Urk-Kafer.

Cruel knives glint in the shadow, waiting to taste the blood of the enemy.

Urk-Eule: They shall show the same mercy to the lightdwellers as they did to consonants.

Urk-Kafer.

The patrols are lax. The tribe will make short work of them.

Centuries passed, and Light filled with sorrow. She watched as Her creations were stolen by Dark, until She could bear it no longer.

Light took from Dark His secrets, and taught them to Her children, that they might resist His call. So it was that the Light grew strong, and chased Dark into the hidden places.

--------------

The Urk-Kafer stalk this town.

The smallest of the Children, the Deep Orcs are the hidden blade in the dark, the stalkers through the wood, and prowlers in caves. They exist in the darkest places, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike. They have skin of pale whites and grays, and eyes that glow with red or yellow. It is with these eyes that the tribe watches the town.

It is with these eyes that the tribe waits.

Cruel knives glint in the shadows of the trees, eager to spill blood. Eager to make short work of this village.

First to act are the Whispers. The workers of Dark magicks within the Urk-Kafer, they wrap shadows around their brethren, pulling the night closer like a cloak. Silence seems to deepen, and the night appears darker.

Next to move are the Sneaks. It is they who will slip through the dark, it is they who will bear the hidden blades. Death will come to many through their silent work.

The last to ready themselves are the groups Warriors. They ready themselves for the coming conflict, pulling tight armor and testing blade edges. It is they who will be the hammer blow to end this night, and they who will secure the spoils of this raid.

Where among them do you find yourself?

>Warriors(+1 Strength)
>Sneak(+1 Cunning)
>Whisper(+1 Charisma)

The Whispers.

We shall be the one who sees, and remains unseen.

Warriors. Last to enter, first to leave.

The Whispers, keepers of secret power.

But Dark was not defeated. Hidden away from the rest of the world, he raged. If the Light and Her Children would resist Him, would steal what was His, then they would be feel His wrath.

Dark slipped from His hiding places and stole Light's secrets. With Her knowledge, He tainted Her children and crafted his own from their flesh.

-----------------

You are a Whisper, one touched by Father Dark.

From the moment of your birth, you were marked by His touch. The shadows whispered His secrets and became tools, guided by your hand to enact the will of the tribe. Though you are young and untested, you feel the comforting presence of His touch. Let the magick of others be loud and vibrant, your's will be shrouded in shadow. When the other Whispers began their work, your own hushed voice joined them, pulling silence over your allies. Now, you finger the dagger on your hip as you crouch in silent anticipation for what's to come.

You watch as the Sneaks do their work, slipping across the open area up to the palisade. Within moments, daggers glint in the night and guards are slain. Moments pass and you can just see your brethren slipping into the first few houses. Another silent moment, and then a Sneak returns, grinning viciously.

"Good hunting, yes. Guards dead, yes. Time for the killing and the taking, yes."

One of the warriors steps forwards, his grin matching the Sneak's. This one you know well as Gorrick Blackblade, the leader of your raiding party. It was he who gathered your kin-folk, and he who lead you here. By the virtue of his strength he leads, well enough it can be said. But you know, by instinct and by tradition, that others are watching and waiting for their chance. Perhaps even you...

"Yes, time for the killing and the taking. Let's go boys, kill those who resist, take the rest. Find em all! For the Dark Father!"

A roar of approval rises up from the wood line, and the party surges forward. Despite this, a few of the Whispers and the Sneak frown slightly. This is not the way of Urk-Kafer, who stalk in silence and shadow. Still, with no guards to halt your progress, it is mere moments before the small group surges into the town streets. Already your kin begin to split off, kicking in doors and searching for treasure and slaves. You find your gaze darting about the streets as you make it to the central market, gleaming eyes taking in your own options on the quest for spoils.

There, the town's inn. A caravan had come through during the observation of this town, and there's a good chance they have not left yet. Surely treasures and slaves would be there, ripe for the taking. No one else seems to be heading that way yet, but a Sneak or two would almost certainly be about, and others may follow you in.

