Noir sat in the dimly lit chamber of his quarters, the flicker of candlelight casting wavering shadows against the stone walls. His thoughts were heavy, weighed down by the recent raid and the high cost of survival. They had secured food, but at what price? He could still hear the clash of steel in his mind, the cries of his warriors, and the dying gasps of Grimscar's soldiers. The Enclave had won this battle, but it was only a matter of time before Durnholde or Arathorne retaliated. Their defenses were fragile, and the future remained uncertain.
He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, trying to find a way forward. But every plan he conceived led to the same conclusion—they needed more strength, more allies.
The soft rustle of footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and without looking, Noir knew who it was.
Shargoth, the orc shaman and one of Noir's most trusted advisors, entered the chamber. His towering frame barely fit through the doorway, and the air seemed to shift with the weight of his presence. His old, battle-scarred skin glistened slightly in the firelight, and his heavy staff tapped the ground as he approached.
Noir opened his eyes, glancing at Shargoth, who was studying him with a knowing look.
"You've been brooding for days," Shargoth remarked, his deep voice echoing in the chamber. "That raid on Grimscar was a victory, Noir. But something tells me that's not enough for you."
Noir sighed, his crimson eyes locking with Shargoth's. "It wasn't a victory—it was survival. We've bought ourselves a little time, but that's all. Durnholde will recover, and when they do, they'll strike back harder. We need more than just time. We need allies. We need strength."
Shargoth nodded, stepping closer. "I've been thinking about that too. There's a way we can tip the scales in our favor—an old enemy of Durnholde that could become our strongest ally."
Noir raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who are you talking about?"
Shargoth's tusked grin gleamed in the dim light. "The orcs of the Badlands. They've been at odds with Durnholde for generations. With Kaelthor dead and Grimscar in shambles, the orcs will be looking to expand, to take what they believe is rightfully theirs. We can offer them an alliance."
Noir leaned forward slightly, interest piqued. "And why would the orcs agree to such an alliance? They aren't exactly known for working with outsiders."
Shargoth chuckled. "True. But orcs respect strength. They value honor in their allies. If we show them that we're strong and that we can help them in their raids against the humans, they'll listen. They need resources, warriors, and support. We need the same. A mutual defense pact would benefit both of us."
Noir's mind raced as he considered the possibilities. The orcs were fierce and skilled in guerrilla warfare, perfect for the kind of strikes the Enclave needed to harass Durnholde's forces. If they could secure the Badlands as an ally, they'd not only have more warriors but also a strategic advantage against their enemies.
"And you think you can negotiate with them?" Noir asked, his gaze sharp.
Shargoth nodded confidently. "I was once part of the Badlands tribes before I came to Thunderwarren Tusk. I know their ways, their customs. They're brutal, but they're not without reason. If I can offer them something they want—power, honor, and the chance to bleed Durnholde—they'll consider the alliance. But it won't be easy."
Noir leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. "It's worth the risk. Make the preparations, Shargoth. Go to the Badlands, negotiate with their chieftains, and offer them the terms. But be careful. If they see any weakness in us, they'll turn on you."
Shargoth's grin returned, wider this time. "Let them try. I'm not as old as I look, Noir. I'll bring back the alliance we need."
Noir gave a short nod. "Good. Go. And return with the strength we need to crush our enemies."
Days passed as Shargoth and a small band of trusted warriors set out for the Badlands, the arid, rocky expanse that stretched west of Durnholde's borders. The journey was long and dangerous, but Shargoth had traveled this path before. He knew the treacherous terrain and the volatile tribes that roamed the region. As they neared the heart of the Badlands, Shargoth's memories of his former life resurfaced—the harsh rites of passage, the constant struggle for survival, and the endless raids on human settlements.
When they reached the stronghold of the orc chieftains, Shargoth was greeted with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. The orc camp was a sprawling, chaotic gathering of tents, bonfires, and makeshift fortifications. The scent of sweat, blood, and roasted meat filled the air as warriors trained and chieftains held council. Towering, scarred figures watched from the shadows, their eyes gleaming with primal intensity.
Shargoth stepped forward, his warriors behind him. A group of orc guards stopped him at the entrance, their weapons raised.
"What business do you have here, outsider?" one of the guards growled.
Shargoth met the guard's gaze without flinching. "I am Shargoth, elder shaman of the Drakharoth Enclave. I've come to speak with your chieftains about an alliance that will benefit both our people."
The guard studied him for a moment, then motioned for them to follow. "You'll speak with the chieftains. But don't think for a moment that you're welcome here, shaman. Show weakness, and you'll leave in pieces."
Shargoth chuckled as they were led into the heart of the camp. "Weakness? You must not know who I am."
They were taken to a large tent, where the leaders of the Badlands orcs were gathered. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of burning incense, and the walls were adorned with trophies of past victories—skulls, weapons, and banners torn from defeated enemies. Four chieftains sat in a semi-circle, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright disdain.
"Shargoth," one of the chieftains, a massive orc with a scar running down his face, spoke first. "I remember you. You left the Badlands long ago. Why do you return now?"
Shargoth bowed his head slightly in respect. "I return with an offer, Gorrath. An alliance between your people and mine. Durnholde grows weaker by the day. With Kaelthor dead, their defenses are faltering. Together, we can break them."
Gorrath's eyes narrowed. "You think we need your help to fight the humans? We've been raiding Durnholde for generations."
Another chieftain, smaller but no less fierce, sneered. "What makes you think we would ally with outsiders like you?"
Shargoth met their skepticism with calm authority. "Because we offer more than just strength. We offer resources, knowledge of the land, and the opportunity to strike at the humans when they're at their weakest. Together, we can bleed them dry. Without us, you may raid, but you'll never destroy Durnholde."
The room fell silent as the chieftains considered his words. Gorrath leaned forward, his scarred face inches from Shargoth's. "You think you can offer us something we don't already have, shaman?"
Shargoth's voice remained steady. "I offer you a chance to honor your ancestors by crushing the humans once and for all. I offer you glory in battle and the spoils of war. We both hate Durnholde. Together, we can end them."
The chieftains exchanged glances, muttering among themselves. Finally, Gorrath stood, towering over Shargoth. "We will consider your offer. But know this—if we see any sign of betrayal, if your Enclave shows weakness, we will destroy you. Orcs do not suffer the weak."
Shargoth grinned, his tusks gleaming. "Then you have nothing to worry about. The Drakharoth Enclave is stronger than you know."
When Shargoth returned to the Enclave days later, his face was set in grim satisfaction. Noir awaited him at the gates, eager for news.
"Well?" Noir asked, his tone calm but edged with tension.
Shargoth's grin widened. "The orcs have agreed. We have an alliance. They'll join us in raiding Durnholde and defend our lands in exchange for resources and support."
Noir nodded, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good. This is the beginning of the end for Durnholde."
Shargoth placed a heavy hand on Noir's shoulder. "With the orcs by our side, we'll be unstoppable. Let the humans come. We'll be ready."
Noir turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the shadows of war loomed ever closer. "We'll crush them," he said quietly. "One way or another, the Enclave will survive."
The alliance had been forged in blood and necessity, and the time for vengeance had come.