Rahdgar
New member
The night was silent, save for the chirp of crickets. Fires blazed openly in the distance. Black objects were scattered around the fires. Nothing stirred, nothing moved, nothing was happening. Not even the grass, though a cool breeze brought a filthy smell to the man crouching behind the rock just out of sight of the field filled with fires. Only his eyes could be seen in the midnight darkness, curious like a child’s but yet hardened like a soldier’s. They scanned the area, moving back and forth like a cat eyeing a mouse. The eyes were like narrowed slits of lights from a lantern in a pitch black room.
He rose, then turned from the suspicious area and began walking to where his back faced a minute before. Similar fires were roaring, but covered by trees and invisible to the plains below. Dark things identical to the objects below were around them, but the man could clearly see what they were here; they were tents. They were tents housing warriors. A small hunting party, to be exact.
These hunters were no normal men seeking food, they were Orc-stalkers. Killers in the night. The camp below was indeed an Orc camp, if you hadn’t guessed by now. The man was dressed in a simple brown tunic and black pants, with a worn and battle-scarred face. He clutched a bow in his left hand, three arrows in his right. A quiver was slung over his shoulder, holding at least half a dozen arrows. The tent directly in front of him was brightly lit, voices could be heard inside.
“...can’t take them, it’d be impossible! Unless Tulkas himself were with us, we would all perish in the attempt.” a man said from inside the tent as the archer entered the temporary shelter.
“Ah Anrza!” a bearded man said, a Dwarf named Sjoerdtim. An axe rested on his lap as he sat in the circle of men in the tent. “We were just discussing the raid tomorrow. It may be canceled, we would have to call on reinforcements to be able to defeat the Orcs here.”
“Why? We have enough good fighters and numbers here.” he questioned.
“Anrza. You know just as well as I that we are severely outnumbered. We are one hundred fifty, they are near five hundred. We cannot possibly take on that number.” the Dwarf responded.
“Aye, he’s right. We can’t risk losing all of our men, we are the last hope of ridding the land of this filth. We need to wait, build up our men and grow in strength and numbers.” the other Dwarf said, Rahdgar.
The other men in the tent (the archer with green eyes called Lotrloz, Dimitri the swordsman, Beepbobit and NiteRogue the spearmen, Blockbeard the hired sword, Farmeraap the archer, and Destrunivan the mysterious rogue wielding knives) all nodded in agreement. Anrza shook his head in disbelief and sat down among the circle.
“We have some of the greatest heros of the land assembled! Alongside our 150 men we have Lotrloz, the legendary archer, Dimitri, the swordsman of songs, NiteRogue and Beepbobit, the heralded spearmen, Blockbeard the sellsword whispered about among Bree, Farmeraap the hawk-eyed archer, and Sjoerdtim, the hero of children’s stories!”
Each man had proved themselves in combat, both on the battlefield and in sparring. The members of the meeting shifted, knowing that the archer had a point. Not many people could claim to the great feats they had accomplished. They had seen hundreds of battles and skirmishes, had built up storehouses of knowledge of the art of fighting, slew hundreds, if not thousands, of enemies.
“I say we take a vote.” Rahdgar said to the assembled men. “All in favor of attacking?”
Rahdgar, Anrza, Destrunivan, Dimitri, Lotrloz, and Blockbeard raised their hands.
“All opposed?”
The other 4, Beepbobit, NiteRogue, Farmeraap, and Sjoerdtim, raised their hands, knowing they had been outnumbered. Sjoerdtim sighed.
“Assemble the men, spread the message of war.
“We march tomorrow at dawn.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Urglùn, the commander of the Orc party located down in the plains, was expecting the force of soldiers up on the hill to attack sometime soon. They most likely assumed that he had not known about them, that he had been ignorant to their presence. Fools. The Orcs numbered five hundred and seventy. There was no possibility, even in the back of Urglùn’s mind, that they would defeat him.
“A host of men is advancing from the East, sir…” a raspy voice said behind him. Urglùn wheeled to face the Orc scout trembling below him, causing the soldier to instantly hide his face. Urglùn was reckoned as a ruthless commander all about the land.
“How many?” his deep gravelly voice responded.
“Near three hundred… my liege…” Urglùn scowled and backhanded the Orc into his horde.
