Mul rode his faltering horse down the winding trails of the Colovian highlands, a mass of heavily armored Orcs following close behind. "Stop here for a minute. I smell Imperials," he ordered. He heard the expected grunts of displeasure as he stepped down from his steed and drew his axe. "Durza, Kresh. You're with me."
Durza was a young warrior, eager for action. "When are we going to end this skulking? Hiding didn't win us the Dragontails from the Bretons."
Quiet. I hear hooves." Mul took cover behind a nearby boulder, signaling to Durza and Kresh to do likewise. "Right on schedule. I knew Dulfish would deliver for us." He saw the top of a chainmail helmet start to bob over the horizon. "Durza, go get the others. It's time."
Mul remained where he was, feeling his familiar rage bubbling inside of him as he prepared himself for combat. So many injustices towards his people over the years, finally to be set straight...
He heard the thundering of 350 pairs of Orcish boots readying for battle. As he peeked over his boulder, he saw the great oak of Chorrol emblazoned on the shields of the scouts. "All right, Kresh. Once the first horses pass me, we cut their hocks. After they're down, we'll all rush the main force. This will be easy, there's no more than 50 of them." He eyed the hills behind him, searching for any visible signs of his force. Only the head of his horse could be seen. "They won't see us until it's too late."
Kresh drew his sword. "Let's wet our blades, shall we?"
"For Gortwog," Mul affirmed. The hooves drew closer as the Imperial stench grew heavier. Mul adjusted his grip on his axe.
As soon as the first scouts passed his boulder, Mul lashed out, blood spurting as the screams of horses filled the air. Kresh had been no less effective. "Orcs!" the guard captain screamed.
Mul's own shouts melded with the cries of his men as he led the charge towards the main Imperial platoon. "Butcher them all! Leave none alive!"
Imperial blood splattered the battlefield as Mul and Kresh hacked their way through the lion's share of the soldiers. Many of his warriors never drew their blades, the battle having ended before they could even take the field. Mul's eyes scanned the dead, satisfied to find none of his own among them.
"Well done," Mul turned to address the eager crowd of Orcs behind him. "The more we kill now, the fewer pale-skins to hack apart in the city. Their forces are thinned, and now it is time to attack! Today, we take back what is rightfully ours! To Chorrol!" The raucous band echoed his cry, eager for more bloodshed.
No sooner had the words left his lips than did a surge of heavily armored Imperials spill over a nearby hill, their numbers beyond counting. "Dammit, a trap! How did they know we were coming? Everyone, on your feet!"
The clash of steel filled the air as Imperials and Orcs met with lethal intent. "I want the leader alive!" the Imperial commander shouted, his ornate armor glinting in the sunlight.
Mul slashed with a devilish glee, fire burning in his eyes. Scores of men were downed in an instant on both sides. However, it became immediately clear that the outnumbered Orcs had met their match. The heavy-limbed bodies of his forces were falling just as rapidly as those of the Imperials, their crimson blood staining the hilltops. Mul's sharp eyes assessed the battlefield, finding that too few of his people were left standing. There was no victory to be found here. "There are too many! Fall back! Fall back!"
As Mul turned to retrieve his horse, he heard a high-pitched whirring sound followed by a solid metallic thump. He lay on his back, stars filling the daytime sky.
As his eyes refocused, he saw Durza standing over him, his mouth forming unheard words. As he extended his arm to help the warlord to his feet, an Imperial sword rammed through his chest. "No!" Mul croaked, the blood of his protégé staining his skin. The Imperial commander placed his foot on the chieftain's neck, Durza's lifeless body sliding off his weapon.
"Mul gro-Gortwog...if only you knew how long I've waited for this moment." His sword flashed in the air, Durza's blood a stark red against the grey steel. There was a second's relief as the boot left the Orc's throat before a sharp kick to the side of the head rendered Mul unconscious with finality.
AN: Well, here's my first attempt at a story as the main author. I've previously done some co-authoring work with Kainen-no-Kitsune, so if you're liking what you're reading, you can see more over on her profile, namely in the latter chapters of Dovah to Dovahkiin. Kit's also my beta for this story, so big thanks to her for putting in the effort to turn my scribbles into a cohesive chapter. I'm thinking of doing a roughly weekly upload schedule for this story, depending on how many chapters I can churn out and the response to them. Any constructive criticism is more than welcome, and thank for the read! See y'all next week!