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Orcs |
| Written by Gregg | |
| Sunday, 02 March 2008 | |
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Share it:      In a corner of the encampment, Yazik sat on a recently felled tree as he stared into the flames of his campfire. He took in the aroma of wood smoke as he slowly chanted the ancient songs. "Kur mék koz mek hazmak pol ók ümrator." He prayed for courage, for honor. He prayed that he might serve his people well in the upcoming battle. All around Yazik other soldiers were packing up, sharpening their weapons, and sneaking in extra rations. The commanders were barking orders and making plans for their sneak attack against the orcish army. The orcs were treacherous and brutal, and had to be combated in the same way. Guerrilla warfare, as it was called, was no longer considered a taboo. It was a necessity in war. Another necessity was the favor of the gods, which was forgotten by so many soldiers. Yazik hoped to win this necessity. Only with the gods' help could one muster the courage to put his honor and the honor of his people before his life during a battle. The gods were often treacherous as well, and would plant fear in the hearts of men if they were dissatisfied. Yazik could feel the presence of the god of war. His blood burned with a righteous fury. He could see the orcs now; they had skin as dark as midnight, lanky simian limbs, and thin, slit-like eyes. They were the cause of all Yazik's grief. Eight years earlier they had burned his village and killed his entire family while he was away. When he returned he was left with nothing, and swore revenge. Yazik reached up and softly felt the scar tissue that once was his right eye. He had lost it years earlier in a fight with a lone orc. The ancient songs grew louder now. Yazik stood and thrust his axe in the air. He could feel the spirits of the gods giving him strength. He wanted to shout-to roar-but held back. Yazik then turned around to face the flurry of soldiers preparing themselves for battle. He walked slowly to the tent where he would report to his commander. This would be the battle in which he would prove his valor.
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Skrusik sat tinkering with his half-eaten bowl of stale biscuits with petrified jerky. Anticipation of the battle ahead made him lose his appetite. "The orcs are close," said Kanoor, "I think I can see their campfires." "I'm so nervous; why haven't we gotten any orders yet?" "Patience. We have the high ground. There's strategy to this, you know." "If waiting for a battle is this hard, I can't imagine what the real thing is gonna be like." "Have courage, Skrusik; I have faith in you. Any hunter as gifted as you was born to fight. Don't waste it now with cowardice. You're hunting big game now." "Somehow I don't think it will be quite the same as shooting a deer. I at least need training before I can hunt orcs." "Let this be your training. You will be an archer. That is what you're good at. All you need is a little courage." Skrusik grew silent. He cast his bowl aside and looked to the horizon. It was dark, and the night refused to reveal its secrets. He couldn't make out any clear signs of orc campfires. Skrusik then looked to Kanoor, who was quietly munching on a biscuit. Even though Kanoor sounded so confident, he had never seen battle either. Skrusik had a feeling Kanoor wasn't as secure as he appeared. "Attention!" yelled a commander. Skrusik jumped out of his seat and spun around. "Arm yourselves. Form ranks facing the northwest. Spearmen and infantry in front, staggered formation, archers in back. I want everyone to be battle-ready. Move!" "This battle may come sooner than we think," said Kanoor. There was confidence in his voice, but he was wide-eyed and shaking. A bead of sweat ran down his face. On second glance, Skrusik realized it was actually a tear. "What's this about courage? You're more nervous than me." "I-I," Kanoor became silent. "Come on, let's get ready." They went to their tent, which they shared with six other soldiers. Skrusik grabbed his bow, which was leaning against the outside. It was a composite recurve bow: one of the best. It was made with care out of wood, bone and sinew. It was carved with ancient runes. The bow had been passed down for many generations in his family. Skrusik ran his hand along the runes and bowed his head to say a prayer to the earth goddess. He prayed for protection. The wind softly touched his cheek, perhaps a sign that the earth goddess had acknowledged his prayer. Skrusik then lifted his head and opened the tent flap so he could go inside to put his armor on. Kanoor was inside, already dressed and holding his spear. Kanoor did not have the luck of inheriting such a fine bow, and was assigned to be a spearman in the front lines. Kanoor stepped across the cramped tent and put his arm over Skrusik's shoulders. "Farewell, brother," he whispered. "Until we next meet," replied Skrusik. There was a long pause. Then Kanoor looked up, with a more courageous look on his face, "gods willing," he said, and left. It was going to be a long night.
