'Faster…' Adrog, the many-scarred chieftain scolded his men through clenched teeth. His pack had been lagging behind the rest since the morning, and the unforgiving heat of Hellfire did them no favours. The sky was a magnificent blur of red and violet, just like the blood of the fallen. The cool breeze of the eve would have been a welcome companion but they scarcely had any water left and the night promised to bring an unpleasant chill.
There were about two hundred of them though there were more when they set out on their journey after a brief shut-eye. The wounded were allowed to mount the few worgs that were left but those that passed out during the day because of the heat were left behind as an offering to the vultures.
The chief steered his mount around and trotted along the lines of his worn grunts, generously motivating them with lashes of his whip, 'Move it, scum! Pick up the pace! Only cravens die in the desert!' His men grunted, some growled, others nearly stumbled. Another fell off his worg, succumbing to a festering wound and his brothers fought for his water skin that was likely more filled with spit than anything else.
By the time Adrog reclaimed his position at the front he realised they had lost sight of the other pack, 'You worthless peons!' shouted the chieftain, itching to leash each and every one of them again, even though their green backs were already ridden with countless red stripes.
'Perhaps we should thin the flock of the weak, Chief.' The deep guttural voice of Gorlug was heard as he caught up with Adrog. Gorlug was a tall and muscular orc with a shaved head and a powerful jaw, the very paradigm of what a grunt should have looked like, large and intimidating. Gorlug was said to have been among the best warriors decades past. He travelled from clan to clan, challenging their best warriors to Mak'Gora, and claiming their wives over their dead bodies. Until Ultrikk Hoarfrost put him in his place and left him with only an ear and a single eye. As a final insult, Ultrikk also left Gorlug alive, which was not too uncommon for a Frostwolf.
Adrog regarded his bigger brother-in-arms with a hint of a scowl. If there was anybody who could challenge his rule among this sorry lot then it was Gorlug. The giant grunt might have lost his honour once but he was quickly regaining every bit of it judging by the amount of skulls that hung down his black worg and his waist. Noticeably more than Adrog and the united Horde was all about how many skulls and teeth one had to show for one's deeds.
The chief turned to another wolf rider, 'Keep this pace up,' and beckoned Gorlug along.
The further back they moved the more pitiful was the sight. The grunts that marched at the front of the lines were exhausted but healthy enough to keep moving, the ones in the middle were struggling to keep up, the ones at the very back were barely shuffling their feet, remaining further and further behind.
The chieftain and his companion approached a peon, as limp as a corpse and buzzing with flies like one, dragged behind a worg he pre-emptively tied himself to. Adrog cut the rope and the man awoke with a barely audible groan.
The chief got off his mount and kicked him in the ribs, 'Can you walk?' he demanded.
'Water…' came a raspy, barely audible answer, 'water…' Adrog nodded to Gorlug. The large grunt stepped on the small of the thirsty orc's back and split his skull with his double-headed axe. There was the sound of a dull thud and just a hint of a gasp. None looked upon the two to judge. Adrog could have sworn he spotted a silhouette somewhere in the distance from where they came though. He shrugged it off as a ghostly mirage, a product of a mind eroding from the heat and the thirst.
Next, came the turn of a middle-aged woman. Her weary eyes did not even acknowledge the two until Adrog kicked her in the shin and made her collapse onto her knees. She was cut deep across one of her muscular shoulders and the festering wound wouldn't heal. So they put her out of her misery as well. She did not put up a fight and made even less sound than the one before her. Perhaps she had lost her appetite for life just as she had lost her sons in battle but none would ever truly know.
After that they waited a while, ready to offer an orc's mercy to the unworthy, as Adrog brusquely put it. It did not take long for more men and women to fall behind, and so the chieftain had Gorlug's blood-caked axe fulfil the role of the reaper, leaving a bloody feast for the denizens of the desert. Perhaps many preferred a clean death by a brother's axe over a slow and agonizing one at the mercy of the predators, the scorching heat of day, or the deadly chill of the night.
