Chapter 2: Dark Elves
"The damnable curs," The sneer fit his face, making him all the more gruesome, "running from every encounter! Cowards!" He screamed into the woods all about us, "A bunch of milk-sucking cowards!"
The bass rumble of my chuckle caused him to look to me with hate in his eye, but quickly lessened to smoldering dislike. True, he was a Blademaster, one of the fiercest fighters of The Horde, but he was no match for an Ogre! He tolerated the occasional amusement from me, whereas he would have slain a lesser for the same insult to his pride. For pride was all a Blademaster was allowed in The Horde. Every member was equal; every Orc, Gnoll, Kobold, Goblin, Troll and various other races that comprised the massed armies and called The Horde their home. Few joined with nothing but pride to call their own, all found that pride was all you were allowed to keep. To be of The Horde required utter obedience to the Laws and one was that no possessions shall make you better than your brothers. All treasures were shared, all fortunes, all loot, all possessions. Inequality of possessions, especially in a force of cutthroat, sinister and corruptable dregs that comprised the ranks of The Horde, would have bred resentment, contempt and ultimately chaos! Long ago the past leader's had laid down the Laws. The Horde still exist's, testament to the Wisdom of those Laws.
"They cannot run forever, Blademaster," I looked down at his sullen countenence with a rising sense of hate, "and when we corner them, your blade and my axe shall be the first to bleed their veins!"
The look in the Orcish eyes of the Blademaster turned to an almost orgasmic need. I knew my soldier's well, for bringing forth their own lust for combat was the most motivating force available to me. Some leader's prefered to use brute force, pushing their soldier's unrelentingly. I found this method to be suicidal at the least. In combat, many a leader, using this method, found their death in a well placed ally's sword blade. Other's tried the rewards of plunder to be a positive motivator, but many a Hordling was left with nothing when the masses were allowed free looting. Naturally that option produced more backstabbing than contentment. I found that battle lust, the sating of hatred, the release of pent up emotions, all of these things kept a soldier in check. Kept them as happy as any of our kind could be and still follow order's loyally. For, as their leader, it was I who orchestrated the fulfillment of these things and they knew that following my lead would bring them even more.
So, the Orc Blademaster loosened his sword in it's scabbard and smiled up at me, not with joy in his eyes, but with the sinister light of murder and mayhem, "My only wish is that my sword taste's their flesh e're your axe cleaves it, My Lord Gnaw!" His shark toothed smile of challenge made me chuckle again.
The noise of the scout's return brought an end to our talk and we both turned to regard the short little creature that seemed to materialize from the underbrush before us. His buckskins were lacerated and shredded in places, testament to the harshness of travel within the dark forest all around, but he bore surprisingly few scratched for all that. He gulped air hoarsely, as if he had been sprinting to reach us, "My Lord Gnaw," He panted, "Elves to the South, hundred's, laying in wait among the great trees there." He looked to the Orc Blademaster, then back to me, "They cannot run farther, for to the West are the Scree Cliffs and South and East roam the main force of The Horde." The Goblin smiled wickedly, his breathing finally recovered, "They have nowhere left to run!"
Goblins, how easily they were amused. I shared the glee, but as a dull reflection of his, for my mind was whirling with the coming battle, "Blademaster, take the Right Flank," I turned to my left, where were assembled the remainder of my Lieutenents, "Shaman and Witchdoctor, you as well." They nodded once only, moving to join the Blademaster. Both were Orc's as well, and if only one good thing could be said of Orc's, it was that they were decisive when faced with combat. I turned to the remaining three, "Warlock, War Troll and Slasher, you three will take the Left Flank." I grinned down at the almost miniature Kobold standing before me, "Do me proud, Slasher!"
The Kobold's were the smallest of the Hordling's, but I found them to be the most cunning. They were no match in combat to a well trained Orc, for sure, but what they lacked in brawn they more than made up for in cruelty. The Kobold Slasher was my favorite weapon to use in most situations. He was very fast and nearly invisible when attacking. The forged claws he used seemed an extension of his natural tiny claws, but much more deadly. With the speed and ferocity natural to his kind, he could gut an enemy before they realised he was among them!
"Slasher lives to serve Lord Gnaw!" The Kobold's grin was filled with supressed glee and sinister evil. Again, I couldn't help but chuckle to realise that a creature, no taller than my knee, could evoke such fear in an enemy nearly three times his size.
"Go!" I commanded and they departed, calling the troops to them with crisp orders. The battle would soon be joined and like countless times before, I relished the feeling. Never, in my 36 year's, have I ever fealt truly alive more than when engaged in combat! It's as if it were the lifeblood in my vein's.
I turned to the Goblin scout, "You will be beside me, Goblin. You have earned the honor as my Shieldman for this encounter!" How those few word's made him beam with pride! He rushed to my Left, grinning profusely, pulling forth two hand crossbows, no doubt tipped with venom, as was normal for most Goblin weaponry.