“Send the Warg riders to the smaller company, let them taste flesh. Send another four hundred to the East side, I will ride with them to crush whatever force vexes us. Leave one hundred here to stand guard and join whatever battle may need aid when the time arrives.” With that, Urglùn set his fierce black war-helm on his head and mounted his black Warg. His Warg was the chief of the tribe, a fierce war-beast.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sjoerdtim did likewise half a mile away, donning his helmet to defend his skull. His expression was grim, showing his readiness for battle. He picked up his axe, testing its weight in his hand. This was going to be no easy skirmish. This was a large-scale raid. Urglùn was feared in combat by men and Orcs alike, his battle prowess known. The chainmail came next on the Dwarf, then his jacket. No shiny armor blazing bright in the noonday sun would be shown on Sjoerdtim. A leader should be proud but not a show-off. Urglùn would most likely not follow this, as he needed to inspire his Orcs and drive them to success. Deep inside, Sjoerdtim knew that eventually Urglùn would want to duel him, leader to leader. There would be no escaping it with his honor and his life unless he were to win the duel. He sighed. There never was an easy way out…
All his warriors assembled their war-armor and their weapons. The hour of battle was near. The nine heroes present in the camp all wore grim expressions, knowing they would be key targets for the Orcs in the oncoming battle. They would have to fight for their lives more so than usual. The archers strung their bows, the swordsmen sharpened their swords, spearmen tested their spears, and all was ready.
What none of them knew was that the reinforcements they had been hoping for were arriving… on the other side of the Orc camp.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometime near one o’clock in the afternoon that day, in the scorching heat of the sun, the army of Sjoerdtim began to march on the Orcs. Loud footsteps and noise was heard as the men stomped their way down the hill they had been upon, pikes and swords raised, arrows already nocked to the strings of their bows. No battle-cry was heard, they were not sure of their victory. Shields glimmered in the rays of the day and the cool breeze weaving through the ranks of the men.
The Orcs prepared also. Urglùn took up his great-axe, a weapon that normally required two hands to wield in the possession of an ordinary man, but the giant Orc commander wielded it easily with one hand. His second-in-command, Kalíja, was skulking at Urglùn’s side, holding a curved scimitar in his left hand. He snarled and hissed at the approaching force, hoping that they had not noticed the missing four hundred Orcs that had gone to deal with the Eastern threat.
“Do not fail me, Kalíja. I am leaving you in charge of the host here, if the Warg riders fall you will personally march into the battle, impossible or not. You will die before failing me.” Urglùn spat at his general.
“I will not fail you, my Overlord.” the command hissed through clenched teeth, bowing and resting his fist on the earth beneath him. “The petty “army” will fall and we will have victory!”
Three minutes later, the host of Sjoerdtim stopped about a hundred yards from the hundred Orcs and seventy Warg riders hidden among their ranks. A banner holder came out from the host, unrolling a scroll.
“Sjoerdtim, leader of this host, demands complete and unconditional surrender of the forces of Urglùn the Orc General, including the surrendering of all supplies, weapons, etc. What say you, Orc?” the man said, eyeing Kalíja suspiciously.
“Tell your leader that he can lick up your blood when we’re done with you like the dog he is!” Kalíja shouted back, causing rippling laughs and roars from his comrades.
“We accept your denial, and will now proceed to destroy you. We wish you a horrible, uncomfortable and painful death.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked back into the ranks.
“NOW!” Kalíja yelled to the Warg riders, cueing them to spring from hiding and ride as a mass to their targets. The pikemen in the front line were caught by surprise and only managed to kill a few before chaos ensued. Teeth found flesh, weapons found fur, and all around the assembled force blood was spilt. Death trailed everywhere the Wargs went, sometimes in the form of a hairy corpse, sometimes in the form of a uniformed soldier.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, Urglùn was busy eyeing the three hundred men riding towards his four hundred. They would have been easily killed, but there was a detail that the Orc scout had left out… All the warriors were well-equipped and mounted! He made a mental note to kill the scout later. Spanning the entire horizon, a line of horsemen rode in at tremendous speed to Urglùn and his warriors. This battle could go ill.
When the riders were close enough, they all yelled simultaneously, “FOR SJOERDTIM!” They were allies of the one hundred and fifty the Warg riders now ravaged! This would not do… If they had the brains to combine forces, the Orcs would be slaughtered.
