Sewers of Estark: July 2021

As the sun begins to rise Ogron leads the cult to the East as they begin their pilgrimage. Crossing the plains atop the Cliffs of Insanity a dozen Orcs and their companions move ever towards the sun. Around midday, as the sun is overhead they stop and worship. On their knees with arms out, the cultists pray to Mog, the giant red fire lord. As the sun moves west the red-clad Orcs rise to their feet and start to follow Mog once more, eventually arriving back to their main encampment where the day began. As the cult returns the sun sets behind the mountains and they stop again. This has happened for hundreds of years, and hopefully forever for the Keepers of the Light of Mog.

A path carved into the grasslands is a tempting road for adventures after crossing the Bridge of Death, however if on the trail it is impossible to avoid these raving fucking lunatics. Constantly setting themselves on fire, and burning literally everything they come across, an unfortunate traveller meets the Keepers of the Light of Mog. Today it is you, reader. You answered the riddles of the bridgekeeper then found this nice path, stomped right into the dirt. Deeming it a safe, well traveled road, you continue towards the Dwarven city at the end of the cliffs and in the foot of the mountain. You retain a package to be delivered to the Thane of Memnuldir, a gift from Lord Estark.

Not long after setting off on the trail you see smoke coming from another hill over. It’s probably just a barbecue, or someone smoking a fat joint. You reach the top of the hill and begin to hear gleeful laughter and screaming coming from below. You lower yourself and take a peek at what’s happening, and to your disgust you see a handful of Orcs and a man in bright red platemail brandishing a shield that shone like the sun. The man raised his right arm and revealed a heavy mace, pointing it at the two bearded Ogres and shouting, “αποτεφρώ!” Then a stream of flames spreads across them, and they scream while the others dance and laugh gleefully. Eventually they start to roll around in the dirt, then they keep on walking.

You’re left crouching on the hill in deep thought. “What the fuck?” You think to yourself until you decide to wait back here and set up camp for the night. There were a few hours of daylight left but you needed to get a fire of your own going to cook the rabbits caught along the way. Over time the screaming and laughter was far enough away that it eventually faded into the night sky and out of your head. You awaken well rested and pack up your bedroll and other things, and begin on the path westward once more. Still perturbed by the scene yesterday, you continue warily on, lightly treading through the hills.

Over an hour passes before you hear the voices again. Fearfully, you move away from the road. As quickly as you can isn’t fast enough as you run through the grassland to the East the man in red armor spots you moving and shouts again, flames begin to spew towards you. No turning back, the grass is ablaze. Thick black smoke keeps the fanatics from keeping a line of sight on you and you are hidden, but also on fire, and blind. You keep running until you fall to the ground from a lack of air and quickly you’re surrounded. 7 blades, with feathers the same color as the sun are jammed into your face. The biggest of the Orcs, covered with thick red platemail, grabs you by your jerkin and pulls you to your feet. Speaking in common tongue with a deep raspy voice he asks you, “Does the fire of Mog burn inside you?” As hot shit comes out of your ass, in fear you blurt out, “No!” The Orc holds you in place while the man in red steps forwards and pulls his mace back behind his shoulder, delivering a bone breaking strike to your ribcage. Moments later you begin to feel a heat in your chest, then you start coughing up blood, and ashes, until flames are crawling up the back of your throat and into your face. Luckily for you the fire quickly destroys your nerve endings and you don’t feel much pain as you are incinerated inside out. Eventually the fire rises through your nose and mouth, and onto your face and body. Your eyes melt onto your immolated skull, then beheaded and preserved, while the Keepers of the Light of Mog feast on your roasted flesh. Sleep Well, Dear Reader.

This is for the people of the sun

The Keepers of the Light of Mog is a small force made up of orcs, ogres and a chaotic priest. Most of the figures I used are Heritage Orcs, with a few early Citadel models to be used as heroes. I’ll be using rules from 3rd edition warhammer, and these guys will be used as a 500 point warband, or used in a game of d&d.

Level 15 Orc hero w/ heavy armor and shield (100)