Gathered at the supply wagons, thirty eight orcs were devouring what amounted to perhaps three cows, four barrels of short beer, four lambs (one of which was cooked), two pigs, and one very unfortunate chicken. They gave no heed to the concerned glances of concerned peoples concerned for their well-being all around them, people from the Western Kingdoms, Dragon's Keep, Roque d'Ancort, and World's Mouth...people associated with the Church of the One, His Majesty King Balthasar, the Standing Eight Legions of World's Mouth, the Holy Order of Dominicus, the Fighting Order of Dragon Knights...many different peoples formed into many different associations. While they shared very few things in common, a general anxiety of the Orcish People might certainly qualify as one of those...and with every new look cast in the direction of Holler's warband, that opinion became more and more obvious.
The orcs wore no unifying liveries. They carried no standard equipment. They wore no similar armor or held similar weapons. The warband appeared to be more like a mob than any proper raiding company...and for that matter, they largely were. They had been augmented with a dozen crossbows, adding to the terror and destruction they could deliver...and one of them had been identified as shaman, though most likely a failed or inexperienced shaman, his face and chest painted with white ash and dried blood.
All told, the Warband was ready to charge into the forest...and become the first orcish raiding party in history to ever strike the Empire of the Seven Isles.
PI: The Warband (Samheen 29th)
PI: The Warband (Samheen 29th)
Last edited by Grant on Tue Jan 02, 2007 11:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
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Guest
After receiving his orders from Governor Maglio, Holler had joined the pack. Never one to coldshoulder a perfectly good opportunity for a snack, he had joined the feeding frenzy. Slowly but surely he became aware of the looks shot into their general direction. The creeping sensation, that - as a leader - he was the one to actually take charge, pinched him in the ears. Looking down at the very unfortunate chicken in his hand, he bit off it's head, put it on the ground and shoved it's now running body away - in the general direction of soldiers of the Eight Legions. Crunching on the head, the Orc grinned. Now he was ready to get down to business.
Grabbing one of the crossbows, that kindly enough had been delivered to his warband, he snarled at his men. "Take what you want, leave the rest. We'd be on our way now." He knew he had to determine the proficiency of his mob, but that could wait until they were amongst themselves. After all humans feared them, it wouldn't be right to show them their weaknesses. Roughly grabbing the shaman's biceps he dragged him out from a cow's ribcage. "You, walk with me!"
Grabbing one of the crossbows, that kindly enough had been delivered to his warband, he snarled at his men. "Take what you want, leave the rest. We'd be on our way now." He knew he had to determine the proficiency of his mob, but that could wait until they were amongst themselves. After all humans feared them, it wouldn't be right to show them their weaknesses. Roughly grabbing the shaman's biceps he dragged him out from a cow's ribcage. "You, walk with me!"
One of the many obstacles that the orcish people had learned to overcome in recent generations was the phenomena of fortifications. The Western Kingdoms were a heavily fortified country...and due to it's proximity to the swamps of Le Bois Noir, the Kingdom had been forced to crenulate all through it's short and turbulent history. While orc warbands much preferred raiding undefended territory, in recent yahren they had been called upon to form proper armies and act in a more military fashion...which had (within the last generation or so) included the construction and operation of seige equipment.
In the last two months, orcs had been allied to specific interests within the Kingdoms to help settle matters of government and issues of inheritance. Part of their payment for such services was a first class education in the construction of war and seige engines along with an education in the standards of fortifications, from humble, field earthworks to the mighty stone fortress that was King's Court...a city they had themselves sieged not once, but twice this yahren alone. Due to that history, many of the orcs in Holler's warband were somewhat critical of the fortifications that surrounded Aveas even now.
A wooden palisade made for a substandard curtain, surrounded by a dry moat and perhaps a hundred paces of open ground. Within the great fence, earthworks supported them against direct attack and allowed defenders to access the tops of the walls, sometimes running directly up the earthworks themselves. Another curtain was erected just within these...an inner curtain...though this defensive ring was incomplete and inadequate and would remain so for at least another day. What truly made the fortifications unique (to the orc's well-trained eye) was the open field surrounding the fortress...for this field was laced with caltrops.
They had all carried another bag of the small, iron spikes with them from Sabata...and here they could see them put to good use, spread over the open field such that as far as Holler could see, lethal spikes pushed up from the ground to impale any hoof that dared to tread upon it. The caltrops would make any approach upon the city by horse...or man-horse...unbearably treacherous, especially since it would have to be slow...and under the constant attention of crossbow-bearing defenders firing from their lofty positions just behind the palisade.
"Spikes to hurt horse or worg," barked the shaman near Holler. "There are horse or worg in the trees," he cautioned, though it was clear to the sudden-commander that most of his band had come to this conclusion long before the shaman. "We fashion spears when we reach the wood?" he asked, for not a single orc in the band carried anything longer than an axe or heavy sword. Up ahead, Holler could see the edge of the trees of Pan's Isle fast approaching...and behind him, the turbulent port of Aveas sealed it's doors leaving the savage orc raiders outside and alone at last.