There, the main group heads for the large chapel lead by Gorrik. It is likely they seek the greatest glory by defacing Light's image and tearing Her servants down. A good purpose, for Father Dark would delight in the death and enslavement of Her servants. With so many though, it may be difficult to lay claim to any of the spoils.

Finally, there are any number of buildings about. Nothing sets any single one apart, but you could take a chance at hunting through one of them in search of personal spoils, and who knows, perhaps you may stumble across something worth the effort.

>Where shall you go?

Current State:
Strength-1
Cunning-2
Charisma-2

Dark Magick-Shadows: This branch of the Dark Magicks deals primarily with stealth. Shadows and silence are the tools, to be shaped and directed as the caster wills.

Our place is to bring silence to the attack.
Approach the inn with the Sneaks and slaughter the horses.
Ensure that none escape for help.

Every good adventure starts at an inn!

Go for the inn, but not alone. There may be adventurers in there.

He gave them knowledge of war, of silence, and of magick.

He gave them weapons and armor forged of his own bones.

He gave them rage and hate for all things of Light.

-----------------

The inn is your destination. Plenty of chance for spoils, with your raiding party's sneaks close at hand. You split from the rest of the party and make your way forward. Your first stop is the stable, and the horses are slain quickly. That should end any hope of people escaping the raid. From there, it is into the building proper.

Within, the world is silent. It appears the ground floor is vacant. All the same, you step cautiously, your eyes darting around the room looking for the slightest trace of movement. There is none, at least, none from any human.

A shadow emerges from the far end of the room, slinking forward without a sound. The sneak's daggers glint in the small amount of moonlight leaking through the windows, blood dripping from them to the floor. He smiles a feral grin as he sees you, head bowing ever so slightly to one blessed with Father Dark's touch.

"Whisper. They died so quick it was almost a shame. More above. Travelers. Riches and blood, ripe for the takin. Share I will, need to get you nice and blooded, eh?"

You know his type. They have no interest in the taking of slaves, only in blood. They have their place among Urk, but left unchecked, they will slaughter all those who might have been slaves. Already you are certain any on the first floor are dead.

"I know that look in your eye, youngin. You think I'll take all the killin... maybe your right. Tell ya what, you go on up first. Have your fill. I'll take the scraps."

You waste no time, taking the offer for what it is. Not many who would make such an offer, but then, his kind are never right in the head, and you'd rather the chance at the glory and spoils. You ascend the steps, quickly and quietly as you can, reaching the second floor landing. You eye the row of doors critically, seeking some sign that might guide you to greater treasures.

Charisma Check: Critical Success

The shadows whisper in your ear. Magicks about, Magicks of Light. Golden and glowing, just beyond the second door. Knife-ear magick, guarding, sealing, warding. They think they can hide from the shadows, but the shadows see them, hear them, whisper their secrets to you. Much glory in killing a knife-ear, much more glory in taking one as a slave.

Something deeper whispers to you though. From the door at the very end of the hall. The shadows whisper of it like a lost lover, and whisper to you that you are chosen. It must be yours, else its destiny, its promised glory, be passed to another.

You think you have enough time to search two of the four rooms, but you must be quick. The sneak below will only wait so long before his bloodlust drives him to seek more blood.

>What shall you do?

Check the second-to-last door for traps/hostiles, then go for the door that's calling you.

Who exactly are we calling knife-ear here? I've seen it used about Elves in other works, but since Orcs are a pointy-eared species too, they wouldn't use such slur...

We should also mark the frame of the second door with a symbol of warning.
The Sneaks won't be able to sense the fetid Magicks of Light, and would blunder into said wards.

Our duty is to Father Dark and his shadows. We'll check the door at the end of the hallway first.

