The trick, as it so often was, lay in momentum. The attack could not stop, the force needed to keep moving, to have that taste of blood always in the mouth. In part that was because while mother provided the walking dead as a means to act as scouts and screens for the warbands advance, there were limits to the numbers of dead that she could raise quickly. Something that put an adorable pout on her face really, even if it was something that limited our options. And yet, we did not need it to gain victory. In many ways, it was more to preserve the orcs for future battles.
After all, a warband of orcs would replenish itself over time and more cheaply than a zombie host. That and the orcs could learn and be forged into something greater, even as the dead would require far more investment to do the same. That and minions were minions and orcs had the advantage that we could always husk them for their souls later if need be, But in the meantime, there was an elf village to 'murder, loot, rape, burn' as my ever so charming warriors put it.
And truth be told, I was more than willing to give it to them. All in all, while sixty two orcs were dead so far to only forty three elves and eight of their elven hounds was actually a fairly good trade all things considered. Most of that came from the fact that elves were good at ambushing those in their woods, even as we started to burn them down and mother started to lay out some illusions to cover the undead and hide the exact position of our orcs. Any direct clash, we would be able to overrun them, and they seemed to know that.
Of course, even as we marched at speed towards the location of the settlement, there was the question of if it would be defended when we reached it, or if they would have evacuated and let the village be destroyed. A curious consideration, and truth be told, something that I was of very mixed feelings about. Because blood and souls was one of my main objectives, though much of my consideration came to an end as a knife sank into my shoulder, the simple iron sinking past my brass skin, pain blooming as my I looked around, trying to find where it came from.
Because this was not an elvish arrow, even as the dagger faded from existence, likely to reappear in the hand of the unseen assailant. And there, some of the branches were moving. A place to attack, even as I wondered... did they have some sort of young assassin among them, or was this one of those halfling rogues? In either case, my lips parted in a grin. "Keep charging warriors! Fight under the wings of death herself!" After all, if they were going to call my mother that? Who was I not to use that as a means to motivate them, as I diverted for one assassin?
Granny Russet
Well, she was right and proper buggered, as the leader of the warband seemed to have spotted her and was a spot more than your usual dark warrior with a parcel of orcs behind him. To be fair, there was apparently some demons and some undead, so that was already a step up. Nothing that a quick knife to the throat coated with some of the good stuff shouldn't have been able to fix, but then she missed. That, or her blade didn't sink into the artery. Either or, as the old halfling woman moved.
Between her ring of invisibility, boots of air striding and that fancy blessing the priests cast on her, the big brazen galoot should not have been able to tell where she was. But, he was. Which was more than a little annoying, as his blade nearly hit her again, the flames on it singing her whiskers. She fought the urge to sigh, as she took out some of the powder from a pouch, blowing it towards him as he landed on the branch of a tree, balanced in a way she would say was almost elven.
Of course, that is when the dust reached the flaming weapon he used, the crystals absorbing the heat, expanding and growing colder, more able to devour more heat and growing colder in turn. Well, her breath was quite visible and the chill was making her bones ache, but really. Why was it that every punk warlord wanted to wave around a massive blade that was lit on fire? And did they really think that folk who lived in the forest would not have some ways to combat forest fires? Yes, it ate up time, diverted attention and all that, but really.
She sighed, as she just wanted to go back to her little burrow by the creek and sit down on the pier, a nice peach pie in one hand and one of Silvergleam's latest batches of hooch in the other. Maybe with a book or smoking some of the pipe weed, She had earned her retirement damn it. Even if she still did the odd job for her friends. Because she would be fucked before she let some orcs burn down her home. And the rest of the forest come to think of it. And the orcs would probably make it so that she and Willow couldn't try peeking glances at the young bucks.
Still, based on the fact the crystals were not breaking up, the flaming sword was still active and the idiot never realized that he could turn the damn thing off. Which of course, is when the pulse of pure evil hit her, cloying her senses as she felt her dinner clawing its way out her belly, even as the fucker leapt, claws growing out of his hands, a demented smile on his face. Well, nothing for it, as she closed her eyes, and the tattoo on her left ass cheek activated,. feet solidly on the ground in the entry room of her little home.
Well, time to go tell the others the damn orcs would be here in an hour or two. And of course, time to break out the BIG guns to deal with shit.
Matthazar Hope Breaker
I blinked, as I crashed into the tree, the halfling woman vanishing, her form seeming to become starlight, as it rushed off elsewhere. All in all, that had actually been an interesting experience, if only because I know knew that they had an assassin! And that they had some sort of alchemical powder that actually fed on fire to deal greater amounts of cold damage in an effort to smother it. That was genuinely impressive, even as I wondered why I had not seen it so far. There was likely to be other tricks to be wary of. Or at least, the troops did. I was highly resistant to cold.
Of course, I was wise enough to admit that without my ability to sense the essence of chaos, that I would have had a much harder time in this fight, even as I returned to the war band, to race at its head. "The elves sent a sneak after me, and she fled as soon as she realized she could not hide!" They roared and cheered, stomping the ground as they reveled in the fact that strength won over trickery. "Sadly, elf magic allowed her to flee! But we are on her heels and will not the run! We will have a fight, elf flesh to eat and elves to rape! Forward you hungry beasts, forward!"
Among the first to fall to the Hope Breaker Horde was the elven hamlet of Winding Brook. Populated almost entirely by elves, the sole exception was the elderly 'Granny Russet,' a halfling woman who had won some fame for herself in her younger years as a problem solver and locater of misplaced goods. Best known however, is that she would assassinate the leaders of orc warbands and hordes to allow them to fall into in fighting. An elf friend, she retired at the age of ninety from her official career, though she was known for venturing out against threats against the forest on the occasional basis. Failing in her initial ambush of Matthazar Hope Breaker, she would perish later that same day.
Of course, many things are noted about the actual battle, and the truth was that between Matthazar, his accursed mother, the undead and lesser demons under their command, they had lost most of their actual trained fighting force, along with both packs of elven hounds they kept as companions and guards. And yet, what many forget about the elves is that in times of danger, all elves are trained in the use of sword and bow to defend their homes. And yet, the horde was able to negate some of their advantages.
Between the fact that the zombies acting as a combination of screen and arrow fodder soaked up several rounds of ammunition, the fact that slain orcs were frequently converted into manes and the fact that the dread harlot appeared suddenly in the middle of the spellcasters, quickly subduing them before they could unleash the power of the eternal wands kept in storage for just this sort of moment as she suddenly emerged from the ethereal plane and brutal combat prowess of the Hope Breaker himself, the majority of the defenders at the initial defensive locations fell quickly, even as flanking attacks were launched on the secondary positions.
Ultimately, only a handful of adults (thirteen of three hundred and twenty) and forty of the sixty four youths (among them six visiting members of the Russet clan visiting their grandmother) made it out alive to report what had happened. Two weeks later, scouts from Glaoming Grove reported only scorched ruins and signs of devastation, the horde itself having apparently followed its leader back into the Infernum. While Winding Brook was the first to fall, it would not be the last, and in many ways, it was merely a prelude to what was to come.