In the last two months, orcs had been allied to specific interests within the Kingdoms to help settle matters of government and issues of inheritance. Part of their payment for such services was a first class education in the construction of war and seige engines along with an education in the standards of fortifications, from humble, field earthworks to the mighty stone fortress that was King's Court...a city they had themselves sieged not once, but twice this yahren alone. Due to that history, many of the orcs in Holler's warband were somewhat critical of the fortifications that surrounded Aveas even now.
A wooden palisade made for a substandard curtain, surrounded by a dry moat and perhaps a hundred paces of open ground. Within the great fence, earthworks supported them against direct attack and allowed defenders to access the tops of the walls, sometimes running directly up the earthworks themselves. Another curtain was erected just within these...an inner curtain...though this defensive ring was incomplete and inadequate and would remain so for at least another day. What truly made the fortifications unique (to the orc's well-trained eye) was the open field surrounding the fortress...for this field was laced with caltrops.
They had all carried another bag of the small, iron spikes with them from Sabata...and here they could see them put to good use, spread over the open field such that as far as Holler could see, lethal spikes pushed up from the ground to impale any hoof that dared to tread upon it. The caltrops would make any approach upon the city by horse...or man-horse...unbearably treacherous, especially since it would have to be slow...and under the constant attention of crossbow-bearing defenders firing from their lofty positions just behind the palisade.
"Spikes to hurt horse or worg," barked the shaman near Holler. "There are horse or worg in the trees," he cautioned, though it was clear to the sudden-commander that most of his band had come to this conclusion long before the shaman. "We fashion spears when we reach the wood?" he asked, for not a single orc in the band carried anything longer than an axe or heavy sword. Up ahead, Holler could see the edge of the trees of Pan's Isle fast approaching...and behind him, the turbulent port of Aveas sealed it's doors leaving the savage orc raiders outside and alone at last.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
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Guest
Recognizing the sturdy, metal spikes as one of the main defences of the fortified positions, Holler got an inkling about what awaited them in the surrounding woods. Caltrops were vicious spikes fashioned in such a way that one of the - usually - three blades would point upwards at all times. These particular weapons were meant to inconvenience - and defend against - adversaries on horseback. Viewing his band of men, he looked at them in light of this new notion. It was then, that the shaman voiced his own concerns. The rookie war leader, grunted his acceptance of the man's idea.
Holler's dark eyes swept his command once more. Shaking his crossbow violently before their steady gazes, he bawled: "Orcs who can use this, come here...Now!" He had to figure out how many were able shots as they might become a critical part in his battle plans. After all, spears were very well, but it would confine his force to a defensive position. In the tall Orc's head he could see his war band surrounded by a whirling, mounted enemy. He needed teeth for such a situation, he needed crossbows! Tickling his mind was another idea: Slingers, slings! Perhaps I've got a few of those as well...
It was really mind boggling! Sleipnir's brain seemed to open gates and peek down passages previously closed to his consciousness. His new responsibility seemed to have kick started a strange kind of mental steeple chase. Random memories from previous battles and tussles popped up their ugly heads and shook their filthy manes, forcing him to examine them all. Briefly lost in thought his fierce eyes glazed over. Shaking his stupor off, Holler looked up hoping to find at least a few archers lined up before him.
Holler's dark eyes swept his command once more. Shaking his crossbow violently before their steady gazes, he bawled: "Orcs who can use this, come here...Now!" He had to figure out how many were able shots as they might become a critical part in his battle plans. After all, spears were very well, but it would confine his force to a defensive position. In the tall Orc's head he could see his war band surrounded by a whirling, mounted enemy. He needed teeth for such a situation, he needed crossbows! Tickling his mind was another idea: Slingers, slings! Perhaps I've got a few of those as well...
It was really mind boggling! Sleipnir's brain seemed to open gates and peek down passages previously closed to his consciousness. His new responsibility seemed to have kick started a strange kind of mental steeple chase. Random memories from previous battles and tussles popped up their ugly heads and shook their filthy manes, forcing him to examine them all. Briefly lost in thought his fierce eyes glazed over. Shaking his stupor off, Holler looked up hoping to find at least a few archers lined up before him.
Last edited by Guest on Thu Dec 21, 2006 9:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Glancing up, Holler found that all of the orcs had stepped forward and attended to him as a potential archer. This was hardly a surprise...orcs spent much of their lives fighting and honing their combat abilities...and even those with no skill at all wouldn't hesitate for a moment to pick up a new weapon and learn it quickly and immediately. Added to this, the crossbow was shockingly easy to use...far, far easier to use than any bow or sling. For this reason, crossbows were considered to be extremely dangerous by most feudal societies...including the Empire of the Seven Isles, where the weapons were entirely illegal.
The warband had not yet reached the perimeter forest beyond the caltrop fields before they halted to give Holler a chance to reorganize them as he wished. Of the forty orcs in the warband, perhaps half of them had used a crossbow in the past...but all of them were happily willing to use one just now.
