The G3 Movement - Origins
First Sergeant Trask Orfin, an Orcish First Sergeant in the Imperial Army, was a simple man, with simple ambitions: To be the very best. He worked harder than any other Orc in his squad, passed training with flying colors, and had the best swinging arm in all of Igsh. He was so good at the Gopherpunt training course (627 meters was the record) that his instructor rewarded him with his own custom, enchanted hammer: "Gopher Cannon".
His posting at the Termitka Prison, therefore, was his gleeful dream. It was safe - he didn't have to fear decapitation on the front line against the League - and he was in a perfect position to enter into the romanticized position of an authoritarian prison guard, beating back riots and standing guard during the most brutal, bloodcurling interrogations. He was due for a promotion, his decorations were many, and he was paid incredibly well for his services.
The Arisen Prison Warden, Captain Yasskul Obadji, was generous in giving out awards and citations - another reason many cadets and privates put through so many requests to transfer into the prestigious establishment. Trask considered himself lucky, and well-off. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep at night, he'd think of his lengthy, successful future in the Imperial Army, and he'd get so comfortable with that joyous mental image that he would pass into a dreamy slumber to live out the fantasy.
And Trask got his wish one day. The Sergeant's lofty dreams of becoming a General were put on the fast track accelerator the moment a certain front line officer walked into Obadji's prison and - as a result - Trask's life.
Yasskul Obadji stood in his office in the top floor of Termitka prison. Hands clasped tightly behind his back, his military uniform pristine as he gazed out of his window into the prison yard. It was clear, to anyone who might see him, that Obadji enjoyed presenting a perfect appearance. It was his duty as a Captain in the Imperial Army to be infallible, especially since it was his also his duty to keep a watchful eye over the most filthy individuals in all of the Empire territories.
All enemy forces taken prisoner on the warfront were routed to Termitka. They were dangerous, unruly, and rebellious. Who wouldn't be? They were forced out of the hands of their loyal leaders and into the care of Yasker's Empire. Their belief that the League would risk a rescue operation through Nezeb - the Empire's capital city - and into Igsh - the headquarters of the Imperial Army - was incredibly foolish, but each and every prisoner held that belief close at heart despite guards reminding them of these two roadblocks every time they complained.
"The League is strong, and our strong will is testament to that! Our forces will flatten your capital, and sav--"
Obadji grinned at the memory. The prisoner who had shouted that was instantly beheaded by the hammer of the Imperial Prison Staff's top sergeant. Obadji even then had the prison yard cleared and let a few guards play a... 'peculiar game of goblinball' for an hour while everyone else was forced to watch. At the end of the game, Obadji had walked out there, showing off his clean, perfectly kept Class A parade attire. He had clasped his hands behind his back, grinned savagely, and looked at the rest of the unwillingly spectating prisoners.
"Let this be a lesson to you all. The League will not come to save you. Any more talk of a rescue operation will be crushed - literally - with the Gopher Cannon." He had pointed at a lone, tiny Gibberling, whose family had already been taken from him by the dreaded hammer. "That means you too, Slovesh."
The Warden's grin curled even more as he remembered Slovesh hide behind a Kanian prisoner in horror after he saw Sergeant Orfin raise the hammer, which had both a picture of a gopher and a Gibberling as well as numerous tiny tally marks beside each, etched into the steel side.
He chuckled darkly at the thought, despite his chagrin at the loss of the Gibberling's parents. His disappointment didn't come from an emotional distress, but rather from a strategical one. Gibberlings were particularly valuable prisoners. Often employed as spies by the League, they were privy to intelligence that many other League soldiers were not. The League wasn't very smart when it came to filling their intelligence division - they told their operatives everything about the operation they were undertaking. They let their operatives know the name of their handler. They let the operatives know where their handlers worked from (usually on Empire territory). And, finally, Gibberlings were so small compared to Orcs that all it took to get them to spill their guts about their mission was to bring Trask into the room to stand there with his hammer. His massive size and even bigger reputation was enough to intimidate them into talking.