Barely thinking, Urglùn grabbed the axe of the nearest warrior and threw it straight between the eyes of one rider. One down, two hundred ninety nine to go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While the battle turned against Urglùn’s favor, the battle tipped in Sjoerdtim’s. His Nine were fighting here and there, to and fro they slew the great wolves. Lotrloz ran through the Wargs, shooting as he went, then came face to face with a Warg twice the normal size. He ran straight at it, sliding underneath the beast’s belly(barely escaping its jaws in the process) and shooting into its ribcage. A howl sounded all throughout the Wargs as the monstrosity fell. Eyes glazed, it rested forever.
Destrunivan darted through as Lotrloz had, like a shadow clothed in white. He threw knives and slashed with them and stabbed with them, slaying nearly a dozen before a lucky blow knocked him unconscious on the field. Stars wheeled in front of his eyes, blinding him.
Rahdgar was shooting from atop the hill where they had slept the night before, sometimes hitting a Warg, sometimes hitting the ground, but never hitting one of his own. When his quiver ran out, he drew his two-handed sword and slid down the slope, preparing for some ugly muzzles…
Beepbobit was locked in combat with a wolf biting his spear’s handle while NiteRogue struggled to make it to him with a spear of his own. He eventually gave up on trying to get to him in time and threw his spear, like a lightning bolt it flew straight into the heart of Beepbobit’s foe.
They nodded to each other, then resumed fighting.
Anrza and Farmeraap were sniping the Orcs from afar when the small pack of Wargs encircled Dimitri and Blockbeard.
“Never thought I’d die side by side with a sword for hire…” Dimitr said, causing Blockbeard to laugh. They were back to back now, observing the movements of the five Wargs around them. One sprung forward at the prompt of its rider while the others were slower to respond. The first was slashed at the throat by Blockbeard, the second stabbed by Dimitri and from there it was a blur of swords and claws and teeth.
The mightiest of all, Sjoerdtim, ran back and forth hewing the wolves that pestered him. His axe went deep into the neck of one Warg, then hacked at the abdomen of another, his weapon now a blur of blood and fur clinging to the blade. He would not be defeated, no matter how many stood in his way.
His army was not without casualties, however. Men from his own side fell beside him, some he had known most his life, some who he never spoke to. Sjoerdtim knew these faces would haunt his nightmares after this day.
Kalíja watched in horror as half of his Wargs disappeared from sight, each one slain. His rage exploded from inside as he screamed at all his warriors present to charge at the opposing force. He would not fail his master. He would rather die. With a horrible screech he charged with his small army, staring with intense hate at the enemies before him. They would all burn.
The Wargs and their riders were all but defeated, however Sjoerdtim knew they had lost at least seventy men, nearly half their original number. Blockbeard was wounded, as was Destrunivan, they were being treated up on the hill. Kalíja’s terrifying sound was heard by Sjoerdtim, causing him to wheel around and look at the mass of Orcs running straight for them.
“Reform! Positions! Swordsmen in the front! Pikemen behind! Use the gaps in their shoulders to your advantage with your pikes! Send them back to the hole they slunk from.” he yelled, directing orders and units of men. By time Kalíja and his sloppily formed mob reached the pikes, twenty of them were dead. In their rage they lost strategy and thinking, which caused them to think irrationally and throwing themselves against impossible opponents. When they found an equal foe, however, they slaughtered and killed in a frenzy. Bloodlust overcame them as they slew all in their path to their best ability. Kalíja himself accidentally threw himself onto a spear, and thus ended the general of Urglùn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Urglùn’s side was failing. The horsemen were killing his troops, closing in from the sides and wiping out the Orcs with a eerie methodicalness. It seemed they knew exactly how to most efficiently destroy and ruin Urglùn’s army. This was not how he had planned it! A foolish horseman happened to ride towards him at that moment, interrupting his thoughts. He lifted his axe high and brought it down on the man, splitting his helm and skull in two. There was no more time for games.
Urglùn roared a great cry, and began killing his enemies, slaying them all in one large arc of his axe’s swing. One, two, three, four, half a dozen had fallen in less than half a minute! What fools they were for-
His thoughts were again interrupted as an axe was lodged in his back. As the great Orc warlord crumpled to the ground, Sjoerdtim grabbed the haft of his axe and pulled it’s bloody blade from Urglùn’s back. His arm raised the gory weapon, then proclaimed so all could hear,
“VICTORY!”
