Warchief's Camp (En route to the Sea of Sands.)

It wasn't hard for the Warchief to decide whether to conquer something, the hard part instead was WHICH area to conquer next! After taking the fragmented and disunited watershed duchies and kingdoms his next targets were ripe and waiting. He would get to them in due time of course. But he had to start somewhere first.

Eventually he was convinced to head south to the vast Dune Sea. The realm of ancient mummies entombed in long buried decaying pyramids and catfolk nomads that travelled the sands. At face value there was nothing there worth taking other than a small handful of outposts that acted as shelters around oasis that protected the precious fresh water sources from the ever expanding sand and to guard against tribal raiders and sandstorms.

But the old One-Eyed had suggested that the old tombs might yet hold the next step in his task.

"The old princes from eons ago might yet have secrets that will aid us." He had said before the Warchief and his council of orcish warbands.

That was all he needed to know. If not? Then what is one more stretch of land to lay claim to, the Earthshaker thought as he rode atop a brown furred worg on their way to a suitable place to set up camp. A long trail of thralls, attendants, and his warbrides followed close behind him as did a host of orcish warriors, fodder taken from the recently conquered, and beasts aplenty. Beside him was the scarred and bitter form of Magnus of Daele. He was not bound, nor did he have a select guard to watch over him. What would be the point? He was a man and was in no such condition to challenge the Warchief himself. Nor was there anywhere else to go.

If the thralls and other slaves and beasts wish to flee then let them, he thought as he gazed across the increasingly sandy environment. They had to pass through craggy badlands to get here and they were little more hospitable. Something several recently enslaved thralls found out as they booked it when they had to form single file to pass through a narrow canyon and their guards were too distracted getting through and watching out for ambushes instead of them.

They did not get far though as beasts lurking in the crags and gulches were quick to snag such meaty prey. Those that managed to survive them still found themselves lost within the maze like canyons and gullies.

Suffice it to say that few attempted a chance at freedom after hearing the screams and cries of their former comrades in bonds echoing through the walls of brownish red rock. Fewer still did so as they crossed from sharp uneven rock and into blistering sand. Ever shifting sand as far as the eye could see. They would camp here, he thought as he dismounted his warg as he stopped on a plateau that overlooked the vast stretch of burning sand. They can rest before they set out across the sands.

The rest of the throng broke as he dismounted. Thralls were quickly whipped and put to work as they retrieved supplies and tents for their masters. Mounted guards were quick to take the opportunity to begin expeditions into the surrounding crags in search of sources of food or water, or even new beasts for the beastmasters to break. What monsters and beasts they had on this expedition were corralled into nearby caves or steep walled valleys.

His own personal rank of thralls were quick to begin setting up his wartent even as the Warchief himself gazed across the sands. The only thing he could see through the heat haze were vague forms that could very well not even be there at all.

Magnus watched the orc stand so close to the edge. A decent push would see the end to all the horror and death he had caused, he thought. But even were he in his prime he doubt he would have such strength to topple the orc Warchief. Instead he walked over and looked out at the sands beside him.

"What do you see, Magnus of Daele?" The Warchief rumbled.

"Sand. A vast endless expanse of sand. I doubt you will find much to conquer here." Magnus stated with a measure of hope. Perhaps this was the Blessed Mother's doing, he thought. A vision of some sort to send the orc to his death in the desert.

"You would be surprised what you can find in many such places deemed inhospitable. Many a orc from the Blade Plains thought the same of the seas."

Magnus snorted.

"The sea is not inhospitable and lifeless as this desert! Only an utter fool would not be able to catch the simple and easiest of her bounties!"

"And yet there are still many that survive here. My shaman says that once upon a time they even THRIVED!" The orc replies.

"And did your shaman tell YOU how to survive? Or will this be a conquest doomed to be buried beneath the sands?"

"He made no such knowledge available no. Nor I doubt such knowledge exists to all but those that have suffered and struggled to learn it or to the ones entombed below the sands."

Magnus snorted derisively.

"I did not take you for one to believe tales of drunken treasure hunters."

The orc smiled at Magnus.

"For one that has faced abyssal beasts from the sea many would consider myths and "drunken tales", I am surprised you put so little stock in such tales. Even a drunken treasure hunter can speak truth."

"And those that are fool enough to go searching for such treasure return with nothing more than empty pockets and missing friends. If they return at all."

"Then consider this a test. Will this be where I meet my fate and finally spare your world, and the one your people have found succor on, my hungry gaze?"

"If only the world were so lucky."

