Orcs and Humans

[Sarah Kerrigan]

Camelot was known for many things: It’s dragons, it’s castles, it’s cheery atmosphere, but when most were to enter the medieval-themed universe, one thing generally comes to mind.
The place was Green, from it’s elegant meadows, to its lush forests, to the plains that seem to stretch on forever. Even the castles of the realm integrated the greenery, rather than being places of purely stone. What the realm of camelot may have lacked in technological function or advanced transportation, as the empire could boast, it made up for in sheer, simple, natural beauty.

Fitting, Grimm Doomtusk thought to himself, that all that was left in his wake was a burning expanse of blackened, charred expanses of grassland, near the keep his band had pillaged. It was as though he was repainting the kingdom in his own colors. Grimm held up his hand, hoisting the newly fashioned flag of his warband.

Once, these colors stood for someone Grimm believed would fashion the next era of the horde. Now, as the black-and-red banner of flame and Axe stood high into the air of the kingdom of Camelot, Grimm smiled as he thought of his old mentor. For a mage, he’d known everything Grimm had ever learned about tactics… including how to forge his own.

He wondered if Deathwind would have been proud to see Grimm reforging the horde with his old banner. But more importantly, Grimm wondered what he would have thought to see his old pupil grow even greater than he so quickly.
“For the Grim Tide!” Grimm yelled, as the remains of the camelot guard tower fell. This was the first blow of many he would lay upon camelot, as he reclaimed the soil of the land - and to hell with what Thrall would say!

The sound of metal smashing bone uncomfortably close to Grimm’s position broke him out of his reverie, and he turned back to see the source of the noise. His elite guard should have kept his opponents firmly-

“You!” Doomtusk snarled, as he took in the image before him. A knight on horseback stood before him, immaculate armor on both her and her horse. The corpses of two of his best men, and the blood and matted hair still hanging off the human warrior’s warhammer.

“Grimm Doomtusk. Where is your master?”

“Aeris… some fool summoned you, too?” Doomtusk growled. A knight of her caliber would be… problematic. “You’re outnumbered, fool. In only a minute, my best men will be here to attend me, and you, soon after, will be very dead.” Doomtusk replied, before drawing a long spear from his back, a black, metal weapon with a teardrop-shaped tip.
“Then I guess I’ll have to make this quick, now won’t I/” Aeris replied, before rushing her warhorse forward. “Back to the hells you crawled from, Orc!”
“Terrible choice of last words, Human!” Grimm screamed back, before raising his spear.

[Paul Atreides]

Paul was born on Caladan- a lush and green world but he had become more a creature of the deserts of Arrakis that the green lands of Camelot that stretched before him were a burden upon his eyes. So long had they gazed upon the dry Arrakeen landscapes that he could hardly accept the breathtaking natural beauty of the world around him.

The stranger walked through the splendid greenery with an easy, rhythmless, economic step in his black stillsuit and worn desert cloak. He left the mouth and nose pieces off, the need for ease of speech far outweighing the need for flawless water conservation in a place like this. Beside him walked an ugly lump of a man, Gurney Halleck. The warmaster of House Atreides was stocky, had an inkvine scar across his chin, and wore an outfit similar to that of his Duke.

Paul had been following... something. He couldn’t see the path ahead of him in his mind but something urged him in the direction of this glade. He had described it earlier to Gurney as desert wind blowing him ever closer to... something. If he examined it with his mentat faculties he could draw no conclusions- it was far too literal and this was a very abstract concept. Still, ever the dutiful man, the warmaster at his side had accepted his leadership without question and accompanied his young master from the major city of Camelot to the outskirts. He knew Gurney would not follow anyone’s whim- it was an honor he bestowed upon Paul for his family’s kindness and respect. This was far more valuable to Paul than all the water on Dune and the reason why he had been first summoned of his friends.

After a time, the two came to a hill that crested a sight that told Paul his intuition... or whatever it might be... had guided him true.

“It look’s like a battle.” Gurney Halleck said stiffly, shouldering the strap of the heavy lasgun he carried. Paul knew it would do little here, Omni had implied as much, but Gurney had insisted on Paul summoning such an unwieldy and intimidating weapon along with the old warmaster’s favored instrument- his baliset.

“No Gurney, it looks like the aftermath of one.” He said in a prophetic and dry tone as his eyes took in the details. Ruined stonework, smoke, bodies. His mentat faculties were crunching the numbers on several lines of thought but he already knew the outcome. This had been some sort of raid.