>>960275
Think of it less as a slur against elves, and more of a random name for a race based on the most prominent physical trait, which the orcs just happen to share. The Urks consider themselves the Children of the Dark, whilst the Children of the Light are lesser and therefore are referred to by physical traits rather than their chosen racial names. So to be completely clear, yes, knife-ear refers to an elf, but it basically has no other real meaning to an orc.

--------------------

His Children spilled into the world, and put to the sword any born of Light. Such was the fury that the Children of Light could do not but bend knee and beg mercy.

But once more Light came forth. With sorrow, She taught her Children of War, and lead them in conflict with the Children of Dark.

------------------------

You slink forward, footfalls quiet, and listen to the shadows whispering around the second door. The magick of Light is weak here, the warding just enough to make one simply ignore the door. But it was not enough to avert your gaze, or to silence the whispers that speak to you. Just beyond the door, the shadows speak of huddled forms, fear and hate, male and female. Knife-ears they may be, more dangerous than the round-ears, but these ones seem to be little threat beyond their paltry magicks. Still, they could catch an Urk unaware if one isn't careful.

You take a moment to scratch a symbol of warning into the door itself with your dagger. You doubt any will heed it, but you feel somehow that it best if you at least tried.

Then, it is time to answer the call. Father Dark beckons and you will no deny Him. You make your way silently down the hall, crouched low just in case. As you pass the third door, you hear the sounds of someone whimpering in fear on the other side, and the whispers speak of a round-ear, fat and useless. A pointless slave, but fat means rich with treasures among the Children of Light. You ignore him for the moment though, more intent upon a better prize.

Upon reaching the door the beckons your attention, you press your ear to it, listening for anything beyond. For a few precious seconds there is nothing, but then you hear it, the creak of wooden boards beneath weight. There is someone beyond, but the shadows do not whisper of them. Someone strong then. Someone of the Light.

A good prize, if they can be taken, and beyond them the call of Father Dark.

>What shall you do?

Fighting will only favor us if we are the one who sets the terms.

Weave the silence around us so that we can set ourselves just out of the frame of the door, and stand ready with our knife.

When we relinquish our hold of the quiet the blubbering of the fat round-ear should reach the door. If this thing of Light thinks itself a hero, as they so often do, then this thing should step out.
Providing us the first, and perhaps vital blow.

The First War raged across the world, and no place went untouched by its fires. Death came to all Children, Light and Dark.

On the final battlefield, Light met Dark once more, and their power clashed. Though She was victorious, banishing Dark into the deepest places, Light was mortally wounded. The spilling of her blood marked the end of the First Age.

Yet the Children of Dark persisted, strong in the ways of their Father, and to this day wage war on the Children of Light.....

------------------

You pull silence about you ever tighter, and slip into the dark corner by the door. Yours is the way of stealth, and you shall let this one come to their own death. You release the silence, letting the blubbering of the fat one sound out, and you smile to yourself as the creaking of wood is heard once more. You can almost feel the hesitation at the door, the internal struggle of the so called hero, before they emerge into the hallway.

Cunning: Success

You dagger is there to meet them. It digs into the soft hide of the round-ear that comes to the fat one's rescue, biting through leather with relative ease. Blood seeps from the wound, coating your blade with his life. A mortal wound, a blow straight through his ribs and into his lungs, just as you'd been taught. He is not without fight, however, and his elbow lashes out, catching you across the face and sending you stumbling back. But the damage is done. The man tries to stay standing but his legs fail him, even as his lungs fill with blood. He collapses to the ground, coughing and spluttering. You spare only a moment to recollect yourself before taking up your dagger once more and slitting the round-ear's throat. Then you drag the silence around you once more, just to be safe.

You finally enter the room, cautiously scanning around for any signs of another. There are none, in fact the room is quite small, but still you are wary. The whispers continue, guiding your attention to a small chest at the foot of the room's single bed. You creep forward and open it slowly, scanning it's contents for whatever might be of value. A small pouch containing a few measly coins and a few small gemstones. Rope, waterskin and bedroll. One of those types that liked sticking their nose where they weren't wanted, it seems. But the true prize reveals itself from within a rolled up scrap of cloth.

