Orc by Demidov

Rukfang heard the raucous din of his boyz even before he ascended the cliff edge.

Some of them were barking out challenges, but most others he could tell were complaining. Complaining that there was no fighting. He even thought he began to hear the start of a squabble between his own ladz. I'll make 'em stop dere stupid yapping, he thought.

As he finished his climb, Rukfang saw the morning break onto the world around him. Sunlight was pouring onto the pass below, covering the grey slate of the mountains in streaking bands of red. Snow changed from white to orange, and the thick green of pines could be seen below shuffling against one another in the morning breeze. Up here the wind was thin and chilly. As far as the eye could see, the world was a palette of wood and stone. Off to the distance a river glittered and sparkled, giving the mountains and their basin a picturesque view. The Grey Mountains welcomed the cool morning with a rare splendor few ever see.

But Rukfang wasn't concerned about none of that.

Instead the big Orc pushed his way through and shifted his gaze down below to the gorge where a mass of mangled human bodies was being assembled by some of his boyz. Even at this height, he could see that flies were already hovering over the corpses, circling like hungry buzzards eager for a meal. Rukfang couldn't blame them. The 'umies tasted good enough when cooked right. And plenty more would be coming up the pass today, he knew. The small barrow of bodies before him were a simple scouting party, patrolling for any signs of Rukfang and his mob. There were. The bite of his boyz' choppas proved that. He allowed a few of the 'umies to survive in order to run back to their boss to bring more men. Some of his boyz protested against it, but after a few cracked heads Rukfang knocked some sense into them. He told them by letting a few 'umies go more would come to give him and his boyz a better fight. So he made the ladz pile up the corpses to make sure they could find them nice and easy. And now they were waiting, until the rest of the force came marching through the narrow gorge.

While Rukfang was appreciating his work, the noise of his ladz continued behind him. The boyz were getting antsy, he could tell. The electricity in the air didn't feel like the typical Orcish energy he was so used to during a battle. The scouts hadn't proved much of a good fight, it was true enough. So they were itching for something to sink their choppas into. And Rukfang was determined to do just that.

A repugnant voice shouted from within the throng, "Hey Boss, when'z we gunna get a real fight? I'z tired a pickin' on weak 'uns. I'm lookin' fer a real bashin'! You promised us plenty a killin' Boss!"

Grotrut. Even his name started to fill Rukfang with bile. The lad had been on his chops for too long he thought. The loudmouth Orc was still considered an outsider to Rukfang, a member of some assimilated mob whose name was long forgotten to the Warboss, and one who incessantly got on his nerves. On multiple occasions Rukfang simply wanted to silence him for good. Suddenly he got an idea. A way to get his boyz' attentions. Twisting his face into a curdled snarl Rukfang whirled to his back, spotted the indignant Orc, and with his bare strength alone lifted him off his feet and sent him flying over the cliff. Grotrut's snarls and curses could be heard all the way down, until there was no sound save a small plop letting all the ladz know that he reached the bottom, adding to the pile of dead men. With a primal command, Rukfang leaped upon a small boulder and bellowed to his boyz.

"All right ladz, lissen up! Dem 'umies will be 'eadin up dis way any second now. So we needs ta get behind dat wall of dead'uns to give the live ones a real nice surprise see? Now I'z don't want any squabblin' between boyz until after da fightin' is over. Iz dat clear? It's da 'umies we wanna kill, not us. An' if any one of you ladz thinks udderwise, you'z more dan welcome to challenge me."

Rukfang noticed a few boyz stiffening up, wary of Grotrut's fate becoming their own should they disagree. But there were still others who weren't quite in his sway yet. Thinking for a moment, he appealed to his boyz' other side.

"Oh, and ooeva' brings me da most 'eadz gets first picks of any loot dey want, after me."

