Angbad'gorkil - Honoring The Dead

[Ned Lud 1260]

Mirdautas vras.

Angbad’Gorkil led his orcs across the battlefield of blackened bones. War boar cavalry and straight-legs clambered over the heaps of pale and green flesh which festered in the hot sun, sloshing through the pools of piss and gore. The flies had begun their feasting and the battle was fairly fresh. It looked to have been a band of nomads, ambushed by humans, slaughtered and left to rot. He had seen this many times before.

The grizzled, old Warboss brought his mount to a halt and slogged off, smashing in the skull of a dead hair-face with his boot as he landed with reckless indifference. He paused for a moment to sniff the wind and survey his surroundings. A short distance away, some wolves were feasting on a carcass, eyeballing the war band warily. In a fluid motion, Angbad unslung his bow, knocked a crude, goblin-made arrow from his quiver, drawing it back and firing. The first arrow pierced the Alpha clean through the heart, pinning it to the half-eaten slab where it writhed for a moment and quickly died. A second arrow caught a straggler in the ass as the pack yiped and fled. Angbad spit and sneered at his orcs, slinging his bow with a shrug.

Then with a snarl, he gave the order, “Mudlung, gather da green meat! Grishnakh, set da boars to feast upon da pale!” He tore a fallen orc out of the nearest heap, shouldered the corpse, and got to work.

With grunts and nods of solemn resolve, the war band dispersed and began clearing the battlefield, as they had many times before. The orcs would be piled to one side and burned under the prayers and meditations of the shaman. The enemy would be quartered up as field rations while the war boars feasted on what was left, bones and all. It was the way his father, Gorgol, had done things, and his grandfather, Gnarlug, before that. Honor one’s fallen brothers and let the enemy honor one’s belly, making one fat and strong for the next battle. Nothing went to waste in these harsh lands, least of all meat or honor.

The orcs worked over the dead, slowly forming two mounds of flesh. Angbad was content in this labor, but something was not quite right. Why were such valuables left behind? A diamond sword here, an axe there. Solid pieces of armor, as well as other personal belongings and coin, were among the many things being discretely fought over by the runts as they scrambled to finish the task at hand and get back to their drinking, eating and gloating at day’s end. Too much had been abandoned, surely there would have been some enemy survivors, and they would likely be returning for want of their ****. Angbad tossed one last corpse aside and glared across the battlefield, surveying a nearby tree-line. Was that a glimmer of steel he had just seen? Son of a lulgijak shira... He paused for a moment as a knowing resolve filled his gut. He let loose a war whoop, which ordered the war band to halt and listen. Immediately they dropped what they were doing and looked to the Warboss in muttered silence.

Angbad drew his axe from its sling and his sword from its sheath, holding one in each hand, banging them together with a shout. “Rabbits in da bush!” He whistled sharply, pointing his bastard sword, which he easily wielded in one hand, towards the forest’s edge with a sneer. Grishnakh and his disciplined boar riders dutifully mounted up and peeled off, quickly ranging outward and taking up the flank and rear in an L-shaped formation. The straight-leggers began to hoot and holler, readying their weapons. Within seconds, a horn sounded nearby and a barrage of shouts, war cries and arrows spilled forth from the enemy’s position. Nearly a hundred human fighting men charged from hiding; a band of mercenaries, bandits and their reinforcements, seasoned and ruthless, but ill-prepared for visitors nonetheless.

Angbad charged head-on into the attackers, swinging his dual weapons wildly, and then he took an arrow to the knee. Axe and sword met neck, tearing the first man’s head clean off with an audible pop and a gush. Two more were forcefully shouldered back onto the ground as another man attacked from the side. His sword pierced the Warboss through the side of the hip, pushing through the thick layers muscle and gristle. Angbad growled in pain, and lunged forward, taking a bite out of the man’s face and half of his nose with it, following that up with a headbutt for good measure. He stuck the man like a pig with his bastard sword, giving it a mortal twist as the half-nose screamed like a woman and fell to his knees, snorting his own blood.

By this time, the war boar had begun their charge. The two that had stumbled now fumbled to gain their footing as their fellow fighting men were trampled under cloven hoof. Angbad stomped one to the ground, smashing his throat in and leaving him twitching and twisted in the mud and the blood. The second one attempted to flee. The Warboss snatched him up by the neck and heaved him violently onto the razor sharp tusks of one of the thrashing boars. It reeled back, taking root, shaking its head wildly and tearing loose a puddle of guts from the screaming man as it began to feast.

Death came quickly to those who died. The orcs had prevailed and the warriors finished off the remaining enemy as the shaman tended to their own. Angbad'Gorkil looked across the dwindling battleground and smiled. He slung his axe and drove his bastard sword into the ground, watching the fresh blood trickle down the gutter and form a small pool on the ground. A stranger’s sword was still lodged in his side and an arrow was snapped off in his knee, but it was no matter. Mirdautas vras. It was a good day to kill, and perhaps tomorrow would be better.

With a grunt and a nod, he let loose a war whoop and snarled, “Mudlung, gather da green meat! Grishnakh, set da boars to feast upon da pale!”

((I'm hoping to write a series of short stories about my father, Angbad'Gorkil and perhaps highlight my brother Grishnakh'Gorkil and a few other legendary figures, maybe tying in some snippets of Gorkil lore with a few "parables" as well. I don't consider myself to be a great writer or story-teller, so please feel free to comment or suggest improvements as I struggle along with this.))

[Jutra 51]

Dis bub'hosh stury.

((not a great writer? Hate to break it to you...

you are.))

[Jutra 51]

double post sorry.

[Al3xcog 1]

It's awsum grade posum))

[Danny 2232]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.