A rough pounding on his office door shook him from his thoughts. He growled, activated his glowing green eyes, and turned. He kept his posture. "Come in," he called. An out-of-breath Corporal burst through the door; he hunched forward and heaved with exhaustion, hands on his knees, before stiffening up and managing a hasty salute.
Obadji would have chewed anyone out for slamming on his door like that, but he knew that if this was important enough for chubby Corporal Yaffins to sprint up the staircase, he could forego a slight annoyance. "At ease, Corporal. What's the issue?" He tilted his head slightly.
Yaffins hunched forward again, speaking between breaths. "Sir. . . It's. . . It's Colonel Admonitor Kahruvel sir. . . h-here. . . here for an inspection. . ."
The Warden snarled, his quizzical expression turning grim. It is coincidental that the moment he ever starts thinking about Gibberlings and their lamentable importance to the war effort, Kahruvel appears. Outranking Obadji by a full two ranks, he could do pretty much whatever he wanted, and had no regard for policy. He didn't waste time thinking about this problem, however; only on remedying it. "How far?"
The Corporal composed himself slightly. "About 900 meters, sir. . . closing in. . ."
The Yasskul growled. "Why wasn't I notified sooner?"
"Our gate guard was changing shifts, sir. . ."
The Warden glanced out his window to inspect the yard and the forced labor mines, and his hidden fears were confirmed. He kept his stern look of certainty on his face. He thought for a prolonged moment.
He nodded, and turned back to Yaffins. "Alright. Get down to Orfin, tell him to get Platoon A to move the typical prisoners into their cells. Squads 1 through 3, remain on prison detail. Squad 4 remains on patrol detail as always. Inform him that he and Platoon B are to organize the atypical prisoners into the cave in the Quarry, as planned, and then are to report back for yard duty. Dismissed." He saluted the corporal.
The Corporal saluted back, and turned on his heel. He double-timed it down the hallway, and then down the stairs. After waiting a while, the Warden decided to walk down as well - he wanted to be there when Kahruvel arrived, and he also wanted to ensure that Yaffins didn't fall and break his back while he hobbled down those stairs.
Corporal Yaffins did make it down the stairs. Obadji's men were already scrambling about, preparing for the Colonel's arrival. Trask's platoon was so quick in their given task that they were already standing in inspection formation in front of the prison yard, at attention. He nodded in approval, and asked Trask to fall out.
"Let's go to the gate. Show me," the Arisen ordered.
Trask pointed to the gate. "Right this way, sir."
The sergeant passed Obadji a pair of binoculars. "Look."
He did. Spotting the Colonel was simple enough: he was approaching at a steady pace, bare-skinned, the Xadaganian wearing nothing but underpants, combat boots, a bright red cape, and his officer's cap. He was 500 meters and still closing, stomping toward the prison with overenthusiastic fervor.
"By the Will of Tep. . ." the Warden grumbled. "Third time this week. He must be trying to impress a General. Alright, standard operating procedure, same as always." He handed Trask his binoculars back, and Trask just nodded.
And Warden Yasskul Obadji just stood, in his typical locked pose of perfection - pristine military formal uniform, hands clasped behind his back in an 'at ease' position, and waiting with a welcoming smile.
The inspection went as usual for most of the time. No one dared to comment that the Colonel was, again, in his skivvies. Admonitor carried around a long, serrated Kukri (interestingly enough, it was well hidden), and on his first visit in the past, had sliced the skin and muscle off of a Xadaganian staff sergeant's arm after the soldier started accidentally chuckling at the sight of a full-bird Colonel walking into the mess hall wearing underpants.
The Yasskul showed the Colonel around to ensure him that everything was in working order. The entire facility was spotless (as always), and many of the cells were freshly full of many pining prisoners. Admonitor was a hard man, hard as steel, always ready, willing, and able to beat the living crap out of anyone at any moment.
When the Warden showed him down a cell block, he was careful to watch Admonitor out of the corner of his eye. The colonel had a knack for unexplainably wandering off. Much to the Warden's dismay, Admonitor suddenly halted, rather than disappearing.
