. The monster of the hut hunched over the fire-pit, ignoring the child for nearly an hour. The child simply huddled in his place in the center of the hut. No movement, no agitation normal children would display when forced to sit still for any extended time.

The monster finally spoke “You need a name.”

Neither child nor monster stirred again for another hour. It was after that much time that one of the larger monsters entered the hut. The larger monster kicked the child on his approach towards the monster of the hut.

“The pen is ready, master”. The larger monster smiled maliciously.

The monster of the hut poked at his fire-pit, not bothering to look up at the larger monster. “It needs a name”

“What? That piece of garbage?” the larger monster waved a club-like fist at the child. The monster of the hut finally looked up, but to look straight at the child, not the larger monster.

“Is that to be your name? Garbage?” The monster of the hut regarded the child for a monster, and chanted ‘garbage’ over and over. “Gurk! Gurk! Gurk!”

The larger monster laughed and kicked dirt at the child. “Gurk!” he bellowed.

The monster of the hut waved off the larger monster in annoyance. “Have your fun with the pen. Throw Gurk here in with the others, see what happens”.

The larger monster’s malicious smile grew even wider as he kicked the child towards the door of the hut. “Move it, Gurk!” the larger monster commanded.


The child was taken into the field of the larger monsters. They all gathered around a large mud hole with a rusty metal cage around it. The larger monster hauled the child up by the scruff of his neck and presented him to the other large monsters. “This is Gurk!” the large monster proclaimed, and the others laughed derisively. “Gurk will fight!” The large monster threw the child over the side of the cage into the mud hole.

In the mud were several other muddy beings. The child looked at them. They were a little larger than him, but not by much. They looked somewhat like what he saw when he could see his reflection in a puddle of water; large mouthed, shaggy manes of hair, but they didn’t have the same eyes, or the prominent tusks. All of them were cut and bruised.

The monsters around the mud hole roared and grunted at each other, seemingly paying no attention to the child and the other prisoners of the pen. The child looked back to the others that looked like him. He reached out to one, something in him telling him to tend to it’s wounds.

The being screamed and flailed at him. The child backed away from the outburst, and the monsters around the pen roared in disapproval. The being jumped at the child, and flailed at him. The other beings joined in, all of them screaming and beating on the child viciously.

Unlike the torture the monsters inflicted upon him, the beating these beings dealt to the child were meant to kill. The child swung back, and the monsters outside the pen turned from roars of disapproval to roars of satisfaction. The child swung and kicked. He bit and clawed. The harder he fought back, the more the monsters seemed to approve. The melee between the child and his ape-kin continued for hours. It was an inept fight. The child didn’t know why they were fighting. He only knew if he stopped fighting, he wouldn’t see another sunrise. He didn’t know how to fight, how to kill. The slaves he fought were likewise as inept at fighting. After a point, one of the larger monsters threw a club into the pen. One of the slaves grabbed it and came at the child with it. The child managed to get the club away from the slave and used it as his own.

By the time the sunset, the child finally hit the last slave over the head with his club. He fell to his knees and looked at the slave. So like him, yet it attacked him. Was it because he had tusks like the monsters? Was it because he was smaller? In the child’s world, larger ones always beat the smaller ones.

The large monster who took him from the hut came into the pen and dragged him back to the hut. The boy fell to the floor of the hut, bleeding, muddy, and exhausted.

“Gurk fights like gurk!” the large monster laughed and kicked the child before leaving the hut. The monster of the hut was still crouched over his fire-pit as he was all those hours ago.

“Gurk fights”, the monster of the hut finally said after a long silence. The child turned his head towards the monster of the hut.

“Those slaves were like you,” the monster of the hut said to the child. “But they didn’t care. They were told if they killed you, they could go free.” The monster of the hut poked at his fire with a long knife, letting the boy digest his words for long moments. “Khargak calls you Gurk. You’re garbage to him, just as you were garbage to those slaves who looked like you. You learn to fight, maybe you not be Gurk anymore. You learn to fight, you kill them, and then they will be garbage, not you”.

The child didn’t blink, didn’t nod, just stared at the monster of the hut, too exhausted to do anything else.

“You look like them, but you are Orc. You look like Orc as well as ape,” the monster of the hut continued, poking incessantly at the fire. “You be weak like them and dead, or you be strong and be Orc. Maybe become a Destroyer. We’ll see. Tomorrow you start training.”

The child finally passed out on the dirt covered floor of the hut, the monster before him still poking at the fire.


To Be Continued....
Ludicrous Level
Ludicrous Level

. : Dungeon Master
Male Number of posts : 5927
Main Character : See the "A-Team" thread in the Biographies forum.
DM Name : Dungeon-Master Gaelen
Time Zone : GMT -5:00(EST)
Registration date : 2008-07-05

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