The warband had not yet reached the perimeter forest beyond the caltrop fields before they halted to give Holler a chance to reorganize them as he wished. Of the forty orcs in the warband, perhaps half of them had used a crossbow in the past...but all of them were happily willing to use one just now.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
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Guest
The enthusiasm of his men didn't surprise Holler, the amount of willing archers did. Most Orc, after all, favored hand to hand combat over any ranged warfare. Waving his large, green hands in front of him, he growled: "Done it a lot; to the right. Like to learn; to the left...NOW!" Slowly the former sailor reached down and picked up a well rounded stone from the dusty road. Thus he didn't have to witness the chaos his command was sure to cause.
Rubbing the stone clean in his waxy hands, he gazed up at his war band. The mob on the right would receive eleven bows and the complementary shot, while the one on the left - and the spares from the right - would be interrogated about their sling and bola skills. Perhaps Sleipnir could make a proper little army out of 'em yet!
As he went about his business visions of gory glory paraded around in the back of his thick skull. He would be up against horse-ridden warriors and half horse warriors, but in the woods the Orcs would have an edge. hiding a green Orc in there would be easier than hiding a whole horse, albeit only slightly. A cursory examination of his Orcs outfits showed that - luckily - slaves weren't supposed to have shiny stuff on 'em.
Rubbing the stone clean in his waxy hands, he gazed up at his war band. The mob on the right would receive eleven bows and the complementary shot, while the one on the left - and the spares from the right - would be interrogated about their sling and bola skills. Perhaps Sleipnir could make a proper little army out of 'em yet!
As he went about his business visions of gory glory paraded around in the back of his thick skull. He would be up against horse-ridden warriors and half horse warriors, but in the woods the Orcs would have an edge. hiding a green Orc in there would be easier than hiding a whole horse, albeit only slightly. A cursory examination of his Orcs outfits showed that - luckily - slaves weren't supposed to have shiny stuff on 'em.
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Maeve
- The Dragon & Game Designer
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A lot of noise went on behind Hollers back, some shuffling, some growling. When he turned he saw the last few Orcs swifting and glaring at each other. I the "Done it a lot" now numbered 9 Orcs and "Like to learn" contained the remaining 29 Orcs. They took in the weapons gladly though it left two cross bows.
[i][b][color=orange][size=92]Smile and carry a big stick.[/color][/b][/i][/size]
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Guest
'Nine? Nine?', he thought, or rather [mental image bows vs. mental image archers, means two left]. With a large sigh, Holler looked at the two crossbows on the dusty road. Not quite sure how to decide which of the twenty nine warriors on the...LEFT (!?) would receive the remaining weapons. A mental note was made never to say left or right in combat situations; pointing with his grubby, green hands had to suffice. Luckily the confident way in which the nine 'done-it-a-lots' fondled their prizes told him that at least all of his men had made the similar mistake. Or was it his own mistake? Clumsily he turned about facing away from his gang. Now it makes sense...
Turning back with a huge grin on his face, after all his Orcs were smart enough to know left from right, he turned his attention back to the issue at hand. With a low grunt he came to a decision. "You, you, take bows and join left." Purely chosen because of their, in comparison, slighter build the two green archers smiled with - misplaced - pride.
The issue of slings and bolas would have to wait for later. They were hard to fabricate from scratch. Grunting a typical Orc marching order Holler stalked off towards the trees. Inside his busy mind a 'to-do'-list grew. Cut spears, long spears. Make fire to harden the points. Smokeless fires. Appoint a second in command... A banging headache started to stomp around in his skull; Sleipnir's brain hadn't seen so much use in... well, ever!
Turning back with a huge grin on his face, after all his Orcs were smart enough to know left from right, he turned his attention back to the issue at hand. With a low grunt he came to a decision. "You, you, take bows and join left." Purely chosen because of their, in comparison, slighter build the two green archers smiled with - misplaced - pride.
The issue of slings and bolas would have to wait for later. They were hard to fabricate from scratch. Grunting a typical Orc marching order Holler stalked off towards the trees. Inside his busy mind a 'to-do'-list grew. Cut spears, long spears. Make fire to harden the points. Smokeless fires. Appoint a second in command... A banging headache started to stomp around in his skull; Sleipnir's brain hadn't seen so much use in... well, ever!
OOC: Hi there! Thanks for waiting! A short post for you to get started again, and reast easy that more is coming later!
As they marched into the woods is soon became apparent that there were at least a few advantages of man war. Nearly forty warriors, born to a life of violence, bred to be strong and independant and fierce, were not easy to keep control of as the variating inclines and declines, the constant left and right turn to go around trees, and the constant ducking and stepping over things destoyed any rythym of marching together to a murderous bunch such as this.
Already hard to keep order over, the forest had them soon breaking up as the terrain seperated them at different speeds. The man or adhiel warriors maintained that type of discipline, but these hardy warriors did not hold to the coventions of man or adhiel.
Not ten burns into the march, Holler found his warband splintering and scattering at different intervals in the dense trees.
As they marched into the woods is soon became apparent that there were at least a few advantages of man war. Nearly forty warriors, born to a life of violence, bred to be strong and independant and fierce, were not easy to keep control of as the variating inclines and declines, the constant left and right turn to go around trees, and the constant ducking and stepping over things destoyed any rythym of marching together to a murderous bunch such as this.
