The Grief of Ziemach

War is brewing, the fates of four great kingdoms teeter on the edge of destruction. Zeitun the majestic mountain fortresses of the Dwarves, Lithae the beautiful forest home of the Elves, Morok the home of the once mighty Horse lords, and Bracocia the home of the Orcs and a terrible, slumbering evil. The fragile peace seems destined to fail, for the past few years Orcs have been raiding the borders of Zietun burning and pillaging.
There is perhaps one who can stave of this mighty evil, in the most unexpected of places. Fjolin a young dwarvish warrior is about to be thrown on a deadly adventure through barren wastelands, towering cities and dangerous plots

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12. Chapter Eleven: An Ambush is Prepared

Yet further away, many leagues away within Bracocia the Orcs had mustered their full strength. Like a sleeping giant at first their progress had been sluggish now they were full of vigour and anger at having been woken.  They marched in from the north in as rigid a formation as this slightly rag tag army could manage. To one side the swarm of Goblins marched swiftly in their slightly loping run to keep up with their larger brethren the Orcs who marched alongside them in the centre.

They were armed badly the goblins having ragtag amounts of armour and chipped weaponry, The Orcs in comparison marched proud clad in a fair amount of armour, rusted and battered though it may have been. Their banners were not really banners and were more of a grisly affair. Being of a cross shape with a head impaled at the top, bones hanging down often with scraps of flesh still clinging to them.

On the other side of the army marched the great trolls and giants of the army glad in next to nothing other than their rotting loin cloths and pieces of armour that had no doubt been specifically designed for each particular monster. Some with helms carved of bone others of steel, their chests covered by dragon scale armour that rippled like water and reflected mini rainbows as the giant creatures moved in the sunlight. Goblins scurrying between their legs like rodents, occasionally prodding the beasts with their spears, of course this meant they then had to doge angry snatches by the Giants before they can be crushed, still, at least they keep going in the same direction.

The leader was huge a great Orc of about eight or nine foot in height and packed with muscle. He wore magnificent armour of steel which glowed so brightly its reflection could be blinding, however due to the cold weather this was covered by a great woollen cloak stained with blood. It trailed behind him and flapped slightly in the harsh wind which was blowing in gusts around them. His wolf itself was massive standing head and shoulders over any other in the army. He smiled wickedly baring his long fangs as he saw scouts approaching the army riding swiftly upon their great wolves.

As they rode up his twisted smile fell as he saw the pathetic brats that rode them. Goblins, he thought angrily. The scum should not be allowed to defile the wolves with their unworthy forms. Resisting the urge to murder them where they stood, he instead rode his wolf a few paces forward menacing the goblins, which shrunk a few paces back at the sight. The Great Orc Laguti sneered as he spoke. Now as one might logically assume he spoke in Orcish which is practically incomprehensible to man so for your benefit I will translate as best I can.

“What news of the dwarves.” Laguti said scornfully using a dagger to clean out bits of scrap flesh from his teeth.

“The fort is taken my lord, it is overrun and the dwarves now camp there, preparing to attack your evilness.” The goblins announced steadily his voice broken by little squeaks of fear every time the dagger moved.

“We must attack quickly then.” Laguti said sneering. “Get out of my sight rats.” He the bellowed, his wolf snarling and showing fangs as it inched forward menacingly. The goblins took fright and ran the wolves’ yelping as their fur was pulled harshly. Forcing them to turn, and run quickly away. Turning to his general Laguti snapped out his orders quickly almost spitting the words. “Speed up the march we must reach them before dawn.” Nodding the general turned and jumping from his wolf for a moment he strode down the line snapping orders as he went, his frightening wolf walking by him enforcing his will.

The sprawling mass of battalions and creatures sped up considerably, whips cracking throughout the otherwise fairly silent night, resulting in yelps or cursing but still they marched. The Orcs were hungry and restless and they were not above sending a goblin that got too close sprawling into the mud at their feet to be trampled over. The night was silent all that could be heard was the occasional cry of an unlucky Orc or goblin and the steady tread of the marching army.

A few hours later Laguti stood on an outcrop overlooking the fort, he saw the watch fires burning and the many patrols around the camps perimeter and yet he was not displeased. The attack could easily go ahead and he knew it, the problem was he couldn’t charge down the slope in the dark. That would be tantamount to suicide and he knew it. Slowly dawn came over the horizon bathing the slope in a warm golden light. It was then that he barked the order to attack and as the horns sounded their fell notes he vaulted on to his wolf, just seconds later it leapt over the edge with a snarl.

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