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Here is a fantasy Orc story I've begun to write. But away a bit to rewrite since it fis with a battle I had today.

Boss Gruk da Fellhanded peered down the icy mountain slopes. The great boulders and slate were fully covered in a thick crust of hard snow. One wrong move upon his behalf would cause a huge crunching noise to tear across the valleys cliff and surely alert their quarry to the mob of orcs quietly watching from the top of the ravine. Not that Gruk was afraid of a fight of course. It was just that he preferred to have a few more boys with him if he was gonna smash the humans. Now was the time for proper orc stealth.

The party below had no such problems as stealth. A contingent of armed humans wearing bright Imperial uniforms walked in a pair of long winding columns, each man deepening and widening a path through the knee deep snow. Between the pair of columns was a trail of six or so wagons covered with great blankets and strong ropes. They were pulled by hardy ponies that were wrapped thickly in blankets against the icy wind. Then men driving seemed less well armed than the marchers, not holding shields but simple swords and daggers. The one exception was a human on the first wagon who was strangely bald. Gruk decided that was obviously to imitate an orcs bare cranium. It looked much better than stringy hair. The human also seemed better armed than the rest of his party, with thick plate mail encompassing a powerfully built man who clung onto a massive hammer. Gruk’s eyes widened as he considered the hammer in question. It was a long hilted weapon, with a massive square head and patterns etched in gold swirling all the way down its length.

He gradually crawled backward down the ridge, out of sight and earshot of the human band. The freezing snow meant nothing to the hardened orcs muscles, who had felt far worse in the five or so years the tribe had prowled the busy Axe Bite pass. But now was cold Gruk admitted. He tried to resist licking the inside of his great helmet just to check if it was sticky-tongue-cold. After an agonizing few moments crawling backwards he reached what he decided was a proper distance from the ridge and immediately stood up and shook the snow off his arms.

Gruk then turned and strode over to the pile of boulders which hid the waiting orc boys. There were another nineteen green-skinned warriors in his mob not counting a few were staged at other hidden clefts in boulders and small harsh bushes along this part of the pass. The lot waiting looked up from their head-butting contest as Gruk climbed up and over the massive slabs of granite, apart the obvious loser, Rugbrad who remain sprawled on the gravel.

“No fight yet.” Gruk rumbled sadly, “The humans have too many like goblins and they have a big baldy hammer guy.” The orcs glared at him in frustration for the lack of violence but stopped as he continued, ”But they have got a load of carts so there is no way they is getting down the pass without a good scrap,” He bellowed. “We is gonna go back to da camp and get da Warboss or at least some gobos then we is gonna stomp them flat!”

The orcs immediately cheered up and turned, marching back through the mountains to the orcs camp. Gruk grinned broadly at the prospect of the impeding violence and set to kicking Rugbrad back to his feet.

More to follow hopefully.

Was a good read mate. I think maybe you could split up the paragraphs a bit, it was quite an intimidating wall of text at first. Small paragraphs sell on Dakka Fiction LoL!
EDIT: Maybe for your next piece write from a human side? Is quite hard to get along with the Orks as a reader, for me at least... BTW hunt down a story called 'Oathbeard' on this forum, is worth a read for sure if you like fantasy stories.

Pat 2

Ahead of the mob the Grey Mountains reared up together, forming an impenetrable wall of stone pockmarked with hidey holes from which reddish eyes glimmered. At the base a massive boulder had been hewed to resemble a great orcs head with a tunnel burrowing deep down its gigantic maw. Gruk and the mob of orcs strode forwards into the enormous mouth and Gruk briefly speculated that this must be what a goblin felt like when a giant ate him. Or an orc ate him. Or a squig ate him. Or a goblin ate him. He shook his head free of such philosophical thoughts and continued marching down the crude tunnel that was strewn with bones, most of them goblinoid. The tribe had smashed the living daylights out of the Night goblins that lived here, who now obeyed da Warbosses commands although the orcs mainly had taken over for the warm snowless tunnels which the goblins had dug out nice and deep.

Suddenly the tunnel ended and the mob swaggered into a massive cavern where the orcs had set up camp. High above the ceiling was littered with enormous stalactites again reminding Gruk of an impossibly huge mouth. Around the edges of the cavern crude permanent tents stood with other features of an orc camp, a paddock full of furious boars that didn’t help the smell, a massive cluster of central campfires roasting meat. The drops were deeper into the mountain because the night goblins seemed to farm the mushrooms at it. Night goblins were absolutely mad. As Gruk advanced green faces looked up temporarily, but all the orcs around the fire were Urlog’s mob which naturally meant they was squishies. Squishies who weren’t gonna beat his big ‘uns in a brawl.