*Note: Destrunivan is just a random rogue I made up, he is not an actualy member on the server
He rose, then turned from the suspicious area and began walking to where his back faced a minute before. Similar fires were roaring, but covered by trees and invisible to the plains below. Dark things identical to the objects below were around them, but the man could clearly see what they were here; they were tents. They were tents housing warriors. A small hunting party, to be exact.
These hunters were no normal men seeking food, they were Orc-stalkers. Killers in the night. The camp below was indeed an Orc camp, if you hadn’t guessed by now. The man was dressed in a simple brown tunic and black pants, with a worn and battle-scarred face. He clutched a bow in his left hand, three arrows in his right. A quiver was slung over his shoulder, holding at least half a dozen arrows. The tent directly in front of him was brightly lit, voices could be heard inside.
“...can’t take them, it’d be impossible! Unless Tulkas himself were with us, we would all perish in the attempt.” a man said from inside the tent as the archer entered the temporary shelter.
“Ah Anrza!” a bearded man said, a Dwarf named Sjoerdtim. An axe rested on his lap as he sat in the circle of men in the tent. “We were just discussing the raid tomorrow. It may be canceled, we would have to call on reinforcements to be able to defeat the Orcs here.”
“Why? We have enough good fighters and numbers here.” he questioned.
“Anrza. You know just as well as I that we are severely outnumbered. We are one hundred fifty, they are near five hundred. We cannot possibly take on that number.” the Dwarf responded.
“Aye, he’s right. We can’t risk losing all of our men, we are the last hope of ridding the land of this filth. We need to wait, build up our men and grow in strength and numbers.” the other Dwarf said, Rahdgar.
The other men in the tent (the archer with green eyes called Lotrloz, Dimitri the swordsman, Beepbobit and NiteRogue the spearmen, Blockbeard the hired sword, Farmeraap the archer, and Destrunivan the mysterious rogue wielding knives) all nodded in agreement. Anrza shook his head in disbelief and sat down among the circle.
“We have some of the greatest heros of the land assembled! Alongside our 150 men we have Lotrloz, the legendary archer, Dimitri, the swordsman of songs, NiteRogue and Beepbobit, the heralded spearmen, Blockbeard the sellsword whispered about among Bree, Farmeraap the hawk-eyed archer, and Sjoerdtim, the hero of children’s stories!”
Each man had proved themselves in combat, both on the battlefield and in sparring. The members of the meeting shifted, knowing that the archer had a point. Not many people could claim to the great feats they had accomplished. They had seen hundreds of battles and skirmishes, had built up storehouses of knowledge of the art of fighting, slew hundreds, if not thousands, of enemies.
“I say we take a vote.” Rahdgar said to the assembled men. “All in favor of attacking?”
Rahdgar, Anrza, Destrunivan, Dimitri, Lotrloz, and Blockbeard raised their hands.
“All opposed?”
The other 4, Beepbobit, NiteRogue, Farmeraap, and Sjoerdtim, raised their hands, knowing they had been outnumbered. Sjoerdtim sighed.
“Assemble the men, spread the message of war.
“We march tomorrow at dawn.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Urglùn, the commander of the Orc party located down in the plains, was expecting the force of soldiers up on the hill to attack sometime soon. They most likely assumed that he had not known about them, that he had been ignorant to their presence. Fools. The Orcs numbered five hundred and seventy. There was no possibility, even in the back of Urglùn’s mind, that they would defeat him.
“A host of men is advancing from the East, sir…” a raspy voice said behind him. Urglùn wheeled to face the Orc scout trembling below him, causing the soldier to instantly hide his face. Urglùn was reckoned as a ruthless commander all about the land.
“How many?” his deep gravelly voice responded.
“Near three hundred… my liege…” Urglùn scowled and backhanded the Orc into his horde.
