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PostPosted: Mon Jan 21, 2013 3:10 pm 
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History of the Infernal Choir

This is our great history, writ now so that the world might prepare for our coming. We seek glorious battle with WARRIORS! Harden your armies! Sharpen your spears! The Endbringer draws nigh.

We are of the sands and the Jraag desert. Here the weak succumb to the unending landscape of golden dunes while the strong are inspired by it. Those who thirst for water see naught but their own demise, and despair for it. Those who thirst for conquest see naught but glory, and the demise of those who would keep it from them.

Such was the thirst of our great Helltongue clan. A tribe of orckind, strong in arm and spear, swift in foot and anger, and hungry in tooth and conquest. Terrifying in the eyes of man, and unremarkable in that of orcs. Yet did the God of Blood and Spears favor us, and granted a fearsome battle against an incubi in which many of our kin met their perfect death. The demon was brought to his knees before the surviving Helltongues. And Lo! Our mighty Chieftain, To'wrack the Cleaver did approach the creature to take its head. Yet the demon did not beg for its life. It sang! Song was unheard of within the our tribe in this age, and though the words were not known to us, the music moved our souls. The demon raised his voice, no doubt in tribute to Helltongue strength. Our great chief To'wrack drank in power from the music, and in a moment of inspiration he threw his spear at the sun. So great was our chief's arm and so strong the incubi's song that the spear did pierce the sun, wounding it so as to cast the world in darkness for eight days.

In the cold and dark, our chieftain grabbed the incubi by his throat, demanding to know the secret of the creature's magic. Trembling in fear of our chief, the incubi revealed that the tongues of orcs were not delicate enough to make such magic, but he could sow the song within the wombs of the Helltongue females. While our chieftain was reluctant to accept the demon's words, the incubi foretold of a great bloodline within our tribe, yet to be born, who would raise their voices and spears to topple empires. This pleased the Great Cleaver. The deal was struck, and within less than a half-year, most every female of our tribe was carrying a new warrior in their bellies. The Incubi was released, but not before our wise chief cleaved him in such a way that he would not aid a rival tribe as he did ours.

Months did pass, and our females were nigh ripe to give birth to our newly-blooded soldiers. In our chieftain's great wisdom, he anticipated a need for teachers. Our raids were no longer for mere livestock, water and salt. Captives were ordered to raise their voices in song, and if they failed to impress our chief, their heads were taken. Those who could please To'wrack's great ears were kept to teach the young.

When the time came for the first of the newbloods to be born, a Great and Terrible sandstorm was sweeping over the camp. Spitting in the face of death, To'wrack the Cleaver went out into the flesh-stripping winds to pray to War and Hatred. He returned the next day, blind and half-mad. In the storm he had seen the Goldhaven. It was quaking, not by the shaking of earth, but from the trembling of fear. It feared the deep and thunderous voices that now sailed on the wind like javelins. The song was soon followed by an army of dark-skinned soldiers, HELLTONGUE SOLDIERS, standing taller than orc or man, and pounding the earth with every step of their mighty boots. Their rhythm poured through the sands that held Goldhaven in its tentative grasp.

The melody and words that followed it were seizing the warriors of Goldhaven, even as they formed in ranks to defend against our charge. Many of the wretches were covering their ears against the strength of our song, deafened to the barking of their own commanders. Others fell to their knees, opening mouths to scream before erupting in a pile of bloodied sand and empty suits of armor. Goldhaven's spears were soft against our armor. Helltongues crashed into them like a jackal into a nest of rats. Metal rang and arrows whispered, but the song did remain! It continued, even as Goldhaven burned.

This Infernal Choir, so To'Wrack had named us, was to be the future of the Helltongues. Those born with the song of the demon in their blood would be tattooed in black lines, each separated from the next by the width of a camel's hair. Training in both battle and song was to begin with the pupil's first step on two legs. These were the final wishes of our great and peerless chief To'Wrack before the Eyes of Madness took him. Such is the cost of seeing into the War God's divine will! Even as To'Wrack the Cleaver walked out into the desert to die, without defeat or dishonor, the cries of the first newblood rang out over our camp. So began the start of our Helltongue's rise to greatness on the wings of their Infernal Choir!

Hail and Glory be to the Helltongues! Hail and Glory be to He Who Is War!


-As writ by Torkast, Helltongue Scribe and Tenor of the 11th Infernal Choir


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