Behind the clutch of central campfires the Warboss had erected a big metal chair on which he hung the remnants of as many skulls as he could find. He often called it the skull throne and he had got the idea after fighting some humans who had kept yelling something about skull thrones. Nonetheless the fact that the skulls were not intact hinted deeply at the maniacal violence Warboss Skullsmasha contained. After a battle he would regularly reduce heads to powder, especially any particularly unruly troops. And he was in a brilliant position to do just that. His prodigious size clearly showed him to be the best warrior, for he was easily twice the size of any of Gruk’s so called big ‘uns. His dark green gnarled skin was littered with ancient scars and bite marks from the hundreds of battles and skirmishes he had fought in and the patchwork of mail, plate and leather from all over the Old world showed just how often he had been victorious. In one hand he held a simply massive axe he had eaten a big chaos lad for and Gruk privately reckoned it was magic since he was even more killy now and around his great neck was laced a dozen or so trophies and orcish amulets that the shaman, Ol’ Wuznat had given him. Gruk knew these were magic.

As the mob approached the Warboss looked up with blood red eyes and the rest of the mob stopped walking so only Gruk swaggered forwards. “What is it?” Skullsmasha bellowed and he lifted his magic axe in a very obvious gesture of menace. The ground near the thrones iron base was littered with the whole skulls and heads of failed bosses.

“There’s a load of squishy humans going down the pass boss!”Gruk shouted back, ”Too many for a mob but da Warband can take out them and get all of their wagons and rotgut booze and chinks!”

The Warboss glared at him for a moment then whipped his axe upwards so swiftly that it let out in whistling noise. “Orcs!!” Immediately every eye in the cavern was fixed upon the Warboss standing upon his skull throne. “We is gonna fight the squishies!!! We is gonna kill the humans!!!! We is gonna take their bones and grind them into dust and smash skulls and chop humans!!!!”

The orcs rose to their feet and started to yell obscenities at the humans while fumbling for weapons and shields and more armour. Skullsmasha himself leaped off the throne is a feat of surprising agility and landed upon the whole skulls at the base of the throne. “Urlog get your boys ready!! Gitsnab get the boars out!! Wuznat get ready your magic!!! This is fight!!”

The orcs began to form up into units. Gruk shoved back into his mob of big ‘uns and drew his axe and cleaver. Around him the orcs pulled out clubs, maces, scimitars, and axes, each orc dexterously- for an orc- holding a weapon in each hand apart from Nazrik who held aloft a great flag, and Masha who just held a pair of skull topped sticks with which he smashed two hide drums with undisguised enthusiasm. Gruk headed once more for the tunnel as Urlog yelled unsuccessfully to get the younger orcs into any clear cohesion. Hopefully Gruk could get a safe distance away before the idiots opened the boar pen.



Hope you enjoy. Going to write next small bit from an empire troopers perspective.

Empire troopers perspective piece. I dont play empire so i dunno what the lowest ranks are and all that stuff.



Ludwig Piertz shivered and wrapped the furs tighter around himself. His breaths came out as huge patches of steam and he feared holding his own sword lest the hilt itself freeze onto his own hand. He resisted the urge to turn back towards the campfire, knowing that do so would ruin his night vision for a while, and sentries could not afford that to happen. To avoid the cold he kept his cautious eyes open and reflected upon the journey. The trek south from Nuln had been difficult in the winter months with many of his comrades travelling aboard a wagon made to act as an infirmary for the frostbitten. Normally such would have been the end of them but the Warrior Priest, Petr Zimmerman had proved knowledgeable in healings and a couple of the afflicted marched on their own two feet once more. He resisted turning to glance at the man, satisfying himself with the memories of his rousing speeches and the way his great weapon gleamed like full of internal fire.

He glanced at a slight movement down the pass and tried to focus once more on all his season of training had taught him for the Empire. There seemed to be an old tower planted firmly in the pass to watch the way and guard against the threats of beastmen, mutants, orcs or other worse things. It might have been a secure centre to spend the night in but the afternoons inspection had declared it derelict with risk of simply crashing down upon any hapless individual and so they had ringed the wagons around and posted twelve sentries to guard. Piertz’s watch would end within the next few minutes happily. Beyond their campsite the snow was packed hard together on the mainly level road. A small copse of trees obscured the centre were they had reached up from the earth and grown through the layer of ice and snow. Beyond them a figure glowed with green power, a hunched gangly thing which seemed to spasm fitfully. Wait what? He rubbed his eyes and reached for the sword hilt but nothing was beyond the trees. Nothing but darkness.

Behind him he became aware of footsteps and he whirled around wildly only to see another imperial soldier silhouetted against the firelight.
“All right lad?” The man- Gepsburg – asked glancing at the sentries white-knuckled hand which was poised upon his hilt.
“Aye, just a bit tired. Getting jumpy”
“Well go get some sleep, boy.” Gepsburg replied, “Big day of marching through this blasted ice tomorrow." He stepped forwards and Piertz wandered back towards the inviting campfire surrounded by soldiers and crewmen.