Maulorg, the Bloody Hand Galileo's Request Smoke from the funeral pyres formed a velvety curtain, a backdrop to the imposing oruk that stood in the midst of the field. It did not swirl around him, though, as if it too was afraid. The screams from the orcish insurrection leaders that had been cast still-living onto the flames had dropped to a low chorus of moans and whimpers, and the instigator of the torture at last broke the tense silence. "You must be the dumbest pack of pigsucklers it's ever been my miserable elf-kissing duty to address!" Hardened killers to the last, the assembled legion of orcs nevertheless flinched back from the thunderous crack of that voice. It did not contain the threat of violence, but the inevitability of it. "Still, if my little show," he jerked his head over his shoulder at the feebly twitching living bonfire, "has got your attention? Got you to stop letting your dwarven mothers bugger you with their axe hilts? Good! Then I'll continue... "NOW! Lord Grial tells me that some of you turd-footed whelps decided that his plan wasn't good enough for you. Seems you had something better to do that march to the Burning Line and throw your useless crapsack bodies onto some fey spears." The oruk stomped back and forth as he spoke, punctuating his deafening snarls with jabs from the high-quality vardatch and matched axe he carried. The audience followed him with fearful eyes, their ears pressed close to their skulls anxiously. "So your milk-drinking grak-bollock licking commanders decided that a little detour to the south might be in order, apparently! Decided to pillage some pissant horsefolk tents instead of embracing your duty! Your destiny! The one thing that makes your Black Fatherblessed lives worth living... "WAR!" The oruk outdid himself. The very mountains shuddered as he leaned forward, scarlet armour glinting, and drenched one of the sergeants in spittle. More quietly, at least by comparison, he continued. "I am here for one purpose, one purpose only. To keep Lord Grial's order. Even if it kills someone..."

His arm lifted and snapped forward, hurling his vardatch through the air. The weapon spun on itself in a way that should have been impossible. The orcs recoiled and gave an "Ooooooh..." of repulsion and awe as one of their own exploded into a 20' geyser of blood and warm entrails, hacked apart by the oruk's blade. The vardatch's flight continued, but it arc up and around, speeding towards its thrower. He caught it out of the air with ease, and nodded towards the steaming mess of ex-soldier. "... you, for instance." Maulorg the Bloody Hand, the Fey-Killer's Wogren, Grial's Vardatchman turned from the rebel warband and marched towards his own command staff. Stationed around the 60 or so unarmed traitors were 20 of his own men, distinguishable by their finer armour and crimson-stained lips and cheeks. "Sleherron ... finish it." For a moment, Maulorg's titanic voice seemed weary as he pushed passed the reeking lizard creature. To this day, the troglodyte was amazed that one so different from his species could pronounce his name correctly. Sleherron raised his spear, and gestured a prearranged signal for the Redmaw guards. With great discipline, the elite orcs lifted their tridents, and set about their deadly work. Screams filled the air behind him as Maulorg reached his scribe, a thin, pale orc that trembled uncontrollably. The oruk gave the feeble demi-priest a bone shaking slap on the back, seemingly having recovered from whatever shadow momentarily crossed his mind. "Well, Janko, where to next?" The orc whimpered in pain, and quickly responded: "Lord Grial sends word that there are humans in the towns along the Hanseldael river, teaching each other the arts of fist fighting..." He needed say no more. "Finish, quick, boys!" Maulorg bellowed back at his soldiers. "And make sure you bring the catapult. I think I feel another round of Fling the Baby coming on!" His tusked mouth twisted into a smile of savage glee, Maulorg strode out of the burning, death-filled camp to spread obedience to his lord with a glad heart.