"Indeed. After all, if your gods cared for you as you say they do then why have I been allowed to go as far as I have? Why have I been able to go on a wanton rampage dealing death and destruction upon their followers? Why have they not struck me down as I laid in my hide crib when I was but a babe? Why not strike me down before I brought the orc tribes under my rule? Why not before I razed, enslaved, and conquered town after town, city after city, nation after nation? Perhaps your gods are gone, or perhaps they never existed at all? Yet here I am. I take what I wish and none have stopped me, not even your supposed gods."

Magnus looked appalled at the orc as he ranted.

"It sounds as if you consider yourself a god!"

The orc just turned to Magnus with a smile. Then he left the beleaguered duke to stare at his back as he made for his newly constructed tent where his orc warleaders waited. He passed them as they bowed their heads in respect and took his sea upon his throne. A couple thralls unrolled a large hide map before them and the orcs peered at the space. One of the warband leaders pointed to a space that was largely blank save for a few crude scrawls of triangles.

"Once we leave the protection of the canyons and crags we will be at the mercy of the shearing winds. We will need to spend some time fortifying our supplies and armor for when we do."

"How long will it take?" The Warchief rumbled.

"Two days. We lost a supply cart some leagues back and will need to replenish what was lost on anything nearby."

"Lost? Not sacrificed?" The Warchief asked as Magnus entered the tent. The warband leaders gave the duke little more than glances before they continued.

"No. The place we lost it was rather... suspicious."

"Suspicious how?"

"Suspicious in that it would be where WE would take a cart should we be planning a potential ambush."

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The rest of the orcs grunted in approval. The Warchief looked to the spot on the map where they had lost the cart. He wasn't surprised. Places like this were infested with bandits, raiders, and other opportunistic scavengers.

"Do we have an idea of when they will attack?"

"Depends on their strength and wits. If they are a large and organized force then they will attack at night. If they are small then they might do no more than attempt to take yet more of our supplies."

"Or they will attack soon." The assembled orcs turned to the voice of Magnus as he stared at the map.

One of the orcs scoffed.

"You may have earned some respect manling. But you are still a thrall! You would do well to speak only when allowed!"

"And I allow it." The Warchief rumbled. Silencing the other warband leaders that made to join in.

The one that spoke made to speak again, but fell silent as the Warchief glared down at him as he fingered the blade of his axe. The Warchief looked at the warband leaders as he spoke.

"Why do you think they will attack soon, Magnus of Daele?"

"We are tired and in unfamiliar territory, and anything with half a brain and an ounce of sense would know that. Why would they wait for us to build fortifications or rest and recuperate? If even half of the tales of here are true then they will more than likely attack before your scouts even return. If they haven't already been killed that is." Magnus said to the assembled orcs.

"He could be deceiving us. Perhaps he hopes these attackers will rescue him?" One of the warband leaders suggested to which Magnus scoffed at.

"Believe me. I would love nothing more than for you all to die in a number of fashions. But my fate will be far worse off with whatever lurks out there than with you." Magnus stated plainly.

The vocal orc warband leader growled at Magnus, but didn't speak further. The Warchief rumbled.

"What should we expect then?"

"Outlaws, bandits, gnollish raiders. If a single person or more were missing than I would say crag lions or canyon stalkers. But a cart of supplies? I would wager on the former."

"And how soon do you expect them to show themselves, oh wise one?" The vocal orc asked in a deriding tone.

"We have a saying back in Daele. Don't speak of pirates or corsairs, for soon-"

Magnus didn't finish before a wounded orc rushed in.

"Gnolls, Warchief! Not far over the ridge and coming!"

"-they shall appear on the horizon." Magnus finished as he looked towards the orcs.

The warbands unsheathed their weapons and rushed out the tent. The Warchief lazily grabbed his axe and sauntered out with Magnus not far behind. As they left they were met with the sound of battle in the air. Roars of orcs and cries of impressed conscripts mixed with the howls and cackling laughter of gnolls as a war party descended from the surrounding rock walls and crags.

Crude spears and clubs clashed with orcish iron. Chants from orcish shamans mixed with the barking harsh gnollish demonologists as blue elemental lightning met green demonic flame. Magnus wished he still had his sword. But it was no doubt given as a trophy to one of the orcs with his defeat. Instead he had to resort to grabbing a nearby spear and using it to defend himself against a wild hyena rider that barreled through a group of conscripts and towards him and the Warchief.

Magnus made ready to brace himself when the Warchief took the spear and threw it in a smooth arc that impaled the mangy gnoll. It let out a whine and fell to the side, its foot catching the harness of its mount and causing it to turn slightly to the side.

