"Even though I don't have sound, I could sort of hear the groaning and "neawraoungh" of drones, so it was nice to be back to Zerg. "
-.Praetor
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| In the Garden | | | Author: | | | IP: | XXXX | | Date: | 12/07/99 09:12 | | Game Type: | Warcraft 2 | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 8, Min: 8
Lifetime Rating for Wylie: 8.0000 |  | Author's Note: I _really_ apoligise for the lack of html. I'm still learning, so my htmlized version was done in Word. I'm afraid it just wouldn't convert, and since I don't know enough about it, I decided not to mess with it. If you'd rather have the html, you can grab it here:
http://192.200.134.139/keswy.htm. The stats pic is included, and some nice coloring. Hope you enjoy. Another note to raters: this is not a fic, it is a highly stylized version of a game that did take place ;-)
GasDrone vs. Kesac
Map: Garden of War BNE
GasDrone: Red Orc, 6:00 Start
Kesac: Yellow Orc, 7:00 Start
<><><>
It was dark in the Garden, a tangled scrubland of ancient roadways and abandoned mines. The expansive forest culminated in a clearing, a brief, grassy interlude in the rich, dark soils marred with the blood of battles past. Kobold never thought of the Garden as a violent place, but in this dying age of chaos, all things, in the end, were immersed in blood. The night was dwindling now, and silently Kobold trekked down the roadway, fondling the crimson scabbard at his side. The banners of Kesac’s entourage shone in the waning moonlight, and he felt naked, unprotected. The old general, assuredly, was not known of backstabbing a peaceful parlay, but times were desperate, and bloodlust…the Orcish way.
He felt the light green gash on his forearm as he entered the milky circle, the remmaint of a battle he had escaped in the Garden, long ago. Kesac’s dull black eyes gleamed as he looked up at Kobold, and for a moment, the crimson-clad orc paused. He returned the look with a feral grin, his strong white teeth undoubtedly gleaming in the moonlight.
“Kesac.” He said, simply.
“Kobold.” Came the reply.
“I did not come for bloodshed. Merely a place to stay before the snows fall, and my warriors freeze.” Said Kobold, feeling the dull throb of pain in his arm. This is where that scar had been inflicted…so long ago by this orc. A brash young warrior then..but now, an aging commander, his clan both feared and dying, the deadly Laughing Skull warriors. thought Kobold.
“You are passing through the center of our mining operations. This, sir, is the line.” Said Kesac, a hint of menace in his voice. Kobold smiled inwardly, and shook his head.
“I must pass this forest.” He said, carefully.
“If you must pass, then you also must die.” Said Kesac, watching Kobold flex his arm in the moonlight. “And next we meet, orcling, that scar will be the least of your concerns.”
Kobold merely watched as the yellow warriors vanished down the path, his hand gripping his blade tightly.
he thought, and a smile curled his lips.
<><><>
As the dawn came, Kobold ordered the construction of a Hall and farm, knowing full well that Kesac was moving his operations into the Garden, in order to more easily thwart his passage. Peon after peon poured into the fledgling encampment, Kobold’s dispatches to the Warsong headquarters heralded with a single message.
“There is no honor in capture.”
Kobold crumpled the dispatch, and watched, high in the tower of the hall, as the mines began to light up with descending teams of his peons, extracting the funds necessary for the conscription of Kobold’s first warriors. Farm after farm sprung up around the encampment, a crude wall of flimsy wood and thatched roofs. Wild boar ran frenzied in their enclosures, as one by one they were slaughtered and cooked for the peons. Each day, he watched as armies of his green-skinned brethren trudged to the forests and stone mines, bringing back the essence of his encampment, the lifeblood that brought the warriors.
It was a week before his scout returned to the encampment, clutched in his hand a tattered leather strap, with a laughing yellow skull emblazoned on the broad surface.
“Ogres.” Said the scout, his brown eyes meeting with Kobold’s for the first time.
“Deploy my grunts!” he roared. “NOW!”
His roar echoed over the camp, and he watched as hundreds of heads turned toward the tower, and returned to their work. He stared for a moment at the strap, and with a grunt of disgust, he hurled it to the courtyard below. Rushing down the stairs, he seized his war advisor, a grizzled old orc with more scars and stories than Kobold had peasants.
“Build cannon towers. Now. No man sleeps until this camp is protected.” Snarled Kobold, his voice livid. “Dispatch the conscripts to the crossroads. Tomorrow we shed first blood.”
<><><>
he thought.
The forest was alive with the choruses of rainwater rivers and fat droplets slapping the broad leaves of the forest trees. The dark rain drenched his cloak, and only dimly could he see the shuffling, pacing movements of his grunts, deep in the trees along the outskirts of the clearing. Turning to the huddled band of peons before him, he merely nodded. They trotted down the paths, toward the southeast corner of the Garden, and split off, heading due North. thought Kobold despairingly
He turned to the grunts, and again felt the old scar burning on his arm. With a determined grimace, he set off down the path, the clamoring footsteps of his warriors behind him. For hours they trekked toward the hidden encampment, another open plain in the black forest. As they crested the hill, a black mirrored lake was alive with ripples, and a massive stone mound rising over it. A thin trail of smoke wafted from the yellow-bannered hall, and with a brief caress of his scar, Kobold let out a roar.