'You there, bring me a report from the rear scout!' yelled the chieftain at a mounted orc who showed disquiet witnessing the butcher's work. 'At once, chief!'
Meanwhile Gorlug wiped his axe clean of blood against the loincloth of an elderly orc. 'Think we're done here…' Adrog mused, regarding the trail of corpses they left behind, about three bodies per mile. His companion looked almost disappointed.
When they were about to take the helm of their ragtag legion another man fell with a heavy thud. 'Get up!' a grunt nearly as large as Gorlug yelled, shaking the fallen orc violently. No sooner did the grunt rise to kick his brother did the chief and his executioner approach. 'Now, soldier! Stand up, now!' the large orc kept yelling at the top of his lungs, his concern for his comrade becoming more apparent.
A heavy gauntlet fell upon his heaving shoulders, 'He's not going anywhere, brother. Better taste the edge of my axe than be torn by the vultures. Piece by piece…' The grunt knocked Gorlug's hand off, spinning around, 'He deserves a better death. Away with you!' he bristled, and Gorlug gripped the handle of his axe tighter.
'Would you defy your chieftain? You'd die a traitor with your brother.' Adrog said, his voice icy. He glanced at the one on the ground. The man's breathing was shallow, possibly due to the spear wound that was concealed earlier. It bled again.
Adrog turned his gaze, piercing as ice, to the grunt that blocked Gorlug's way. 'No, chief… I.. promised our Mother to bring him home,' the large grunt sounded apologetic for his earlier outburst, 'Let me carry him on my back.' Gorlug scoffed at the gesture and prepared to take a swing at the unconscious orc. He was shoved away violently, and before anybody knew it two axes were clashing together. Among them none could match Gorlug's strength but the grunt's rage gave him enough momentum to push his opponent back as they made battle, grunting and growling at each-other like savages.
One misstep and Gorlug was on the ground, the long handle of his weapon barely saving him from a blade slicing through his forehead. Clang. Clang. Clang. The axe kept battering Gorlug's defences from above. A faint whisper blew past Gorlug and the grunt before him howled in pain, dropping onto his knee with a feathered shaft sticking out of his mighty shoulder.
'Not bad for a simple soldier. Heh.' Adrog remarked, a long orcish bow in one hand. Casually, he knocked another arrow and let it fly at the grunt just as he gathered enough strength to rise. Barbed steel pierced right through the thigh muscle, forcing another shriek out of the orc, and he fell on his knee once more.
'Pity we'll have to put you both down like dogs.' the scarred chieftain murmured, and allowed the grunt to watch in horror as his brother was murdered in cold blood. Gorlug's axe was as quick and lethal as a guillotine, lopping the wounded orc's head off while his bigger brother roared. Dark blood poured as if Gorlug had chopped a barrel of wine in half, and Adrog savoured the moment, grinning at the sight. The blood curse, the heat, and the loss of battle made him exceptionally vicious.
His glee was passing, however, as sudden pain bit right into his leg and he found himself howling at the top of his lungs. A small hatchet stuck out of him. Adrog's bloodshot eyes found the orc he used as a pincushion earlier, seething with sudden rage as crippled as he was. Yet he couldn't' reach the quiver strapped to the worg anymore, 'Finish that son of a bitch!' yelled Adrog, unsure of why his personal executioner approached him instead, while the remaining brother passed out.
'What are you doing, you lackwit?' Adrog bristled. 'Becoming chief.' Gorlug replied, bringing his axe down upon his former friend, almost indolently. Adrog jerked from reflex, and the axe swished past his head, hacking deep into his shoulder instead. He wanted to gasp for air yet found himself choking on his own blood, gurgling incomprehensible curses at the traitor. Gorlug's figure turned into a blurry silhouette, and the lilac skies turned red. All Adrog could think of was the terrible pain unlike anything he had felt before. He wished Gorlug would finish him off and yet he was left to drown in his own pool of blood, helpless.