The Farstrider Scout

Zuilikrazigar swept north on leathery wings, keeping the orc warband in sight as best he could as they raced through the trees towards the small Brettonian village. Thanks to his unseen guidance through Bukkreg’s feeble mind, the newly appointed leader had won several victories, the first of them over Ogli da Face Smasha, which despite the numerous losses had doubled the motley pack of orcs and goblins. This particular raid meant little, aside for two small details. The first involved gathering supplies for the upcoming trek that would have the band backtracking their path, all the way to the beginning. Only one other key battle lay in their path after this, and this is where the second detail lay, for this area had been claimed by another warband. Zuilikrazigar wanted his little pawns to have a bit more power at their disposal before returning to the mountains – power of the sorcerous kind. For this, they would have to face off against the only other significant group of orcs left in this little corner of Brettonia, as most of the others had either joined Bukkreg of their own free will, or had been conquered by force of arms. The difference this time was that the boss of the band in question had a shaman at his disposal, rumored to be rather powerful. Ah, but power is such a subjective term, isn’t it, thought the dragon as he watched the orcs reach the edge of the forest. The townspeople quickly spotted them, alerted no part in thanks to a ferocious roar from the orcs, and the screaming began.

Bukkreg marveled at the short amount of time that it took for the slaughter to be complete. Corpses of men, women, and children littered the path that amounted to a street running through the small cluster of houses. None were spared, as it should be, thought Bukkreg. Keeping in mind the directions given by the voice of Gork, he directed his band in gathering up whatever items of use they could lay their hands on, and then put the town to the torch. Pillage first, then burn – the voice had been very specific about this. Bukkreg knew that the other Warboss would see the smoke and come and investigate. Even he didn’t need Mork to tell him this. All they had to do is sit in the forest and wait for the inevitable. The other Warboss would bow to Bukkreg’s will, or would die. Either way, it didn’t matter to him, so long as he gained the additional warriors, not to mention the shaman. Satisfied with the results of the burning town, Bukkreg turned and led his warriors back into the forest to wait.

As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait long. The crashing of underbrush being swept aside by pounding feet and large bodies announced the approach of the rival warband. With his warriors arrayed out behind him, Bukkreg stood at the fore of his band, raised his blades high, and roared. Those behind roared with him, the sound shaking leaves and sending birds and other small critters fleeing in terror. The oncoming warband skidded to a stop, eyes wide. Clearly this is not the way they had expected things to play out.

A single orc stepped forward through the throng, crushing plants underfoot, to glower at Bukkreg. He was a large Black Orc, larger than Murizek had been, and darker skinned as well. He carried a dented and nicked blade that could have only been held with both hands by any human, and a door strapped to his arm as a shield, its hinges still hanging from the edge. A smaller figure slipped from behind him, a goblin cloaked in rough black wool, a gnarled and knotted staff capped with a wolf’s skull in its hand.

The orc spoke first, his voice a rumbling growl, yet still appearing sufficiently cowed. “I’s Durkit, and yous be tresspassn’ on our land. Good thing Sniggin ‘ere tole me about yer strength an’ power… An’ ‘ow Gork favors yous.” The goblin beside him sniggered as he continued. “We’s’ll join yous, for now.”

Bukkreg bristled at this, but then the voice was there, soothing him, urging him to bide his time and exact his punishment at a more fortuitous time. Grudgingly, he nodded. “Fine den. We’s goin’ south at dusk.” Having said all he was going to say, he sheathed his weapons and turned his back on the newcomers.

Wheeling high above them, Zuilikrazigar grinned inwardly to himself. Now everything was set, and his plans could come into fruition. The dwarves in the northern hold would never know what hit them.

Indeed, and so it was, for between the magic of the shaman and the dragon, the entire warband, even as large as it was, was cloaked from prying eyes the minute that they entered the dwarves’ domain. Barely a week had passed since they had left the lowlands of Brettonia, making good time into the mountains. They barely stopped to rest or eat, driven forward by Brexar, and by sheer coincidence it was upon the night before the king was to return that they attacked.