A loud Waaagh! was heard in reply. It was a pleasing sound. Rukfang could always count on his boyz' greed. Choice picks after the Boss was always a enticing bribe. Satisfied that his ladz were behind him, Rukfang began his way back down to the gorge. He couldn't help but to feel proud of himself: not only did he get his boyz in line without having to crack skulls, but he also was able to rid himself of Grotrut all in one. The grin he wore from that thought carried with him all the way to the bottom.

Rukfang was an Orc of little patience. A good head taller than the rest of his mob his temper was as big as himself, and well known to the rest of his boyz. Rukfang did not tolerate the incessant infighting that his race possessed, and often cracked skulls at the slightest scrap. Regardless, his boyz followed him with an ambitious zeal. Their Boss' victories simply overpowered his deadly recompenses. Over the past few years Rukfang led his mob up through the Badlands to the Grey Mountains, looting and pillaging as they saw fit. As their successes grew, so did the size of their warband. More and more daily became tied to his wanton cause of destruction and pillage. Rukfang didn't mind. More boyz was good boyz in his opinion. But it seemed to Rukfang that for every decent lad who came over to his cause, there were two others who just caused trouble. Like Grotrut. Rukfang hated that.

He approached the growing wall of bodies before him. It wasn't high enough for his liking. Rukfang grumbled in discontent. He wanted that wall up, and soon.

"Work faster at dat wall, ladz! Dem 'umies will be ere soon, and I'z ain't about to not welcome dem good an' proppa!"

Snagbak stopped in his work. "Dis stuff is Gobbo work, Boss. We needs ta be fightin', not stackin' up dead 'umies. You sure dis plan'll work?"

Rukfang decided to ignore the fact that Snagbak questioned his motives. Instead of killing the lad, he bashed Snagbak's head against the rock face instead. "Dat's fer questionin' me," Rukfang said.

"Right...sorry Boss, I ferget you'z da one wid all da planz. Me and da udder boyz jus' wanted ta know da reason fer stackin' dese dead 'uns so high."

Rukfang couldn't really beat Snagbak for that. It would be helpful for his boyz to know just exactly his plan was for the fight ahead, otherwise they might ruin the whole thing. "It's so dat we can stand behind dis ere wall and then when da 'umies come walkin' up we'z burst out an' go straight fer da killin'. Dem 'umies iz bound ta be bringin' dere shooty weapons, an' I'z don't like dem. So we build da wall ta give 'em a good surprise."

The strategy hit his boyz a moment later, and all seemed to approve. As his boyz continued to resume their work, Rukfang walked around to wait behind his rising wall of cadavers.

"I want spears at the front and rear of the line, and the two rows of handgunners between them to defend the wagon train. Halberds cover our flanks. Holt's Free Company shall defend the rear, and we have crossbowmen on the upper section of the gorge to warn us of danger. The last scouts never came back: we won't make that mistake again. Greatswords, you shall lead the van with me and the Knights of the Burning Blade."

Captain Bernd von Ekkehardt watched as his garrison marched into formation. He and his small company left Helmgart three days ago in pursuit of the Orcs harassing Axe Bite Pass. Yesterday he released several men to scout ahead and report back any findings, but to no avail. They didn't return. Most like they were killed. But it was always possible that they deserted. Men always do, Ekkhardt thought. All men talked of courage, but few ever had the resolve to see it through. But it wasn't entirely their fault, he thought. The journey hadn't been easy to get here. Within the first day of their march the company was assaulted by Goblins, killing two of his of Outriders and four of their horses. He was forced to send a quarter of his strength just to see them safely back to Helmgart. The next day was when he sent the scouts. But with that ill-luck returned to him his patience had worn thin, and so he decided to draw his enemy out with pompous showing of the power of the Empire. He knew Orcs couldn't resist the thrill of a good battle: and so he was determined to give them one.

He mounted his horse and trotted up to Sir Starkwald. "I hope your experience with these greenskins are enough to inspire my men. Three days in and this expedition is already setting itself up as a failure.

"Not to worry captain. Me and my men are well-versed in the art of Orcs and their crude love for warfare. We shall probably send them running on the first charge."