“Send the Warg riders to the smaller company, let them taste flesh. Send another four hundred to the East side, I will ride with them to crush whatever force vexes us. Leave one hundred here to stand guard and join whatever battle may need aid when the time arrives.” With that, Urglùn set his fierce black war-helm on his head and mounted his black Warg. His Warg was the chief of the tribe, a fierce war-beast.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sjoerdtim did likewise half a mile away, donning his helmet to defend his skull. His expression was grim, showing his readiness for battle. He picked up his axe, testing its weight in his hand. This was going to be no easy skirmish. This was a large-scale raid. Urglùn was feared in combat by men and Orcs alike, his battle prowess known. The chainmail came next on the Dwarf, then his jacket. No shiny armor blazing bright in the noonday sun would be shown on Sjoerdtim. A leader should be proud but not a show-off. Urglùn would most likely not follow this, as he needed to inspire his Orcs and drive them to success. Deep inside, Sjoerdtim knew that eventually Urglùn would want to duel him, leader to leader. There would be no escaping it with his honor and his life unless he were to win the duel. He sighed. There never was an easy way out…
All his warriors assembled their war-armor and their weapons. The hour of battle was near. The nine heroes present in the camp all wore grim expressions, knowing they would be key targets for the Orcs in the oncoming battle. They would have to fight for their lives more so than usual. The archers strung their bows, the swordsmen sharpened their swords, spearmen tested their spears, and all was ready.
What none of them knew was that the reinforcements they had been hoping for were arriving… on the other side of the Orc camp.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometime near one o’clock in the afternoon that day, in the scorching heat of the sun, the army of Sjoerdtim began to march on the Orcs. Loud footsteps and noise was heard as the men stomped their way down the hill they had been upon, pikes and swords raised, arrows already nocked to the strings of their bows. No battle-cry was heard, they were not sure of their victory. Shields glimmered in the rays of the day and the cool breeze weaving through the ranks of the men.
The Orcs prepared also. Urglùn took up his great-axe, a weapon that normally required two hands to wield in the possession of an ordinary man, but the giant Orc commander wielded it easily with one hand. His second-in-command, Kalíja, was skulking at Urglùn’s side, holding a curved scimitar in his left hand. He snarled and hissed at the approaching force, hoping that they had not noticed the missing four hundred Orcs that had gone to deal with the Eastern threat.
“Do not fail me, Kalíja. I am leaving you in charge of the host here, if the Warg riders fall you will personally march into the battle, impossible or not. You will die before failing me.” Urglùn spat at his general.
“I will not fail you, my Overlord.” the command hissed through clenched teeth, bowing and resting his fist on the earth beneath him. “The petty “army” will fall and we will have victory!”
Three minutes later, the host of Sjoerdtim stopped about a hundred yards from the hundred Orcs and seventy Warg riders hidden among their ranks. A banner holder came out from the host, unrolling a scroll.
“Sjoerdtim, leader of this host, demands complete and unconditional surrender of the forces of Urglùn the Orc General, including the surrendering of all supplies, weapons, etc. What say you, Orc?” the man said, eyeing Kalíja suspiciously.
“Tell your leader that he can lick up your blood when we’re done with you like the dog he is!” Kalíja shouted back, causing rippling laughs and roars from his comrades.
“We accept your denial, and will now proceed to destroy you. We wish you a horrible, uncomfortable and painful death.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked back into the ranks.
“NOW!” Kalíja yelled to the Warg riders, cueing them to spring from hiding and ride as a mass to their targets. The pikemen in the front line were caught by surprise and only managed to kill a few before chaos ensued. Teeth found flesh, weapons found fur, and all around the assembled force blood was spilt. Death trailed everywhere the Wargs went, sometimes in the form of a hairy corpse, sometimes in the form of a uniformed soldier.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, Urglùn was busy eyeing the three hundred men riding towards his four hundred. They would have been easily killed, but there was a detail that the Orc scout had left out… All the warriors were well-equipped and mounted! He made a mental note to kill the scout later. Spanning the entire horizon, a line of horsemen rode in at tremendous speed to Urglùn and his warriors. This battle could go ill.
When the riders were close enough, they all yelled simultaneously, “FOR SJOERDTIM!” They were allies of the one hundred and fifty the Warg riders now ravaged! This would not do… If they had the brains to combine forces, the Orcs would be slaughtered.