Already hard to keep order over, the forest had them soon breaking up as the terrain seperated them at different speeds. The man or adhiel warriors maintained that type of discipline, but these hardy warriors did not hold to the coventions of man or adhiel.
Not ten burns into the march, Holler found his warband splintering and scattering at different intervals in the dense trees.
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Guest
As the rustling around him lessened and lessened, Holler started to worry. He was used to the clear expanses of wooden decks, with the occasional mast. This woodland-thing was something completely different. At the start of their march he hadn't considered the problems it would cause. Hoping that he could still reach all of his warriors, he started to grunt the order. 'Regroup, regroup.' The Orc-leader still wanted to make those spears - or rather stakes - they'd mentioned earlier.
The four Orcs that were still with him, took advantage of the pause and sunk down on the mossy forrest floor. "No, no, get up; too much to do!" Holler kicked the nearest warrior in the thigh. "Up, up! You make a fire, you, you and you cut some young spruces, about three and a half paces long. On the double!" Inwardly Holler had to smile; he'd always wanted to say that.
Not one to let other do the heavy lifting, the muddy green Orc searched the small clearing for dry wood for the fire. The drier the better. We don't want too much smoke, after all. With an armload of branches he returned to the busy fire maker, hoping that soon more of his men would trickle in.
The four Orcs that were still with him, took advantage of the pause and sunk down on the mossy forrest floor. "No, no, get up; too much to do!" Holler kicked the nearest warrior in the thigh. "Up, up! You make a fire, you, you and you cut some young spruces, about three and a half paces long. On the double!" Inwardly Holler had to smile; he'd always wanted to say that.
Not one to let other do the heavy lifting, the muddy green Orc searched the small clearing for dry wood for the fire. The drier the better. We don't want too much smoke, after all. With an armload of branches he returned to the busy fire maker, hoping that soon more of his men would trickle in.
In combat, an Orcish Warband was terrible and frightening thing. It breathed, it moved, it was strong and fluid like a strange and powerful muscle of some kind.
In a relaxed march, an Orcish Warband struggled to maintain any sort of identity or anything resembling cohesion, but Holler was trying. His warriors responded to his commands, but not without delay, or grumbling. Most of his warriors had returned to the fold and were carrying out his orders. A few more straggled in late and bloody from something that they had killed and eaten.
Before long he had a large pile of sometimes straight branches to use, and a cheerful fire going. As the others seemed to lack imagination or concept of what he wanted. When they were finished, they sat around and waited for more orders.
In a relaxed march, an Orcish Warband struggled to maintain any sort of identity or anything resembling cohesion, but Holler was trying. His warriors responded to his commands, but not without delay, or grumbling. Most of his warriors had returned to the fold and were carrying out his orders. A few more straggled in late and bloody from something that they had killed and eaten.
Before long he had a large pile of sometimes straight branches to use, and a cheerful fire going. As the others seemed to lack imagination or concept of what he wanted. When they were finished, they sat around and waited for more orders.
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Guest
Holler was starting to appreciate the horrors and hardships a leader had to brave. A slight shiver tickled his spine as he battered his brain; how could it have been so stupid to agree to it in the first place?! With a low sigh, the Orc commander rumbled: "Take a stick and widdle a point on it. Com'on now, don't tally. Afterwards heat it in the fire until the point is nice and hard." Looking a tad foul at the shaman - after all he'd been to bring up the idea in the first place - he'd expected the fellow to show a bit more enthusiasm for the task.
To give the right example Holler grabbed a long end of wood from the pile. Pointedly he applied a mikado kinda way to do so. Pushing it in his armpit, he slid his belt knife out and started to sharpen the business end of the stick. Although his feet - unused to long marches - screamed at him to sit down as well, Sleipnir wasn't prepared to loose his position of dominance by bringing his bum down to their level.
To give the right example Holler grabbed a long end of wood from the pile. Pointedly he applied a mikado kinda way to do so. Pushing it in his armpit, he slid his belt knife out and started to sharpen the business end of the stick. Although his feet - unused to long marches - screamed at him to sit down as well, Sleipnir wasn't prepared to loose his position of dominance by bringing his bum down to their level.
Last edited by Guest on Mon Feb 12, 2007 9:32 am, edited 1 time in total.
Thankfully, orcs knew their way when it came to defense...and in short order, the mob spread out and began to manufacture what would become crude pikes, adding to their arsenal of weaponry. The task would take a little time, but not overmuch...and as they worked, the shaman nudged at Holler and indicated sign of the recent army marching East...the Westerners that had marched just before the orc warband.
In moments, one of the orcs growled a warning at the perimeter of the clearing...and before long, a pair of horsed humans were lead into the forest and up to Holler, both wearing cloaks that obscured their faces. "Humans come from Aveas," murmured the orc sentry, gesturing at the pair. "One of 'em says 'e needs ta talk to you..." he grunted. One of the humans was dismounting...and Holler recognized him as the human who had given him his orders a short time ago. Maglio was his name, if his memory recalled correctly.
