7FEB15 - The short SHORT story contest!

It was a dark and stormy mid-afternoon. The rain came down in buckets, and many an orc suffered grievous head wounds from said buckets. The wolves and bears howled and roared along the mountainsides, and the mammoths plodded along. All of a sudden lightning forked through the air, rending the fields in two, forming a great blackened wasteland.

 If an observer were to have been there, they would have seen a whirly swirly purple portal coalesce in the centre of the blackened monstrosity. They would also have noticed a small purple creature, and a small not quite purple creature tumble out of said whirly swirly purple portal, engaged in quite a terrible and horrific brawl.

As the purple and not quite purple creatures were ten times the size of the largest orc, this was one hell of a battle. The very elements themselves were called into play, the earth rising into gigantic spears, the wind tumbling and twisting, destroying everything in its path, fire raining down from the heavens, and tsunamis and tidal waves rolling in from the coast.

If one were to pull the eye back, back, and back again, till the fight was but a speck, and the world was in full view, one would see many things gravitating towards the previously observed location. Vast dustclouds concealing uncountable numbers of troops can be seen marching unwaveringly towards the site of the whirly swirly purple portal.

Moving the eye back to the battle site, one would now see a vast War taking place, with over one hundred separate forces engaging in every kind of warfare, legal and illegal, chemical and biological, physical and mental. What they are fighting for, many will wonder, but none will know for sure. For in the centre of this legendary battle, a lone fight is being fought, between the purple and not quite purple creatures. Still it is not clear who is winning, or if any damage is being done. The surrounding armies are quite oblivious to their presences, and vice versa. Each party only understands that they must fight, and are filled with an insurmountable bloodlust.

As the battle draws to a close, and enemies are vanquished, orcs turn upon orcs, elves upon elves, dwarves upon dwarves, humans upon humans, brother upon brother, sister upon sister, son and daughters  fighting parents, old men fighting mere children. This may very well turn out to be an extinction level event. In split second, the world turns purple, and a large whirly swirly portal appears once more, and the purple and not quite purple creatures disappear though it. The decimated armies turn in mid stroke, and lay down their weapons, suddenly exhausted. Families reunite, races make peace with each other, the dead are buried, burned and sent out to sea. The world turns, and the sea reclaims this desolate piece of land, taking it deep into the Bitter sea.

It was a dark and stormy mid-afternoon.

                               The General

There we find him, leaning against his now blood stained spear (was that his tenth? twentieth spear of the day? He had lost count how many he had shattered against the knights armor.) He just stood there all alone now and wondered.

The only sounds the feint calls and cries of the dying for company, the scavengers had already shown up and were already removing anything of value from the dead bodies, finishing off the few remaining once proud Knights.

Oh, how pretty they all had looked this morning against his troops all lined up as if on a parade ground, astride their magnificent steeds, their silver steel armor glimmering in the morning sun.

 There as well stood their camp followers and the whole court. You see they all had come out to witness this battle, what they thought would be the final one against the barbarian Orcs, in their last stronghold in the hills. The same hills he had grown up as young unbloodied Orc, carefree and eager to prove his worth. Back then you see they fought amongst themselves one tribe against another.

That had all changed of course on that fateful day. They still talked of that they probably always would there was already songs made about it, none of them came close to what really happened that day not even near but then if it did  then no one would want to sing and dance to that song. No they would not!

Who would want to do that? Not even the bravest bards talked about what the true events were. Who would buy them a mug of beer? Invite them to spend their evening by their fires and relate events such as this? They would be called liars rumor mongers kicked out and spend the night in the cold and unfriendly hills surrounded by all sorts of predators.

 Oh how sometimes he wished he had never been born! Never had to witness that black event that had marked him for the rest of his days.

Little had they known that while they had drunk and celebrated all throughout the night as if the battle was already decided that their brethren had come to support them from their distant mountains .They might be small in stature the Goblins but they were quite ingenious.

They had worked throughout the night, digging holes, installing stakes and some things he had never come across. Orcs were a simple people, warlike yes but this was different it took it to a new level. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, even if it had given them a decisive victory today at least for his generation, he had no doubt this will all happen again.

There he stood still, looking over the piles of stinking horseflesh and the unmistakable stench of burning human flesh.

He stood there and wondered what could have been …

“Ready the bowmen and prepare our mounts to engage these troglodytes”, he shouted to his commanders as he continued to scan the plains below.

“Sire, we have word that Gul'dak has received reinforcements from an ally and he is amassing his troops to the south of our walls”, said Finrod the head of his scouts.

“Then so be it. We shall divide our forces and attack the treasonous Shul-Nak with our strongest Calvary”, said Adanedhel.

He stood atop the battlement his hair blowing wisps in the wind his gait suggested agitation and dismay. His Second in command trailed him and was barking orders at the other near by commanders. The sound of battle drew closer and the elves from Ramdal were scurrying like ants from a kicked anthill. The murder-slits of the towers and battlements grew horns as the elven archers readied their weapons for the approaching horde. Below the mighty elven Calvary was pawing at the gate of the sally-port. Taut as a pulled bowstring, the elven commander was astride his mighty warhorse, spear and amour gleaming as brightly as the rising sun. The remaining  archers took their places on the wall setting arrows in pots and woven baskets whilst the porters shuffled extra bows and arrows to other vantage points on the wall.

Like an angry swarm the mass of troops to the east of Gul'dak's surged towards the walls. The beating of the drums seemed to grow louder and more intense the closer they came. There were at least fifty thousand orc troops from the vile lord Gul'dak and the forces of Ramdal numbered a mere five thousand.

The tide of orc Guardsman, fangs and fists encroached on the walls like a wildfire consuming a pasture. The first shots from the bows thrummed as the elf sentinels launched a massed volley of arrows at the orcs. The arrows hissed as they arced thru the morning sky, landing softly in the putrid flesh of the orcs with a distinctive thud. Falling in the droves the orcs pushed on the hail of arrows barley putting a dent in their numbers.

From the south, Adanedhel could see the forces of Shul-Nak preforming a wheel with his forces. He was leading them in a circuitous route behind Gul'dak's host. What was this orc doing, he thought to himself. As he thought this another volley from his Trueshot archers let loose their shots raked down the frontline forces of the orc horde, yet they continued to press on. Shul-nak's forces engaged the forces of Gul'dak on their flank and rear. His mounted units tore thru Gul'dak's commander tents and rear guard with ease, rending flesh with their barbaric weapons.

“There we have it, release the Cavalry to engage Gul'dak, send every thing we have at him, and have the bowmen fire towards the edge of his forces. We shall crush the army between us.”

Shul-nak's forces played the part of the anvil, while the elven Cavarly cut a swath thru the center of the orc horde and the bow men picked away at the edges. When the clash and clang of battle ended the orc horde of Gul'dak was no more. Shul-nak stood in the center of the battlefield holding his grotesque weapon in the air to signal victory.

Azurrok inhaled deeply. The cloying air was thick with smoke, ash, fear and death - the raw scent of war. In his heart he could feel the primal spirit of the Always-Chiefs raging and roaring, exulting in the bloody madness. His teeth ached for more flesh to tear, and his hands longed for more soft elven necks from which he could wring the pitiful life forever.

He raised his black warhorn and sounded the growling victory call. He bellowed and stomped as the howling roars of his horde erupted from the streets below, their celebrations beginning in earnest.