Also, your turn again. ;)

Bah, you only gave me 10 minutes! :P

Orcs, Day 48

The Orcish Kingdom was in a state of anarchy. The dregs of its humiliated armies swarmed up from the south, pillaging and looting the countryside. Banditry and rebellion overtook the land, and the chant of the hour was "We no follow loser leader!", by which these most politically aware, sapient orcs displayed their dissatisfaction with the corrupt military-magical-blacksmithery complex which had led them to disaster after disaster. The promised plunder and conquest and glory had never appeared for them, so they saw fit to redistribute the wealth of their own leaders.

The major cities were kept in some kind of fragile order by their garrisons, and the waning authority of the Mighty Skulkan. Dire ducks patrolled the streets under curfew, smothering the dead silent towns with their unreal screeching. Certain elements of the garrisoned troops re-pledged their vow to defend the great leader to his last breath, including the elite Silver Axes and the fanatical City Watch Specials. Many regiments simply stayed in line for now, biding their time until the chaos erupted, when they would move in to grab their share of the prize.

The majority, however, carefully watched the High Council and their chief generals Wazzz and Grar, who had remained curiously silent in recent days, waiting for their decision. Should the Council turn on the failed tyrant, the troops would join them, but equally they would move to crush the rebellion if so ordered.

Skulkan himself hadn't been seen in public for a full week, and rumour spread as whispered wildfire over kegs of beer.

Meanwhile, in what remained of the Pillared Griffin, a strange noise was heard. It was Groolk, now rechristened Grork by his gods and placed by them in the spot where his old body had been dumped.

The orc woke up to find himself thrice his previous height, a veritable giant with glowing eyes and enormous strength, power, confidence. Briefly his thoughts turned to how he would use these newfound talents to help his fellow orc, to build great houses for the poor and needy, to attract the finest noble ladies and make his mark upon history. Then Grork the Orc noticed that he was floating naked in a massive vat of cranberry juice having just woken up from a particularly painful case of mortality, and his thoughts turned to darker things.

At roughly the same time, a drunken mercenary burst into the room, attracted by the unusual noise.

"Ey, look back 'ere, they left moor booz beehind, boss! Let's 'ave it!"

A group of army deserters turned looters crawled into the storeroom of the wrecked old tavern, blissfully unaware that they had company, and began helping themselves to whole barrels of beer. The disheveled men and women fought, argued and spat at each other in debauched pleasure. Barrels were smashed on the floor amid great shouts of laughter. Grork lifted his eyes over the side of the vat he inhabited, sour cranberry juice dripping across his equally sour face.

A few minutes later, blood could be seen seeping from the tavern's door and into a nearby gutter. A few more minutes after that, the abandoned building was consumed in flames, and a shadowy cloaked figure could be seen riding straight as an arrow in the direction of the capital, Torshor.

TS

Nomads, Day 49

The Shadow Demon leader wisely abandons his capital to rendezvous with his Lords. Our strike force of Djinn and Efreet take possession and prepare for a siege they can't reasonably hope to win. We do leave several wildfires directly in the path of the Lords, and we look forward to seeing what they choose to do about it.

TS
I like you. I'll kill you last.

Orcs, Day 49

Wazzz had always been more sympathetic to Skulkan than most, taking his master's side in most disputes and receiving rewards (which many considered undeserved) as a result. It was thus that the council had decided to remove him from the picture a few days before, being unsure whether he would still take the side of the beleaguered leader when the time came.

Reluctantly following these orders, he had ridden quickly southwards to rally what he could of the Orc army, and now this patch-quilt force stood ready to assist their Nomad allies in a final assault on the Demons.

I smell treachery.

TS

Nomads, Day 50

We prepare the final push on the Shadow Demons.

We've assured the Orcs that they are next after the Shadow Demons fall, though we're certainly not complaining about the Orc army advancing on the Shadow Demons.

