Arrows fell like deadly rain as Owa and nine other orcs hurled themselves and the ram at the gate. Around them attackers fell left and right as the deadly barbs fired by the desperate defenders found target after target.
They reached the Goal with a thunderous crash. The first blow from the ton of iron-shod wood shattered the gates and sent the pieces flying in among the defenders gathered to bolster the gates. Elves, men, and dwarves gathered to give their lives to give their women and children a few more minutes before the rape and torture commenced.
Snarling in fury, Owa smashed left and right with his maul, the heavy steel spikes throwing off a rain of blood crushed from the bodies of his fallen foes. An elf dodged inside his reach using his lighter sword to slightly deflect the almost unstoppable maul. With a triumphant feral grin on his face he drew back his sword to stab the much larger orc from inside his guard. Owa released his maul with one spiked gauntlet and In a wet crunching smack drove a lighting fast punch into the elf that came away with most of the face stuck to the spikes.
Reinforcements came down from the wall to try to hold the orcs at the gates. But that weakened the defense on the walls and another wave of orcs ran forward with scaling ladders. With enemies inside the defenses while more and more breakthroughs from outside making them unable to respond, the defenders were quickly overrun. The remainder of the orcs from the ram charge fought to the door of the castle and held the ground the defenders had planned to retreat through. With no one left to sally from the castle to clear the path and nowhere to go the defenders were doomed and died to the last man in minutes.
Now comes the hard part, thought Owa as he saw the rest of the army realize that all that stood between them and the pleasures and treasures of the inner castle was a door and the Orcs that stood guard on it. They all knew The Warlord would want to be the first to enter and select loot, but with the fiery lusts of battle and greed in their veins they were sure to charge the door if he didn't come claim his rights very quickly. It was Owa's duty to stop them
The sound of the war horns outside the gate brought a sigh of relief to Owa. He knew that The Warlord would use the horns to make his entrance into the city as impressive as possible. An army of orcs was dangerous to anyone while still in battle rage but especially to anyone trying to give them commands. He had worked long and hard to get any semblance of order to his army, and it had paid off in new land for orcs and eventually in scouring the hills clean of the horrid elves, dwarves, and humans who had hunted them so mercilessly for so long. But in battle frenzy even his most ardent supporters would attack him if they saw weakness.
With another great cacophony of horns Garak Baranson the Warlord, commander of the combined forces of all the orc clans rode through the fallen gates surrounded by his advisors and cronies. Garak had been Warlord for five years now and it was thought he would be the next Overchief when old Horgrun stepped down. He had rammed through many innovations, not just in warfare, that had many of the older orcs against him. It was, as well, his overwhelming success had made him almost untouchable politically. And in personal challenge he had defeated twenty-four orcs who had disagreed with him strongly enough to make it a deadly matter.
Garak was a glowing barbaric sight covered in gold and gems with his legendary great sword, Thunder, slung across his back. He was mounted on the back of the great brown-gold stallion that had been ridden by the Khan of the Harderi horse lords when they had come from the southern plains to aid in an attempt to put down the orcish army three years ago. Just at the peak of his prime, the orcs could look forward to him leading them through many years in his plan to create an orc homeland where they could be free of the hatred and attacks of the other races.
"Orcs of the hill clans" Garak began quietly. "We have won today, a great victory." In a louder voice full of pent up suffering and regret he continued "No more shall we fear the so called 'adventurers' of the other races coming into our homes and killing our people with no provocation." Growing louder still to a stirring shout. "No more shall we be at the whim of other races' dark lords and evil wizards." Roaring loud enough to be felt through the stones of the ground "No more shall we be landless wanderers forced to live hand-to-mouth and own only what we can carry. We are free by your hands! I give you my share of the spoils of victory this day, my warriors! Inside this castle are the last of our enemies in these lands. Our war is almost over, and I call upon you to." A pause and then in a voice that shook the air like thunder "END IT NOW!"
As the Hundreds of orcs cheered him he strode up to the door of the castle and with one mighty blow of his great sword he cleaved the door in half, bar and all, and the orcs set forth into the castle, slaughtering the few old and wounded who had tried to hold the hall inside the door, intent on revenge on their ancient enemies. And Owa led the way with fire and hatred filling his veins from the Warlord's inspiring speech.