"Chief. I have...a minor change of orders for you. Something you may enjoy even more," murmured the Governor, though he didn't take a step towards Holler until prompted to do so.
In moments, one of the orcs growled a warning at the perimeter of the clearing...and before long, a pair of horsed humans were lead into the forest and up to Holler, both wearing cloaks that obscured their faces. "Humans come from Aveas," murmured the orc sentry, gesturing at the pair. "One of 'em says 'e needs ta talk to you..." he grunted. One of the humans was dismounting...and Holler recognized him as the human who had given him his orders a short time ago. Maglio was his name, if his memory recalled correctly.
"Chief. I have...a minor change of orders for you. Something you may enjoy even more," murmured the Governor, though he didn't take a step towards Holler until prompted to do so.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
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Guest
(OOC: WB, let's get this show on the road, again. Thx for assuming I posted sentries in the first place. 
)
IC:
Glad to see his pack quickly adding to their arsenal, Holler continued to do his part. The signs of a somewhat larger warband having made it's way through the forest before them, hadn't escaped Holler. As his shaman prodded him to force him to acknowledge it, he grumbled: "Hell'uva'lot of people. Smells like humans, soldiers. Tracks move away, though." Letting it rest at that, Sleipnir pushed a freshly sharpened stake into the hot embers of the fire.
When he had worked his way through two wooden pikes, a low growl warned him. Something had altered. All Orcs, aware of the change in the air, looked up from their work, some nostrils flared to find clues to it's source. Slowly their commander rose to his full height - most of his men followed suit - just as two riders were led into the little clearing. Listening to the sentry's words, Holler took his time to analyse the saddled humans. A curt nod to the Orc that had led them in, told the archer to go back to his appointed spot in the camp's picket line.
One of the cloaked riders had unhorsed himself during this brief exchange and now revealed his face to him. A dark shadow crossed the chief's face as he recognized their master. It had been so easy to forget their status as mere slaves during their march through the woods. As warriors, it hadn't taken them long to slip into a comfortable routine of easy camaraderie. Now this fellow, this master was here, as a painful reminder of their true station. They were no proper Orc warband, only a mob of badly outfitted slaves. Tempted to rip out the man's throat and be done with it, the Orc leader reminded himself that if they ever thought of going back to their homelands they'd need that awful gate to get them moving.
With a low sigh and a wave he signalled his warriors to relax and go back about their business. "Tell, wha' I'd enjoy mor'?", he asked as he stepped in closer to the young Governor. Still a tad disgruntled about Maglio's visit, he chose not to use any titles of deference. He's lucky to have access to that darn' gate, otherwise his prospects of leaving here whole would be slim, indeed! Pondering the pleasing possibility of an 'unfortunate accident' the Orc leader awaited the Governor's explanation.
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IC:
Glad to see his pack quickly adding to their arsenal, Holler continued to do his part. The signs of a somewhat larger warband having made it's way through the forest before them, hadn't escaped Holler. As his shaman prodded him to force him to acknowledge it, he grumbled: "Hell'uva'lot of people. Smells like humans, soldiers. Tracks move away, though." Letting it rest at that, Sleipnir pushed a freshly sharpened stake into the hot embers of the fire.
When he had worked his way through two wooden pikes, a low growl warned him. Something had altered. All Orcs, aware of the change in the air, looked up from their work, some nostrils flared to find clues to it's source. Slowly their commander rose to his full height - most of his men followed suit - just as two riders were led into the little clearing. Listening to the sentry's words, Holler took his time to analyse the saddled humans. A curt nod to the Orc that had led them in, told the archer to go back to his appointed spot in the camp's picket line.
One of the cloaked riders had unhorsed himself during this brief exchange and now revealed his face to him. A dark shadow crossed the chief's face as he recognized their master. It had been so easy to forget their status as mere slaves during their march through the woods. As warriors, it hadn't taken them long to slip into a comfortable routine of easy camaraderie. Now this fellow, this master was here, as a painful reminder of their true station. They were no proper Orc warband, only a mob of badly outfitted slaves. Tempted to rip out the man's throat and be done with it, the Orc leader reminded himself that if they ever thought of going back to their homelands they'd need that awful gate to get them moving.
With a low sigh and a wave he signalled his warriors to relax and go back about their business. "Tell, wha' I'd enjoy mor'?", he asked as he stepped in closer to the young Governor. Still a tad disgruntled about Maglio's visit, he chose not to use any titles of deference. He's lucky to have access to that darn' gate, otherwise his prospects of leaving here whole would be slim, indeed! Pondering the pleasing possibility of an 'unfortunate accident' the Orc leader awaited the Governor's explanation.
Last edited by Guest on Fri Feb 16, 2007 9:18 am, edited 1 time in total.
It was a massive risk...but this was where the die would be cast. Most back in the Western Kingdoms...most around the world...would look back on Pan's Isle and believe that this war was about faith or international strength. They would think this conflict was about the East versus the West, a pitting and measuring of strengths between the shattered Empire and the fragmented Kingdom. But Governor Maglio was from a long line of very cunning, brilliant tacticians...and he knew far more than most.
