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Cult of the Storm Campaign: Goblins-Orcs-Dark Elves

Cult of the Storm Campaign Map


Of the Stormlords, only I am worthy to wield the just blade in the Valley of Wonders. While others dare not risk their hiding places, I shall endure the light, gathering true power for a true king, Meandor. I am here; I am ready.

Cult Campaign 1-1

Cult Campaign 1-2

Part 1: Goblins

Cult Campaign 1-3

Cult Campaign 1-4

Cult Campaign 1-5

Cult Campaign 1-6

Branch A:

Cult Campaign 2-1a

Cult Campaign 2-2

Branch B:

Cult Campaign 2-1b

Cult Campaign 2b-2

Branches rejoin

Cult Campaign 3-1

Cult Campaign 3-2

Cult Campaign 3-3

Cult Campaign 3-4

Here the player can choose between Orcs and Lizardmen. The canonical Keeper campaign describes the Cult as allying with the orcs.

Part 2: Orcs

Cult Campaign 4-1

Cult Campaign 4-2

Cult Campaign 4-3

Cult Campaign 5-1

Cult Campaign 5-2

Cult Campaign 6-1

Cult Campaign 6-2

Cult Campaign 7-1

Cult Campaign 7-2

Cult Campaign 7-3

Cult Campaign 7-4

Cult Campaign 7-5

Here the player can choose between Dark Elves and Undead. The canonical Keepers campaign indicates the Cult leads the Dark Elves out of the shadow, choosing the Undead switches to the corresponding branch of the Cult Renegade Campaign.

Part 3: Dark Elves

Cult Campaign 8-1

Cult Campaign 8-2

Cult Campaign 8-3

Cult Campaign 8-4

Cult Campaign 9-1

Cult Campaign 9-2

Cult Campaign 9-3

Cult Campaign 10-1

Cult Campaign 10-2

Cult Campaign 10-3

Cult Campaign 11-1

Cult Campaign 11-2


The final map is identical in all branches. Depending on the races chosen during the game, the player will play as either the Keepers, the High Men, the Cult of the Storm or the Undead. The player starts with a city of all races played. The Humans are a fifth faction, always played by the AI, and is allied to the High Men.

Cult Campaign Finale-1

Cult Campaign Finale-2

Cult Campaign Finale-3

Plain text transcript

Of all the Stormlords, I will write the testament of glorious change. Too long have the beings in sunlight made a pretense of peace to drive us deeper into shadowy exile. Ancient Lord Inioch kept the Valley of Wonders in perfect order until beings called Humans overran it. These short-lived mortals desired anarchy and bloodshed over Inioch's reign. Centuries pass, but each time we seek revenge, our enemies, led by Keepers thwart us while Humans build their homes upon our bones. Meandor summons all the Cult of Storms to stop neglecting the duty to our progenitors and act. Rise from banishment, out of the caves and clefts in rock. The time of bondage is ended. A star of justice burns over the guilty Humans-over our Valley of Wonders. Unlike us, they shall have no shadow wherein to hide; for the darkness belongs to Meandor. Yet, deceivers control the surface world. The Keepers ignore the ancestral blood which pleads for vengeance. They favor a fate of slow extinction. They suffer for the lie of peace, blinded by the daylight, believing calm can be achieved by cooperation. But I know the truth. Only by coercion can true peace by attained.

- - - Goblins

The other Stormlords laugh and sigh relief. Cowards! They say, I must prove my worth to the Cult. While they hide in shadows, I shall accomplish Meandor's bidding. The Goblins are eager to die for a cause, looking back only to a lifetime of slavery. I will show them their strength, and they will be slaves no longer. I shall record all their exploits, and they will see me as the first god that didn't abandon them. For many years, the Goblins have toiled, secretly crafting a cavern beneath the Aldorian channel. I will raise an army of Goblins and strike against the queen of Aldor's Elves. The mission is simple: Assassinate Elwyn, a key leader among the Keepers. The other Stormlords are loath to strike against her, believing her palace to be impregnable. So while they cower, I will finish Meandor's scheme. Upon the isle, the Keepers shelter a village of Goblin refugees, naively believing they can change their feral nature. The fools now harbor more spies for the Cult of Storms than we could have hoped to place and when we appear, the village will join our assassination goal. About the Goblins: From birth, Goblins endure slavery, whether by their own kind or by bully races. They are nasty and clever, employing all sorts of deviant methods to compensate for their small physiques in battle. Though greedy, they are easily intimidated and fight for little more than the crack of a whip. Goblin foot-soldiers use long spears to get the first strike on enemies. Others employ poisoned darts and blowguns. Frail and worthless members of Goblin society are given the task of delivering explosive bundles which can be used to destroy walls and enemies with devastating effectiveness.

