The Serge of the Orcs
From the dense forest outside the vast human settlement of Waterdeep, a green form peered through the foliage and up toward the towering gates. His long bony fingers were at his side, running up and down the fletching of a roughly made arrow. In his other hand he held his short, recurved bow as he sat on the leaf litter staring up at the gate house.
Hours he had been there, watching the vulgar humans go about their guard duties; that was until now. A new point of interest had appeared and he watched avidly as he saw the small figure darting around on the walls. A few minutes passed, and then she disappeared out of view. As quickly as she had appeared, had she gone.
He gritted his teeth, almost angered by his abandonment when suddenly the huge gates opened like a mouth into Waterdeep.
The goblin scrambled to his feet and peered around the side of a tree up at the structure; his beady red eyes squinting to see the location of the new actor in his private little show.
There. She reappeared once more, this time on the outermost gate's parapet. Something was different though; she seemed to be carrying something. He watched intently as the load was thrown and left to dangle just above the portal. Seconds went by with nothing until… Fire!
Grimlock the goblin roared with delight and almost ceremoniously lit the end of his arrow. The small blaze lit up and cast diminutive shadows across his gaunt face. His eyes, arms and bow turned sky-ward. The deep blue heavens towered above him like some gargantuan tapestry. His face contorted into a toothy grin just as the burning arrow flew into the firmament.
About half a league away, deep in the woodlands that lay to the south of Waterdeep Grimord, Orc Warchief of the Yellow Hand Tribe gazed eagerly into the blue sky. Around him dozens of much smaller orcs and even smaller goblins scurried around, fought amongst them selves or stared equally as enthusiastically into the late afternoon sky. Grimord himself sat atop a mighty wooden chariot; its flanks painted with swirling black patterns or orc-ish glyphs. Pulling the vehicle, were two hefty, vicious boars, salivating madly and swinging their heads wildly. Their tusks, the rope or the rusted chains that attached them to the chariot clinked and thudded dully as they hit into various wooden or metal parts of the contraption, much to the annoyance of another member of the chariot crew. The sullen goblin unattached a whip from his belt and cracked it fiercely close to the boar's hind quarters. It rapidly bought an air of silence to the area.
Grimord snarled and unsheathed his meaty axe that hung menacingly at his side as his burning red eyes followed the signal flare that flew through the air like some astronomical phenomenon. He turned to face the bloodthirsty horde that had gathered behind him, and let out an ear-splitting bestial roar. The great orc warlord raised his giant axe above his head and continued to bellow his unearthly battle cry; his ivory tusks drenched in saliva as his body began to taste the approaching bloodshed.
Arma quickly made her way back to her companion, Muashi. As she hastily sprinted along the wall she noticed the hundreds of men-at-arms, guards, mercenaries and soldiers that had begun assembling themselves along the walls and in the streets of the City of Splendors. A feeling of guilt entered her system; she knew the on-coming orc army would show little mercy to these men.
The assassin was brought sharply back from her mind as the elf's reflexes forced her to dodge a quickly jabbed spear. Arma's body twisted as the metal point scrapped against her cheek. She hopped backward along the thin rampart, drew the broad sword she stole earlier and stared into her opponents eyes, determined. The poorly armoured man-at-arms swallowed as the realisation of who his adversary was dawned on him. He rolled his shoulders in preparation; his spear danced in front of him, dividing the warrior from Arma Moondown.
Seconds passed before Arma's enemy realised he was dead. A thin streak of silver protruding through his iron breast plate was the only evidence. Muashi withdrew his blade, wiped it clean and re-sheathed it. The two comrades watched grimly as the young man's body fell to the cobbled streets below.
Moments went by before their task at hand hit them. A huge thunderous roar wrecked into the city gates as the green force cascaded toward Waterdeep.
The orc army stormed through the opened portal into the city; the wolves boars, chariots and Grimord himself leading the earth-shaking charge.
Waterdeep arrows and crossbow bolts arced through the air from various positions inside the city, taking a good number of the attackers to the hard ground.
Arma scurried through the tower of the inner gate into the city and made her way onto the rampart. As she looked back she could see her samurai-friend stampeding along the city wall's parapet, massacring all who came into his sword's reach. She turned away from her blood-stained companion and looked ahead; away from the city. Arma watched the rapidly approaching orc host travel through the outer gate and toward her. She hopped onto the stone defences and waited. The wave of green swept below her and into Waterdeep; Arma saw her opportunity and dove off, straight into the surge of orc-ish invaders. The elf twisted in the air and landed squarely on her target; a rider-less wolf caught in the tidal mass of the assault. She seized a handful of matted, grey fur with one of her muscular hands and drew her sword with the other.