I waited, counting to a slow one hundred before giving the signal. As it was carried through the ranks, I started forward, hefting my Greataxe, the Goblin beside me and The Horde behind me.
It took less than an hour before the sound of combat was heard, muffled through the branches of the woods. Before I could wonder whose side may well be losing, we were among them! They dropped upon our ranks from the branches above, many an unsuspecting Hordling being slain with the first assault. If it was the intention of our Elvish attacker's to demoralize our ranks with their surprise ambush, then it failed utterly, for the sight and smell of blood, even our own, galvanized the Blood Lust common to each and every race of The Horde! Battle was joined, kill or be killed and let death embrace the fallen!
My axe cleaved the first Elf as he was descending toward me, his blood covering those around me. My second swing took another just as he landed at my feet, his sword standing no chance at blocking the force which propelled the great double-bladed weapon in my fist! The battle rage came upon me and I chopped, gashed and beheaded any and all around me. I screamed imprications and curses, taunting the Elves into a frenzy and soon found that all about me were almond eyes and black skins. I was in my glory, shrugging off blows that would have felled a lesser member of The Horde. But, I was an Ogre, born for combat, bred for war and I relished in the carnage!
Time passed slowly and quickly, time blurred, blood misted the air and I tasted it upon my tongue. I was swooping my axe upward through the ranks before me and while the dead rained down around me I whirled my axe to cleave as many as my reach would allow, finding individual hits too slow. The front ranks tried to retreat and the back ranks pressed in, trapping them to their doom. It was horrifiing, it was gruesome, it was a bloodbath, it was what I was born for!
Dimly I perceived power being used, the blast's from attacks erupting among the ranks surrounding me. I knew the follower's of Grommash were at work, culling the number's of the Elvish mass. Noticing a presence beside me I quickly looked down and spotted the darting form of the Goblin, awash in blood, firing his crossbow again and again, each bolt hitting true, each bolt slaying an enemy. Within the back of my mind I recalled his skill with his chosen weapons and noticed the proficiency with which he wielded them now. He seemed clumsy before, now he was a master! Taking him as my Shieldman must have rallied some inner skill with which he wielded his crossbow's with deadly accuracy and speed. His hands were ablur with reloading and firing, his aim never off. With the tightly packed throng about us, I doubt he could have missed had he tried!
Others became visible to me as well, as the battle shifted and my allies, my troops, my Hordling's came closer to me.
The Orc Blademaster, his curved sword wielded with two hands, was a maelstrom of Death! Never tiring, a master of the forms, his blade spoke for him and it told a tale of butchery!
The Shaman, calling forth tempest's, lightning and the Winds, laid about him with the power granted him by the God Grommash. None stood before him long, the force of a Hurricane in Orcish form!
The Warlock, the wielder of darker magicks, the netherworld opening through the channel of the Gloves of Orcus, the Demonlord of the Underworld! His touch caused fear, his aura created chaos and his stare was death itself touching their soul's!
The War Troll, one of the mightiest races of The Horde, laying waste to the enemy with every slash of his greatsword. Wounds inflicted upon him seemed to miraculously heal, as was the ability of all Trolls. He seemed unstoppable!
The Witchdoctor, wielding powers living up to his name. Healing all allies with soothing green aura's and propelling their efforts with magic to strengthen there combat prowess. Many an Elf tried to halt his actions, but found that he was not without defenses as well. Though not as powerful as the Warlock, the Witchdoctor too possessed a taint to the dark forces.
And my favorite, the Slasher! His claws were red with gore, his body glistening with blood, his countenence alive with glee! He was a whirlwind of death in a four foot Kobold form! Never did a weapon seem to touch him, his battle prowess seemed unmatched, dodging and leaping and killing. Never did an Elf survive an encounter with him!
I loved them all, for they were my soldier's, my warrior's, my killer's, my Lieutenent's and my brother's!
The Elves were breaking, the member's of The Horde swarming over them as they fled. I gathered my seven Lieutenent's about me as the battle moved off, the screams of the dying drowned by the shouts of their killer's.
"Glorious!" I boomed, raising a cheer from those around us who had no more enemies to kill.
"Victory is ours, My Lord Gnaw!" The Orc Blademaster stooped to clean his blade upon the jerkin of a fallen Elf, a smile upon his normally harsh face.
"The troops will push the remainder into the main force of The Horde, the battle is all but won." The Warlock looked about his comrades, each with a satisfied grin upon their bloody faces, "The feasting shall commence soon!"
"Liver's!" The War Troll smacked his lips, licking the blood from a face concealed within an iron helm. It was said his countanence was too horrid to gaze upon and never had I seen his face. Perhaps that was a good thing!
"Yes, the men have earned the right! Gather them up, ensure the main force is closing and the Elves' are routed." My Lieutenent's began moving off, barking order's over the fading din of battle.
I looked at the surrounding trees to the South, "I hope Gnash met with similar success!"
-End of Chapter 2-
(more to follow)