Julia should thank me. By slaying her mother, she can claim to rule Aldor, though Meandor is the true heir. History cannot forget me. I have sent the Goblins scattering across the countryside. Mobs of vengeful Elves stalk my decoys. The forces of Aldor scatter, while I move to the next phase of Meandor's plan to cripple the Keepers. The Halfling United Cities are now under siege, but those besieging are morons. Without my help they will fail. Time is short. I debate whether to follow the established Northern Trade Route, or a subterranean path beneath the impeding mountains.

Branch A: A runaway slave, a Goblin once the property of an Orc warlord, fled from an underground passage infested with Dwarves.  In a show of magnanimous mercy, I have not to executed the Goblin fugitive. We'll all have plenty of new slaves, once the Halflings fall. The Orcs fight for control of the caves, and while I am tempted to aid them, the utmost goal is the city just through the caves called Lunaris.  It must fall within 20 days or the Cult's plans to take the United Cities will fall and the Keepers will win this war before it starts.

I can understand why my worshipers might flee the Orc chieftains. I can see that if the Orcs are to be valuable in this conflict, they will need my tutelage in battle. It nauseates me that the Orcs, with their formidable troops, could be intimidated by these Dwarven runts who dig in the dirt. Such incompetence! Is it any wonder that we have hidden in shadows for centuries? Destiny prods me righteously onward, justice requires I purge this corrupt world, and as Lunaris, all so-called fair races will fall, one by one before my might.

Branch B: With Keepers searching the wilderness for assassins, this route is the surest way to the next conquest. I look forward to enslaving his cowardly race of decadents. No more will they plague the land with their nauseating music and cloying sweet liquor. I have promised my eager Goblin minions a dozen Halfling slaves each. Tired of slavery, my Goblins are eager to fight, but we must hurry. I've only 20 days to take the city Lunaris at the end of the Trade Route before my diversion is discovered and all opportunity of destroying the United Cities disappears.

My swift journey and the capture of Lunaris sent the pitiful Halflings scampering to their burrows. And yet, as we arrive, the Orc and Goblin forces languish in reluctance. The Orcs' many defeats have made them sluggish to fight in the sunlight. I can see it is time for me to take control of these forces. As other Stormlords cower, I delight in the upcoming conflict.

Branches rejoin: Justice rages against the idle Halfling race. As open allies with the Keepers, they must be punished most severely. Too long have they occupied the choice isles of the Inland Sea with no righteous ambitions save to annoy. Their capital city, Lyra, is the key to their fall. Without the capacity to recruit their more devious faerie-allies the Halflings will fail and flee. To the east tribes of Goblins amass the instruments of death and the scent of blood and smoke attracts blood-lusted Trolls and Orcs to join our siege.

How can I sleep, when I have to write of our glorious victory? Below me a chorus of sublime agony echoes through the shattered ruins of Lyra. The Halfling women shriek sweet music as my Goblin children take their reward-such jubilation from a race long subjected to slavery. In this victory our cause is proven just. This is the meaning of the star in the sky. This wound in the black night will close only by lancing that which festers across the realm. As ravens blacken the battlefield, I must turn my attention to other scavengers. The Cult's Stormlords gather on the morrow to divvy up the spoils of my victory. The squabbling fools will ruin all I've done, if I allow them any crucial roles in Meandor's ploy. It will be difficult resisting the urge to have them all killed, but no, they can still be used, or at least their resources. I will be about the more important business of gathering an invincible army for Meandor. But truth is, I await for specific commands from Meandor, himself.