A black bone dagger that shadows seem to cling to.

It is a crude thing by any reckoning, blunt and practically useless as a weapon. It's handle is simply a bit of the end of it wrapped in dirty cloth. It would be more accurate to describe it as a piece of bone than a proper dagger. Yet it calls to you, whispers in your ear, begs you to take it in your hands.

When you do so, when your hand wraps around the hilt of this bone dagger, a vision tears through your mind.

A promise of glory, a destiny to be fulfilled.

Father Dark speaks, and tells you of your fate.

>What vision of glory is given, what ultimate goal are you shown?

Our vision is a calm one, perhaps even serene.
Beneath the tranquil night sky, clouds black as pitch, we gaze down to a city in ruin.
The fading embers cover the streets like a carpet and the unwashed masses cry out in toil and agony as they are led to the gates.
But there is a sound far sweeter amid the noise of despair.
A humble sound, the cracking of masonry.
As the last icon of Light is thrown from the parapets.

The vision is one of a strange calmness. The night sky is filled with pitch black clouds, tranquil and serene. You stand atop a balcony overlooking a ruined city, the dying embers marking the last gasps of life of its resistance.

The miserable, unwashed masses of the enslaved cry out in pain and anguish. Their captors merely laugh, pushing them forward as they are driven from the city towards their ultimate fate at the hands of the Urk. The gates, strewn now with the dead and dying forms of their so called heroes, are the last reminder driven into their terrified minds.

But something rings out, clear above even the screams and crying. Something sweet, something so very pleasing. The humble sound of cracking stone and shattered masonry. The last icon of Light, thrown from the parapets to smash upon the uncaring earth, to be ground to dust under the feet of your soldiers.

This is your destiny. This is your fate. Let it be so...

You blink as you return to your own body, the vision done. Father Dark has chosen you, has called to you to complete his work. You will not disappoint him. For now, you clutch the His relic to your chest before slipping it into its cloth wrapping and storing it away. One more quick search of the room reveals nothing of any real interest, but you have a new vigor about you. You reemerge into the hallway, and the whispers seem to surround you with quiet noise. They revel in your presence now, clamor to praise you, worship you, bow to you. You have purpose far greater than a simple raid now.

But your fate will require more than just one Urk. You will need Urks to fight, slaves to work, and the riches to gather both. You have enough time to search one more room before you think the sneak reaches the limits of his bloodlust.

>What shall you do?

While the riches of the fat round-ear may be alluring, our fate would desire us to strike down all forces of Light. Our gifts are potent, let us work with the other Whispers to shred the wards that protect the knife-ears.
They will be our first trophies.

You make your way to the door behind which the knife-ears cower. Their fear is palpable, even past their feeble protections. The shadows gather around you as you call upon your magick in preparation for what is to come. You reach out across the city as well, calling upon your fellow Whispers to help you in your work. Only a few respond, you are an unproven Whisper on your first true raid, but the help is there.

Charisma: Critical Success

The help provided is more than enough. Enough even to allow you to do more than simply shred the ward to pieces. The shadows gathered rip at the ward and push beyond it, shrouding the room beyond in darkness and silence. The knife-ears can see little beyond their own face, all the better for you to strike. The door is locked by conventional means, but it provides little protection against magickal invasion. It is easily forced open with a burst of shadow, and you dart inside as quickly as you can. Your eyes, used to gloom and darkness, easily pick out the two inhabitants of the room. A male stands near the center of the room, a small rod of wood in his hands. His defenses are useless to him now, shrouded in darkness as he is. A female cowers at the back of the room, doing her best to stay quiet and avoid notice. A pointless attempt with your gifts. You smash the male across the face with your fist, ignoring his feeble attempt to stop you with a burst of light that is devoured by the surrounding shadows. He tumbles to the ground with a muted cry, and your dagger is at his throat before he can make another move. This one is the magick user, this one is far more dangerous and deadly. Keeping him alive you would be risk, but a worthy prize all the same.