"I could not speak of this among the others," motioned Maglio. The orc nation had served before, a month or two ago when they were hired to lay siege to King's Court. The main problem with orc mercenaries wasn't so much in retaining them, but in controlling them once they were retained. "But there is more to my wishes for you. If you do this for me, you will earn considerable wealth for you and all of your kin."
"The Faithful army marches East, where they will decend upon the Panlings and crush them. You must follow them, as I said...and see them strike. Leading them is a man called Rathe...a priest wearing scarlet robes and a gold scapular," Maglio motioned down his breast to imitate where a scapular might by hung. "It would best for me if this army were to be...defeated. Wait until the Faithful army attacks. If they retreat, they must retreat into you...and you must destroy them all. If they will win, you must strike them from behind and cripple them such that the Panling armies can defeat them. I want none of them to return to Aveas alive, Warchief."
"And this..this must remain a secret between us. For this service, you and all your band will receive freedom and travel wherever they wish to go through the portal in Aveas. In addition, you yourself will receive twenty crowns in metal or whatever goods from our warehouses that might equal such a sum. Naturally, anything you and your band pillage while in the field will be yours as well. Do we have an agreement?"
Curiously, history would no doubt fail to record the demise of Father Rathe there on the battlefield of Gatetown. But his loss...and the death of his loyal followers...would spell the end of the church's influence over Aveas, and such an act would open the door for the Governor to assert his own control over Western interest in the region. In addition, the Panlings would be empowered and inspired to continue their fight...which would bring them to the gates of Aveas herself. Right where they need to be, predicted the Governor. After all, History wasn't always written by the victor, like so many believed...and it didn't always tell the whole story.
"I could not speak of this among the others," motioned Maglio. The orc nation had served before, a month or two ago when they were hired to lay siege to King's Court. The main problem with orc mercenaries wasn't so much in retaining them, but in controlling them once they were retained. "But there is more to my wishes for you. If you do this for me, you will earn considerable wealth for you and all of your kin."
"The Faithful army marches East, where they will decend upon the Panlings and crush them. You must follow them, as I said...and see them strike. Leading them is a man called Rathe...a priest wearing scarlet robes and a gold scapular," Maglio motioned down his breast to imitate where a scapular might by hung. "It would best for me if this army were to be...defeated. Wait until the Faithful army attacks. If they retreat, they must retreat into you...and you must destroy them all. If they will win, you must strike them from behind and cripple them such that the Panling armies can defeat them. I want none of them to return to Aveas alive, Warchief."
"And this..this must remain a secret between us. For this service, you and all your band will receive freedom and travel wherever they wish to go through the portal in Aveas. In addition, you yourself will receive twenty crowns in metal or whatever goods from our warehouses that might equal such a sum. Naturally, anything you and your band pillage while in the field will be yours as well. Do we have an agreement?"
Curiously, history would no doubt fail to record the demise of Father Rathe there on the battlefield of Gatetown. But his loss...and the death of his loyal followers...would spell the end of the church's influence over Aveas, and such an act would open the door for the Governor to assert his own control over Western interest in the region. In addition, the Panlings would be empowered and inspired to continue their fight...which would bring them to the gates of Aveas herself. Right where they need to be, predicted the Governor. After all, History wasn't always written by the victor, like so many believed...and it didn't always tell the whole story.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
-
Guest
A conspiracy! Double crossing! Just grand! Holler Sleipnir listened with growing apprehension to Maglio's words. The mention of wealth for him and his band gladdened his heart, but something irked him. Not the usage of him and his Orcs to stab former allies in the bum stroked him the wrong way, but the fact that he had to trust a - now - known backstabber to pay them all a large sum of money.
In principle the Governor still was their owner. However in their midst, with only one chaperone that fact was negligible. Holler wasn't opposed to some killing, crippling and/or wiping out, but he preferred to be able to collect the promised reward. What would keep this Maglio chap from pointing his finger at the returning Orcs and have them slaughtered before Aveas' gates? With suspicion darkening his mood, he looked at the human before him. "How you're gonna keep yer en' of deal? Give guarantees, eh?"
Some of the Orcs nearby had 'overheard' their conversation and some showed their agreement by grunting softly. Holler shut them up by shooting a scorching glance in their general direction. "Well, human. Wha' do yee propose?"
In principle the Governor still was their owner. However in their midst, with only one chaperone that fact was negligible. Holler wasn't opposed to some killing, crippling and/or wiping out, but he preferred to be able to collect the promised reward. What would keep this Maglio chap from pointing his finger at the returning Orcs and have them slaughtered before Aveas' gates? With suspicion darkening his mood, he looked at the human before him. "How you're gonna keep yer en' of deal? Give guarantees, eh?"
Some of the Orcs nearby had 'overheard' their conversation and some showed their agreement by grunting softly. Holler shut them up by shooting a scorching glance in their general direction. "Well, human. Wha' do yee propose?"
"You have only my word, Warchief. And that will be enough, because you all know what will happen if you do not do this. If the Faithful Army succeeds, they will conquer this island. They will take all the spoils, and they will capture all the Panlings. And they will keep all of these for themselves, and you will have nothing. Not even your freedom. Remember, orc: they did not purchase you, so they will show you no mercies or compassion when they no longer have use for you."