Across the great entry hall and up the stairs Owa ran, a flood of orcs spreading into the castle behind him. He had no idea where he was going but something seemed to call him from further inside the castle. Up a spiral stair he climbed, taking several steps at a time in his haste. At the top of the stairs he emerged into a large room, a room out of an orc's fondest dreams.
Violet eyes stared back at him in an oval face framed with golden hair from atop the pile of treasure where an elf female sat. A roasting pig was turning on the spit over the nearby hearth. He looked around at the rest of the room wary of traps, but saw no one else there and nothing that looked dangerous. The elf spat some words in a strange language at him. Seeing nothing obvious to harm him, Owa stepped further into the room.
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From where she sat on the pile of gold Anna watched the green skinned brute enter the room. He was a big monster, nearly eight feet tall and armored all over in glimmering plated mail. He was hugely muscled and in one hand he carried what looked like a tree trunk that had been bound in spiked steel.
She felt a chill go through her as she saw his glowing yellow eyes fix on her from inside his helm.
Taking a deep breath she challenged him, "Come and take me then you . . . orc."
I really should have come up with a better death speech she thought to herself. But if this idiot, Brend's, plans works we might have a chance to get away and I can work on another.
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The flash of movement from the corner of his eye was all the warning he got as the world went hot, bright, and full of pain. He saw the lightning that had struck him continue on and shatter a chest full of gold coins a few feet to the left of the elf woman. Staggering around he saw, about five feet away, an old human in robes waving his hands and chanting strange words, obviously readying another spell.
From time before memory of even the earliest tales the orcs had been the playthings of sorcerers and wizards. And those wizards had not been content to just command. They had changed the orcs. Thousands upon thousands of years Orcs had been slaves to this or that dark wizard. All of them thinking that orcs would be so much better if they were just a bit stronger, or if they bred faster, or a thousand other little changes. The orcs remembered the tortures of those changes, remembered the horrors of the breeding pens, and the pain of the transformations. The orcs remembered, and they hated.
As they had for ages beyond count, here was a wizard trying to hurt him, trying to control him, trying to make him die.
With a roar of fury, Owa Charged.
The wizard's chanting ended in a squawk as Owa's hand closed around his throat. The wizard darted a hand to his belt and drew a wand. Glowing bolts of energy shot from the tip into Owa's chest, bolts that suddenly rebounded and destroyed a shelf of books behind the wizard. Yes, wizards had changed the orcs, sometimes in ways that weren't particularly wise.
The muffled cracking of the bones of the wizard's neck, and the drumbeat of his feet on the floor as he spasmed in death almost covered the light steps of the elf trying to creep silently up behind him to. He waited till he judged her to be in range and spun, using the corpse he held to knock her across the room and onto the pile of treasure they had used to lure him into the room. Gold and gems went flying everywhere and a large bottle of wine was knocked into the fire breaking and putting out the flames, probably poisoned he thought wryly.
Dropping the body, Owa advanced upon the elf. His hands shook with the rage he felt at this creature that had lured him into this trap. His skin flushed almost black and his pulse raced as his anger grew, feeding on itself and driving Owa to hurt this being that represented all the death and suffering he felt.
As he reached her and stood over her she regained her senses. She saw the orc standing over her and cowered. Owa saw her draw up to cover herself and saw her eyes pause and flinch as they passed over his codpiece.
"So that's what you fear." He growled, "Stories of orc rapists are your nightmares? Then let them be real for you as they never were for those that told them."
The elf was dressed in a simple yellow linen dress. Owa reached down and grabbed her golden hair lifting her into the air. With his other hand he grabbed the bodice of the dress and ripped it down past her waist. The shredded remains fell in a heap to the floor. Two more tugs and rips and she was naked before him, hanging in the air by her hair, shock and fear paralyzing her.
She was a delicate little thing. Skin like ivory, smooth and flawless, hairless every place but her head. Hair that looked like spun gold but soft and silky to the touch. Deep violet eyes in an oval face, a face slack with terror.
Owa saw that she was so frightened she couldn't move, so he reached out and slapped her, not hard enough to really injure, just enough sting to get her attention. Then he tossed her to the floor and reached down and undid the clasps holding his codpiece on.
