IMW: Azuk Bargulg


  • Prince

    Iron Moon War: Subchapter 1: Azuk Bargulg

    “Azuk!” The thick wooden door to the long house burst open, the warrior chiefs inside all turned their heads to see the new arrival. Azuk lifted his head from the tattered map before them and looked at the small orc who had appeared in the doorway.

    Azuk was huge, even for an orc and broad and strong. He looked to be even to a small werewolf although his stature was shared by each of the twelve other orcs at his table. He was a mottled deep green color, with crisscrossing scars on his chest and face. “Spit it out.” He said to the scout at the door.

    “They have failed, the Ishaqir, J’tari he is slain.” The gathered group all gasped. “It was their warriors, the big ones.”

    “The Valiant.” one of the chiefs said as he pointed to the Map. They had found a few helian maps on corpses and pieced together what they thought was the right positions. It was accurate enough although they had little way to confirm. “With Ijud’bul gone...and none of the Ishaquir...They will be on us in no time. We should-”

    “Enough!” Azuk said as she slammed his fist on the table. “Anymore?” he gestured to the Scout, who shook his head and quickly left closing the door behind him. Azuk frowned deeply and moved his hand from the map, he pointed to the position marked with a wolfs head of where they had the altar to make wolves. He dug his nail into the spot and tore out the section. He waited for a long time, thinking of every possibility they could have.

    “Azuk?” The chiefs were quiet although one spoke for them to rouse their leader.

    Azuk looked up to them. “Will they stop pursuing us if we leave? Will they chase us?” He hated the only option they had. “If we fight to the last blade...what was the point. Children and mothers will die for our pride. We should treat with them...thre is no other option.”

    The group roared, disapproval was high on many of the insults.

    “We cannot! They will not. They will see you and strike you down and attack and he should be prepared!” One of the far Chiefs roared and pointed at the map although he was not close enough to be specific. “We can mount raids, we can push away, if we can hold until the winter we can perhaps rally more.”
    “Who? Do you want to call for help from...the Bronze Water? The Cave Skulls? Or maybe those fucking cannibals the Dead River Horde!” he slammed his fist against the table again. “They are likely to watch us die and feast on the remains than help us. And the others...add a few hundred blades to a scale so tipped in the humans favor we might as well put the children in helms and march them with us.” He grasped a wooden cup from the table and threw it down the line at the chief who had spoken up.

    He knew he was losing some of them, they were not used to retreat or even defeats like what they were given. The times when they had the werewolves in their ranks made them far more dangerous, but now. He grumbled. “We will treat with them, but ready the army. Every man or woman able to fight, arm them, armor them. Slap a bow in the hands of the wounded if they can draw.” He rose to full standing. “They will offer terms or we will fight them to the last.”

    He had to appease their desire for pride and glory in death, but he prayed that the Helians were not so cold.


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