The snarling wolf, Arma and the entire orc and goblin force entered Waterdeep.
Arma twisted her dextrous fingers into the coarse fur of the wolf and leaned to her right; the stolen long sword was held high above the elf's head. She looked on at the defensive line of soldiers that had assembled just inside the city. The assassin's adrenaline coursed through her body like a drug as the marauding green-skin army and herself came hurtling down towards the first of her adversaries.
The tide of green surged through the line of armoured soldiers like the mighty ocean would break a sand-sculpture. Swords, axes, spears and snarling teeth lashed out all around; tearing limbs off bodies and ripping the internal parts out of the mercenary-soldiers. Fountains of gore cascaded into the ochre sky, and then fell back down to earth; covering the invaders in a film of scarlet.
Screams of terror and pain mingled with the brutish orc battle cries as they plunged deeper into the heart of the city. Scores of the defenders fell to the almighty momentum of the green charge as they tried desperately to halt the unfaltering orc rampage.
Arma pulled her steed alongside Grimord's war-chariot as they charged down the main street through Waterdeep. The wooden vehicle bounced precariously as it hurtled over the uneven cobbled ground below; yet still the mounted hierarchy who rode it unleashed havoc on their enemies. The warlord's thick cleaver dashed from side to side as he carved the opposition apart with hefty swings of his muscle-bound arm. Blood and flecks of gore covered the wooden chariot as it ground to an unannounced stop in the middle of the Trade Way.
Arma looked on and saw the reason for the halt in the orcish advance; the mercenaries who now took claim to Waterdeep had gathered en-mass on the street, armed to the teeth and prepared for battle. There was at least two centuries of the men fortifying a makeshift barrier, attempting to slow down the inescapable orcish charge.
The officers barked orders as the armoured humans scurried around; pulling out crossbows, bows and spears and setting up just behind the improvised wooden wall. Silence spread over the battle as the two forces exchanged stares of hatred. Grimord roared a bestial cry of defiance in frenzied anticipation; causing warriors on both sides to tremble. The orc warlord stepped down from the chariot; cracking the stone cobbles below him with his iron-shod boots. He strode forward out of the green mass and spat barbarically on the ground as all eyes fell on him. He reached behind and pulled a massive two headed axe off his back; holding both this and the sword in either hand he continued to stare down at the defensive line of soldiers.
"GRASHNAR!" he bellowed; both his weapons were held high, dazzling with scarlet in the fading light.
Several hundred feet ahead, the commander of the mercenary force scrambled through the crowd to the front and watched in anxious fear over his wooden barricade at the assembled orc army. He gripped his broad sword tightly as he waited for this 'Grashnar' to present himself. Horrible images flashed before him of trolls ten times the size of a normal man, with the ability to heal wounds and even grow back lost limbs. His mind wandered to what he had been told of the orcs that lived in the forests; barbarians who could befriend winged beasts or gigantic spiders. He shivered; even though the air was warm and stared on at the throng of bloodthirsty orcs.
A frail looking orc moved through the crowd, a gnarled walking stick gripped with both hands for support as he reached his leader. His actual body was not visible beneath his simple brown, woollen cloak, nor was his face due to the hood which covered it. The two orcs nodded in a tone that emanated some kind of ironic 'knowing'.
Grimord turned away and backed off towards his men. His tusks glistened as he grinned a blood stained smile.
The unsteady orc stumbled forward to the position where his leader once stood and dropped his cloak from his shoulders; allowing the material to drape casually to the ground. Grashnar was wearing only ring-mail leggings and heavy boots beneath it; over his body were black tribal tattoos, swirling like some arcane dance over his dark green skin. He stepped forward and the ground around his feet cracked and burned. Green energy began to swirl around his hands as he raised them and the twisted staff above his head. The orcs cheered and shouted obscenities at the wall of guards; yet still they stood firm. A wall of steel shields began to assemble; tightly packed, just behind the wooden barricade. Spears and various missile weapons protruded out of the shifting human wall like some kind of giant spined insect.
Grashnar walked towards the mercenaries, his tattoos now glowing green and pulsating brightly.