The warriors, cloaked in Warsong red, poured over the hillside into the encampment. Feeling the moist ground yield to his boots, he accelerated as the first Ogres emerged from the mound, a fearsome, elated grin on his face. He leapt forward, his axe handle sliding smoothly into his hand as he landed before a tattooed ogre. His hands a mere flash of steel and green flesh, the massive pale belly of the ogre erupted in hot blood, the greenish intestines from the massive belly slipping onto the ground. The ogre sank to his knees, the yellow tattoos contorted in a look of horror. Kobold smiled, licking the smatterings of blood from his lips.
Then he heard a cry that made his blood go cold.
His head snapped around, his black eyes widening in horror as he realized what had happened. An ogre towered over him, his arms spread wide, his eyes bloodshot and a roar on his pink lips. Kobold could see the hot flow of blood under the ogres massive veins, pulsing under the skin like a trapped insect. Flipping onto his feet, he screamed for retreat, only to realize that only he remained standing of his warriors. Dropping his axe, he broke into a full sprint toward the ancient highway, the smell blood and rain, washed on the muddy plains of the Garden.
he thought, his mind racing as his lags carried him deep into the forest.
<><><>
His base was in tatters, only the remnants of the farms lined in a flimsy wall, now broken piles of debris. The cannon tower were roaring as he ran toward the main barracks, and they opened the gate admitting him as he collapsed in the mud.
“Magi.” He gasped, and as he spoke the words, the ground spun into darkness beneath him.
Kobold awoke to the sound of cannon fire and screams, the dull patter of rain sounding on his tower roof. The ogres were dying in legions to the massive, explosive steel balls, but the debris wall was being slowly eviscerated. He quickly dressed, and made his way downstairs.
“Give me a report.” He barked, waving off several insistent questions.
“Our strongholds to the north and southeast report full functionality, and our northern base has been granted the use of our clan’s dragon-mother. We expect hatchlings within the week. The south has also been blessed: Warsong clan mates are eager to engage Kesac, and have constructed an ogre mound and alter of storms. All the requested magi are in a trance, completing their transformation to full magi of the eighth circle of power. New warriors are resting in several new barracks to the southeast. I recommend we abandon this base before the magi break in. We can transfer the mining operations to the north, where Kesac has neglected to look.”
“Excellent. Expand again in the northlands, and continue to request troops south. We are not abandoning a fortress. The technologies are too valuable to become Kesac’s.” said Kobold, as his advisors nodded in consent.
“Sir how are we going to defend against-“ began an aide.
“I don’t know about death knights.” Said Kobold. “We can only pray.”
<><><>
Warsong Brothers: I write, sadly, with great haste. My fortress is under attack by ogre magi, and my defenses broken. It will not be long before I join Gul’dan and Blackhand in the great dark depths of the beyond. Beware their death knights. The decay rended the steel and wood defenses as though they were a slippery clay, melting in the rainwaters. The magi gave a final unholy scream, before they shredded my base and demolished my orcs. I only ask two things. When the time comes, bury my bones in the great clearing of this garden. Inscribe on the headstone:
A garden…
An Eden of Chaos…
A portal to the great beyond…
A place of blood…
A garden…
<><><>
I stared at the sheet of parchment, the impatient messenger eyeing my face as I read its contents. Kobold and the south had fallen. Now, armed only with hatchlings, I finish the job he left undone.
No time for sorrow. Kobold will be avenged presently.
I stare at the messenger. “Move the south to the clearing. Tell them we attack in two moons time.” I paused, looking at the note.
“Tell them to leave no orc alive.”
I have two days to send my dragons, great winged beasts of brimstone and hellfire, to the undefended mines of Kesac’s flank. Two days…and an eternity basking in this glory. I will destroy Kesac as Kesac destroyed Kobold. And I will rule this…garden.
I walk to my dragons and mount swiftly, ordering them to the sky. Now is my time.
<><><>
Far below I see Kobold’s orders and careful plans smoldering in rubble. His second expansion to the north lies in ash, and his troops lie in mounds, burned by the Ogres for heat in this dammnable rainfall.
It is of no consequence. Now, Kesac dies. I spot the magi thundering down the ancient paths of the Garden, the lust in their veins burning like the fires of hell itself. My dragons begin their slaughter, and I merely watch as peons and magi watch in horror as the flames come crashing down. I hear the screams of the bloodlust echo through the hundreds of Ogres, and I watch his distant lakeside city fall.
Kobold, I think, would be pleased.
I added a inscription to his tomb.
“He died a great warrior, in this, a Garden of War.”
<><><>
Hope you enjoyed. This is my first report in this “style” so you get less strategy and more of the “RPGesque” feel of Warcraft II. It was told from the perspective of my supergrunt, who survived something like 8 battles ranging from level 1 skirmishes to level 8 wars with lusted ogres. He finally died when my main was razed, hence the little perspective change. It was a nifty game, where Kesac thought I was dead when I had a couple of expands pumping ogres off in the corners. I just lusted about 40 ogres and went in after my main went down, so it was a nice fuzzy- feeling win. Hope you enjoyed, and please email me your comments, as I hope to do more.
-Wylie (moorero@hanover.com)
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