Barely thinking, Urglùn grabbed the axe of the nearest warrior and threw it straight between the eyes of one rider. One down, two hundred ninety nine to go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While the battle turned against Urglùn’s favor, the battle tipped in Sjoerdtim’s. His Nine were fighting here and there, to and fro they slew the great wolves. Lotrloz ran through the Wargs, shooting as he went, then came face to face with a Warg twice the normal size. He ran straight at it, sliding underneath the beast’s belly(barely escaping its jaws in the process) and shooting into its ribcage. A howl sounded all throughout the Wargs as the monstrosity fell. Eyes glazed, it rested forever.
Destrunivan darted through as Lotrloz had, like a shadow clothed in white. He threw knives and slashed with them and stabbed with them, slaying nearly a dozen before a lucky blow knocked him unconscious on the field. Stars wheeled in front of his eyes, blinding him.
Rahdgar was shooting from atop the hill where they had slept the night before, sometimes hitting a Warg, sometimes hitting the ground, but never hitting one of his own. When his quiver ran out, he drew his two-handed sword and slid down the slope, preparing for some ugly muzzles…
Beepbobit was locked in combat with a wolf biting his spear’s handle while NiteRogue struggled to make it to him with a spear of his own. He eventually gave up on trying to get to him in time and threw his spear, like a lightning bolt it flew straight into the heart of Beepbobit’s foe.
They nodded to each other, then resumed fighting.
Anrza and Farmeraap were sniping the Orcs from afar when the small pack of Wargs encircled Dimitri and Blockbeard.
“Never thought I’d die side by side with a sword for hire…” Dimitr said, causing Blockbeard to laugh. They were back to back now, observing the movements of the five Wargs around them. One sprung forward at the prompt of its rider while the others were slower to respond. The first was slashed at the throat by Blockbeard, the second stabbed by Dimitri and from there it was a blur of swords and claws and teeth.
The mightiest of all, Sjoerdtim, ran back and forth hewing the wolves that pestered him. His axe went deep into the neck of one Warg, then hacked at the abdomen of another, his weapon now a blur of blood and fur clinging to the blade. He would not be defeated, no matter how many stood in his way.
His army was not without casualties, however. Men from his own side fell beside him, some he had known most his life, some who he never spoke to. Sjoerdtim knew these faces would haunt his nightmares after this day.
Kalíja watched in horror as half of his Wargs disappeared from sight, each one slain. His rage exploded from inside as he screamed at all his warriors present to charge at the opposing force. He would not fail his master. He would rather die. With a horrible screech he charged with his small army, staring with intense hate at the enemies before him. They would all burn.
The Wargs and their riders were all but defeated, however Sjoerdtim knew they had lost at least seventy men, nearly half their original number. Blockbeard was wounded, as was Destrunivan, they were being treated up on the hill. Kalíja’s terrifying sound was heard by Sjoerdtim, causing him to wheel around and look at the mass of Orcs running straight for them.
“Reform! Positions! Swordsmen in the front! Pikemen behind! Use the gaps in their shoulders to your advantage with your pikes! Send them back to the hole they slunk from.” he yelled, directing orders and units of men. By time Kalíja and his sloppily formed mob reached the pikes, twenty of them were dead. In their rage they lost strategy and thinking, which caused them to think irrationally and throwing themselves against impossible opponents. When they found an equal foe, however, they slaughtered and killed in a frenzy. Bloodlust overcame them as they slew all in their path to their best ability. Kalíja himself accidentally threw himself onto a spear, and thus ended the general of Urglùn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Urglùn’s side was failing. The horsemen were killing his troops, closing in from the sides and wiping out the Orcs with a eerie methodicalness. It seemed they knew exactly how to most efficiently destroy and ruin Urglùn’s army. This was not how he had planned it! A foolish horseman happened to ride towards him at that moment, interrupting his thoughts. He lifted his axe high and brought it down on the man, splitting his helm and skull in two. There was no more time for games.
Urglùn roared a great cry, and began killing his enemies, slaying them all in one large arc of his axe’s swing. One, two, three, four, half a dozen had fallen in less than half a minute! What fools they were for-
His thoughts were again interrupted as an axe was lodged in his back. As the great Orc warlord crumpled to the ground, Sjoerdtim grabbed the haft of his axe and pulled it’s bloody blade from Urglùn’s back. His arm raised the gory weapon, then proclaimed so all could hear,
“VICTORY!”
*Note: Destrunivan is just a random rogue I made up, he is not an actualy member on the server