“Best go around it m’lord.” Gurney stated wearily and began to make preparations to set off on a long circle around the carnage. Paul just shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid not. We must press through. I suspect this is where the wind is blowing us Gurney...”

There was a resignation in Paul’s voice, ominous but resolved. Gurney chafed against this decision for a moment but resigned himself as his Duke had.

“If that is the way master Paul.”

Without another word Paul began his slow, methodical descent of the sloping hill with economic ease, and soon found himself amongst strange green skinned men who had tusks and bodies proportioned strangely to his eyes. His deep blue in blue eyes regarded them with cunning but he held his tongue until they had surrounded him and Gurney. They had penetrated deeply by a combination of natural guile and by simply appearing to belong there (It was quite amazing what people will accept if you act like you have a job to do).

When finally challenge Paul stopped and turned upon the man,

“You! What are you-”

Paul’s voice tonally adjusted and binding by ways taught to him by his Bene Gesserit mother cut the orc off,

“You will take me to your leader...”

The words were insidious, modulated in a way as so that the command could not be ignored. The effect was instant and stunning, despite his lack of mastery. As he had suspected, none here had formal training against it so even his sparse knowledge of the art landed like a hammer blow against the orc’s mind. Gurney crossed his arms, clearly disapproving of the use of the “witchcraft” he practiced.

A short distance ahead a woman in armor atop a horse and one of the green skinned ones were bickering. His escort lead the cloak-clad stranger up and he waited for the situation to resolve itself.

When their battle cries finally split the air Paul suddenly “slipped” from the spot he was in and appeared between the two. To the untrained observer he had appeared to teleport from his place behind the guards to a spot between the two adversaries. To those in the know however, he had simply moved quickly, bending his body in an impossible fashion and jumbling the stages of cause and effect- appearing as his intent to move manifested.

“Stay your blades.”

Paul’s voice was laced with “voice” but he doubted it would work quite as well on minds more developed than the grunt’s. Still, he needed information and bloodshed meant he would get none...

TL;DR: Paul and his attendant Gurney approached. Paul is following a "feeling" and infiltrates the camp by use of Voice. Upon the two, in his voice, important people beginning to fight he uses a burst of speed (apparently teleporting) between them and calling for a halt- his voice laced with the power of an untrained Bene Gesserit.

[Sarah Kerrigan]

As the two combatants moved to charge, the sudden sound of what seemed to be an impossibly agreeable voice resounded in both their ears, as both orc and human found themselves with a sudden desire to stop, if only to acknowledge this person. Grimm, with a scratching of his disproportioned chin, was the first to respond, bringing his axe into a defensive stance, but not making any moves. His green muscles almost seemed to fight him as he brought them from motion, and he gazed upon the duke with red, glowing eyes. "...Power like that..." The green behemoth muttered with a thoughtful expression, almost as if the memory of something else - or someone else - filled him with nostalgia.

With just a few words and a few trained motions, this man had stopped the conflict. It was a move that required a mixture of proper tactical planning, and the ability to immediately manipulate a changing situation. Much like his mentor, and yet...

Like the difference between white and black... but both, I'd imagine, can bite just as harshly Doomtusk thought quietly to himself. This one, were he to cross him... to say nothing of his allies, one holding what looked to be a weapon that looked more than capable of blowing off limbs, even if he didn't understand the finer details from a glance.

Besides that, though he believed the accursed knight standing in front of him seemed less perturbed... He wasn't in favor of fighting a teleporting man - particularly when he didn't understand the hows.

He'd been taught better than that, and that was exactly why when so many others fell as a victim of their own bloodlust, Doomtusk had kept on rising through the ranks. The orcs were strong and the bloodlust's ever-present call within his veins could be overpowering, but an orc that didn't think with their head and recognize when they had lost control of the situation was quickly riddled with arrows or smashed by a warhammer. This was one such situation.

Grimm lowered his axe, immediately as the human scum slowly lowered her warhammer, though with a trembling grip.
Grimm merely smirked in response, seeing the anger even as her face became that of steel. It seemed she'd never been given a similar lesson.



"I fail to see what reason you'd have to stay my hammer from smashing this orcs head in." Aeris stated warily as her warhammer slacked by her side, the overpowering strength of this man surprising her. She knew of Magic - after fighting with the conjurers in battle, watching flames rain down from the heavens like rain, and Creating solid beings out of water to fight alongside them, how could she not? - But what this man did... she'd never heard of anyone who could do that. She was new to this omniverse place, but this was... disturbing.