Governor Maglio bowed slightly and turned to regain his mount. "If you do not or cannot accomplish this, then we will gain nothing. Think upon it carefully, warchief. You will all do as you feel you must."
All around Holler, orcs began to collect once more, this time with sharpened pikes in hand. The pikes ranged between ten and twelve feet in length, easily managed by the powerful creatures that held them, and perhaps good to fend off at least one mounted charge. Holler also found the shaman watching him closely, waiting to see how the Warchief would react. It was no great surprise or secret that the Church of Dominicus did not suffer any orc shaman lightly...especially on lands they controlled.
Governor Maglio bowed slightly and turned to regain his mount. "If you do not or cannot accomplish this, then we will gain nothing. Think upon it carefully, warchief. You will all do as you feel you must."
All around Holler, orcs began to collect once more, this time with sharpened pikes in hand. The pikes ranged between ten and twelve feet in length, easily managed by the powerful creatures that held them, and perhaps good to fend off at least one mounted charge. Holler also found the shaman watching him closely, waiting to see how the Warchief would react. It was no great surprise or secret that the Church of Dominicus did not suffer any orc shaman lightly...especially on lands they controlled.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
-
Guest
From experience Holler knew the word of a human meant little. Especially considering that most humans saw Orcs as animals, as pests. Somehow that seemed to license even the most honorable of men to break their promise. In his mind a huge see-saw took shape, and the Orc warchief attempted to weigh the pros and cons off against each other. It took a few flickers to realize that most of the arguments he placed on it weren't even facts. They might or might not face treason on their return, they might or might not receive payment for their blood, sweat and fallen comrades and they might or might not find loot and treasure. One surety they however had; their current station - or rather lack thereof. It pained the tall, muscular Orc to admit, but there really wasn't much of a choice for them. The only course to steer was one of caution and self interest. As long as this Governor Maglio's plans seemed to blow them in the right direction it might be wise to accede to his wishes.
After what seemed like ages, Sleipnir condemned them to what might be their doom by snarling - rather annoyed: "Orc will do it!" Only now feeling the intense gaze of his shaman burning into him, Holler speared a crooked grin at him whilst shrugging.
Relieved to see his warband had finished their task, he grunted a marching order. As he took the lead position he passed the human Governor. "Will be knocking fer money, afterwards...", he snapped at him. Within flickers the deceptively cumbersome warriors had vanished in the surrounding thicket, leaving young Maglio and his escort with a thoroughly trampled clearing and a still very lively, popping and cracking fire.
After what seemed like ages, Sleipnir condemned them to what might be their doom by snarling - rather annoyed: "Orc will do it!" Only now feeling the intense gaze of his shaman burning into him, Holler speared a crooked grin at him whilst shrugging.
Relieved to see his warband had finished their task, he grunted a marching order. As he took the lead position he passed the human Governor. "Will be knocking fer money, afterwards...", he snapped at him. Within flickers the deceptively cumbersome warriors had vanished in the surrounding thicket, leaving young Maglio and his escort with a thoroughly trampled clearing and a still very lively, popping and cracking fire.
A few marks later...
The orc warband was a lot of things, but not among them was quiet. Moving silently through the woods wasn't a skill to which an orc couldn't aspire, but these orcs simply weren't practice in that kind of warfare...and so they could only trample through the underbrush with the same reckless destruction as the column of humans that marched before them.
And that was a lot. The Faithful Army left a fine, wide path of destruction through the forest, trampling bush, churning soil, and breaking branch and tearing bark as they passed. They were not far ahead...the foremost orcs in Holler's band could see them...and the orcs had been spotted numerous times by the Faithful Army, though the orcs were not deemed to be a threat. After all...the orcs were Westerners too, weren't they? In fact, orcs were one of the only Race of Man that were exclusively found in the West, at least in any great numbers.
At the center of the Faithful ranks, a group of about a hundred mixed foot...most likely mercenaries...were collected with assorted hand weapons. On their left, a group of perhaps fifty red-clad Confessors were formed, a potent formation given that Confessors were all shockingly well-equipped and very well-trained. To the right of the conscripts were the Paladins, a group of perhaps forty paladins on foot, each one wearing field plate armors and carrying spear, halberd, or two-hand sword, while forty more paladins on horseback waited behind the lines. Another fifty or so humans made up a strong archer formation, each armed with heavy crossbows...most of which were armed with fire bolts...and they were spread all across the front in a single file, ready to open the battle with their crossbows before falling back to reform into rank.
Apparently, the Faithful Army ahead of the warband reached it's final destination. The forest ahead broke to become a less dense glade, and beyond them Holler could only just see a mass of tents, shacks, and a few ancient ruins. Gatetown. Between the warband and the settlement was the Faithful Army...which, surprising to him, proved to be easily more than three hundred souls, almost eight times the size of Holler's warband. Still, the humans weren't paying any attention to the orcs as they spread out their ranks and ignited a large number of flaming bolts for their arcballistae. The battle was about to begin.
