I decided to Chronicle the rise of my Orcish empire in Dawn of Fantasy through a narrative. I wasn't quite sure where to put this so if it is in the wrong area please let me know or move it
>> Near a small encampment of orcs deep in the desert of Brakental a weary traveller walked alone. Wrapped in a heavy cloak to protect against the sandstorms he trudged across the dunes. For weeks he had made his way from the Mother Womb, cast out by his clan for being overambitious. Spurned by his brothers he took up his sword, seeking his future elsewhere.
>> It was here, deep in the night that he spied the camps torches, a few pitiful lights around a single building. Its Inhabitants all slept near a single great fire, wrapped in deerskin while the chieftain sat on the steps to his grand hut, staring at his tribe. The stranger stared at this pitiful collection, and resolved to take it.
>> unhooking his sword from his back he strode past the huddle of slayers, ignoring them entirely as they noticed him and scrambled to their feet. His dark eyes fastened with the chieftains, who noticed him, rising to his feet and drawing his own weapon. No word was spoken, the challenge to his leadership was obvious and the rest of the orcs backed off to let them fight.
>> Their blades clashed, metal screeching off each other as they slashed and parried. The strangers strength kept the chieftain on the defensive, able to strike only a few times to try and keep him back. They fought around the fire, the slayers around them cheering their approval. But the chieftain was old, his fighting slower than his young rival and it was inevitable when he took a slash across the chest, cutting through his armour. Mere seconds later his weapon was knocked from his hand.
>> Kneeling in the dirt the chieftain looked into the fierce eyes of the stranger, clutching his chest wound. "I yield, Grr Mada. What was mine is yours."
>>>The stranger smiled, grasping the deposed chieftains hand and pulling him to his feet. “I need your aid, help me lead this tribe to greatness with your advice, and I shall share the riches we tear from the gellems hands. What is your name?”
>>>“I am Jentokk Karrad, Grr Mada and I will serve you gladly for sparing my life. What do you require?”
>>>“The tribe has one hut, and nowhere for the warriors or women to live. Send out the labourers to cut down the trees around the oasis, we need room for my armies.”
>>>“Armies? You brought more slayers with you?”
>>>“No, we seek out the warbands and other tribes of the area, and take their warriors. I will not be defeated in single combat by any desert tribes chieftain. Send out the labourers, clear the area of anything that can be used, and I will amass an army to retake the healing springs nearby, if my pet does not arrive beforehand.”
>>>The next few days the tribe moved with greater purpose, Labourers erecting huts from freshly cut timber, marauders roaming far and wide to bring the tribe what deer and sand lizards they could. Rudimentary palisades lined with spikes formed a wall, keeping away the goblin tribes that had taken over the springs.
>>>The new chieftain, calling himself Grell Keltakk, had taken half the slayers and journeyed out into the desert. There he had systematically challenged chieftains and war leaders, cutting them down in single combat and adding their orcs to his own. The tribe began swelling, the original few dozen being joined by hundreds more. Former enemies glowered at each other around the fires at night, duels being fought for insults, the most notable being ‘looking at me funny while armed’.
>>>Three weeks after Grell had come to the tribe it had grown to over a thousand, War halls training the young in the art of combat while the women looked after the young deep inside the huts. The palisades had been expanded, sturdy looking wooden walls being erected behind them. Further huts deeper into the desert had been erected, labourers and marauders using these small outposts to gather even more resources for the fledgling tribe. They were ready to push the goblins out of their territory.
>>>Grell stood before his army of slayers, hundreds of orcish eyes watching him as he stared at the goblin infested oasis ahead. Thousands of the little runts were readying their weapons and notching arrows to strings. The first Oasis had scattered as soon as they saw the mass of orcs approaching, quickly reforming at the second where they prepared to make their stand. Their crude shields and dented swords looked vastly inferior to the orcs newly made steel ones, freshly mined from the worlds blood, but they outnumbered the orcs nearly three to one, their numbers easily giving them the advantage in such a desolate region.
>>>Grell turned to his soldiers and raised his voice. “Slayers, warriors of my tribe, listen to me! Before today you were scattered on the winds, lost. Today you stand found, in a new tribe that will gain glory greater than anything seen before. Lend me your strength to clear these weak goblins, these intruders into my lands, our lands. We will wipe their stain out, showing our power and that we will not be defeated, we will not vanish like so many others. Will you stand by me, bleed with me, gain glory with me? Will you show the world that you are the toughest orcs, the bravest warriors? Are you with me?”
>>>Every slayer raised his voice in agreement, their roar echoing across the dunes. Swords hammered against shields, feet stamped the ground. Every orc dreamed of glory for his clan and tribe, and Grell, with his mysterious aura and intimidating personality promised them much. Grell raised his voice once more over the clamour.
>>>“Jentokk, sound the war horn!”
>>>“Yes Grr Mada,” was his reply, unhooking the ancient dragon bone instrument and bringing it to his lips. The note it unleashed was unearthly, the sound of lightning crying. The hairs of all who heard it stood up, goblins crying out in fright. Slayers pounded forward, singing the war chant as they went. Panicked goblin