The Warchief slashed his axe as the slathering beast went past. Cutting a deep gouge across the beast's side. Setting free the former rider and laying low the beast not far away as it fell down from its own weight as its diseased green organs spilled out.

The Warchief picked up a discarded sword and easily tossed it to Magnus.

"Take out the riders first. Gnollish hyenas will continue to snap at you even if you impale them on a spear. Better to kill one at a time than be trapped and disarmed with both."

Magnus nodded and made to join the conscripts in combat. They needed some sort of leader that wasn't some harsh orc lash wielder. He brought the poor iron sword up to parry a blow from a bone club. He pushed back against the 5ft gnoll even as it snarled and cackled at him.

The other conscripts took the chance to finish off the beast, thrusting spears and swords into its mangy hide. It switched between whining and cackling for a moment longer before pain forced it back. A swipe from the sword was enough to behead and silence the beast's infernal cackling.

"Form up men!" Magnus called to rally the conscripts. The men were scared but found the duke's voice a firm anchor to hold onto.

Only a small handful was from Daele he noted. Most were either from the other cities and towns or were completely foreign to him. One was a muddy fishkin. His leathery flesh split and dry this far from the water. The orcs did not seem to care how well they did far from their natural habitat, they only wanted them as bodies to throw at their next enemies.

He won't survive the sands, Magnus thought as he thrust his blade into the flat headed skull of a hyena. Many wont he thought. But he couldn't afford to get distracted, especially as demonic flame turned someone to ash not six paces away from him! The offender was a gnoll with profane sigils that burned across its reddish hide. Its eyes were wild and frantic as it foamed and snapped at anything nearby even its own.

Then Magnus saw it start to convulse. The gnolls nearby cackled and howled and the fighting began to stall all around them as all nearby eyes turned towards the rapidly, and violently, metamorphism. It roared as it's hide scorched away and flesh split apart. Green flame spewed forth from its maw as bones cracked and broke. All around the gnolls chanted what seemed to be a name.

"Kar'kor!"

A 6ft tall gnoll with a gray hide appeared on a nearby ridge astride a pale hyena. The creature's barking was translated by some foul profane magic that burned the duke's ears to listen.

"Fools! Now you face the *cackle* wrath of mighty Kar'kor! Lay down *cackle* your arms and maybe *snarl snap* he will offer you a quick death!"

A circle formed around the convulsing pile of flesh, bone, and flame. The gnolls back away and cackled and howled as the orcs made ready to do combat against the demonic creature. The Warchief pushed aside the duke and the others and stood unafraid before the transforming gnoll and stared up at the gray gnoll as he bellowed.

"Is this Kar'kor your god, gnoll?"

The gnoll snarled and snapped at one of its kin that got too close for its own comfort before turning back around towards the Earthshaker.

"Yes! Mighty Kar'kor is great demonic god! *Cackle* He will take mortal flesh and form before *snarl* feasting on your bones and gift us his favor!"

The Warchief snorted and plunged his axe into the stone nearby.

"Then I shall lay low your god and you will serve me!"

The gnolls cackled and howled with laughter. The leader snarled as it spoke.

"We serve only strongest! And Kar'kor is strongest! Not *cackle* weak dumb orc with no weapon!"

The Warchief wasn't paying anymore attention though as he began to charge the demon spawn just as it finished its torturous forming. It was still a gnoll in a sense that it had the same face. But its hide was blood red and plastered with the burning sigils that were bright and hurt the eyes to look at. It had three long gangly malformed arms topped with three black tipped claws. Its head was monstrous. Its eyes were solid orbs of green flame and two spiral horns jutted forwards like spears and frothing spittle dripped constantly from its maw filled with far too many fangs that seemed too big for it.

It howled and thrashed as it all but threw its profane 7ft mass of convulsing burning muscle at the rushing form of the orc. The Warchief fell into a slide and flew right underneath the monster's legs as it rushed clumsily past. He grabbed the things mangy tail and yanked it as he stood.

It yelped and swiped two of its claws in his direction, which he easily ducked under and rolled away from. The beast howled with rage and chased after the orc who, despite his heavily muscled form, continued to dodge and weave around the clumsy and poorly coordinated swipes with the ease that reminded Magnus of experienced sailors dancing among the rigging. When the beast next roared at the orc, he slammed a green fist into the beast's maw.

The beast howled in rage and charged straight towards him. The Warchief smiled and rolled out of the way as the beast rushed past him once again, and into a jutting piece of stone. The demonic gnoll howled and whined and lashed against the rock as it tried to pry itself free of the stone within its gut.

