Red Blood Green Skin

[Narthok 9213]

Red Blood Green Skin

Spoiler

Seven nation army (Hyspia is a vassal) couldn't hold us back

 

---

The room was quiet. The commanders of the Alliance were awkwardly clustered around a large map pressed to a table. The reports of the scouts were clear. The coalition would march its forest through the rolling hills of Westmark. “We break them here or the war is lost” Grunted one of the gathered number. “The scouts claim they have little in the way of Cavalry, as with the previous sieges they intend to drown our walls with their heavy infantry”.

 

In the corner of the command tent the Hordespeaker lurked, flanked by his champions and chieftains. Stooped awkwardly, the top of his head still brushed the top of the tent. Plodding forward he raised his hand to speak. “Warriors of Horde will ride beast, bring bow and spear. We fast. Coalition slow. Much space for moving.” extending his finger he’d tap the portion of the map where Gaspard had circled “Best chance winning”

 

Having said his piece the Rex murmured something in blah to his warriors, the Orcish party departing. The season of war waxed as the moon. The elders spoke of manydyings being written in the stars. The warsong would be heard once more in the green lands of man. It was time for more Uruks to earn their good deaths.

 

---

 

The young Rex stood breathless on the blood soaked fields. The corpses of coalition soldiers were stacked so high they nearly crested the height of the large Urukhim. 

But they had Victory

 

The words were sweet on his tongue. Victory. Many had questioned their involvement in the war. Perhaps many still would. Yet the Rex had persisted. The horde had given its word. And its word was iron. 

 

In the early hours of the battle the Orcish cavalry had crested the ridge of the hill. In a crash of steel and horseflesh battle had been joined. The cavalry screen of the Coalition had been smashed by the weight of the Orcish charge. Men and horses screamed and weeped in pain. But it was over. Keshig Klog had been knocked from his mount after cleaving two warriors in half with his great Keshig Axe. Azfrai’Lur had taken a javelin trying to protect the Rex, her wounds were still being treated by the Goblin herbalists. 

 

Grommash winced as he remembered his precious Orcs throwing themselves onto lances to kill the knights behind them. Before the battle he had instructed the Orcish outriders that it was critical to utterly destroy any coalition cavalry if they were to have victory. He had not expected his orders to be taken so literally. More Orcish blood. More Orcish death. Yet they had died well. And finally they had died for a step forward in the war. The genocidal march of the Coalition had been shattered on the hills of Westmark. Atleast for now the Horde could breathe. A brief respite from the threat of annihilation that hung over its head. 

 

The army of eights’s numbers had seemed limitless. Their massive columns of soldiers armoured in black Daemonsteel nearly countless. But they were slow. They were stupid. With the corpses of Coalition cavalry nourishing the hills of Westmark they were vulnerable. From the hills and the forests rode the outriders of the Alliance, hammering arrow and javelin into the soft flanks of the column. Orcish javelins smashed through coalition shields, impaling the wielders and those behind them. 

 

As the Alliance went about its grim trade the Coalition leaders began to realize the danger of their position. The smug arrogance they had exhibited in the earlier days of the war was nowhere to be found as they shrilly screamed contradictory orders at their soldiers. Coalition soldiers ran around in panic, sprinting from tunnel to forest all as the jaws of the Alliance closed tighter, slowly whittling away at their numbers one death at a time.

 

They had Victory

 

Grommash remembered the warpath of Targoth Apek. The massive Uruk had his mount shot out from under him early in the battle. Yet he had continued on. Wielding his massive Keshig’s Axe, forged by the skillful Gazhnakh he had torn a bloody hole in the army of the coalition. Grommash had watched as Apek fell to his bloodlust, cleaving a soldier in half with one swing of his man-sized axe, before sinking his massive fangs into the throat of another. 

 

The victory still astounded the young Rex. Outnumbered almost three to one they had decisively defeated the enemy in the field. Looking down at his hands he could barely see the green under all the blood. He had been piked in the final charge, the impact knocking him unconscious, countless arrows bristled from his armour, a few had even punctured the plate and embedded them in the flesh below.

 

Perhaps this is what Kho spoke of when he spoke of dying old. The thousand scars, the countless aches. Grommash brushed the thought from his mind. He drew breath thanks to the valiant effort of the Urukim to save their Rex from the hungry blades of the foe. Grom took a moment to offer up a prayer in thanks. He did not know by what auspices Krug had found him worthy to serve as Rex. Or how he had come to be blessed with such excellent Chieftains and Goths.