"Stand firm men" ordered the captain of the guards
Grashnar began to pace up and down the line of men, then stopped in the middle and turned around to face the orcs, who were still restless. Grashnar turned back around and faced the men and let out a deafening roar, the men started looking at each other in fear, as light turned to dark, the tattoos turned in to bright green glyphs as the inhuman sound resonated around the street. The roar suddenly turned into a deafening collection of screams as an explosion of emerald engulfed the guards; smoke and green flames licked out in front Grashnar, as he controlled the magical carnage he had created.
The jade mist suddenly dissipated revealing a mass scene of casualty. Limbs, entrails, blood, bone and equipment littered the floor and buildings. All of the guards had been blown to pieces.
Those men at the front had been hit hardest; there was now no resemblances of any human bodies left, just masses of torn up skin and entrails, thickly mixed with blood and stomach contents. Behind that lay men crawling around in a soup of scarlet trying hopelessly to find the lost parts of them selves; their bloodied hands fumbling over the various organs that littered the road.
The horrifying screams of the men who were unfortunate to survive the blast echoed through out the city; their voices reverberated on the guts and gore that grimly decorated the sides of the surrounding timber buildings.
The orc shaman turned around, threw his cloak tightly around himself and slowly stumbled his way towards the war chief, a viscous set of red footprints trailed behind.
Just as Grashnar reached the chariot and clambered on board, far ahead a figure ran out of a side alley, swords drawn into the charred carnage that lay on the streets; Muashi looked around at the disfigured, dying and dead soldiers that littered the ground around his feet. A drop of pity trickled over him as he realised how far men, such as these, would go for a full purse and a full belly. The mercenaries that lay around him held nothing loyal except themselves and had no allegiance except to the highest bidder. He sighed and turned his head toward the orc army that had began its assault along the street toward him. He took a few steps backward and watched emotionlessly as the passing mounted warriors charged past his blinkered vision. Seconds turned into minutes as the green horde poured further into the centre of Waterdeep. The samurai waited; a tap on the shoulder announced what he had waited for. He slowly turned around and sheathed his two oriental blades. Hanging from a low lean-to roof was his companion, Arma.
"You ready?" she asked jokingly as gravity took hold of her liquid, black hair, allowing it to tumble over her face.
"As always" grunted Muashi in reply "just help me up!"
A few moments of pulling and climbing and they were perched strategically on a tall building overlooking much of the city. From their vantage point they watched the battle unfold, like some child playing with toy-soldiers. The orc mass had divided up into several parties, most of whom were currently engaged in vicious close quarter fighting.
Arma scanned the streets and road-ways of Waterdeep, following Grimord with her gaze as he relentlessly stampeded toward the dock district. She saw his target and alerted Muashi. Far in the distance were the elite guards of the mercenary army. Clad in glinting bronze armour, wielding hefty longswords and Halfling-sized steel shields. As the two adventurers watched in awe, the choice warriors arranged themselves into formation with perfect co-ordination and unnatural discipline; an unbreakable obstacle that stood between Grimord and his choosen target; the new self-proclaimed major of Waterdeep.
"Lets move" announced the assassin as she effortlessly got up and sprinted along the slate roofs. Muashi followed, some distance behind; brutish determination driving his stocky body across the high urban maze.
The two companions worked in unspoken, practiced cooperation; Arma leaving rope for the samurai when gaps between houses were too big for a conventional running jump. Muashi was surprisingly nimble for a fully armoured warrior; bounding across open spaces to grasp and climb the hanging rope left by his partner. In minutes the pair stood ahead of the orc unit led by the war chief, side by side. They watched as the few faster of Grimords brigade hurtled below the elf and samurai. Just as Arma's eyes followed a runt of a goblin charge past them a slight missile whistled from across the street and embedded it self in the green-skin's throat. The slender shaft of the arrow knocked the attacker clean from his wolf and left him gasping for air on the cobbled streets below. Before either of the adventurers could react a hail of the bolts soared through the air and took down the oncoming front row of the orc-ish invaders. Howls of pain from man and beast coincided as more iron tipped arrows took flight and rained down on the green force.
"We gotta do something Muashi!" Arma cried as she watched dozens of the mounted warriors tumble from their steeds.
Muashi grunted in acknowledgement as he scanned the opposite building's open windows. "I need my bow…" mumbled the samurai. "Or we need to get over there!" finished Arma.
The two adventurers stared across the street at the tall wooden houses; watching the small, hidden figures let loose their carnage upon the advancing orcs. Arma and Muashi's faces were portraits of different feelings; the samurai one of anger, the elf, one of mental preparation.
The pair turned to one another, a sparkle appeared in the corner of Arma's ocean blue eyes. They both knew what had to be done and before any words could leave their lips they went about it.