They fell upon the keep with no warning, the cloak dropping only moments after a sorcerous blast from the shaman, again suffused with the help of the dragon’s unseen help, tore the main gates asunder. The horde of greenskins charged through, wild eyed and bloodthirsty, Bukkreg at their fore. As they saw it, the time of the dwarves’ doom drew near. Zuilikrazigar winged off towards the cave to wait, knowing that once the greenskins were inside, there would be little he could do to help without revealing himself, but that the compulsion and instructions he had given Brexar would see the band through the attack, and come dawn there would be a large pile of loot in front of the cave.

Haegan’s first clue that they were under attack was the muffled yelling filtering its way through his closed door. Rubbing his eyes with one free hand, still groggy from sleep he peered at the door, wondering if the noise he heard was still the remnants of some unremembered dream. The answer was given to him however, when a loud pounding sounded from outside, followed by a “To arms! Greenskins have entered the hold!”

Instantly awake, he disentangled himself from his wife and hauled himself out of bed, grabbing for clothes. Ilsa sat up, rubbing her eyes, the fur blanket falling from her ample form. “What’s going on?”

Haegan turned and grinned at the sight. “Greenskins. Probably nothing – go back to sleep.” He replied, giving her a kiss as he finished buckling his light mail armor on. With luck, this would be over quickly, he mused, grabbing his shield and axe as he stepped out the door.

There, waiting for him, was a young beardling in mail, helm tucked under one arm. Haegan glowered at him. “Keldrin, what are you doing here? You should be up at the gate, fighting off…”

He got no further as Keldrin interrupted him. “I’m sorry, father, but there’s little time to explain. Daengar sent me to fetch you as quickly as possible, and the gate has been breached.”

“Breached!” Haegan’s eyes widened, and then narrowed in anger. “Come then,” he growled, setting off at a brisk pace. “You can explain on the way.”

Keldrin nodded, quickly falling into step with his father as they made their way through the passages. “As I said, the gate is breached. The gate house was either overrun or destroyed, but certainly no dwarf is alive there. The grobi struck with no warning from our lookouts, and we have no idea how they took out the gate. They appear to have a shaman, but it’s power isn’t near enough to cause the damage that was done… Or so Daengar says. We still don’t know how many there are either.”

As they progressed further up the passageways of the hold, the sounds of fighting grew louder. Haegan scowled, picturing the layout of the hold in his head. They hadn’t even reached the first level yet, and the orcs were this far in? Something did not feel right here. Haegan wished he had his gromril plate armor, but that would be in the upper deep, in the armory, behind where the fighting seemed to be. Saying a silent prayer to Grugni to not turn his wife into a widow this night, he hefted his axe and shield and pressed on, Keldrin at his side.

At first appearances, the situation did not appear to be nearly as dire as it truly was. Haegan and Keldrin found the dwarven forces arrayed not far from the gates between the first and second deeps. The hold had been designed in such a way that if any section were breached, it could be sealed off by a pair of gates, preventing further incursion. While the gates were not nearly as strong and powerful as the main gates the orcs had already blasted through, they were none the less quite formidable.

Haegan surveyed the forces at hand, taking stock of the situation, until he was spotted by his second in command, Daengar, and hailed. The other dwarf, clad in full plate and hefting a shield as large as he was, clanked over. “My lord, we’ve got them stalled for the time being, but at our strength, it’s only a matter of time before they break through. The main gatehouse was utterly destroyed and overrun, and an entire company lost in the initial attack. That shaman of theirs isn’t making things easy for us either, and we’ve no one left to counter him. Of the forces we have left, the first company of Ironbreakers is only at half strength, as they took the brunt of the attack after the gates were destroyed. Beyond that, we have another company of Ironbreakers, two regular companies, and a company of Thunderers. There are still a few other warriors trickling in from the rest of the hold, but this is it.”

Haegan nodded at this, stroking his beard. “Right then. We’ll close one of the gates, force them to funnel down to this one. In the meantime, take a quarter company of the regulars and evacuate the second deeps, then close the both gates to the third. I’ll not have some grobi rabble running rampant through the hold whilst I’ve been entrusted with its care. When you get a chance, send a runner up the Undgrin road to meet with the returning forces, tell them to return with all haste.”

“Understood, my lord. May Grugni watch over you.” Daengar saluted.

“And over you. Now get going!” Haegan grinned, and turned to head for the main force. “Keldrin, make yourself useful, there are grobi to kill!”