More importantly, it was getting in the way of her job - To finally rid this world of a threat that seemed to have followed her here from her beloved Azeroth.

"We fight to right the wrongs of the injustices we've suffered, and our allies have suffered. For Zul'jin, and for many others assimilated under the Camelot banner, human. Not that you'd know anything about that, would you?" Grimm asked her. Aeris was inwardly surprised. How did this mongrel know of her recent arrival to... here. In truth, she didn't know what he was talking about. Zul'jin was a troll name, one that had appeared frequently as a minor but cunning nuisance to azerothian patrols. She knew not of camelot history, but if he was part of it, it seemed quite a bit of her world had found it's way here, and changed.

That surprise, however, was immediately replaced with anger. "The injustices you've suffered? You speak of the injustice you've suffered. I know you, Doomtusk, do not speak to me of justice when my parents blood still rests on your hands!" Aeris yelled with anger, trying and failing to raise her warhammer.

"We were in a war. I merely followed my Commander's orders. If you have issue with it, you'd have to dig up Deathwind." Grimm stated.

"You're too cowardly to even claim responsibility for your actions..." Aeris stated with a shaking hand on her warhammer. Strange, magical voices or not, she wasn't about to allow an outsider to step into this affair, and deny her of her right to allow her parents to rest in peace, as she slowly, relentlessly, pushed against this mental force that would hold her in place.

[Paul Atreides]

Paul was a man of careful planning, a intense demeanor, but also a noble demeanor. Like a feral cat wearing a porcelain mask, he was a master of himself- exuding rigid discipline and self-assured mastery.

In the green-skinned one he saw an understanding. His cessation of violence was not entirely due to Paul’s use of voice and there was an intelligence there- even if it was a warrior’s cunning. The other one, Paul assumed her human or as close to it as it got here, had a harder edge to her retort.

Nothing would be gained here from quick action and he could feel that, letting the two of them bicker between each other. Every word was information he did not yet have and each meaning he gleaned was a piece of the puzzle. When he could see the whole picture, perhaps he could see why the winds of his mind had blew him here, to this moment.

Paul’s voice was slow, like water seeping though layers of rocks, but carried as much force as that of erosion despite him no longer using voice.

“I am Paul Atreides, Duke of House Atreides.” He did not speak his Fremen name, known only to those of Sietch Tabr, for he felt his former identity might serve him better to those who spoke of commanders and armies.

“If, when I am done speaking, you still seek to spill the water of each other- you may do so and I will not be the one to stay your hands...” He said, his blue in blue eyes of Spice addiction examining both of the combatants with a fixed stared.

“Both I and my man Gurney Hallack are men well accustomed to wars and the casualties they cause... but blood spilt in sand a second time does not erase the first.”

He was beginning to understand. The orc, as it appeared they were called, had slain the woman’s parents. He felt that pain in a very real sense within himself. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen had, in his world, killed his own father and the wound was still fresh.

“I am here to offer you a new path. A path that ends the cycle. A shortening of ways, if you will. See... if you, m’lady, were to slay him what would stop his men from slaying you and your allies from seeking their revenge for your death? Or, should he best you, would you ever feel your back was safe from the knives of his assassins and revengers? No... I should think not. What you need are rules and an agreement- bound by those who stand here and imperial observes... like myself and my man Gurney. And, as such a duel would have no binding power should both of you fall, you must do it to injury- the loser living in shame, forsaking all claim against the other and admitting them their master.”

Fate had placed him here to arbitrate. To guide them. To gain wisdom. The question was- would they listen?

[Sarah Kerrigan]

Aeris balked, hearing the mans words. While there might be some grain of truth to them, indeed... his words reminded her very much of what King Llane might have said in the same position... they were spoken without understanding of her situation, or of the evil inherent in the slime in front of them.

"Rules? Agreements?" The woman spat, obviously angered beyond belief. "Perhaps your world is free of the orcish threat, but let me explain simply for you, oh Duke of House Atreides. Orcs do not respect diplomacy, nor do they have any goal other than conquering everything within their field of vision. Speak not of them as though they have a soul, or honor. They live only to swing their axe, like rabid animals. Speak not to me of a shortening of ways. If they had..." 

Aeris stuttered, her voice breaking for a moment as she briefly paused. "...If they were interested in talking, our diplomats would have come back in peace, instead of pieces" Aeris stated, her voice slightly slurring at this last word. 