"No! P-please! D-don't kill him! Let him live! Vel imlore!"

The woman doesn't move from her place at the back of the room, but her voice raised in panic reaches you. She speaks the common tongue, either aware, or hoping, that you can understand her. It does give you some pause, if only long enough to consider the fear in her eyes and the tears that threaten to run free. The only warning you receive of another participant in this little stand-off is the tiniest creak of wood and slight hissing giggle of a mad-urk.

"Oh, fresh blood on that blade of yours, Whisper. A good, clean kill, out in that hall. I see you've found another to wet your blade, and another besides to make it three. Perhaps I could help that along..."

The Sneak crouches at the door, his blood craze clear in his eyes. His intense gaze is fixed on the knife-ear woman, his own dagger glinting as he toys with it in his hands. He licks his lips in silent anticipation, and you would almost swear he was vibrating on the spot if your weren't sure that Sneaks had far more self-control than that...

>What shall you do?

Ostensibly knock out the magic user and take it as a slave. Let the sneak waste his prize as he pleases.

Hmm... There are certainly some good options to weigh. What about this?

The knife-ear may prove more impressive, and more useful, if she was captured rather than slain. But we'll need to distract the Sneak with a more tempting target:

"There is a round-eared pig in the next room, with plenty of blood to wet your blade. I wonder how loud you could make it squeal."

This Sneak is erratic, but could be a useful tool to our ends.

You smash your fist into the knife-ear's face as hard as you can, the woman whimpering in fear at the sudden violence. Blood pours from his nose and he appears woozy but not truly unconscious. You strike him again and watch as he finally releases his hold on awareness. With a nod of satisfaction you turn your full attention to the Sneak and his unwanted bloodlust.

"These ones are mine, Sneak. There is a round-eared pig in the next room, with plenty of blood to wet your blade. I wonder how loud you could make it squeal."

The Sneak's eyes shift from the female to rest on you, and for a moment you feel the tension that exists when an Urk considers ending another. Then the Sneak backs down, acknowledging your claim, if only for the moment. He turns away and slips further down the hall, followed soon by the sounds of terror being cut short. It seems this Sneak has little interest in prolonging his targets life beyond what is necessary.

You turn your own attention towards the only other conscious individual in the room. The knife-ear remains cowering the the back of the room, and seems to be doing her best to melt into the wall. You consider this with only mild curiosity, you'd always been told knife-ears were the more deadly among the Children of the Light. You wonder if they were wrong, or if these are just pitiful examples of their kind. Either way, they will prove themselves useful or be bartered away for something of more value. There is the matter of what to do with them in the immediate future however, and more importantly how to keep them in check. Perhaps more concerning is the presence of Knife-ears at all, particularly within the confines of some border round-ear town.

In the relative silence that settles over the room, your thoughts also turn to the matter of your vision. This raiding party would be a welcome first step in your journey towards your destiny. But they follow another now, and you would have to kill him to take his place. There is of course the option of simply venturing out on your own, perhaps convincing a few others to follow you. That would leave you with few followers, not to mention abandoning the larger spoils of the raid to the majority.

As you puzzle over these options, a war-horn sounds. The raid is being called together, to gather the riches, slaves and spoils in one place. Gorrick will take his share of course, being the raid leader, but the rest will go to those who claimed them. A good chance to challenge the Urk for his place before the whole raid...

You have a bit of time still before your presence will be missed, to prepare or interrogate, as needed.

Gorrick Blackblade is a fool, strong, but his... untimely death can be orchestrated in the coming days. He just needs to keep acting like himself and an opportunity will present itself.

But right now we need to make sure that our spoils are not stolen away from us.

Bind the hands of the knife-ears and use the pillow cases to bag their heads. The woman seems smart enough not to fight.

"Best start acting like a round-ear if you want to survive the night."

Scan the room for other valuables that Gorrick would take instead.