A field of lush and vibrant green grass, a valley of purple flowers, a savanna filled with life. These were the beauties found in this valley of peace. The inhabitants were a happy people, farming the fields around the flowers; feeding their family and living day to day. The purple flowers themselves were a religious sign that no matter the darkness that encroaches upon the weak they will somehow stand once again. A prophecy, sung by the greatest of soothsayers. And they all would sway to the unopposable winds of fate.
These were things no more in the Hidemn’s Fields. Trampled to death by the rhythmic march of an army so massive, they bled out of the fields and into the forest far to the west. A poetic beat of thundering steps, perfectly in synchronicity with their neighbor. A dull beat of drums echoed, leaders of the army. Black flags with nothing marring their perfect visage except a lower bone jaw with thick tusks spearing out of them.
“Owo!” The massive army spoke as one, shaking the already vibrating world. “Owo!” they said again, a message to those that would witness the might that had been sent to battle. An army of armored dark orcs, their black and dark green skin glistening with sweat under the ever beating rays of the sun. Heavy armor adorned those in the front, riding upon beasts resembling wolves and others hideously deformed monstrosities only found near the gates to the abyss. Tamed and ridden into battle by the braveheart.
Bellows echoed, the mounts guided by their capable riders. “Owo!” the army spoke again, a pattern they had built from the day they began their long and treacherous march. Over and over it would be called. But, loudest of them all were the siege engines rolling through on large wheels; them plowing through the dirt and mud leaving their mark. Smoke rose from the gargantuan constructs, as a gurgling motor noise boomed forth from them. A quick beat to the slow and rhythmic march; creating a symphony of war and death.
For miles, wagons trailed behind because of necessity. Some made of wood, brown in texture, with wooden wheels - some breaking along the path. Soldiers could be found running to and fro moving much-needed resources. While others wooden wagons trudging on to their final destination. But some were made of metal, behemoths of silver and dark gray colors. They never stopped, continuing on through all types of weather and conditions. They, like all wagons of war, were filled with things needed to carry out such matters. Food, cloth, boots, weapons, and much more.
On the side of the army, a mounted warrior on a wolf - a wolf-rider as they often were called - hurried past the army. His destination was much farther upfield. Faster and faster he rode, his long black and red ponytail fluttering behind him. The bones braided into his hair were cluttering and singing a frightening melody. His breath coming out in force past his tusks - one broken from previous battles - he did his best to make it on time. His gray mount was already breathing hard, a pain to see his friend put through such excursions. But they both knew a truth none could deny; it was never a good thing to make a War Leader wait.
Tightening his knees, he pulled roughly on his mount towards the left, to get past the curve of the army and to the front were their leader led. Coming to slow gait, a bit away from the war leader, they - the mount and the warrior - watched as he rode upon a frightening beast. Their war leader was of a massive build, muscles bulging in herculean size, but had an incredible grace that made everyone who saw shiver. Black skinned, he had a face filled with scars and wedges from previous battles; a testimony to his battle prowess. He adorned an armor darker than he, it absorbed the light that surrounded him.
To add to his frightening look was a helm designed to be as lifelike as possible, showing the hideous face of a hellwalker. The helm did not cover his face at all but instead was made to fill around his skull. The hellwalkers were massive beasts that spewed out of the gates of the abyss every few years. A legion of these gigantic creatures would threaten leagues upon leagues of lands. Their faces had a massive skull with bull-like horns. Sharp teeth jutted out of their jaws, no lips to cover the mess at all - gums and everything else - and two slits for a nose.
The war leader was sitting on top of a giant beast with brown leathery skin, known to be extremely difficult to penetrate. Humpbacked, it had long spikes protruding out of its back in a circle leaving an area to sit on. With a long and muscled tail and claws that sank deeply into the ground every step, it came out to be almost twice the length of a riders wolves and one and a half wolf long. As the warrior came closer to the war leader the beast began to growl and snarl at them; warning them to step no closer. But, he pushed on anyways, the war leader needed his report.
“Juenous, you’ve come, finally.” said the war leader as he turned to look at the warrior. His aged voice resounding in the air as power reverberated from every word he uttered. Motioning towards Juenous, the war leader waited until he spoke. Lowering his head, he spoke with reverence to the force of nature before him, “War Leader, the fires had been stopped and the trees that had been damaged in the fire, made into ash or cut into kindling. Every tree burned, or cut was quickly replaced with a seed filled with life energy to grow with speeds unnatural.”
Waiting, he stared at the furry neck of his companion. He did not want to seem insulting or show a lack of respect. For a while, the silence continued, and the war leader sat there contemplating the issue. But, eventually, with a heavy sigh, he asked, “How did the fire start?” It seemed as though he did not want to find out, but he needed to. A burden Juenous would definitely not want to be placed on his own shoulders.