- - - Orcs

While Meandor assumes the Orcs will join us, I know them. The Orc legions promise obedience with drooling mouths, but exude an odor of rebellion. I, alone, can bridle these chaotic creatures. Orcs understand but one language: War. The realm is in chaos. Stormlords have displaced hosts of Dwarves, while Azracs, seeing the chaos, invade Orc territories to the south. Instead of repelling the invading forces, the Blackfist and Deadclaw clans fight amongst themselves. I will put an end to these squabbling forces, and hone the Orc legions into the Cult's weapon of vindication. About the Orcs: Orcs are loathsome, foul creatures, living for the taste of blood. Their strength is unparalleled, but they are stubborn servants hearkening to carnal lusts. Even Orc women may serve as ferocious fighters. The smallest tribal gatherings employ deadly warriors, archers and machines for battering. Kobolds inhabit Orc settlements, shuffling through their garbage mounds. While Shamans curse their shredder-bolt ballista javelins, to deliver nasty wounds. Heavily armored warlords charge into battle, flashing their two-handed swords about with deadly accuracy.

The Orcs swarm over their kill. The Orc factions are united. The Dwarves cower. Azrac cities fall to the hungry hordes. I have achieved my real design: Not the spoils of conquest, but a nation consumed with bloodlust! Under the flag of the Cult, Orc stomachs grumble greedily anticipating the next kill. Now I learn that the century-old Bormac Orcbane, a Dwarven hero freed from a Cult trap, has caused the Goblin laborers to revolt and threatens to disrupt my passage through the Ashen Steppes. I will secure both regions.

Will I allow my children to go astray? How can they forsake me so? After all that I have given them, they pin their hopes in Keeper lies and the feeble aid of Halflings and Dwarves! They would cash in their favored rank for immediate reward, but they err. Have they learned nothing? My Goblin children must first labor, then they will know freedom from bondage. The Goblin heretic, Gurkin, aided by the Keepers, will be put down, and my children will know the punishment of infidelity. The mountains will not shelter them from my nurture.

My children returned to me. Infants. They are impressionable. I have impressed the necessity of fidelity upon them. They will not stray again. And where are the deceivers who brought my children such anguish? Did the Keepers keep them from harm? As always they talk peace, but are helpless to back their pretty words with actions. Peace is a lie. The wild world teaches that only the strongest predators survive. All must fall prey to their appetites. I regret not my actions. My children are stronger now. Both Orc and Goblin are ready for the awaiting hunt.

The time has come for the Orcs to taste Human blood. The Humans of the Ashen Steppe will fall, as an omen to what awaits their accursed race in the Valley of Wonders. I have sent a warning to the Azrac king lest he gets ideas about taking back a land which was once theirs. The Azracs had their time and fell to the Humans, so slaying them willd be simple enough, should they choose to ignore my threats. The Azracs are a decadent, ancient race plagued by superstition. Surely they would not be stupid enough to resist me.

The Ashen Steppe is mine. The Orcs celebrate by breaking things once attached to their enemies. Across the Ashen Steppe, shrieks of horror batter the fleeing enemy. There is nothing but echoes. My Orcs shattered the Human resolve. The Azracs have buried their courage in the dunes and dare not raise a weapon against me. Now a new voice counters my own, and some Orcs heed it foolishly. An old foe Bormac Orcbane, once trapped by the Cult, has been set free, and already the Dwarven menace has driven out and destroyed many of the Orcs I was to recruit.

Am I the only Stormlord of ability? As I prepare for the next great battle, I received word that Melenis has been routed. The Dwarves have destroyed her forces and are providing shelter to the Halflings that I drove from the United Cities. The Stormlord, Melenis, is dead. Meandor is livid. She was his favorite. She was my favorite. She will be missed. These Keepers will suffer for her loss. I will see to that. Even as we approach Bormac, rumors abound in camp. It makes me laugh that Bormac must use lies to bolster his presence. The news of Melenis has shaken the faith of my followers. Stormlords are regarded as immortal. No doubt, Bormac has had a hand in disseminating the rumor of her demise among my children. He must be desperate. Having spent a century trapped away from the world has made him weak. Things have changed since Bormac lived, and while his legend has grown, so have I. It is time I extinguished this blasphemous Keeper mythology for the good of the Cult. No longer will they be scared stupid by such tales.

I am all that remains, immortal. Bormac is dead, and the Orcs celebrate. They wrestle over campfires, and break tables under the stupor of sour wine. All about, the Orcs brawl, savoring the spoils of this victory. Tomorrow I will face Meandor and receive the progress of all the other Stormlords. I already know the outcome of the meeting. The other Stormlords will come with excuses, while I will deliver these new children to Meandor and start again with a new prospect. I grow weary of their mediocrity. Once the Orcs were as these Stormlords, but no more.