Muashi was the first to react; he approached the edge of the dim-grey, slated roof and stared down at the torrent of passing orcish warriors. He turned his back to the edge and lowered his armoured body down. He raised his head and gave a grim smile to Arma; who was now backing up along the steep roof. She returned the grin before breaking into a head-first sprint.
The samurai slowed his descent and watched his partner burst into action. She ran up and over the roof; thin slices of slate cracking beneath her shin high leather boots. As she approached the edge she bent her nimble legs and launched her light frame into the space. Her black hair shadowed behind her as she glided through the still, late afternoon air.
The elf travelled the forty foot gap between the two roof tops like some kind of feather-weight artefact thrown by an unseen, inhumanly strong entity. Micro-seconds churned into an infinite mass of time in the elf's head as she came within reach of her target. She re-arranged her body; curling up into a ball of darkened leather, her hair flailing behind.
Muashi watched from half way up the opposite building; he saw his companion hit the soft grey slate and break into an expertly controlled roll. She bounded to her feet and threw a beaming smirk to the samurai. He returned it and dropped the remaining distance to the ground heavily. The samurai shot backward against the wall as the mass of mounted orcs rushed past him; as he watched, several of the attackers dropped to the ground like sacks of rocks; red fletched arrows bristling from various parts of their dark jade skin. Muashi ran on with the charging force his eyes focussed on the elite warriors who were effortlessly holding their ground against the poorly organised, oncoming orc army.
Arma stood up straight and looked around; she noticed that the hail of arrows that flew in to the mass of orcs and goblins were cascading out of the numerous windows below her feet. The elf dove forward; jumping onto the floor and sliding across the tiles. She let out a slight groan as her skin burned slightly as Arma slid across the tiles; sending shards of slate scattering about her.
The assassin skilfully tumbled forward; once her lower body was just about to reach the verge she grabbed hold of the roof edge and swung her self down; crashing through the window. The slight elven body soared feet-first through the wooden window frame. Her hardened leather boots collided with the face of the arThe two tumbled around on the floor, another guard rand to wards Arma and kicked her in to the ribs which sent her crashing into a wall, the knocked down guard got to his feet and grabbed Arma buy her hair and dragged her to her feet, Arma let out a quick punch to the mans kidney and he let out a yell and let go of Armas hair, she acted quickly and grabbed the mans head and rammed it into the wall. The second guard then charged, Arma ducked and grabbed the man buy the waist and lifted him into the air and ran forward and smashed through the wooden wall and into another room, she quickly started pounding the man until he left conciseness. Her assassins reflexes kicked in and she brought her left arm up and blocked a hefty blow, Arma let out a yell of pain as blood seeped from her arm, she took a step back and stood up straight and watched her aslant twirl his axe around. The man lunged forward bring his axe down in a powerful arch towards Arma, she nimbly jump aside and the axe got imbedded into the wooden floor. She moved in one fluid motion, she stamped down on the axe shaft breaking the axe blade off of the weapon grabbing the snapped shaft she disarmed the man buy twisting the handle from his hand and then drove the broken shaft into his neck, the bloke gurgled as blood seeped from the wound and from the mans mouth. Arma let the man fall to his knees trying to beg for mercy as blood poured from his neck, with one swift kick the mans neck broken and he went limp and sloped to the floor Arma Searched through her small bag and got a large bottle of spirits out and poured it around the room, she then grabbed a match like stick and threw it on the floor its sparked about and burst into flames and the room went ablaze . Arma had already gotten on to the roof and black smoke was bellowing from the open window , the barrage of Arrow fire from that side of the street soon stopped as the row of building quickly became a blaze.
As he rushed through the crowd a sturdy, blood-drenched hand gripped Muashi's black-plated shoulder and pulled the samurai through the throng of marauders. He growled and grabbed the burly orcish arm resulting in both of the men to be pulled toward each other. They stopped face to face as the remaining green-skin force poured past them. Muashi starred at his assailant; massive ivory tusks dripped gore and saliva in front of his hazelnut eyes. A thin grin began seeping across both of the odd couple's faces.
"It's good to see you my old friend." Announced Muashi,
"Aye, many moons have crossed the sky since we last met." Replied Grimord as the two both reached out and grasped one another's forearm.
"What say we…"
"Fight together?" interrupted Muashi, grinning wildly.
Both drew their weapons simultaneously; the samurai his katana, the Orc warlord, his hefty cleaver. They roared promises of death to the awaiting regiment of guards as they ploughed through the crowd of green-skins to commence in battle.