"Is there a problem, sir?" Obadji turned, and tilted his head quizzically as he did before at the Corporal.
Admonitor glared back. "I am tired of being babied around your facility, Warden. I don't want to be shown anymore. You may be wondering of my increased visits as of late."
Obadji tilted his head the other way now, and bowed his head a few inches, making a gesture with his hand out of respect. "I have been curious of your recent pervues, yes m'Lord."
"I don't wish to simply visit," the underwear-clad Colonel exclaimed. "I want the prison to run normally, and I wish to assist in its operation. I do not want a prissy-pants tight ship running around here when I am, I want it to run as it always does."
Until then, a prisoner gazed out of his cell, but hid his face and made a noise when the colonel made his statement about a 'tight ship', obviously stifling a giggle about the tight black underpants. This didn't go unheard or unnoticed, however.
"Give me the key to this cell, Warden." His eyes were hard. Angry.
"Y-Yes... m'Lord." The Warden looked down at his belt and stumbled with the keyring for only but a second.
In this single second, the Colonel lost patience. He turned to the cell, and pulled his vicious Kukri from his mouth, pulling it out of his throat. He raised it, and it glowed with angry, amber fury as he embued it with a white-hot enchantment. He brought it down diagonally, slashing the prison door in two. He roared, and the Kanian prisoner inside scrambled in fear, screaming for someone to save him.
"You want to see a tight ship, you dirty League wretch? I'll show you a tight ship!" Within another moment, the Kanian was split into two halves from head to stomach with the blade, and the prison cell suddenly looked very unkempt.
As the Colonel walked out of the cell, he did indeed have a very tight ship.
The Warden followed closely as Admonitor stomped around the prisongrounds, the both of them shouting at each soldier to 'get back to work' and to 'engage the prison in its normal activities'.
The Warden knew this was bad, and dreaded the fallout, but could do nor say nothing. In doing so, he would reveal what he was hiding fearfully from the Colonel. The truth was that the Colonel, in his life, had not only killed thousands of Gibberlings, but had absolutely massacred and mutilated droves and droves of them. He hated Gibberlings. He hated them with a fiery, hateful, vicious passion.
Colonel Kahruvel was so notorious in his executions that the Imperial Army commanders had to find some way to get him off of the front lines, because the mere sight of his executions of Gibberlings in the field of battle was killing Imperial morale. He actually took his sweet time doing it, pausing in battle to enjoy every single second.
Luckily, when First Sergeant Trask Orfin approached Obadji, Colonel Admonitor allowed him to speak briefly with his second-in-command in private. They took this opportunity to improvise a plan.
Obadji and Trask cleared the guards out of the top of the prison tower, and conversed about the situation there.
"I am unsure of what to do," the Yasskul sighed. "If I get the entire prison back to work, the Gibberlings will have to resume as well. The typical prisoners' presences in the quarry will draw attention to them, or somehow entice them to leave. If we send a soldier down there to inform them not to come out, the Colonel may notice the soldier. I trust you more than anyone else here, Sergeant. A working suggestion would be akin to Tensess's blessing right about now."
Trask's armor shifted as he shrugged, making a clunking. "What's wrong with him killing them?"
The Arisen scowled. "Remember the one time we forgot about the Gibberling in the interrogation room?" Trask shook his head. "He played jump rope with his intestines, Sergeant. In front of the other prisoners. Jump rope. That is incredibly extreme, even for us! I think you were away on leave when that happened."
"Yeah, but now I wish I wasn't," Trask was laughing, but stopped when he saw his captain's angered expression. "Sorry, sir... I could sneak out, though. You could order me in front of him to send a message out, and that will give me an excuse to sneak around back and hop the fence. I can sneak down and stay down there with the Gibberlings, to keep them there.
"And if he finds the hole? If he finds you in there with them?"
Trask thought for a moment. "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."
Obadji sighed, and leaned against the tower's central support, arms crossed. "I don't like the sound of that, but it's the only plan we've got. Do it. I don't want command chewing me out over the loss of all of our most valuable prisoners. Oh, and one more thing: Be sure to remind them of the interrogation room incident. The Gibberling's name was Solomon."