The Warchief rushed forwards and grabbed one of the arms of the beast and slammed his boot against it. Snapping it off as burning demonic blood spilled forth from the wound as the creature cried out as it alternated between trying to lash out at the orc and clawing itself free.

Then the Warchief stabbed the boney end of the limb into the back of the beast. A process he repeated with another arm that enraged the demon spawn enough to shake itself free. It wobbled and turned towards the orc. Either uncaring or too enraged to care, it charged the orc once again. But huffed and huffed as it did so.

The orc rolled away as the demonic gnoll spewed green flame from its maw. A rolling wave of infernal green flame flew forth. Scorching friend and foe alike as gnolls cried out as their forms were quickly burned away to ash as did any orcs or conscripts unlucky enough to not get out of the way in time.

The monster stumbled for a moment. Long enough for the Warchief to rush towards it again and grab hold of the remaining arm. The beast tried to swipe him again, but had no other arms to do so. He severed the gangly limb and caused the demon gnoll to rear up again.

As its chest expanded with the effort of producing more infernal flame, the Warchief slammed the boney point up and through the bottom jaw and into the top of the demonic gnoll's maw. Its howls, cries, and roars muffled as it floundered about without any arms. Its chest continued to grow until it flew up into the beasts throat, and found no escape.

It built and built until the beasts throat and chest exploded in infernal flame and burning flesh and guts. Seeing what was about to happen, the Warchief and his forces retreated far enough away from the inevitable explosion. The gnolls weren't so fortunate as many were covered and burned with demonic blood and diseased organs. What fighting remained elsewhere ceased as well as green conflagration plumbed into the air.

Yet even with its throat and most of its chest gone, it continued to try and charge after the Warchief. Its demonic fueled rage refusing the release of death just yet even as demonic fire burned its own flesh and hide. The Warchief led it over to the edge of the plateau. As the beast gave a last swipe with its stubs it fell over and would've fallen over and possibly to its sweet death. But the Warchief had other plans it seemed as he grabbed the beast's horns as it fell and caught it. The only thing visible was the monsters head and the occasional glimpses of the ends of its limbs for all but the Warchief and those gnolls on higher ground.

Then the Warchief began to swing the demonic gnoll back and forth. Back and forth. Tough Flesh and bone scrapping against the rock rang through the air. Back and forth, back and forth. The beast tried to conjure more infernal flame, but it just spilled and smoked from where ever it had come from in its chest. It scrambled feebly as the flesh and bone in its neck was slowly worn away.

Eventually the remaining tendons and bone within the demon spawn's throat finally gave out beneath the beast's weight and constant wearing. A tearing sound filled the air before a final snap echoed out, and the infernal body of the demonic gnoll plummeted to the stones and sand below the edge of the plateau. Even falling upon the sandy rocks it still twitched and moved for a few long minutes before whatever demonic energies fled the twisted and beaten corpse.

The Warchief looked at the large head of the avatar of Kar'kor. The green flame eyes were snuffed out and all that was left was a rotting head that stunk of sulfur and burned rotting animal hide. He chuckled and sauntered back to his warriors. The nearby gnolls cowered and whined, some even urinated, as he passed them by. The gray one had rode down with some others and fell to its knees as it bowed before the Warchief. Its barks and howls were still translated by some sort of infernal magic but there wasn't the intense burning sensation as before. What favor the gnolls had with whatever demonic entity that was seems to have lessened. Though not withdrawn entirely.

"Mighty green orc! *Cackle* We offer ourselves before you! *Whine* Spare us and we shall serve!"

The Warchief didn't even give them a glance.

"I accept, now you will submit."

The beastmasters and lash wielders moved in quickly as they went about their task of beating anything resembling defiance out of them. The Warchief walked up to the duke.

"Do I consider myself a god? No, I don't. Because even supposed "gods" for all of their mighty power, claimed immortality, and terrible wrath can be laid low just as easy as any mortal can. If I die it will be at mortal hands by one who is stronger than me, not "divine" judgement."

With that he dropped the stinking head at the duke's feet and walked back towards his tent, wrenching his axe from the stone as he did so. Magnus watched as what could potentially be a sapient force of nature walk back as if he did not just fight a demonically possessed gnoll barehanded and won.

He offered prayers to the Blessed Mother, something he had not done in some time now. A prayer that the orc would suffer greatly for his hubris. A prayer for those that have suffered under his heel. A prayer for his people and his wife where ever they may be. A prayer that what the orc said was not true.