Blood of rebirth soaks the star over the Valley of Wonders, and only I look to the bright symbol without trembling. I never thought Meandor would fail, but he is in hiding. Inioch is loosed upon the earth again-risen from the dead, by Meandor's hand. But Meandor has retreated. Dark Elf holdings are falling to the onslaught of this new force of Inioch's, the Undead. And I am left alone to ponder the fate of this world. Do I side with the Dark Elves and Cult, or with the enticements of the risen Lord Inioch? The Orcs and Goblins will follow me to the end. The Undead king promises me stature and an army unified under the cause of revenge. But I question the value of another king, when all others have failed me. Is it time that I stepped out from the shadow of these factions and took back the scepter of power which is thrust upon me? Do I choose the secure path of Undead rulers or the difficult path leading deep into the earth, to where the final faction awaits my leadership?

- - - Dark Elves

Arise, Dark Elves! Step into light. No more will you shiver in caves and lick slime from rocks. Come. Dine in the most ancient of Elven orchards, in a garden of legend: Arcalot. The gates have long since closed, which brought the first Elves to this world, but it is said that from Arcalot they tamed this wild world. Long has the place been a secret, until now. In a battle of minds, Meandor wrested the location from his father's decaying memory. Now, I race upward to this archaic surface realm, nestled in a cradle of impassible mountains. A subterranean path exists, near some of the eldest Dark Elf settlements. Knowing his ancient secret has been stolen, Inioch sent swarms of Undead to jam the above passages; so that we cannot reach Arcalot. Once upon the surface, I am confident we will find allies of considerable strength, and formidable artifacts. With them we will crush the Humans into dust. If the Dark Elves inhabit Arcalot, it will also prove that they are the master race, and that the Keepers have lied to us all along, supposing that they are the Elves of pure strain. About the Dark Elves: Many Dark Elf troops have learned to hide in the thinnest shadows, while their vision penetrates the darkness. Dark Elves have high resistance to magic. Over the centuries Dark Elves have adapted different ways of keeping their citizens obedient. Whether by brute force, possession or terror the Dark Elves have evolved into a race capable of controlling their masses with admirable efficiency. They have learned to employ any means of deceit to achieve their ambitions. Their way is considered evil, but Dark Elves are victims, persecuted because they survive, refusing to be deceived by the illusions of light.

Arcalot yielded a few artifacts, but was corrupted by degenerate Elves-not possibly Elves of pure-blood. The Dark Elves purged Arcalot of the rotten fruit bloating in the sunlight. I had hoped to find the true progenitors of the Elven race, but instead found only indolent perversions. I suspect surface-life garbles true Elves into slothful deviants. If I am to harness the strength of the Dark Elves, they must be pure. They must not be seduced by the apparent ease of life upon the surface. Arcalot proves that such abundance leads to iniquity.

Already the influence of the surface world reaches down to the Dark Elves in ways intolerable. Three sons of Raven Tharic have risen three armies of their own, claiming Meandor is insane and that his quest to destroy the Humans is suicide. Tharic's entire family has fled and cannot be found. Tharic is Inioch's cousin, and is one of the oldest of the Dark Elves. With Raven Tharic gone and his sons claiming hegemony, Meandor's control is weakened. As an affront to my authority, the three princes have assembled forces of three races that refuse to ally with me. Lizard Men, Azracs, and Frostlings march toward major Dark Elf holdings. I refuse to let them come near. I go with force to put down these usurpers. The other Stormlords are strangely silent. They claim to have their own missions, but none have offered aid in Meandor's defense. Can they secretly hope that I fail or are they really so stupid as not to think of this as a serious threat? Whatever the case, my quick victory will bring them all in line. My Dark Elves will do what they do best: Teach obedience.

The air swirls with shrieks. The rebellious have fallen to my might. I pinned the three princes--like insects--to jagged timbers with cold steel spikes. It is only a matter of time before I find their families and force their return, but for now, I have accomplished my goals. The Dark Elves gather now at a steady rate and we move closer to the Valley of Wonders and our only true leader, Meandor. The Stormlords rile their forces with greater zeal and head out to conquer under Meandor's emblem. We are one.

