The Rise of the Cemetery

(This chapter I wrote is also passionate, so the number of overspending words will not be divided. The nearly 4,000-word chapter asks for 17K main station subscription.)

Elven continent, somewhere in the northwest wilderness.

Mountain-and-sea animal skin tents are everywhere. There are big cowhide felts like human halls, and single tents where only one "human" can curl up. However, if you look closely at it, you can see that each tent is covered with patches of patches, which are already pitiful and old.

Only in the early morning and evening, many orc soldiers have begun to gather training.

A team of tauren warriors with blue-black curved horns on their heads, wearing simple leather armor, lined up in a neat queue, training in a sweating field in a specially cleared field. The weapons they use are thick wooden piles that are held together by one person. Standing 3 meters, they can serve as the pillars of ordinary human homes.

However, it is these heavy and primitive big wooden piles that are the most convenient weapons for Tauren warriors to fight against the enemy. When a bullhead with a height of 2.5 meters and a weight of 700 pounds (more than 300 kilograms) wields a thick wooden post comparable to a human siege cone, just like playing with a light grass mustard, anyone has to sigh. A kind of innate divine power.

An adult Tauren basically has a strength of 12 points. If he becomes an elite Tauren through the brutal battlefield experience and edification, his strength can be increased to more than 15 points. At the same time, the elite human warriors usually have only 7-8 points of strength.

At the other end of the tent ocean, a group of Centaur archers are practicing archery.

Centaur is gray-brown, more than two meters tall, and has long hair. Their upper body is a human torso, including hands and head, and the lower body is a horse, including torso and legs.

Due to their "weak" power, Centaur warriors usually act as archers and spear throwers in the orc army. But if outsiders think they are bullying, it is a big mistake.

Although they are not skillful in combat, they also have the violent power and ranger speed not inferior to elite warriors. Therefore, they are archers who walk outside the battlefield. When they shoot far away, they throw short spears when they are near.

Although they are not as precise and sharp as the elves, the long-range projectiles in a group are their strengths. The strength of the rou body close to 10 points is enough for them to use a more powerful long bow to shoot wooden arrows 100 meters away. If there is a situation where close combat is required, it is not a problem for them to use a short spear to penetrate a human warrior wearing leather armor within 20 meters.

If it weren't for the Northwest Wasteland's serious lack of metal deposits, they could not be equipped with iron spearpoints and arrows, otherwise they would be the biggest nemesis of human light infantry.

Of course, in accordance with the orc's convention, they are also "lightly put into battle." Except for the quiver on the left and right sides of the horse and the leather belt holding the short spear, there is almost no protective equipment. The male centaur runs directly, and only the female centaur will wrap the animal skins on the huge tower in front of the chest. But when they ran fast, the trembling roulette ball swaying up and down was enough to make all males swallow.

In addition to these distinctive tactical special forces, the most orcish army is the green orcs with strange heads, green fangs and thick muscles.

Their origins are too chaotic and complicated, and the blood of their direct parents can no longer be investigated.

They usually have strong green muscles, wide noses, and fangs in their mouths. If you look seriously, you can still see a trace of human appearance, but these are all terrible after being destroyed by the overly ferocious appearance.

It is obvious that male orcs are taller than male humans. They are about 6 and a half feet tall when standing upright (almost 2 meters). Female orcs are slightly larger than ordinary female humans, and they are much slimmer than male orcs. But in spite of this, they all have strong muscles that are orc's signature. The fangs of female orcs are small and almost invisible. They are more like large fangs than fangs.

These fierce orcs are both qualified men and women on the battlefield. They hold wooden or stone axes, wear humble armor that barely covers their bodies, and wear a variety of pointed helmets. Once this kind of guy stepped on the battlefield, he was the most ferocious and violent warrior. Once he was stained with blood, he would only scream forward and even all non-orc moving objects.

As for tactics or something? Let them go to hell!

At this point, the orcs of the Klein plane have a fight with the demons of the abyss world, the same mindlessness, the same intrepidity!

But the only difference with the abyss demons is that the orcs attach great importance to honor and faith.

Their wielding blades are always aimed only at existences other than orcs, and there are few large-scale internal wars like the human kingdom. However, with the desolation of the northwest wilderness in the past hundred years, the desertification trend has become more and more serious, and the living environment of the orcs has become more and more difficult.

This forced the orcs to continually flock to the forest and use their own flesh and blood to **** part of the fertile land and the food on which they lived from the **** bean sprout elves.

The patriarch Vanel of the Stone Hammer tribe stood silently on the high hill, looking down at the lively and vibrant tribal camp at his feet. Looking at a team of fiercely trained tribal warriors, watching housewives picking berries and plant rhizomes in the distance, and watching groups of green-skinned children running between tents, he has an unspeakable heart. Torment.

The night before the tribe's high priest, Sanger, found him and told him that he had been unable to sleep for two nights.

Unknown terrible crisis ...

The doomsday disaster that swept across the elven continent ...

These disasters far beyond the limits of his simple brain imagination are coming to all orcs.

