The sun beat down overhead as Roland checked the straps on his armor for the fiftieth time. The waiting was always the worst part of battle and the heat in the barrens was intolerable on the best day. He swept his mud-brown hair out of his vision and cursed as another drop of sweat ended up in his eyes. Laying in the dusts earth as he waited to charge was not among his favorite activities.
The footmen next to Roland chucked at the curse. "Oh c'mon it's not that bad it's a......"
Roald cut him off mid sentence. "The next person who says the words dry heat in my hearing I'm going to punch in the mouth" He grumbled, as he fiddled with his sword. The man snapped his mouth shut but his eyes still sparkled with mirth.
They'd marched for two weeks up from Theramore, and the ocean breeze had long since been replaced by the stifling air of Central Kalimdor. Five days in and he still had no idea why they were here. The human's been on peaceable terms with the orcs for the last Half-decade aside from the occasional border skirmish. They weren't friends exactly but the general policy of live and let live seemed be agreed upon by both sides. Yet here he baking in the hot sun and prepared at any moment to launch a full raid on an orc settlement.... Sheer madness. If they roused the Horde, they would sweep down on Theramore and crush it like an egg. Hell, the only reason they hadn't done it before was because the orcs had never wanted the light-forsaken swampland.
The call for battle pulled Roland out of his musings and he jumped to his feet along with the other fifty soldiers on this raid. They poured down onto the orc village as a solid line of glinting steel, shield and swords at the ready. He rushed to the front of the line, as one of the orcs shouted the alarm and the few guards on duty ran out to meet them.
Roland found himself paired off with a massive orc wielding one of those massive axe's the orcs were so. Roland raised his shield as the warrior swung, deflecting the blow, but sending roland stumbling. He regained his balance and dashed inside the orcs guard. He was winding up his finishing thrust when orc horns sounded in the distance.
(Nine-Hells, reinforcements already? Were we set up?)
He mind spun but he realized too late that the distraction had cost him. He felt the hot flash of pain on his inner thigh, just as his sword drove through the orcs chest. The orc had pulled a knife while his thoughts were elsewhere and now his blood spilled onto the parched earth.
Roland looked at the wound and swore, blood was welling up quickly, but not spurting like it would if the artery had been severed. The wound was deep but it must have missed the vein. Still, he was losing a lot of blood. He needed to get the wound bandaged before he bled out. He pulled his sword free of his victim and used to to fend off another orc while he looked for someplace to rest. Then he saw a barn a few rod away and used the chaos of the fight to move in that direction.
He shattered the barns door with a kick from his good leg and stumbled inside.
Sunlight streamed into the structure from the doorway revealing a few piles of straw and a trio of grubby-looking orc children huddled against the back wall. "Son of a bitch" He swore into the children's terrified silence.
The children huddled closer and let out a few loud wails, frightened beyond reason. "Ok.... Ok. I'm not going to hurt you, just keep your voices down." He said in a lighter tone sheathing his sword and showing the children his empty hands. Fighting armed guards was one thing, but he'd die before he hurt a child, even if they were orcs. Then he heard the footsteps behind him.
"It's going to be one of those days isn't it" he muttered as he slowly turned away from the children to face the newcomer with his hands still out-spread.
It was a she-orc wielding another great-axe. Dark blue hair framed a face of light green. The combination looked odd but not unpleasant to his human eyes. She had the underbite and prominent lower-tusks that were common to all orcs, but hers were much smaller than the ones the males had, almost delicate. Sweat glistened on her ample bosom and ripped abs, as her breath sawed in and out. Blood gleamed on the blade of her axe and the odd lighting in the room caused the shadows to ripple and twist with the tribal tattoos on her body.
Against his will his gaze slithered down her torso to her long-legs and muscular thighs. She had a great body. Over-muscled for a female but with her sun-melon sized breasts barely constrained by her fighting leathers and the hips packed into her tight pants there was no mistaking her gender.
Pure feminine power, equal parts beautiful and terrifying. She looked like some pagan goddess of blood and battle. Roland was completely mesmerized. His orcish was terrible, but he did know a few words. "Grazak"(beautiful) was all he could get out through the haze his mind was in. Which is when she snapped the handle of her axe into his temple and the world went black.
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Roland woke to a splitting headache and the feel of warm-hands on his body. It wasn't the first time he'd awoken to such things but this seemed different from the morning after a normal night of debauchery. "How much did i drink last night?" He muttered as he pried open his too-heavy lids.
A pair of intense red eyes met his from a few inches away. "UTHER'S GHOST!" He shouted and tried to flinch away. That was when his body informed him that not only had he been hit in the head recently, but he'd had his thigh sliced open as well. Pain shot through his whole body and his yell turned into a groan as he slumped over from the reclined position he awoke in.