"If you feel so safe with them, though, I will not stop you. I will only warn you that they will stab you in the back in time. For now, I shall withdraw. But know this..." Aeris said with a glare at the young noble. "Prime or not, Duke or not, if I find you guilty of assisting these beings with the slaughter of innocents, I will make you answer for your crimes." The woman stated, before signalling her horse to turn, the mount swiftly spiriting her away the direction she came. “And I will be watching.” She added, even as her horse pushed off towards the interior of camelot.

Grimm looked towards the woman, a signal seemingly half-formed in his hand as he began to raise it. Eyes darted from the woman, to the prime, and then to the woman again, before the hand fell by his side.

 “Contrary to what the Azerothian knight might believe.” Grimm said with a sickly warm smile. “My kind is not what we once were. We were once at war with humanity. That much is true. Our world was dying, and ours were the actions of a few desperate individuals, trying to feed our women, our children… Yet, here, we fight only for the freedom of our colleagues, and for arbitration to be brought to the king of the realm… we thank you for disspelling the situation.” Grimm stated. “Perhaps she can be brought around to see reason one day. We have our own missions to carry out, however. While we would not turn down the assistance of a prime, we also have no goal to keep you here, either. You may do as you please. I shall signal my forces that you are free to come and go, with no interference or resistance from our forces.” the orc continued with a clumsy bow. “We would even be willing to provide you with a basic map of the area, if you so wish.” Doomtusk continued.

Inwardly, he reflected a different sort of idea. This prime could be dangerous if he found the full scope to his plans, but his foolishness was heavy. He reminded Doomtusk of Raal’s vaunted “perfect orc” - Doomhammer. While Grimm never understood Raal’s idolization of the man, he saw similar weaknesses in him - he did not tell, he asked, he negotiated, he made peace. One with power, who used it for only the benefit of others was, in his mind, a fool of the highest order and the easiest enemy to manipulate.

Still, he’d gotten rid of the knight of Azeroth, who Doomtusk knew might have very well caved his skull in depending on circumstance, and he had no need to antagonize an immortal, either. instead, he’d play the compassionate rebel, allow this man to leave the area, and continue his plans unhindered by the bleeding-heart Duke and his heavily armed comrade.

[Paul Atreides]

As the woman spoke her words of hate, Paul simply regarded her with his unwavering blue in blue eyes. It wasn’t a feral stare- it was the keen analytic eyes of a fremen warrior examining a potentially dangerous enemy. He, however, did remain silent until she had left.

Paul did not dismiss the woman’s warning about knives and backs. He had been raised in a silent, legal, house war known as a “war of assassins” and had been betrayed many times himself. In the Corrino lead imperium- it was just par for the course.

Paul had earlier come to the understanding that one’s outward appearance meant nothing here. Orcs, fairies, goblins, animal people, cartoons- they were all the same as he was, created by Omni, and what mask they wore served little function. The notion of “race” would matter little here. Disposition however... that was possible. Grimm, this orc spoke the truth.

Paul had stayed one hand, but he would not thrust himself in the midsts of what was obviously a war. He had come seeking wisdom and, inadvertently, had learned much. Old grudges were perpetuated here on this stage- like a repeat performance for Omni’s pleasure. How did these creatures know that they had not already resolved this issue (violently or not) and this was just Omni’s favorite sort of tragedy? It didn’t matter- ultimately such questions were impossible to answer. He was a toy and could likely only think as Omni intended. This was his world after all and Paul, these orcs, and the lady knight were as a part of Omni as a passing thought in Paul’s own mind.

There was more blood to come from these two and quite possibly not only towards each other. This orcs had set up a military base and he doubted they would stop at only killing those of their own world. Still, blood was a necessity. It forged harder men and harder men made a better world in the long run. He’d seen it himself. Foppish nobles fell to hardened rebels, sardaukar born on their death world conquered the softer planetary defense forces of rebellious worlds, and the cycle continued. Paul’s play was not of days or weeks but of years and generations.

Paul seemed to regard Doomtusk spoke Paul regarded him with the same intensity he had scrutinized Aeris with. It was clear the orc was not fooling anyone but Paul nodded.

“You have a long path ahead of you orc... and it is not one that you shall see the end of without tragedy.”

His words were almost apologetic were it not for the steely, biting, hardness in them that made them come off as a threat.

Gurney fell in behind him as he moved onward, soft as a mouse in his stride, offering only a nod as he went. Orc would kill human. Human would kill orc. It would be a cycle where attrition would claim the day and madness would claim their hearts.