"I thank you for your assurances, sir. We will need all the help we can get," Ekkehardt replied. The knight nodded, and trotted back to his brothers.

Sir Starkwald was brave, Ekkehardt had to admit. The knight had offered his and his brothers' services upon hearing Ekkehardt's intention of ridding the greenskins from the pass. The Burning Blades were claimed to be skilled fighters against Orc and Gobling kind. And while their enthusiasm for the battle to come was admirable, Ekkehardt hoped it wouldn't lead to reckless bravado. He needed a tight, efficient fighting unit. The Orcs he was after were accustomed to the mountainous terrain and knew many of the ways in and out of it. Ekkehardt needed complete order to ensure victory, and to not be taken by surprise.

The greenskins had been increasingly plaguing the villages around Helmgart that it soon risked losing entire populations. So Ekkehardt was ordered to form a garrison and root out the threat for good. Selecting the best men available to him from Helmgart and the surrounding towns, he promised to put an end to the region's troubles. He was not in the mood to disappoint. Flicking the reins, he urged his horse forward and signaled for the rest of his men to follow.

It was the lad Bazgash who spotted them first.

Rukfang silenced his boyz immediately. Several of the rowdier ones were tending to newly-bruised heads as Rukfang made his way back to the front of the line. There was no way they were going to ruin his moment of surprise. As Bazgash and the rest of the scouts made their way back Rukfang examined his the rest of his lot. They looked ready for a fight. All had a pair of crude choppas in their hands, the Orcs' weapon of choice. It reminded him to grab his own weapons.

With a grunt he gestured two of the boyz to hand him Smasha and Basha. They helped Rukfang don his ironfists, prizes won from beating an Ogre to a bloody pulp during one of Rukfang's many raids. The gauntlets were curled into fists, with spiked knuckles for denting in armor. Although they were heavy, Rukfang had a wandering Shaman inscribe them with Orcish runes to make them lighter and more powerful. When Ogres wore them they hit like an avalanche. When Rukfang wore them, they hit like death.

He tried to sniff the air around him, but the stench of the rotting corpses was too strong to get a sense of anything. Instead, he had to rely on his hearing for the 'umies coming up the gorge. Any moment they would ascend from the pass, and notice straight away the horrific sight of their former comrades bloated and gutted with immeasurable slashes. The thought of it caused Rukfang to grin. While he preferred to fight an enemy face to face with both sides geared up for a good scrap, he knew the 'umies all too well. They didn't fight like real warriors. They used black-powdered weapons and fancy bows to wear their enemy down before getting into the fray. That's why him and his boyz were all huddled behind their makeshift hideaway: to give the 'umies such a surprise they wouldn't have time to use their cowardly weapons.

"Git ready ladz," he told his boyz, "We'z about ta get real choppy!"

Upon hearing that, his boyz became giddier. Suddenly an invisible electricity began to coalesce around the Orcs. It was an entirely unique feeling to his race: a mixture of excitement and rage and itchiness and tingling all wrapped up into one. It made its way to every boy, striking them with a suddenness unexpected of their kind. Heat began to build up around the throng of Orcs, as their anticipation and restlessness continued to rise. The Waaagh!. Boy, does dis feel gud or what? thought Rukfang. Me and my boyz are gunna 'av a real gud time.

The first human voice called its men to a stop. Rukfang heard several other 'umies express disgust at the sight before them. Some he heard wretch. The smell of fear began to creep into his nose along with the smell of rot as more and more of the 'umies saw the sight of butchery before them. Little did they know what was lying in wait behind it. Dozens of voices began to join in the chorus of disgust when the voice from before bellowed at its men again, this time to keep them from panicking.

"Remove the dead," he heard the voice say.

After a slight pause Rukfang began to hear the apprehensive feet shuffle to the mound of dead bodies. Grunts gave way to soft plops as one by one corpses began to be removed from the mound.

Let's give 'em a hand, Rukfang thought. Gesturing his boyz to follow, he ran straight into the wall of corpses, and pushed.