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“A test of fortitude gone wrong. They did not kill the fire entirely after they had left the scene. The ashes remained, but hidden between them were sparks that no one detected until they had become a blazing fire.” said Juenous, shivers running down his entire body.
“And the perpetrators?” said the War Leader as he looked away from him. “They are being led here now by Muhal,” replied Juenous. After he answered silence bloomed once more, and the tension grew with it as the gradual march continued on. Finally, after a while, the perpetrators were pulled to the front, held in chains and lead by a short orc with dark green skin and a brown armor made of scales. The perpetrators, they were two, screaming and struggling they were brought in with nothing but their undergarments. As the accused, they were not allowed any weapons unless they chose to die by battle. The first was a fat warrior, his bulging stomach swaying with every massive step he took. And the other was one built of muscle.
Raising his hand into the air, all chanting, beating of drums, roaring of beasts and siege engines alike, and murmurs came to a halt. Dead silence reigned supreme as the once loud marching army stopped by a single - nonverbal - command. Everyone saw the power that shook the fabric of reality itself in their eyes. Everyone was waiting, listening and watching what would happen next. “Do you conspire against the motherland?!” The war leaders voice boomed across the valley, and those receiving his ire trying to step back in fear, only to be pushed back by those behind them. “N-No!” They both stuttered, the fat one falling to his knees and the other barely holding himself as well.
“Then why do you burn the land our people?! The lands our women, children and elderly depend upon? Is it your goal to burn the heavy hopes and expectations placed on our shoulders because you could not carry them any longer?!” He demanded, his voice filled with anger and hands clenched around the spikes of his mount. Mirroring his mood, his mount bellowed in a fury, rising up to two feet than slamming back down in front of them.
“Plea-,” they both tried to beg but were quickly cut off by the war leader; he was not done. Their fates were sealed, but maybe their families would not suffer in consequence. “Then what do you call what you have done? Treachery? Envy - none other than you deserve these lands? Or is it negligence?” he spoke with a softer voice, making it clear that they had no way out of their punishment. The first two held dire consequence for not only them but for their families as well. All related to them are to be executed, and any a close friend as well. But, the last gave them more honor in death. Their families would reap significant benefits, the lands they had achieved in battle given to them, and more so considering they would be given a fair share of this campaign.
“It is negligence! We are guilty of it and nothing more. Criminals of that act we attest too. Punish us as you see fit, War Leader. But give our families no suffering, for they go through enough in the motherlands,” cried the muscled one as he finally fell to his knees. He knew that coming back from this war was not a likely thing, but he had gone anyways for his family.
“It is so, hear me my great army! Hear my judgment! They are accused of great negligence, and so they have been found guilty. Their lives forfeit, but their families will be given bounties aplenty. The land they have acquired through battle and those they would have been given after this mission will be prepared for their families. It is why they are here.”
With a wave of his hand, they were given a sword each. Death by battle was an honorable way to leave; a final courtesy their war leader gave them. With shaky hands and heavy hearts, they both stood to face their eventual death. In front of them was both Muhul and Juenous, without armor and only their favored weapons. Juenous carried a great-sword that stood taller than himself, while Muhul carried a massive Warhammer that seemed too heavy to even pick up, let alone wield usefully.
With a rush in his step, the muscled man ran towards Muhal, taking his chances with him instead of locking swords with the Wolf of Temuilana. Straining his muscles to his greatest ability, he swung as a scream escaped his mouth. Aiming to decapitate Muhul, and maybe end this early. But luck was not on his side, Muhul - the experienced warrior he was - quietly stepped back as he raised his massive Warhammer with a single hand forcing the muscled man to overextend and miss him entirely. Pushing his weapon into the man, he had the stumbling orc on the ground. With a long-winded swing, his hammer came down without mercy. Crushing the chest of the muscled man.
One would have expected cheers and hollers of joy to sound out, but nothing except a solemn silence filled the air. A brother had died, and forever would be taken away.
The fat man did not have the same chances as his counterpart. No, with a slow tumbling gait, he charged his fat filled body towards Juenous expecting him to retreat a few steps. But unlike what he thought, Juenous stepped forward. Swinging wildly, the man did not even have a chance to widen his eyes in fear. A quick parry and a slash were all it took to cut him in half.
Watching this, the War-leader closed his eyes. Speaking with a tired voice, he said,
“Today is a sad day. Two of our brothers have died, not by the hands of the Enemy, or those that horde the lands. No, they died by our hands. Forever may your souls shine brightly.”