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Yazik ran through the woods, marching with an elite attack force whose job was to surprise the enemy from behind, creating an opening for a charge from the front. They moved softly and quickly, careful to make no noise or disturbance that would cause them to be heard or tracked easily. The men were hardened veterans who knew how to find their way in the ominous night. The forest was a labyrinth of colossal trees and damp underbrush. There was little sound aside from the soft humming of crickets in the background. Suddenly, the commander raised his hand, signaling them to stop. Yazik buried himself among the roots of a large tree. As he peered around the tree, he could see the orcs within bowshot range. They were too well defended here, and the commander gave the signal to move again to get behind the orcs. The men slowly got up again and started moving. Yazik carefully crawled past a gap in the trees before standing up and following the commander. The party continued to move carefully, making no disturbances that could give away their position. Moving through brush, thorns and muck; they at last came to a thicket within bowshot of the back of the orcs' lines. Yazik nocked an arrow as he crouched in the mud under the tall brush. He was anxious to spill orc blood. The orc camp was easily visible now, illuminated by firelight. It was like a beacon in the forbidding night. The commander drew his bow, and the other soldiers followed suit. Then, with a silent arrow, the commander commenced the volley. All around him, Yazik could see the hundreds of arrows from the hidden soldiers fly into the unsuspecting orcs. He then fired, hitting an orc square in the eye as it turned to face the barrage. Yazik delighted in the panic being caused in the orc encampment as they rushed to face the new front. The arrows continued to fly as the orcs attempted to form ranks. For a moment, it looked as if the orc line would be completely obliterated. After taking many casualties, however, the orcs galvanized to form a shield wall with their infantry, making them much more difficult to hit. Orcish archers behind the wall attempted to return fire. Most arrows missed their unseen targets, however. As the orcs began to charge down the hill towards the brush, Yazik cast aside his bow and quiver and zealously drew his axe. It was time to make them pay. The orc line was almost on top of him, for they still could not see their enemy. Yazik shot upward, and with one mighty swing of his axe, cleaved the shield of an orc in two, splitting the orc's head on the upswing of the blow. The orc plummeted to the ground with a thud, never even knowing what hit it. Yazik again felt the fury of the war god swelling inside him with the spilled blood of his enemy. A nearby orc shrieked with surprise as it saw Yazik emerge from the brush. The orc thrust its spear towards him. Yazik parried and rushed forward, swinging at the orc. The blow sheared past the orc's shield with a clang, and lacerated the orc's throat. Blood sprayed from its neck and it fell to the ground with a squeal. Yazik parried another spear just before it impaled him, and the soldier next to him stabbed the orc with his sword. The orc grimaced, and tried to counterattack, but only managed to push itself further into the soldier's sword. It collapsed at Yazik's feet. Yazik continued to swing madly at any orc who crossed his path, unleashing his fury. The orc line was once again in chaos, fighting hidden enemies in the thick underbrush. More orcs came to take their place. The distraction was working; the entire orc army came to face the threat. Yazik could hear the distant horns and clattering of hooves. The main assault was about to begin. Suddenly, an arrow whizzed by, barely grazing Yazik's arm. He looked up to see an orc archer hastily nocking another arrow. The fury took hold of him. He hammered through the orc in front of him and sprinted up the hill to meet the archer. As he ran, his commander yelled "Yazik! Yazik! Get back here," but it was too late. The orc released another arrow just as Yazik came within a few feet of him. This arrow slid between his ribs and pierced deep into his chest. The sudden pain set him back, but he could not let pain take away his courage. He decapitated the orc with a powerful heave of his axe, and turned to face another. He parried a spear and sliced into the next orc's belly, then turned to hack at the feet of another orc. He raised his axe above his head, and finished it off with a chop to its exposed stomach. The song of death sounded in Yazik's ears. He was separated from his unit and surrounded by orcs. It was only a matter of time before his wound took its deadly toll. The fury grew into a rage, fed by pain and the song of the war god. Yazik knew he had to kill as many orcs as possible before he fell. With every swing of his axe the pain grew and more of his blood was spilled. He was exhausted and dizzy, but to give into such feelings was cowardice. At last, Yazik felt his strength wane. The next swing of his axe was enough to make him fall to the ground. He then felt the cold, hard steel of an orcish blade pierce his heart. The song of war at last grew silent.
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Skrusik stood, clad in armor, holding his bow at his side. They had just sent a long-range volley at the outlying orc army. They had been ordered not to give up the high ground, and wait for the orcs to strike first. They could clearly see the position of the orc army by their torches. They were just out of maximum bow range. The anxiety was lessening now. Skrusik felt reassured by the long-range fighting. It showed him that he wasn't likely to find himself in the midst of the fight, and that he would survive the night. Skrusik looked around. There was no light except for the torches of the two armies on this moonless night. Skrusik raised his head and closed his eyes. He could feel the presence of the earth goddess watching over him. He was becoming a warrior, a man. Just as Skrusik began to feel more composed, the man behind him cried out in pain. He spun around to see the man fall to the ground with an arrow through his skull. Horrified, Skrusik jumped back just as an onslaught of arrows from behind bombarded their lines. His composure suddenly melted away. Skrusik hid behind a rock and covered his head as men all around him were being butchered like lambs in a slaughterhouse. A nearby commander was shouting orders over the cacophony of screams. "Form up! Form up! Turn the lines around; make a shield wall. Let's move!" Men all around Skrusik were rushing around, forming up. He crouched as low as he could behind the boulder to avoid being hit by the multitude of arrows whizzing by. His conscience told him to stand up with the other soldiers and form up, but fear had a firm hold on him. He couldn't manage to try anything that might jeopardize his life After a time, the barrage of arrows began to subside somewhat, and Skrusik peered out from behind the rock to see the line of infantry moving forward. You coward, why are you hiding when everyone else is fighting? At last, with this insight, Skrusik nocked an arrow and stood up behind the rock. He could see the phalanx of spearmen charging. The orcs were firing from within the brush and were impossible to see. Skrusik shot a place where he thought he saw an arrow come from, and then decided it would be wiser to save his arrows for when he could see his target. As the phalanx progressed forward, he could see the orcs jumping out of the brush and decimating the lines; hideous orcs with ghostly pale skin, stocky, surly bodies, and huge round eyes. Skrusik stepped out from behind the rock, and aimed at a one-eyed, axe wielding orc. His hand was shaking so much, however, that the arrow barely grazed the orc's arm. Seeing this, the orc looked up, right at Skrusik. As the orc sprinted toward him another orc called out, "Yah-zick! Yah-zick!" Skrusik hastily nocked another arrow, and took aim. The orc was upon him by the time Skrusik had drawn his bow and released it. The arrow hit the orc squarely in the chest, but to no avail. Before Skrusik could react he felt the cold, hard orcish blade slice his neck. All grew silent. Copyright 2008 Gregg |
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