The Raid

The first moments of the fight were completely one-sided, and nearly the entire group of humans were cut down by axe and glaive and arrow before they could reach for the weapons that lay at their sides. One managed to bring a sword to bear against Marzena long enough to parry, and Kazimierz swung savagely at his undefended flank. The spirit-infused waraxe bit deeply into the human’s flesh, and Kazimierz wrenched it loose from the gaping wound, splattering blood across his face and arms as the man twisted to the ground. Meshak’s bowstring hissed, and the last human collapsed from her sprint, an arrow protruding from her back.

The noise had alerted the sentries, and now there were shouts around them. Hurriedly, they worked, throwing bottles of volatile oil on stacks of wood and setting them alight before fleeing back into the darkness, arrows from the half-completed tower whispering past them in the gloom. Thirty yards, another fire with a cluster of workers and soldiers around it stood, its defenders scrambling into armor. They would not be so easily dispatched, and the fear in their eyes stirred a mixture of contempt and glee in hearts of their attackers. Very few orcs feared death, particularly death in combat-to be in battle was almost euphoric, a blaze of glory in the soul that was difficult to quench while its owner still lived. The demonic curse of Mannoroth had inflamed it to unreasonable levels, but even without its influence there was a perverse joy that lurked in their hearts.

They charged forward again, Kazimierz weaving the form of a protective totem as they made the last yards. Five of the humans at this camp were clearly soldiers, bearing shields and whatever piecemeal armor they had managed to secure before their foes were upon them, and they made a rough shield-line in front of the lightly-armed workers behind them.

Marzena short-hafted her glaive, using it to deflect the soldier’s swing upward as she bore him back and downward, rolling over his shield behind him as they hit the ground. She untangled the glaive and finished the soldier with a practiced thrust, then sprang lightly to her feet to meet the incoming workers.

Kazimierz was entangled with another of the guards, whose now-dented shield had held before his first swing. Momentum on his side, he grabbed the human’s swordarm with his left hand and spun around him, feeling tendons popping as he moved. The human yelled in anguish, and one of the trolls behind Kazimierz brought his own axe down on the guardsman’s head. The wild backstroke of one of the other swordsmen caught Kazimierz in the back of the head, and stumbled briefly from the impact. The wound bled profusely, but it was superficial, and Kazimierz righted himself to continue the fray.

A few more bloody moments and the rest of the humans went down, gasping their last as the raiders torched the nearby supplies. The sounds of alarm were great now-bells rang, men yelled, horns sounded; a great cacophony of warning that was accompanied by an ever-increasing number of torches being lit against the concealing night.

“Time to go?” asked Kazimierz as the raiders slipped once again into the deep shadows thrown by the burning buildings.

“

No! There is more to do,” Marzena hissed. She led them through a winding route, ducking against walls and stacks of building materials until at last they were at the rear of the partially-completed keep.

“The dogs will falter without their captain. He will be here, in his fortress, and we can strike a deathblow to this incursion here and now!” she continued in a hushed tone, waiting for a small group of soldiers to pass them.

Held in the twin grips of bloodlust and discipline, no one questioned her-Marzena was their leader here and now, and they would go wherever she commanded. They followed her up the cramped stairwell, hacking down a startled watchman as they reached the top. The keep was nearly empty-most of its soldiers were outside fighting fires or searching for the intruders, and what guards remained within were unprepared for the savage bursts of violence visited upon them. Smashing aside a pair of heavy double doors, Marzena and her raiders beheld the great table of the governor, laden with maps and surrounded by astonished soldiers. Fearless, Marzena charged, and the fight began in earnest.