Circumstance

Circumstance

The sound of distant explosions was beginning to irk Grim. It wasn’t fear; any lingering trace of a fear of death had long been purged from his mind, it wasn’t concern for the damage they were causing; after all they were mostly concentrating on shelling the main Horde forces quite a way away, but it was irritation.
Every few seconds another dull crump echoing from miles away as a shell hit the floor, quickly followed by a muffled explosion and faint screams.
Constantly. Since the very second they made landfall.
It was almost mechanical. These invading orcs fought with machines and with machine like precision. This was not how orcs were supposed to fight.

Another shell exploded, this one closer than the others. Grim’s one eye twitched in annoyance.

This whole situation had spiralled rapidly from his control. If there was one thing he hated it was not being in control.
He was the master of his own fate and the master of his own destiny. His whole Clan echoed this sentiment, which was why they had refused to follow Bloodmark as commander of the Banner’s march against the invaders.
Fine. One Clan was no great loss for that organisation and it allowed the Blood Wolves the freedom to wage war the way they knew how – to strike hard and fast and fall back before being overwhelmed.
He had not expected others to come to him and seek his opinions or his support. The Bolts wanted his support to forge a faction within a faction amongst the Banners, the Marauders wanted support to form a separate faction…
Grim wanted none of it, and nor did the Clan.
He knew his Clan and he knew them well. He could read them all like a book. In some cases, like Mozrogg, a simple book with lots of colourful pictures, in other cases, like Danroth a more complex tome full of intricate drawings and veiled meanings.
But regardless, he knew the Clan would stand against him if he swore their allegiance to another.
He refused both options. The Clan would go their own way as they always did, the Bolts and Marauders could stand on their own two feet.

But then Goru had whispered in his ear. A spy was listening in.

Spies. Grim growled involuntarily. He hated spies. The idea of being spied upon struck a raw nerve – it had happened before and had nearly broken the Clan even as it first formed.
He had stormed outside and bellowed for all to hear – he had nothing to hide! The Clan would wage their own war without the Banners! The Clan’s friends were welcome to fight alongside them but the Clan would not be ruled over!
Then Bloodmark himself had shown up, perhaps in an effort to crush this stumbling and accidental ‘rebellion’ against his overlordship.
That had gone down predictably well. Riled up by his easy assumption of leadership and his insulting tones the Bolts and Marauders had rallied behind Grim.

And that was that. The fel clutch of circumstance had forced his hand.

Grim’s eye twitched again. He had replayed these thoughts in his head again and again and again since arriving in the Blasted Lands.
He was no longer in control of his own fate.

They had formed a council of equals. No one group or individual to rule over the others. They had dubbed themselves the Ironbreaker Council.
Now Grim found himself planning a campaign, and dealing with the difficulties this brought along.
The Flying Bolts had plans he barely understood; aerial dive-bombing attacks, lasers, rockets…. The Marauders were disinterested at best, their mercenary discipline meaning they obeyed orders for the most part as their own leaders were elsewhere…
The Gurubashi Empress and her warriors appeared and pledged to join, and their insular nature kept them apart from the rest of the Council.

Then Thrakha Ironsong appeared. Was she a threat? Was she an ally?
Her abdication from leadership of the Marauders was at least partly his fault. Was she here to sabotage this for him?

Grim’s eye twitched once more, causing it to water as the frequent involuntary movement irritated his eyeball.

Planning. It was more like juggling. What plans to accept and what plans to ignore, all without causing any diplomatic incidents.
It would be easier to order people to follow him, and perhaps they even would. But it would be wrong.
He was many things, he knew, but he was no hypocrite. He could not go back on his words and try to lead this Council alone.
The Council would soldier on, bickering and debating and it would win or lose on its own merit.

Another shell exploded, a little further away than the last. A single high-pitched but distant shriek pierced the air as someone was wounded.
Grim’s eye twitched again in response.