TS

Orcs, Day 50

Shortly before sunset

Grar stood on the parapet, his back turned to the rest of the High Council. He quietly observed events across the capital, while also tracking the lengthening shadows with his darting eyes. A bolt of lightning struck through the darkening skies, followed soon by rumbling thunder, but fortunately Grar was not one to pay attention to portents and superstition.

Down below, the city heaved with citizens, assorted scum and kobolds moving back to their hovels before curfew. Far beyond Torshor's crumbling walls, the earth burned as if the rivers of lava had risen up and seized every inch of countryside, but in reality this was an just indicator of the dire condition the Orcish kingdom found itself in. Bands of marauders would run almost up to the city gates, so bold had they become, burning and looting with abandon.

One particular shadowed shape went almost unnoticed in the general chaos outside the walls; it dashed cross-country towards the city, paying no attention to roads or pathways and kicking up a trail of dust and fire in its wake. This unbidden traveler would surely reach the gates after they had been bolted for the night and may need to rest at an inn outside the walls until morning.

A tired City watch sergeant from a loyal Skulkanist unit trod down a crowded mud and straw-covered street in downtowne, the crowd giving his troops a wide berth and pulling faces of disgust as they passed. Unfazed by the revulsion, to which he was accustomed, the sergeant beckoned to his orcs, abominations and summoned monsters to follow him as he entered the barracks, bringing their twelve hour shift to a close. This tall fellow ducked through the entrance way and headed towards his NCO sleeping quarters; his troops (at least those of them who required sleep) followed suit and moved toward their respective rooms. The sergeant removed his helmet and yawned, his thoughts turning to a good game of dice poker and a sip of the strong stuff he kept under his straw mattress.

"Strange!" he thought, "There be not lot others here! Where be tha night shift?!". He cast around the eerie room for a bit, shrugged and after laying down his drink quickly dozed off.

Up in the palace at the foot of the Wizard's Tower, the pale green bureaucrat Tallock, a scheming council member known as the Master of Ink, glided his way to Grar's side and whispered gravely in the wizened warrior's ear. Grar nodded.

On the tower top, Skulkan had just decided to get a breath of fresh air. Before opening the door to the roof, he instinctively grabbed his magical staff from the desk, even though he knew that here, in his sanctum amidst his loyal subjects, he was as safe as he could ever be. Perhaps holding that finely-carved tree branch provided some level of comfort to the old man.

Windows across the city were before long flecked with candlelight, doors bolted and good-nights shouted across the rooftops and alleyways. As moonlight replaced that from the sun, the city became silent as the grave, but far from empty.

Large bands of orcish troops now thronged through the otherwise unoccupied streets in silence and in pitch blackness, with impressive stealth for members of their race. Some of these motley units began to take position on top of strategic public buildings or outside the quarters of the city watch and garrison.

"Ow! Just coz i'z small don't think you cans just squash me like..." began little Blad the Impaler, after a larger warrior stepped on his feet.

"Shhhh!" was the universal hissed reply.

This grip of silence was shaken off by the sudden clanging of a tower bell: a call to action. Other bells joined in across the city, until the ground almost shook with their deafening sound. The shadowed orcish bands broke out into a run, and confused shouting was heard, followed by the clashing of steel.

That poor watch sergeant was rudely awakened by the noise, and leapt out of bed, his vision a blur born of alcohol and the red mist of panic. Reaching for his sword, he found it was gone, and another orc's halberd pointed into his neck instead.

"You Are Under A Rest!", stammered a squat warrior on the other end of the halberd, who headed a group of five heavily-armoured soldiers tearing the room apart.

"I was having a rest until you barged in!", replied the sergeant grumpily.

Far to the south, in the camp of the Orcish field army, Wazzz was handed a letter by his shamans: "Secret Orders from the New Orcish Provisional Government".

TS

You're up, guy.

Don't you want the game to last the full 6 months at this point?

I'm on vacation starting Friday. If we're quick, we can finish this off by then.