Trask was careful. He was a little bit afraid - going behind a Colonel's back about something like this went against everything he had ever stood for, and under the wrong circumstances, could look like treason. He was, of course, doing this with the best of intentions, but he doesn't think the Colonel will care much if he finds him hiding in a tunnel full of frightened, squealing Gibberlings.
He hopped the fence as planned, and hobbled down the quarry's wall, rock-to-rock. The Orc ran from rock to rock, and then underneath some of the quarry's supports, keeping a careful eye out for the Colonel. Obadji had suggested that he'd follow the Colonel around as always, and his joints would change color from green to bright red so that Trask would be able to spot the approach more easily. It was nearing darkness now, so it was easier to see such things and to sneak around.
He found the dug-out emergency cave well enough in the darkness. The Gibberlings squealed as expected as he walked in, and he shouted low at them. "Quiet, or I'll punt one of you into the Astral!" He growled now. "Believe it or not, I'm here to keep you alive, but the moment one of you screws this chance of a lifetime up, I'll make sure the last thing you see, before Purgatory, is Gopher Cannon turning you into a pancake."
They squeaked again as he made his threat, and then drew silent. He sat with them for a moment, and then spoke low once more. "The man who killed your friend Solomon in the interrogation room is here. The moment he knows of your presence, he will swiftly exterminate and dismember each and every one of you. I can guarantee this. So shut up. If any of you disgusting mongrels so much as sneeze, I'll drag you out and offer you up to him."
They quivered in silence, and Trask gazed at them, hammer in hand. He had a plan in case Admonitor found the cave, and standing this way was part of that plan.
But regardless, Trask's heart sank in fear as he heard every single Gibberling squeal out in terror at the same moment, and then start screaming. A red glow was coming from behind Trask. He turned. The light was not, as he thought, coming from Obadji's joint lights, but rather the Xadaganian Colonel's glaring, blazing eyes, with scarlet light blowing forth from them in fury. The Orc wondered if his life might end in that moment, if he might be simply killed right then and there. Would the colonel execute him?
No. Instead, Admonitor screamed out, with Captain Obadji cowering behind him in fear (the first time he had ever been seen trembling in terror, Trask noted). "What, in the name of Yasker, is going on in this HERETIC-FILLED TUNNEL!?"
Trask tried to find the words, and could barely string them together. His plan had almost completely disappeared from his mind. He watched Admonitor reach down his throat and pull out his blazing Kukri, and suddenly he blurted forth in a last-ditch effort to save his own life.
"These prisoners, sir! They were trying to. . . to collaboratively dig an escape! I caught them just in time. . . I spotted one run in here, sir. . ." He almost forgot to explain his leaving with a message, and followed up immediately. "While walking out of the prison, sir! I spotted one, he was climbing the perimeter fence trying to leave! He saw me, and then retreated back here!"
"And why haven't you SLAUGHTERED THE LOT OF THEM, SERGEANT?"
Trask faultered. He didn't think of this part. He paused, and then tried to give a proper response and hide his terror. He thought immediately of the Colonel's vicious executions of Gibberlings in the past. "Sir. . ! I was trying to find the one who ran!"
"WHY?! They are all equally FRAGILE, SQUISHABLE, AND OTHERWISE GUILTY OF BEING AN ABOMINATION OF NATURE!" His Kukri raised, and his eyes were fire, he started to walk forth toward Trask.
Trask came up with a last ditch response before he could be executed. "Sir! I wanted to make the other ones... eliminate him first, themselves!"
The colonel stopped short. His furious angry hatred turned slowly into a grin. His Kukri was still raised, but he relaxed slightly. ". . . . . . Very good, Sergeant. I am impressed." His Kukri lowered. "Very well. You, all of you. The one who was trying to escape across the fence. Eliminate him."
The crowd of Gibberlings, in the darkness, rustled around. Only the colonel could see the display, with his glowing eyes. Trask and Obadji traded glances for a moment, and they both knew the Gibberlings would ultimately refuse the task - there was no one to choose. After a few moments of nothing but noise, Admonitor looked at Trask. "Very well. Sergeant Orfin, would you like to join me in a friendly competitive game of Gopherpunt up in the field, in the morning?"