So at this time, did you sit down and watch the elves who occupied nearly 80% of the fertile land of the elven continent? Or call all the clan leaders to send troops to seize the fertile land from the elves now?

This kind of question is not what his brain with limited brains can think about, so he is waiting, waiting for the most wise high priest of the tribe to tell him the answer directly.

In the huge cowhide tent behind him, a sacrificial ritual of praying to the spirits of the ancestors has been carried out for a day and night. .

Since the ancient wars, the beast gods who protect the orcs have fallen asleep. The total number of orcs who are less than 400,000 can't support the beast gods that once had strong divine power. Therefore, the beast gods whose divine power fell again and again could only choose to sleep.

The beast **** could not respond to the call and prayer of the orcs, so more orcs gave up the beast **** belief and instead embraced the spirit of the ancestors.

The spirit of the ancestors seriously said that it was just a powerful warrior who had died in the past in a certain tribe.

If you are on a low-magic earth, this kind of faith is nothing more than a reverence and memory of a name when you are bored in your leisure time. But in the high-magic multiverse, faith is also a powerful force.

When the name of a tribal warrior is chanted and prayed thousands of times, then its dead spirit may return to the tribal totem symbol and become a kind of trapped spirit-like existence. Usually such a totem symbol is something like a thick wooden post or a tribal banner.

In this way, when the warriors of this tribe are bloodshed to kill enemies on the battlefield, as long as they pray prayerfully to the tribal totem, they can let the heroic spirit cling to their bodies and live part of their extraordinary strength.

This extraordinary power is either an increase in strength, or a powerful regeneration, or fear of pain ... In short, praying to different heroes will have different individual increases, which has spawned a new fighting profession in the tribe. ——Shaman.

Shamans are also called totem masters. They always carry large and small totems with them. In fact, they are short thick wooden sticks painted with various patterns. Whenever they need to fight, they will quickly insert the totem into the soil, and then through a short prayer spell, let the tribal heroes project their accumulated power onto these totem poles.

In this way, a small field-type aura blessing appeared.

The small tribes can only be called heroes. Only large tribes like Warhammer can have powerful ancestral spirits.

Usually the tribe gathers the power of faith with the spirit of the ancestors, and then guides this power in the form of a totem pole during wartime. So the shaman is a special caster in the orc tribe.

While Vanel was meditating silently, the dazzling blood-red awn in the cowhide tent where the high priest lived was finally dimmed. Soon, an orc warrior ran to summon him.

Vanell opened the big tent with his sturdy arms and walked in with great strides.

The spacious large tent is full of thick blood and pungent herbal smell, and more than a dozen orc women are retreating lightly. The blood of the cow's head that had been directly cut off had drained, piled up together, and looked terrible. Next to the bull-head festival, there are five elf girls with twisted and twisted bodies, their throats have been cut open, and there is a huge blood hole in front of their chests.

Right in the middle of the pile of sacrifices, a tall and rough warhammer totem banner was hunting.

There was no wind in the tent, but the flag of the big animal's hide was completely stretched out, and the pattern of an orc with a warhammer roaring in the sky above was clearly visible.

Vanell bowed respectfully to the banner of war, silently chanting the names of the spirits of the ancestors.

After the brief prayer ended, he turned his eyes to the high priest Sanger who was sitting on the side of the big tent.

"The ominous sign!" The day and night prayer ceremonies also obviously exhausted all of Sanger's physical strength. He couldn't help pulling out the pungent grass cake and the black scorpion from the rough clay pots around Chew in your mouth and swallow.

"We can't wait any longer. The spirit of the ancestors can't extend their power so far. But even if I look at it, I see a sea of ​​blood and countless terrible enemies.

They come from the ground, they come from the sky,

They cover the sky and the sun, they are endless ...

The orcs are falling, the tribes are slaughtered,

The warriors shed blood in the desperate killing,

The tribe's totem was also drowned in the sea of ​​blood ... "

The thin Sangh high priest is a well-known wise man and sage among all the orc tribes. The words poured out in his mouth are often the most direct admonitions of the spirit of the ancestors.

Vanell closed his eyes in pain.

Another difficult choice!

Such divination results must be communicated to all big tribal leaders immediately, and it is time for them to meet again.

After a short break, the thin and weak human priest Sanger opened his turbid and dark eyes and stared at Vanel momentarily.

"Vanelle, you are a good leader. Your bravery made the whole orc wasteland eulogize your name, and your wisdom won the respect of all priests and shamans. At this time, we have no time to hesitate nor to Wait. It's time for us to come up with a decision. Remember, everything is for the tribe! "

Vanell opened his eyes again, and there was unspeakable sorrow and hesitation in his fierce eyes. But with the last sentence of Sanger's high priest, all this was swept away.

He thumped his chest lightly and repeated it solemnly.

"All for the Horde!"

As he turned and walked away from the big tent, the roaring roar of the sky shook the entire Warhammer tribe.

"All for the Horde!"

All the orcs who heard the words could not help boiling their blood, flapping their chests in unison.

The roars that followed one after another rang through the camp, and they spread to the distance ...