Talon
He turns to the battle train, mostly unharmed except for the carriage of the train, warped, and twisted, still white hot from the tremendous explosion, while the bones of its occupants break open, and their marrow sizzles on the hot metal.
He sighs, as a group of slaves, as well as an enforcer begin to scuttle as the dust settles. Screaming fills the tunnels as wounded rats awaken from the unconsciousness.
He steps into the group of rats. Most of the guards, and enforcers had survived. Their well fed bodies had thrown aside the fodder to make it to cover.
Only a small force of 40 or so of the slaves had survived.
Talon grunts, his tail flicking with impatience. "Carry the shooters, yes... start moving the rubble, and make it back to the hive. We must, yes."
A group of guards scuttle off to retrieve the muskets. The slaves nod, and they begin to one by one, pick up the rocks, and rubble to clear a path through the way back to the rest of the rats.
Several hours later, they break through back into the hive. Their tunnel, barely one person, by one person wide, but enough to get through, and get the drill.
They scuttle into their cave, Talon leading the way, his little flintlock, held in his left hand, and his knife tucked into his robes.
Talon scuttles through his little underground city, and approaches his palace. He enters, and ventures deep. He arrives in his laboratory to find his slaves, chained to the wall sleeping.
Talon growls, his tail lashing with urgency. "The drill-drill! Clear the rubble, yes! Refresh the bloodstone, NOW!" He snarls, baring his teeth.
The slaves jump to their feet, all but one, who doesn't wake, Talon walks forward, and smacks him. “We use this one to make more bloodstone, yes…”
The other slaves quickly rush to action. They replace the bloodstone in the drill for new ones. They oil everything, and they push it forward to be manned by slaves, and one guard to control them.”
They push the drill into the blocked tunnel, and begin to tear it away, in barely 30 minutes they reveal the air pocket where the battle train, and the corpses reside.
As they finish that, they return to Talon, and report to him.
"Collect the meat, yes! Push the battle train back here, NOW! Quick-fast, no time to waste!"
They nod, and begin the process. A group of 40 or so slaves pushes the battle train back to the palace, where they push it into his laboratory.
They also collect the bodies of their comrades into bags, and carts. They carry them back to the hive to be used as food.
Talon hisses at his slaves. “Bring-bring bloodstone! Not to me, no-no, set it on table, there!” He points at a table in the corner of the room.
They obey him, and they reach into the warped train, to remove the remnants of the bloodstone. What remains is a toxic grey powder. They drop it into a container on the table, and they seal it, with a wooden plug.
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Talon nods, and begins to work on his train. He removes the warped bits, and reforges them, in no time at all he has fixed the machine beast, and replaced it with a new blood stone.
I return my attention to goblins on the eight floor who have encamped themselves, and are cooking a deer over a fire. They laugh, and joke with each other in the guttural language. They remove the deer from the fire, and they tear it apart with their rough hewn iron, and copper knives.
They disperse the meat to everyone around the fire, and begin to eat. Their sharp teeth pierce the soft steaming flesh. They shudder at the taste, and begin to eat faster.
—---Somewhere nearby--------
Luke sprints through the fields, his leather bound feet splatter through the mud, and a drop of sweat drips into his eyes. He wipes it away with his off hand.
He bursts free from the wheat fields, and beholds the sight of his village burning. The thatch roofs burn like they’ve been soaked in the oil. The wooden walls catch fire from the intense heat of the thatch, and they char the stone.
The moon glares down at him as he falls to his knees. The mud soaks through his cloth pants, and dirty his knees.
“Kill em all boys!”
Lukes closed eyes fly open as the voice resounds through the village.
He climbs to his feet in a shamble. The tears climb to his eyes, but he breathes in deep, and steps forward. He sprints into the village. Running through the cobbled streets, rain begins to fall, and the flames sizzle.
His hair falls down, and into his eyes but he wipes it away, and runs further. He rounds a corner, and bounces off a muscled form. He looks up at the beast standing above him.
Standing above him is a 8 foot tall Orc, his arms covered in metal with loose leather straps holding them in place. “Well, whats dis here?” he chuckles, and leans in, but Luke quickly rises, and sprints off in the opposite direction. “Ya wont get away lil budday!” He laughs, his deep voice booming throughout the burning streets.
Luke doesn't stop, as he runs the rain pools in the streets, and carried with them are the blood of his friends. Luke passes a corpse but he keeps running.
Thud. Luke's mouth flies open in a wordless scream, as the back of his head hits the ground.
Another one of the Orcs chuckles, and standing above him is another Orc, slightly shorter but just as muscled.
He stomps forward, his right foot landing right beside his head, splattering the bloody mud onto his face.
He chuckles. “Oh, is the lil one sad…” He laughs deeper. “Well, I'm ary happy tonoight.” He says in his weird accent, and his axe drops on the other side of his head.
Another Orc rounds the corner, and says. “Jus kill em already.”
Luke cries, and clutches the back of his head, but even throughout it all, he strokes out, his closed fist smacking the calf of the Orc standing over him.
The Orc laughs at his pitiful attempt at fighting back. “Well, Why don't we ave a dua!!?”
He laughs and reaches down gripping Luke by the shoulder, and pulling him up to his feet. He reaches over, and removes a knife from a sheath attached to his back. He leans in close to Luke, his breath tainted by the smell of meat, and alcohol.
“Ya want the knife or the Axe baby?” He chuckles, and asks.
Luke doesn't respond, frozen in fear.
“Knife it is…” he pushes the knife into Luke's hand, and picks up his own axe, and backs away.
More Orcs begin to gather around, and they laugh and place bets.
Luke clutches the huge knife in his hand, the wicked long thing almost as long as his arm.
The Orc raises his axe above his head. “Ar we ready for this duel?” he laughs, and his voice booms like he’s trying to hype up the crowd in a school yard fight.
Luke's eyes narrow as the bastard turns his back. He runs forward, and drives his knife hand forward, sinking his knife into the thing's hairy armpit, his arms raised above his head.
The Orc grunts in surprise, and swings backhanding Luke, and throwing him to the ground. “Fuckin Bastard, ambushed me!”
He swings his axe down, Luke's vision tunnels on the axe dropping straight between his eyes, and it all goes black.