Grol’doc is the son of Matuk, the disgraced leader that accepted the humans truce before his death. He grew up in a clan struggling and in turmoil. They could not disobey the word of their fallen leader, but without a strong enemy there was little battle to be had, and thus no way for their souls to ascend after death. They were limited to dangerous beasts and the few other clans of humanoids in the swamp.

As he grew to be leader of his clan he worried about the future of their collective souls, when one day a pale and shaking man, small in stature, and somewhat sickley in appearance brought a summons to the court of the nearby human settlement.

Some of his clan thought such a gesture was surely a trap, so Grol’doc took two of his warriors with him, so that he would not be the only one to ascend if this fell into glorious battle. Alas, typical of men, the Baron just wanted to talk about some other men. Men that he wanted dead. Suddenly it came together, he was offering a chance at salvation for the clan! There was an underlying tone that sounded as if the job were done well there may be more it. As Grol’doc was about to accept the proposal, the baron offered some coins of silver for each to boot!

As quickly as they could ride Grol’doc and his warriors returned home and immediately sent out two scouts to search for the bandits base. He then selected his 8 favored warriors and told them to prepare for battle. It had been so many years that there was much honing and sharpening to be done and repairs to gear from the ravages of time, but there was not enough time to fire the forges for a full refit. They would have to make do with what they had.

The folowing day, after riding through the night Grol’doc met up with his scouts. They had no trouble finding the bandits. The humans were clumsy and reckless in their hiding and defenses. The amount of traffic through the place made its location obvious to the orcs. The force of Grol’doc, his 8 warriors, and the two scouts rode to the camp arriving shortly after dark.

Grol’doc knew that a stealthy attack would achieve a swift victory but the humans, nearly blind in the dark, would not be the glorious battle he wanted. They dismounted, the worgs would not be fighting this night, and crept into a position on either side of the camp. By surrounding them, he was going to force them to fight rather than flee. He let forth his battle call, loud and true and waited for the matching reply from the warriors on the otherside of the camp. The humans were going to know that their fate was sealed. He waited a few moments before sounding the charge to afford the defenders the chance to die with their boots on.

One warrior fell in battle that night. Mok’tal. Praise his name. Though pierced by arrows, he struggled on and did unspeakable damage to his assailent with that humans own bow. Mok’tal was taken home and given a hero’s pyre.

15 humans also lost their lives that night and Grol’doc had the heads to prove it. Some of them were intact enough that one might be able to identify them if they had known them. None of the bandits in the camp escaped his net. Pity that only a few managed to die well. Grol’doc’s own weapon had broken during the fight, and he finished the fight with whatever he could pick up. No matter, going to the human capitol armed to the teeth would likely get him killed by archers rather than while spilling blood , but more importantly break the truce. He gathered the heads in a large burlap sack and set out for the capitol

Grol’doc rode through the last of the night and well into the next day. He did not ride on the roads of men until he was fairly close to the city. He couldn’t mask his grin as the men he rode toward scrambled off the road hoping the safety of the bushes would protect them. He slowed as he approached the gates, he was unsure of how the guards would react to his approach. He doubted they could speak orcish and his common was poor at best. He seized the opertunity to continue on through the gates as the guards seemed to freeze at his approach, as unsure how to handle it as he was. Once past the gate the reaction was similar to the open road but the confines of the narrow streets and higher population density magnified the effect. The men obviously feared him and his worg.

As he approached the abode of the Baron, he could hear the sounds of hooves on cobblestones. Likely the guards finally decided to learn his intentions. Atop the steps of the abode were three men, the two flanking and somewhat behind had polearms and seemed quite ready, while the one at the front, their leader had a sword in hand but his only armour was his greaves, and those were not fully strapped up.

Grol’doc slowed and moved in an arc to come up along the stairs where he dropped the sack full of heads and declared in his best Common, “The Bandits”.

He moved his worg slowly along the bottom of the stair, trying to judge if the horsemen were going to block his path. The man in the greaves waved the horsemen off, and Grol’doc exited the town with roughly the same fanfaire as his enterance.


Kamora Zestronad