Male Orog [3 HD] Rogue 2 / Fighter 2 / Wildlander 2 / Barbarian 2 / Oppressor 5; CR 15, Large humanoid; HD 2d6 + 2d10 + 2d8 + 2d12 + 5d8 + 52 (115 hp); Init +3; Spd 40 ft.; AC 23 (Touch 12, flat-footed 22); Base Atk +12; SA Rage 1/day, sneak attack +3d6, master hunter [orcs, elves] +2, keep awake, brutal grappler, intimidating edict; SQ Oruk traits, evasion, trapfinding, uncanny dodge, infamy; Grp +24; Atk +18/+18 melee (sweetness and light, 2d8+9 / 2d6+9); AL LE; SV Fort +18, Ref +7, Will +2; Str 26, Dex 16, Con 19, Int 16, Wis 13, Cha 17. Skills: Bluff +9, Climb +16, Gather Info +9, Intimidate +20, Jump +14, Knowledge (Northern Marches) +9, Knowledge (Shadow) +8, Listen +9, Sense Motive +8, Spot +9, Survival +11, Swim +14. Languages: Orcish, Black Tongue, Trader's Tongue, Norther (2), High Elven (2). Feats: Endurance, Improved Grapple, Improved Unarmed Strike, Iron Will, Persuasive, Track, Two Weapon Fighting, Two Weapon Parry. Class Features: Keep Awake (if he reduces a creature to less than 0 hp, he may choose to drop it to exactly 0 instead), Brutal Grappler (adds sneak attack damage to damage done while grappling), Intimidating Edict (if he uses keep awake on a creature while in view of others, he may issue an order that has the effect of a mass suggestion DC 19), Greater Intimidation (half time to use Intimidate), Infamy (-2 to peaceful interactions with those who know him, but +2 Intimidate). Possessions: Sweetness (+1 throwing, returning large crafted vardatch), Light (+1 large battleaxe that grants a +2 bonus to the wielder's AC), masterwork spiked full plate armour with dragonhide articulations and backing (+2 natural armour, saves against sleep and electrical attacks). Unlike most oruks, which are painted only in shades of grey, brown and black, the creature before you is a riot of colour. His grey skin is covered in interlocking, angular bright green and bone white tattoos in abstract, geometric forms, and his spiked plate armour is bright scarlet. His shoulders rise and fall with a sense of barely suppressed fury, and each long, muscle-knotted arm holds a formidable weapon. One is a vardatch made of polished steel with a honed edge and carefully inscribed dwarven

runes on the blade; the other is a vicious cleaver of an axe, the blade covered in glittering white sparks. The oruk speaks at you in orcish, displaying the most awe-inspiring thunder of a voice you've ever heard. The only word you manage to pick out before it raises its twin weapons and lunges towards you in a storm of violence is 'Grial!'. Maulorg's early life was unremarkable. He was born and raised in the Mother of Pain tribe, and joined a regiment of oruks destined for the northern war against the Erunsil. In the white woods, he excelled as a tactician, working out ways to stay hidden and ambush even the most circumspect elves, despite his great size. His greatest talent, though, lay in avoiding patrols and arduous duties so he could lounge at camp and hone his fighting style. He was neither lazy nor cowardly, precisely, and revelled in battle and butchery as much as any of his breed, but nevertheless Maulorg felt more comfortable orchestrating things from behind the scenes, manipulating his fellow oruks and terrorising the orcs. Cleverer and more adaptable than most, he tired of seeing thousands of Odrendor cut apart by wraith-like Erunsil, and sought ways to change the nature of the northern war into something that would favour his side more. His machinations eventually brought him to the notice of Grial Fey-Killer, who ordered Maulorg to attended his camp at Eisin. Here, at last, was a commander Maulorg could look up to and respect. The oruk became Grial's most devoted follower, taking every farsighted strategy and insightful logistical decision as gospel. In return, the Fey-Killer saw that Maulorg could be a genuinely useful lieutenant, and fostered the intelligence and zeal of the oruk, making him Grial's executioner, enforcer, herald and vardatchman. Maulorg has served well for many years now. He is the one Grial calls on to keep order between the tribes and legions; usually, a bloody execution or two combined with some shouting is all it takes to dampen down any lingering ill will between the orcish groups. Just as often, though, Grial sets Maulorg on the rebels and resistance groups that infest central Erenland like locusts.

The Redmaw Guard Sleherron; Male Troglodyte [2 HD], Scaled Horror 8; CR 9, Medium-sized humanoid (reptilian); HD 2d8+8d10+40 (94 hp); Init +0; Spd 20 ft.; AC 21 (Touch 10, flat-footed 21); Base Atk +7; Grp +10; Atk +10 melee (1d6+4, bite) and +8/+8 melee (1d6+1, 2 claws); SA: Stench, Improved Grab; SQ: Darkvision 90', Scent 180', underwater freedom of movement, DR 2/-; AL CE; SV Fort +9, Ref +2, Will +2; Str 16, Dex 10, Con 18, Int 11, Wis 14, Cha 13. Skills: Climb +8, Escape Artist +7, Hide +6 (+10 in rocky surroundings), Knowledge: Religion +8, Listen +7, Move Silently +0, Spot +7, Survival +10. Languages: Draconic, Black Tongue. Feats: Ability Focus (stench), Enlarged Stench, Improved Natural Weapons (Bite, Claws), Multiattack, Spring Attack, Silent Spell, Still Spell. Special Abilities: Stench (45' radius, Fort DC 17 or be sickened for 1 minute). Possessions: Torque of Razor Fangs (+1 natural weapon), Laogzed's Serpentskin (+1 breastplate of improved slick). Spells Prepared (base DC 12 + spell level): 1- Endure Element, Entangle, Pass Without Trace; 2- Bear's Endurance, Spike Growth; 3- Water Walk, 4th- Animal Growth. Scaled Horror is a PrC for reptilian and amphibious champions, from Savage Species. Spawned in a warm, rancid cave complex on the southern coast of Eredane, Sleherron's people were enslaved by Jahzir in the hopes that they would prove useful in driving the dwarves out of their burrows. That plan failed, but Sleherron showed an unusual degree of enthusiasm and battlecraft, so was conscripted into the Abominable Legion, and eclectic group of blight ogres, siege giants, demons and other monstrosities. He was dispatched to the Erethor front, where he honed combat skills unique to his species and eventually met with Maulorg as the oruk was leading a detachment of Grial's elite guard. Maulorg impressed the troglodyte, who joined up with Maulorg's Redmaws as soon as a position was offered. A rather private, even introverted creature, Sleherron does not discuss the ways of his people. He views his time amongst the surface races as a mystical quest to help him