 

Yet as his warriors broke out into celebratory dance Grommash was left alone with his thoughts. Many orcs had bled and some had died for this victory. Overwhelming as it had been, the coalition was still numerous. They had won a battle, but that was a far cry from winning the war. Perhaps having seen the brutal ineptitude of the coalition commanders would help some of the enemy see reason. Was the genocide of Adria and the Horde so desireable as to permit the inept to send their citizens to brutal death? Perhaps not. 

 

Today they had shown the coalition that the alliance would not roll over and die softly. The wolf still had teeth. 

 

The season of war waxed, and the war for the Midlands was not over.

 

 

---

Goblin attendants of the Rex would read out letters to all the members of the Horde, both Urukim and vassal.

 

Spoiler

 

Throm’ka, to my Orcs

 

It has already been a long war, the elders and storytellers already begin to count its length in years, and we are far from seeing the end.  When I became Rex I made it clear that it was my desire to restore the Horde to the way of Honour. I made it clear that we must restore our connection to the spirits through the Spirit Lodge. 

 

Many have asked me why we bleed in foreign fields. They tell me I could have blamed the Wargoth of the Lur. They say I could have taken the route of the Celians and abandoned our oaths and our allies. How hollow would my words have rung then? Honour? What honour has the rat, abandoning his word, his allies, for what? Another measly day of breath? One day more of pathetic life in fear of the wolf? 

 

No. There are worse things in life than dying.

 

By the mysteries of our Greatsire Krug the mantle of Rex has fallen to me. It is my tongue that speaks the path of the Horde. It is my will that points the lives of many. I believe I am doing the will of Krug. 

 

Our enemies cower behind stone and steel slinging insults at us, parading their insults as great victories. What of us? How do the Orcs now live? When all seemed lost, when the deserts of the Horde was naught but defeat how did the Horde react? We accepted that our death may have been written in the stars. But each of us accepted that it was better to die well, to die with honour than to live a thousand years as a dog. We kept our word. And now we have crushed our enemies. The dead have been avenged. The genocide of the Urukhim has been stalled in its tracks.

But this war is far from over. Our holy lands, the hard lands Krug gifted to his children to harden them as he was hardened, have been DEFILED by those who can never hope to understand our ways. Honour must be satisfied. 

 

But I want to thank the Horde. There are times when my visions might seem mad, my dreams filled with the Warsong, my waking hours with the counsel of the spirits and the elders. But I promise that we are all working towards a better horde. A horde of honour and shamanism. 

 

Our overwhelming victory over our enemies this day would not have been possible without the effort of every single member of the Horde. The Rukagoths and Ruka of the horde have proven to the world that Orcish farms and forges are more than up to the task of outfitting the orcs for war. Without the herculean labours of our workers, we would not have been able to ride down our enemies with the finest mounts or fill them with arrows.

 

Nor would we have broken the back of the enemy cavalry were it not for the heroic actions of all children of the Horde who rallied to defend our allies and our lands. Urukim and Sulians side by side defeating the enemy.

 

I am proud of what the Horde has become, and what it is becoming. 

 

Krug smiles on us.

 

Loktar’Ogar

 

[Heartesy 349]

A black haired Easworth saluted her orcish comrades, proud to have fought beside them.

"Merry Krugsmas, warriors."

[LobsterLarry 269]

MI ZHAVED DA HEAD ZO DAT MI IZ NO LONGER HARBORIN DA WEAKNEZZ. DA HAIR IZ REZEMBLE DA WEAKNEZZ, AN WIT IT GONE. MI IZ ABLE TO GO DOWN DA PATH OF DA VICTORIOUZ AND POWERFUL. WE WILL KEEP WINNING... LET MI ZACRIFICE BE IN DA NAME O KRUG. WAGH! WAGH! WAGH!

[olpx 212]

The Targoth stood there unfazed as he slaughtered countless members of the Haense army 

"Mi urukz iz Bub’Hozh Mi urukz iz warriorz Mi urukz iz stronk"

[wolfdwg 1497]

Jreg'Gorkil had laid waste many Covenant soldiers, especially when they butchered his war-steed. Such fury and bloodlust was not sated till every last man or woman was flayed and their bodies decapitated. This day belonged to the Alliance. This day belonged to Krug.

[Ryanark 1946]

"These orcs fight mighty hard. I would tremble in my boots if I was a poor Haense boy." Raphaiel mused to himself, carving out skulls of the Coalition members he has killed so far.