The orc warband was a lot of things, but not among them was quiet. Moving silently through the woods wasn't a skill to which an orc couldn't aspire, but these orcs simply weren't practice in that kind of warfare...and so they could only trample through the underbrush with the same reckless destruction as the column of humans that marched before them.
And that was a lot. The Faithful Army left a fine, wide path of destruction through the forest, trampling bush, churning soil, and breaking branch and tearing bark as they passed. They were not far ahead...the foremost orcs in Holler's band could see them...and the orcs had been spotted numerous times by the Faithful Army, though the orcs were not deemed to be a threat. After all...the orcs were Westerners too, weren't they? In fact, orcs were one of the only Race of Man that were exclusively found in the West, at least in any great numbers.
At the center of the Faithful ranks, a group of about a hundred mixed foot...most likely mercenaries...were collected with assorted hand weapons. On their left, a group of perhaps fifty red-clad Confessors were formed, a potent formation given that Confessors were all shockingly well-equipped and very well-trained. To the right of the conscripts were the Paladins, a group of perhaps forty paladins on foot, each one wearing field plate armors and carrying spear, halberd, or two-hand sword, while forty more paladins on horseback waited behind the lines. Another fifty or so humans made up a strong archer formation, each armed with heavy crossbows...most of which were armed with fire bolts...and they were spread all across the front in a single file, ready to open the battle with their crossbows before falling back to reform into rank.
Apparently, the Faithful Army ahead of the warband reached it's final destination. The forest ahead broke to become a less dense glade, and beyond them Holler could only just see a mass of tents, shacks, and a few ancient ruins. Gatetown. Between the warband and the settlement was the Faithful Army...which, surprising to him, proved to be easily more than three hundred souls, almost eight times the size of Holler's warband. Still, the humans weren't paying any attention to the orcs as they spread out their ranks and ignited a large number of flaming bolts for their arcballistae. The battle was about to begin.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
-
Guest
As a maritime Orc, Holler Sleipnir didn't care much for all this marching. It wasn't really encroaching on his stamina, but it was just so very boring. Trees, trees, trees and some bushes as well. As his warband stomped along the pre-carved path, he noticed a few stragglers from the main force. Their presence convinced him that they were headed in the right - general - direction. They didn't however prepare him for the sheer size of the army's main body. As his foremost scouts emerged from the dingy, twilight of the leafy canopy they halted abruptly. The rest of his mob of Orcs joined them, staring at the impressive forces in the field.
With a wave of his hand he motioned the majority of his people back in between the trees. Better not to show their presence too clearly; they might get forced into the frontline then and there. With Maglio's new orders fresh in his mind, the lead Orc thought it wise to keep a distance between his warband and the rest of the Westerners. Bred and - literally - fed on war, Holler could neigh smell the imminent battle. Taking in account his relatively small force, he decided to wait for the bloodshed to start in earnest. After all, when the Faithful Army was fully engaged, they would be easy meat for his marauding Orcs.
Keeping to the shadows, he first whipped his band in something akin order. Two lines of eight of his heaviest, most muscular stake wielders he placed in front, followed by two ranks of his crossbowmen with spearmen on either end, his back - although there might be no need for it at the present - he protected by placing the remaining six Orcs there. Of course he realized that as soon as battle got to full swing this carefully conceived formation would break up in flickers. It was also very likely that it had to be adjusted from the word go, but for now it suited Sleipnir's ideas and mood.
Somewhat smug about the quick responses of his team, Holler snarled at his shaman. "What can you do?" It might seem a bit late to question the man's abilities now, but the Governor's insistence that haste was important had driven the necessary questions temporarily from his mind. Now given a bit of a reprieve, they raised their backs forcing the muddy green leader to - at last - address them.
With a wave of his hand he motioned the majority of his people back in between the trees. Better not to show their presence too clearly; they might get forced into the frontline then and there. With Maglio's new orders fresh in his mind, the lead Orc thought it wise to keep a distance between his warband and the rest of the Westerners. Bred and - literally - fed on war, Holler could neigh smell the imminent battle. Taking in account his relatively small force, he decided to wait for the bloodshed to start in earnest. After all, when the Faithful Army was fully engaged, they would be easy meat for his marauding Orcs.
Keeping to the shadows, he first whipped his band in something akin order. Two lines of eight of his heaviest, most muscular stake wielders he placed in front, followed by two ranks of his crossbowmen with spearmen on either end, his back - although there might be no need for it at the present - he protected by placing the remaining six Orcs there. Of course he realized that as soon as battle got to full swing this carefully conceived formation would break up in flickers. It was also very likely that it had to be adjusted from the word go, but for now it suited Sleipnir's ideas and mood.
Somewhat smug about the quick responses of his team, Holler snarled at his shaman. "What can you do?" It might seem a bit late to question the man's abilities now, but the Governor's insistence that haste was important had driven the necessary questions temporarily from his mind. Now given a bit of a reprieve, they raised their backs forcing the muddy green leader to - at last - address them.
Last edited by Guest on Mon Feb 26, 2007 9:11 am, edited 1 time in total.