Bukkreg growled, smashing hapless dwarves aside with powerful blows. Their progress through the hold had been brought to a near halt, now that the dwarf forces had organized themselves. Even now, a gate before them was beginning to close as the sons of Grugni sought to bar their way. Roaring in fury, he yelled to his followers, spurring them on. “Ifn’ yer louts get through da gate, I’ll ‘ave yer ‘eads for breakfast!” Several orcs surged past him in response, smashing into the dwarf lines. He felt a poke in his rear and suddenly the goblin shaman was beside him, looking up expectantly. “Wot you want?”

“Lift me up, an’ we stop da gate!” replied Sniggin in a high pitched voice. Scowling, Bukkreg looked at the shaman, then at the steadily closing gate, and grunted, reaching down for the shaman. Sniggin scrambled up and balanced on the Choppa’s shoulders to begin his incantation, as green energy flickered about his tiny body. A shout went up from behind the dwarves, followed by a grinding crash as the gate mechanism sheared, and the doors ground to a halt, only half closed. Bukkreg grinned wickedly, then began moving forward back into the fray, forcing Sniggin to scramble back down. The orcs surged against the dwarven lines once more, this time breaking through.

Down at the other gate, the dwarves were faring no better, even under Haegan’s expert guidance. The orcs were twice as thick there, and had already pushed past the gate doors, there would be little hope of getting them closed, even if they had known the dire circumstances the forces at the first gate were in. In the tight quarters and low ceiling of the passage way beyond the gate, there was little the Thunderers could do, though most had long since run out of ammunition. Abandoning their normal arms, they hefted hand axes, and moved to reinforce the center, where the heavier losses were being taken. Haegan had split the company of Ironbreakers at his disposal in two and was using them to cover the flanks of his force. Their heavy armor protected them from all but the worst of attacks, but even their numbers were thinning, and there seemed to be no end to the orcs.

A runner came up from their rear, pulling Haegan off to the side, bringing the dire news of the occurrences at the other gate. Haegan scowled before turning to shout out to his forces. “Thunderers, to me! The other gate needs our assistance!” The Thunderer company peeled off from the rear of the blockade of flesh and steel, and followed Haegan down the passageway towards the intersection that would take them to the first gate.

The sounds of fighting faded as they moved down the passage way, then picked up again even before they reached the intersection. Calling a halt at the intersection, Haegan instructed the company to quickly split any ammunition remaining before moving on. Just as they turned the corner, the first fleeing dwarf ran past, the stoic resolve of the troops at the damaged gate finally broken. Haegan shouted out to him, and he turned, a dazed look in his eyes. Looking down the passage that the dwarf had come from, Haegan called a halt. “We’ll make our stand here. Let our brothers past, then lay waste to any behind them.” The Thunderers replied with a shout and spread themselves the width of the passage, aiming down their barrels as the sounds of running feet approached.

It didn’t take long for more dwarves to appear, and the sight of Haegan and the Thunderer company arrested their progress. They ran through the lines of riflemen, then began forming up under the Ironbreaker’s direction just as the greenskins began to appear. Haegan strode to the front as the last dwarves ran through. “Hold your fire until my command!” he shouted, planting himself in the center of the dwarf line and raising his axe. The greenskins stampeded down the passageway, a giant wall of green flesh and steel. “Steady… FIRE!!!” He swung his axe, and the dwarven guns roared in unison. The orc charge crumpled under the withering fire from the Thunderers as lead shot ripped through the first two ranks, and the ranks behind them were tripped up on the falling bodies. Quickly reloading, the Thunderers fired again, at point blank range, then dropped their rifles and drew axes with a yell as the hallway dissolved into a rampant melee.

Haegan and his fellows swiftly found themselves outnumbered, though not necessarily outmatched, and it wasn’t long before those remaining found themselves clustered together in a circle, each covering each other’s flanks as they hewed at the slathering greenskins. The floor was slick with blood and gore, and more than once some would have lost their footing if it hadn’t been for the dwarf next to him, but it was clear that this was a losing battle. Still, none of them were about to give up, each willing to fight to the last breath. Haegan gritted his teeth as he fought, once again wishing for his heavier armor, but it was too late for that now. A savage roar sounded behind him, followed by a cry from the dwarf warriors at his back. Suddenly he felt a blow from behind, denting his helm, and as he tried to turn to face his foe, his world went black.