I should probably just expect to finish after I get back, though.

Imposter!

Real OrcsTM, Day 51

Just as the battle for Torshor had been thought won, and troops loyal to the High Council were mopping up the last resistance, strange things began to occur. Unnoticed aspects of the city, namely drains, narrow passages, darkened old buildings, began to glow. Before long, bolts of lightning struck out from them, and hordes of summoned monsters rushed forth against the Coup's troops. Loyalist forces rallied and counter-attacked, with the result that things were now too close to call. It appeared that paranoid Skulkan had placed magical traps and summons throughout the capital's infrastructure for such an eventuality as this rebellion.

A darkened shape crawled over the city walls, and shortly after midnight a whole quarter of the city inexplicably burst into flames. The fires spread over the tight-packed roofs, swathing the streets in blinding smoke. Falling wooden debris attacked both sides indiscriminately as the battle raged below.

In the middle of the city, Grar, the council and a band of loyal troops cautiously advanced up the stairs in the old wizard's tower. As they passed one room, they saw a group of orc corpses dressed in colourful uniforms: looked as if Skulkan's fanatical personal guard might have ended their lives as an alternative to surrender, although the ghastly bite marks covering the bodies suggested another cause of death. There was no time to examine them.

Reaching the roof at last, they pushed back the heavy oak door to find the wizard himself, his back turned to them, looking out over the chaos below. He was surrounded by a circle of ducks, and his pet abomination, which spat and snarled at the party's approach.

"Skulkan! We mean you no harm! Surrender now and live the rest of your days in peace!"

Skulkan gave no answer, but, his back still turned, shut his eyes and grinned, flexing his control over the minions around him; extending his mind into their physical forms; relishing the physical power he felt.

The ducks attacked with incredible ferocity, knocking back the accomplished warriors and forcing the weaker of the Council's party to flee out of the way. Grar himself was pushed near the edge of the tower, and disarmed by the ducks' flurrying blows. Skulkan watched, his back still turned, as the horde buried his enemies, laughing with unbridled joy. What small part of his mind remained rooted in his own reality, however, noticed a sudden wall of heat blasting over his body from below. Releasing his summons from the mental yoke for just a second, Skulkan opened his eyes and then fell over backwards in shock.

"WIZARD. YOUR DEFILEMENT IS AT AN END. THE GODS PROCLAIM IT SO." boomed a monstrous, huge creature with the head of an orc but the body of a giant. The creature pulled out a large flame-coated greatsword and brandished it over the terrified wizard, who looked on the verge of helpless tears. This creature had apparently climbed all the way up the outside of the tower to arrive at this most opportune moment of vulnerability.

Skulkan weaved a spell with his hands, but it fizzled out. The wizard realised that his magical powers had been drained and absorbed by the odd creature. One desperate hope remained: his crooked staff might still hold some residual mana. He grabbed the magical staff in both hands and held tight, just as the creature struck a killing blow.

The dire ducks had called off their attack, and now stood swaying in a drunken stupor, receiving no magical nourishment from their former master. Grar's party of plotters watched in awe, unsure what was going on, but with the vague impression that vengeance was being sated. Grar himself strode forward and shouted at the creature:

"Stop! He does not deserve to d-"

At that moment, Skulkan's body collapsed in a lifeless heap. A shimmering shape appeared in the air and then vanished.

"NO!", cried the creature, as it leapt after the shimmering shape and itself disappeared.

With their master apparently dead, the ducks he had summoned and manufactured went insane, with no magic to fend off the pain of their unnatural existence. Throughout the city, they set upon each other, ripping limb from limb, antenna from skull and spindly feet from hairy body, throwing themselves off rooftops or into the roaring fires.

Grar's coup had succeeded, after a fashion.

---

In the south, Wazzz realised he had no choice but to follow the new orders given in the secret letter. He led his army through the teleporter network to a new land, and a rendezvous.