better understand the ways of the Laogzed the Devouring Serpent, their name for the Shadow. He is something of holy warrior amongst troglodytes, devoted to exploring the esoteric mysteries of evil and applying those techniques to battle.

Jankor; Male Orc Adept 5; CR 5, Medium humanoid; HD 5d6+5 (23hp); Init +0; Spd 30 ft.; AC 12 (Touch 10, flat-footed 10); Base Atk +2; Grp +3; Atk +3 melee (1d8+1, morningstar); AL LE; SV Fort +2, Ref +1, Will +6; Str 12, Dex 10, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 15, Cha 11. Skills: Concentration +6, Heal +7, Profession: Scribe +7, Spellcraft +7. Languages: Orcish, Black Tongue, Trader's Tongue, Erenlander, Norther, Old Dwarven Pidgin, High Elven Pidgin. Feats: Art of Letters, Dodge. Possessions: Morningstar, leather armour, Darkboon Medallion (permanent protection from good). Spells Prepared (base DC 12 + spell level): 0- Cure Minor Wounds, Purify Food and Drink, Touch of Fatigue; 1- Bless, Burning Hands, Cure Light Wounds; 2- Bear's Endurance, Cure Moderate Wounds. A snivelling, cowardly orc, Jankor was trained as a scribe and used at a dogsbody in Theros Obsidia for a few years, before being seconded to Grial's command. As one of the few legate-trained orcs available, Sunulael hoped to use him as a spy in the Fey-Killer's camp. The canny Grial, though, never trusted Jankor, and treated him as a mushroom: kept him in the dark and fed him dung. Jankor provides his moderate level of magical support to the Redmaws, but Maulorg trusts him no more than Grial. With his tacit consent, the other orcs treat Jankor as a whipping boy and target of constant mockery.

Redmaw Guardsman; Male Orc Fighter 4; CR 6, Medium-sized humanoid; HD 4d10+8 (30hp); Init +1; Spd 20 ft.; AC 16 (Touch 11, flat-footed 15); Base Atk +4; Grp +9; Atk +9 melee (1d10+7, 19+/x2 or x3, crafted vardatch), +5 ranged (1d10, 19+/x2, 120ft, heavy crossbow); SQ: Orcish traits; AL NE; SV Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +1; Str 20, Dex 13, Con 15, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 9. Skills: Intimidate +11, Listen +2, Profession: Soldier +7, Spot +2. Languages: Feats: Alertness, Cleave, Endurance, Power Attack, Rapid Reload. Possessions: Blackened chainmail, crafted vardatch, heavy crossbow, quiver of 6 bolts, seven crimson gnaw roots.

The Crimson Root The bloodhorn is a tree that grows at northern latitudes, favoured by orcs for building furniture and supports for their lairs. Its roots are suffused with a thick red sap that, when treated by a herbalist becomes a sour, chewy resin. The nightsoil alchemists have long known of its protective qualities, but until recently the groves of bloodhorn have been too scarce to make use of it. During the war in the Veradeen, however, they discovered a kind of fungus that inhabits the trees, forcing them to grow swiftly, if bent and deformed. The Redmaw guards, Grial's elite warband, are issued with crimson gnaw roots to improve their stamina in battle. Anyone that chews on one gains DR 1, DR 3 (total) vs nonlethal damage and +2 to Fort saves. Side Effects: Persistent users develop a red discolouration around their mouths, and are left more susceptible to mind-affecting magic (-2 to saves).