Since Inioch's return, Meandor has been in a state of torment. His nights are fitful and his days filled with visions only he can see. Gossip creates heretics claiming he is mad. My servants speak of phantoms within his shadow, clinging to him as his own breath. Inioch has sought to send Undead forces to capture Meandor, but they have been repelled. Now, Meandor's torment stops, and Inioch focuses on new targets. With his mind freed from demons, Meandor has ceased to hope for his father. Likewise, Inioch's will is free to pursue me and my Dark Elves. Inioch's motives are pure, but he's dead. He sees life as incomplete. Blood ties him to Meandor and all Elves. Seeing them as corrupt, Inioch desires to purify all Elves in undeath. All this amuses me. Even now, a mass of Doom Priests approach to convert us either in life or death. Inioch is nearly right. Surface Elves are corrupt. Death improves them. More so, Highmen follow the Undead, desiring to convert us to their sanctimonious ways. But Dark Elves are not easily swayed, and we know the Highmen to be traitors to justice by aiding the despicable Human race.

After countless onslaughts, we have prevailed. Only the purest Elves could accomplish such a feat. Through countless Lizardmen, Azracs, Frostlings, Elves, Undead and Highmen, we stand firm and determined. Yet, where are the others of the Cult? Gone. All shrink from the battle. My camp echoes of reports. Stormlords battle with every race upon the land, but not one has prevailed as I have. Many have been forced to surrender, and I am left alone--the only Stormlord capable of helping Meandor. Did I not foresee this? Their incompetence leads them to defeat, while I remain.

I stand before the last pass to the Valley of Wonders ready to enter. What is this that stands before me? After insurmountable odds, a final force raises its hand against me. A law has been broken; I demand justice. They plea for mercy, while brandishing steel. After all else, the Highmen and Keepers join. They pledge their fealty to a banner stained crimson with the blood of all Elves. Their false idol of peace at any cost shall topple. Fate favors the Human scourge no longer. Their reward, oblivion, cannot be deferred by kind thoughts and weak minds.

The Keepers scattered, proving the Dark Elves superior again. The lines of Human defense have fallen into the Valley of Wonders. The final battle will be decided there, but I know the outcome. My sword thirsts for Human blood. We will see justice. The Dark Elves are ready. I receive word daily of more Stormlords falling by the sword. Dark Elf holdings continue to fall to the enemy, but it matters not. Only the Valley matters. The forces I have amassed will not fail Meandor, and once the Valley of Wonders is ours, retaking those older places will be trivial.

- - - Finale

For over a century, the Humans have infested the Valley of Wonders. Yet they are ignorant fools, unschooled in any of the true powers. Much of Inioch's court and its secrets remain untouched. Inioch leads the Undead. Julia leads the Keeper forces. Other races come in small numbers to see if they might acquire some fortune. But none will stop my children, the Goblins; my swords, the Orcs; my power, the Dark Elves; and my flag, Meandor. I will be victorious. It is written across the bloody star.

I am all that remains of Meandor's dream. The Keepers and Humans are gone. Their demise was glorious and justified. I will not regret it. I have rebuilt the court upon their bones. I have returned blow for blow. The vermin are dead, just as planned. I will not regret the duty I performed faithfully. I established this realm by power of that which was just, and will not apologize, though it is unpopular. Though I am alone. Stormlords that I thought had died, hid while I did them all the favor of eradicating their enemies. They excuse their greed with lies of noble purpose. What better way to obtain power than to incite weak minds to act out of fear? They hold aloft a human skull, threatening their allies with genocide, if I do not die. Meandor is gone. As the last human died, when Inioch crumbled and the stars were extinguished, I first noticed his absence. Did he foresee this disaster? Is he still alive or was he tied too closely to his father? The Stormlords claim I killed Meandor, all the while siphoning my allies for their acts of mutiny. I will not abdicate the throne to these scavengers. I refuse to give them a gold piece. My allies are sparse. Few are able to resist the intoxication of Stormlord rhetoric. Soon the palace will be decorated in flames, but it is better flames than creatures of dung, such as the Stormlords. My kingdom is war. My treasury is full of wrath. My scepter is a viper. My friends are my assassins. But I was not wrong. The world is gone mad. I am the last stalwart servant. I did what had to be done, as I do now.