Trask slowly nodded, still catching his breath from his life being in danger a mere minute ago. "Yes sir. I would be honored, and delighted. . ." He hefted his hammer, and the trio walked out, with a few guards being sent to keep the Gibberlings in place for their fate at dawn.
The next afternoon, Colonel Admonitor, Warden Yasskul Obadji, and Sergeant Trask were quite chummy together. They sat in the Warden's office, Obadji behind his desk, and Trask and Admonitor sitting in the two chairs in front of it. The Arisen Warden was trying to forget the incident of the Gibberlingpunt game, as they had all been referring to, and knew it was going to be a political storm in the future. He was probably going to be docked a few months of pay. A light, but typical punishment for officers of his rank for minor infractions. He was sure now that the Colonel would try to have the charges dismissed. Admonitor was actually quite a nice guy, despite his. . . pantlessness, and his extreme hate for Gibberlings was admirable despite causing so much political damage to the war effort.
"You know," Admonitor laughed, "Trask. . . You really have something special in that hammer of yours. And I'm not just talking about the tallymarks beside the Gibberlings. Fourteen kills is nothing compared to mine, mind you - I lost space on my rear for tattooed tallymarks many a decade ago - But the hammer's spirit, and how you are connected to it. It's a real joy to be able to give a poor, wretched creature a slight moment of pleasurable flight before the final finish. I'd say it almost makes up for them being so disgustingly ugly that it urges every sane person in the vicinity to slaughter them in an instantaneous blur of fury. Wouldn't you agree?"
Trask nods, and laughs too. He was obviously enjoying this. He had, until now, been rarely able to exert his anger against Gibberlings en masse, even during usual prison breaks, as the Gibberlings are too weak to even consider facing the well trained prison guards. "I do agree, sir. I just wish we could end their suffering whenever we wanted to."
"Oh, but we can, Sergeant! We can!" The colonel exclaimed. "You see, I'm putting together a war movement, and I need your help. You'd be a perfect right hand man, and I know a good warrior and a good patriot when I see one."
Obadji tilted his head. "A war, sir?"
"Yes, a war. We may already be at war with the League, but there's an even more wild threat out there, one much more dangerous than the League as a whole. Elves and Kanians are bad enough, but even their existence in this prison or that yard is acceptable. But Gibberlings. . ? When I was but 17 years old, I once saw a Gibberling approach a young Orc child. Scared the child so deeply that it forced him into a cardiac arrest. Luckily, a doctor was nearby and saved the eight year old's life. I hear that boy now refuses to leave his home."
Trask and Obadji gazed, never having heard the story.
"Yes, my friends," the Colonel spoke. "Gibberlings are so filthy that they scare the youngest of children, even of Orcs, into untimely deaths. This is why I am inviting First Sergeant Trask Orfin to join me in my quest-- No, my life's calling and mission, to face the Gibberling Threat. With hope, effort, and a little luck, we may be able to eliminate these foul beings from every allod we can get to."
Colonel Kahruvel reached into his mouth and pulled out a bottle of vodka from the bottomless pit that was his throat. He popped the cork. "Let's drink, my friends - to our new, important war. In the name of Yasker, this Empire - and Yasker forgive me - even for those poor League fools for having to put up with these monsters in their day-to-day. Here begins our greatest effort: Our Great Gibberling Genoci--"
The last word was drowned out by the deafening sound of a Gibberling slamming against the Warden's window - some guards were playing Gibberlingpunt 'with' Slovesh, the last remaining 'atypical prisoner'.
Join the G3 Movement today - It's easy! Just copy and paste the BBCode text below into your signature to signify your allegiance to Admonitor Kahruvel's rightful quest to eliminate the Gibberling threat, and to signify your desire to crush Gibberlings on sight! Together, we can end this treachery.
Together, we can win the war, as one united Empire! Don't let us down, soldiers.
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