Iokhur’s Ogres ran to the most obvious site of battle; there were fields of corn, with rocky outcrops and irrigation canals and of course thousands of Orcs. They were looking for plunder, Iokhur’s 1000 thundered from the west and joined up with Aeruk’s 2000, Tuzur followed close behind with some 200.
“Did I not say to fortify the castles and wait out the storm?”
“There is more glory to best these plunderers now. Send word to the other clans and to the central authorities to prepare warriors if we fail,” Aeruk said, “I don’t want them not knowing.”
“Damn right,” Tuzur said, “I will stand here and protect your rear, I have a messenger ready to inform the rest of our armies if anything befalls you.”
“The Rzo fear defeat, do they?” Iokhur joked at their expense.
“We prepare for any eventuality,” Aeruk said defensively.
“We prepare to win much glory today,” Iokhur said, “but yes, we must prepare for anything for surely the gods could give anything.”
Ogres were armed with hammers, maces, clubs, and some only gauntlets; the Oru already began their crawl forwards, there they found Zarfu marching and torching some corn fields.
“For glory we fight today!” Iokhur said, “drive them back! They will know an Ogre’s righteous fury!”
Iokhur was incredibly loud and conspicuous, but on the other hand the Oru had excellent morale, and were prepared for the fray.
That damned idiot Iokhur, my advice was for him as well. Aeruk? Brother! Brother?
Aeruk marched directly northwards but he had chosen a more direct route.
“Iokhur, I will win more glory today! Don’t leave a single Orc on our soil!” Aeruk screamed, delighting his men.
Aeruk himself held a spiked club. Charging forward, to the tutting of the women Ogres led by Tuzur who simply observed the impending battle. It was the beginning of spring, the sun beat down, but the air temperature was chilly, running to the battle site had made all sides a bit warmer, and blood would make them warmer still. Despite the running, the Ogres were not even the slightest bit tired, they were not even huffing.
“They ran all the way here?” Kleitomachos asked astounded, “how is that… possible?” Kleitomachos asked in a whisper.
The Ogres didn’t hear him, but it was a mixture of intense physical training and lean healthy diet consisting mainly of soups of various kinds.
Iokhur’s line crashed into Zarfu’s, blunt weapons maybe, but highly effective against Orcs a metre shorter. Wolf riders attempted to flank, Orcs in general attempted to flank, but the highly armoured Ogres shrugged off the spears and arrows and battered through. The smell of confused Orcs, amplified with fear and then rage, battled the most determined Ogres in the entire world.
“Where are their lines, their formations? This is a just a mess?” Kleitomachos asked, confused, “I can see from here, the Ogres are effectively duelling?” There was complete confusion in Kleitomachos’s voice.
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Ogres threw Orcs to the ground, other punched, others batted and battered the Orcish invaders; but there was no cohesion, just a thunderous charge, they crashed and continuously crashed. Orcs flew upwards or across, others had split skulls, and others still tried to catch the blunt weapons to no avail. Ogre strength was not a myth, they brutally bloodied Zarfu’s men. Zarzum’s attempted to stem the Ogre’s attack, but were met with a much more blunt attack by Aeruk. Kleitomachos could not believe his eyes, each Ogre soldier was trying to outdo the other, leaping over one another to save one another.
“Damn it Uruk!” One Ogre said as he swatted an Orc down, “pay attention man!”
“What is a person from Ilar doing watching us make war,” Tuzur asked Kleitomachos.
“Spectating,” he quipped.
“Spectate well then,” Tuzur said, “you will see the true glory of Ogres.”
Kleitomachos stared at the dust that was now being kicked up, the thundering of the Ogres that smashed into the front. Zarfu tried to rally his soldiers, but found four Ogres came increasingly closer to him. His bodyguards tried to slice the Ogres. One caught the armour but found no traction on his blade, another threw himself in front of a mallet that came his way, the crunch was audible and immediately made a few Orcs wince and be stunned for a fraction of a second, enough to allow more smashing blows. Green bodies, green Orcs attempted to stem the flow, but they became red blood; an Ogre crumpled Zarfu into a mess on the floor, his retinue quickly retreating into the fields. Corn crumpled in the background, as furious Ogres smashed the bodyguard unit, the bodyguards attempted some kind of fighting retreat, but were soon themselves smashed. Zarfu’s soldiers were dropping weapons and loot, lest they become mush on the floor, some attempted to stop the rout. Zarzum screamed something in Orcish, with some overseers whipping and even stabbing people to encourage them to continue to fight. The sounds of feet, confused shouts and of ripped metal filled the air, the smell of blood was an afterthought, the taste of blood being the last sensation of many a Orc. Zarzum positioned himself behind his troops, commanding them with blocking detachments intending to fight to the last. The Orc lines stabilised, and they began reforming somewhat, albeit with shaky morale.
“Aeruk! Look at how these foul Orcs have no concept of Glory!” Iokhur boomed out onto the battlefield.
The parts of Zarfu’s men that had fled were, astonished to see that the Ogres did not even bother to catch them.
Why are they not chasing us? Surely they could.
An Ogre with gauntlets picked up a large stone and chucked it at the Orcs, Iokhur’s band smashed straight through multiple lines of infantry. There was no hint of exhaustion from the Ogres who continuously plowed through, Orcish weapons being broken in two, snapping, bending, armour crumpling and of course deaths all around. Orcs were being strewn across, impaled by their own comrades, morale shattered, but Zarzum killed retreating Orcs, sending them back into the fray. Iokhur shouted at this travesty, shouting in his best Orcish.
“They are your own soldiers!” Outrage ringing in his voice.
Iokhur was angrier than the Orcs at the injustice, 3000 Ogres smashed into 40,000 Orcs, who despite flanking attempts were being pushed back. Kleitomachos saw flanking cavalry units unhorsed, the wolves were merely pushed back with barehands, tamed in a mere instant, 10 Orcish spearmen having their spears broken, then their armour was bent effortlessly, and shortly afterwards there were dead on the ground; an Orcish axemen attempted to duel Aeruk, only to have a hammer smash his hands to a pulp, the axe clattered and the chest smashed in for a quick mercy. Aeruk and Iokhur’s men, continued with brutish efficiency.
“Fuck you Zarzum!” One man said galloping off on his special wolf mount.
Missile troops’ projectiles were dealt with like flies, a few swats and were rendered harmless. The first Ogre fell, and the Ogres suddenly moved just a tiny bit faster.
“No Ogruk… damn it! Damn it!”
Orcish legs were smashed underneath them, the attack continued for another 5 minutes, until the Orcish troops melted away leaving only a half terrified Zarzum. Zarzum tried to fight but was clubbed by three crisscrossing well timed blunt weapons, not much of him was left. Only the sound of blood dripping and Ogres’ breath were heard now. Zarfu’s men scrambled away, completely dissipating into the countryside and back across the border.